One of the beauties of not having a job is that you get to leave home during the late hours of the morning, when the streets are quiet and calm, with only a few old ladies walking their dogs. On June 8th I was enjoying such a quiet morning. It was a beautiful autumn day in Cape Town. A chilly breeze was brushing against my face, but the sun was shining brightly.
I just love this kind of autumn weather, so I had decided to take a slow, long walk up to the station. Engrossed in thoughts, I studied the beautiful golden brown leaves that saturated the streets of Plumstead. The bare naked trees with their arty-looking branches looked sad to be losing more and more of their - I assume - beloved leaves.
Even though the trees told a sad story, the scenery was beautiful. The colors of the lifeless leaves were simply magnificent.
I was on my way to visit a sewing school, to find out if I could do a short course with them. That mission did not go so well, as I was told the classes only take place on Saturday, when I go to church. So I moved on to my next plan for the day, to invigilate an exam at UCT and make a few bucks in the process. This went smoothly, but when I went home after the exam I could not have guessed what I was about to hear.
When I was nearing the house I bumped into my sister, who asked me why my phone had been off. They had all been trying to call me. When she told me the news, I just kept thinking how odd it was that such a peaceful, beautiful day could suddenly end so dramatically. I quickly walked into the house and saw we had unusual guests. What I had just heard was confirmed when my little nephew Collins came running to me, pulled my hand and said to me: “Justine, my daddy is dead.”
It just broke my heart to hear my 6-year-old nephew tell me that. I ran to the room to switch on my phone and call my sister, but I just couldn’t because my eyes were filled with tears and my voice was shaky. How could I call her in that state? While I was trying to pull myself together my mother walked into the room, lamenting how her poor daughter is widowed at such a young age and she would be all alone now. At that moment I knew God would give me strength to be useful.
Later on I gathered the courage to call my sister. All I could say was that I was so sorry, but that I would be coming her way tomorrow with Collins, her son. I didn’t really know how yet, but we spent the rest of the night planning and I prayed to God, asking Him for strength.
In the early hours of the morning I left for Mozambique. Sooner than I could ever have expected, I was back on my journey. A journey that was about to change me once again.
Monday, August 15, 2011
useful
When I got back to Cape Town after my trip, I had become convicted deep down in my heart that I wanted to be a useful person. Not just useful to myself, but to others. I wanted to be helpful, to serve others in whatever God would call me to do.
At first I spent days attempting to study for a UNISA degree, but attempting slowly turned into pretending. I had moved back home so bills were not as pressing as before, and I was just not ready to even think of an office job like the one I came from.
I realised I would need to gain more practical skills and learn to be more useful to myself before I could start being useful to others. Some of the skills that were on my ever-growing list were sewing, natural healing/ herbs, photography, guitar playing, creative writing, crafts, children’s activities, how to homeschool, how to grow healthy locs and of course the most important was bible studying. I wanted to really know how to search the scriptures, how to learn prophecy and how to teach it.
I started looking for courses and started visiting second-hand shops, looking for cheap books that could help me. I spent a lot of time on the net and in the Exclusive Books store, going through books I could not afford to buy. During this time I was pleading with God to help me be a useful individual and not to think of things that concern only me.
In the future I would like to look back at my life and not have the kind of regrets where I wish I had done this or done that. And I want to prepare for wherever God will send me, so that I will be equipped to help myself, my family, friends and others around me.
I believe a time is coming when our worldly achievements will be of no value, because we will not be allowed to work, buy or sell. That is why I want to become an individual who can live anywhere, anytime and still be useful to people around me, not having to look back thinking: if only I had known.
At first I spent days attempting to study for a UNISA degree, but attempting slowly turned into pretending. I had moved back home so bills were not as pressing as before, and I was just not ready to even think of an office job like the one I came from.
I realised I would need to gain more practical skills and learn to be more useful to myself before I could start being useful to others. Some of the skills that were on my ever-growing list were sewing, natural healing/ herbs, photography, guitar playing, creative writing, crafts, children’s activities, how to homeschool, how to grow healthy locs and of course the most important was bible studying. I wanted to really know how to search the scriptures, how to learn prophecy and how to teach it.
I started looking for courses and started visiting second-hand shops, looking for cheap books that could help me. I spent a lot of time on the net and in the Exclusive Books store, going through books I could not afford to buy. During this time I was pleading with God to help me be a useful individual and not to think of things that concern only me.
In the future I would like to look back at my life and not have the kind of regrets where I wish I had done this or done that. And I want to prepare for wherever God will send me, so that I will be equipped to help myself, my family, friends and others around me.
I believe a time is coming when our worldly achievements will be of no value, because we will not be allowed to work, buy or sell. That is why I want to become an individual who can live anywhere, anytime and still be useful to people around me, not having to look back thinking: if only I had known.
Friday, July 8, 2011
Let’s make happiness
"Lord keep me in your way, so that I will not be in your way."
For a long time I used to live my life for tomorrow. I was always planning what I would be up to next month, next year and a few years from now. Looking back, this robbed me of so much happiness that I could have enjoyed on those days, instead of always living for the next. I am not saying we should not plan, but I think we should not get consumed with planning to the point where we miss the blessings of today.
It becomes even more dangerous to us Christians, because focusing on the long term can easily tempt you to leave Christ out of your planning, thinking you are in control of your future, ending up walking in your own way instead of walking in his way.
This was one of the lessons that God taught me throughout my trip.
Before I travelled I was a girl with a plan. I was not a very content person. I would be content and extremely happy for a season, but soon the feeling would wear of and I would begin to plan and hope for better things.
It was a problem in my life that I never worked out, I was constantly planning what to do next. And going on a trip like this was going to be perfect, because I had planned to spend one month in every town. But my stay in Lusaka taught me to take each day as it comes, because even though we make our own plans to suit ourself, God usually has a different plan that he uses to teach us.
As I wrote before, when I first arrived in Lusaka it was not my most favorite place. The quicker we could move to the next destination the better. So i was already counting days till that one month was over and we would be off. I had groaned and moaned to Jorrit about when we would finally leave.
But things went differently. We ended up staying for a long while, and I eventually learned to love the place.
I believe God used that experience to teach me to be content and happy where I am at that moment. It took me a long time to realise it and it was not easy, but praise God that He can change us if we allow Him to. Where I am right now in my life, I do not see how I would be managing without that lesson. I would have been very anxious and unhappy.
But because of that lesson I am an extremely happy girl, no jokes. I find joy in the little things. I find it ridiculous, but at the same time I am loving it.
I am still learning, by Gods help, to enjoy the little happiness of now, that I would otherwise miss, because I would be so busy planning my next move. It brings even more joy when you know that you are where God wants you to be at that time and to enjoy every minute of it and suck in as much happiness as you can, learning all the lessons you must learn for this moment.
I am glad that I discovered this magic formula: contentment equals happiness. Now, as my brother Jacques likes to say: let's make happiness :).
For a long time I used to live my life for tomorrow. I was always planning what I would be up to next month, next year and a few years from now. Looking back, this robbed me of so much happiness that I could have enjoyed on those days, instead of always living for the next. I am not saying we should not plan, but I think we should not get consumed with planning to the point where we miss the blessings of today.
It becomes even more dangerous to us Christians, because focusing on the long term can easily tempt you to leave Christ out of your planning, thinking you are in control of your future, ending up walking in your own way instead of walking in his way.
This was one of the lessons that God taught me throughout my trip.
Before I travelled I was a girl with a plan. I was not a very content person. I would be content and extremely happy for a season, but soon the feeling would wear of and I would begin to plan and hope for better things.
It was a problem in my life that I never worked out, I was constantly planning what to do next. And going on a trip like this was going to be perfect, because I had planned to spend one month in every town. But my stay in Lusaka taught me to take each day as it comes, because even though we make our own plans to suit ourself, God usually has a different plan that he uses to teach us.
As I wrote before, when I first arrived in Lusaka it was not my most favorite place. The quicker we could move to the next destination the better. So i was already counting days till that one month was over and we would be off. I had groaned and moaned to Jorrit about when we would finally leave.
But things went differently. We ended up staying for a long while, and I eventually learned to love the place.
I believe God used that experience to teach me to be content and happy where I am at that moment. It took me a long time to realise it and it was not easy, but praise God that He can change us if we allow Him to. Where I am right now in my life, I do not see how I would be managing without that lesson. I would have been very anxious and unhappy.
But because of that lesson I am an extremely happy girl, no jokes. I find joy in the little things. I find it ridiculous, but at the same time I am loving it.
I am still learning, by Gods help, to enjoy the little happiness of now, that I would otherwise miss, because I would be so busy planning my next move. It brings even more joy when you know that you are where God wants you to be at that time and to enjoy every minute of it and suck in as much happiness as you can, learning all the lessons you must learn for this moment.
I am glad that I discovered this magic formula: contentment equals happiness. Now, as my brother Jacques likes to say: let's make happiness :).
Holiday of bliss and awesomeness
So, I did not really fulfill my promise of writing more blogs about my trip. And now, after such a long time, things are not so clear in my head anymore and it will be hard to be as descriptive as I would have liked. But a promise is a promise, so here goes.
When I arrived in Malawi, visiting my dearest friend Omega was on top of my list. I first met her in Cape Town years ago, when we both worked at The Big Issue magazine. Miggs became like a big sis to me back then. She used to sit right opposite me at the office and over our desks we shared lots of laughter and good times.
Of course I was very excited that I would be seeing her again, and that I would be staying with her and her husband Wakisa for a week. But I was also a bit nervous, because we had not seen each other for so long and not kept in touch so often. Would we still click like we used to?
When I arrived at the bus stop and she came to pick me up, she was so kind to drop off my bus buddy at her friends place. After that act of kindness I knew my Miggs had not changed :). I was still a bit nervous, but right there someone should have warned me and told me not to waste my time being nervous, but to rather let my hair down and look forward to a holiday of bliss and awesomeness.
As we were driving to their home. We couldn’t stop talking. It was as if she had never left and as if we were back to our spots at the office, chatting away until the office would close.
To cut the long story short, staying with them in their beautiful paradise home, being taken around Blantyre in their posh red car, rubbing shoulders with the who’s who in Malawi, eating at fancy, cozy restaurants, being pampered with manicures and all things lovely was overwhelming for me. But Omega kept repeating the same words over and over and soon enough I obeyed. "Put your legs up and enjoy, you’re on holiday, let your big sis spoil you." And sure I was spoiled!
I loved their home, I loved them and their hospitality was mind blowing. I appreciated it so much that, with my nervousness out of the window, I ended up staying for 3 weeks :).
When I arrived in Malawi, visiting my dearest friend Omega was on top of my list. I first met her in Cape Town years ago, when we both worked at The Big Issue magazine. Miggs became like a big sis to me back then. She used to sit right opposite me at the office and over our desks we shared lots of laughter and good times.
Of course I was very excited that I would be seeing her again, and that I would be staying with her and her husband Wakisa for a week. But I was also a bit nervous, because we had not seen each other for so long and not kept in touch so often. Would we still click like we used to?
When I arrived at the bus stop and she came to pick me up, she was so kind to drop off my bus buddy at her friends place. After that act of kindness I knew my Miggs had not changed :). I was still a bit nervous, but right there someone should have warned me and told me not to waste my time being nervous, but to rather let my hair down and look forward to a holiday of bliss and awesomeness.
As we were driving to their home. We couldn’t stop talking. It was as if she had never left and as if we were back to our spots at the office, chatting away until the office would close.
To cut the long story short, staying with them in their beautiful paradise home, being taken around Blantyre in their posh red car, rubbing shoulders with the who’s who in Malawi, eating at fancy, cozy restaurants, being pampered with manicures and all things lovely was overwhelming for me. But Omega kept repeating the same words over and over and soon enough I obeyed. "Put your legs up and enjoy, you’re on holiday, let your big sis spoil you." And sure I was spoiled!
I loved their home, I loved them and their hospitality was mind blowing. I appreciated it so much that, with my nervousness out of the window, I ended up staying for 3 weeks :).
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
On the road to Malawi
Different from what this blog may suggest, I am no longer enjoying my journey. I am back in Cape Town, missing Zambia and Malawi so much that I am already making plans to go back.
Even though I am back home, I still want to write some of the blogs I would have wanted to write. About the rest of my trip, my journey to Malawi, the wonderful people I got to meet. And most of all I want to share how this trip, by God’s grace, made me realise my calling.
When schools closed for December holidays, I had time to do other things. I visited Victoria Falls for the second time, this time with lots more water in it, and went camping for a weekend on the banks of the Kafue river with Floris and Jorrit.
We went fishing, cooked on a fire by the riverside, slept in a tent surrounded by hippo’s, did game drives and made a boat trip. All very nice touristy things, except for the journey back to Lusaka, when we took a bumpy ride in the back of a bakkie and we arrived covered in dust.
By now I was feeling very adventurous , so the next day I proceeded to the next item that had been on my to-do list for so long: visiting Malawi. I packed my life into my backpack and went to the hectic Intercity bus station to buy a ticket. Oops… the bus to Lilongwe would leave at 4 AM the next morning. It would be impossible to get there by public transport that time of the night.
But luckily the bus would already be at the station in the evening, so to avoid having to take an expensive taxi cab in the middle of the night I left my home in Chawama in the afternoon, planning to spend the night on the bus.
As I was waiting by the roadside for a minibus to take me to town, hoping it would still have space for my bags, a very big army bus stopped. The driver asked Bridget what she was doing with an American lady in Chawama… thanks to my huge backpack.
The man offered to give me a lift and I accepted. There were other people on the bus already, so it seemed safe. But after the other passengers got out, he started trying to convince me to marry him. He would get me a shop to sell in, so I would never have to struggle. I should not forget to mention that this man was probably a few years older than my dad, so I could not wait to jump of his bus.
At least he dropped me close to the bus station, and was kind enough to ask some random stranger to help me carry my bag to the bus station. After my experience minutes before, I was waiting for the moment this next guy would also start proposing. But he was not so scary at all. In fact he was so nice, and did not even want to be paid anything for helping me, so he kind of restored my faith in humanity.
I slept on the bus, but of course it did not leave at 4 as planned, but only past 6. Just when I was dozing in my chair, a very loud and made-up lady walked into the bus. The type who just demands attention and makes every head turn every head. She told some guys to please put her bags up, somewhere where she can keep an eye on them, in a very English accent.
The type I would not in normal circumstances be best buddies with. but guess who she chose to sit next to… Woohooo.
I shared my olives, salty crackers, peanuts and raisins with her, and of course she was fascinated by someone who buys olives for a bus trip. She turned out to be a great traveling buddy, who made kept me entertained for the whole trip, and offered me a shoulder to sleep on.
We became very close during the trip, almost as if we had jumped on this bus together, and she shared every detail of her long and complicated love-stories with me.
Crossing the border was a breeze with her around. She first did her make up and couldn’t understand how I live my life without any. And as soon as we stepped out, all the border guys could worry about was when we would be passing by again.
And the trip was not the last I saw of my dear new found friend. I met her again a few days later when she showed me around Lilongwe and we even travelled to Blantyre together after our week stay in Lilongwe.
Her bubbly, energetic personality made her very likable and her dolled-up face and fancy sense of style made her very appealing to many, but me and her were very different. We thought differently, and I could only keep up with her talk about her hot boyfriend and her next outfit for so long…
But she was lovely to travel with, and as my first impression of Malawi, she was the first to make me realise what the next weeks would prove over and over again: Malawians are the friendliest guys in Africa. :)
Even though I am back home, I still want to write some of the blogs I would have wanted to write. About the rest of my trip, my journey to Malawi, the wonderful people I got to meet. And most of all I want to share how this trip, by God’s grace, made me realise my calling.
When schools closed for December holidays, I had time to do other things. I visited Victoria Falls for the second time, this time with lots more water in it, and went camping for a weekend on the banks of the Kafue river with Floris and Jorrit.
We went fishing, cooked on a fire by the riverside, slept in a tent surrounded by hippo’s, did game drives and made a boat trip. All very nice touristy things, except for the journey back to Lusaka, when we took a bumpy ride in the back of a bakkie and we arrived covered in dust.
By now I was feeling very adventurous , so the next day I proceeded to the next item that had been on my to-do list for so long: visiting Malawi. I packed my life into my backpack and went to the hectic Intercity bus station to buy a ticket. Oops… the bus to Lilongwe would leave at 4 AM the next morning. It would be impossible to get there by public transport that time of the night.
But luckily the bus would already be at the station in the evening, so to avoid having to take an expensive taxi cab in the middle of the night I left my home in Chawama in the afternoon, planning to spend the night on the bus.
As I was waiting by the roadside for a minibus to take me to town, hoping it would still have space for my bags, a very big army bus stopped. The driver asked Bridget what she was doing with an American lady in Chawama… thanks to my huge backpack.
The man offered to give me a lift and I accepted. There were other people on the bus already, so it seemed safe. But after the other passengers got out, he started trying to convince me to marry him. He would get me a shop to sell in, so I would never have to struggle. I should not forget to mention that this man was probably a few years older than my dad, so I could not wait to jump of his bus.
At least he dropped me close to the bus station, and was kind enough to ask some random stranger to help me carry my bag to the bus station. After my experience minutes before, I was waiting for the moment this next guy would also start proposing. But he was not so scary at all. In fact he was so nice, and did not even want to be paid anything for helping me, so he kind of restored my faith in humanity.
I slept on the bus, but of course it did not leave at 4 as planned, but only past 6. Just when I was dozing in my chair, a very loud and made-up lady walked into the bus. The type who just demands attention and makes every head turn every head. She told some guys to please put her bags up, somewhere where she can keep an eye on them, in a very English accent.
The type I would not in normal circumstances be best buddies with. but guess who she chose to sit next to… Woohooo.
I shared my olives, salty crackers, peanuts and raisins with her, and of course she was fascinated by someone who buys olives for a bus trip. She turned out to be a great traveling buddy, who made kept me entertained for the whole trip, and offered me a shoulder to sleep on.
We became very close during the trip, almost as if we had jumped on this bus together, and she shared every detail of her long and complicated love-stories with me.
Crossing the border was a breeze with her around. She first did her make up and couldn’t understand how I live my life without any. And as soon as we stepped out, all the border guys could worry about was when we would be passing by again.
And the trip was not the last I saw of my dear new found friend. I met her again a few days later when she showed me around Lilongwe and we even travelled to Blantyre together after our week stay in Lilongwe.
Her bubbly, energetic personality made her very likable and her dolled-up face and fancy sense of style made her very appealing to many, but me and her were very different. We thought differently, and I could only keep up with her talk about her hot boyfriend and her next outfit for so long…
But she was lovely to travel with, and as my first impression of Malawi, she was the first to make me realise what the next weeks would prove over and over again: Malawians are the friendliest guys in Africa. :)
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Learning to love dislikable Lusaka
Almost every backpacker I meet on my travels seems to strongly dislike Zambia's not so charming capital, and found it to be nothing more than a unavoidable stopover on their way to more welcoming destinations. Having lived there for a while, I got to see the other side of this unattractive city.
Walking around Kulima Tower, one of Lusaka's most crowded and chaotic bus stations, you do not actually feel that Zambia is one of the most thinly populated countries in Africa, with only 15 people per square kilometre.
The scene that greets you is crowded, noisy and intense. Lusaka's dusty, crusty roads are filled with swarms of blue minibuses, taxi's and other cars, continuously hooting their way through the never-ending congestion. They push themselves into intersections and roundabouts, seemingly without caring for a dent more or less, and with no respect for the faded zebra crossings.
The pavements are the territory of hundreds of street vendors, selling ear buds, pegs, fried meat, lollies, shower caps, strange looking orange mushrooms, trousers, Ray Ban sunglasses, much needed frozen water and a whole lot of other random things.
All this made my first experience in Lusaka rather overwhelming. I was not sure how I would ever get used to this city and find my way around all its busy corners.
But as I had been told before by people who got to spend more time there, Lusaka has a way of growing on you, and lo and behold, not long after getting there, I had fallen prey to that and Lusaka had worked its way to my heart.
Chawama, the compound where I lived, was no less crowded and chaotic than the city centre, even though it is situated on the outskirts of town and has more of an informal settlement feel. I stayed in a one bedroom house with no electricity or water (see my pre-previous blog) with a lovely family.
There is Bridget, who became my dearest friend and sister, her 1 year old son Nixon, and from time to time her husband, my big brother, who is a truck driver assistant and would sometimes come home for a few days in between his trips to Zimbabwe, Botswana, Malawi and Congo.
My day mostly started at 6:00, with baby Nixon throwing himself at me, wanting to play, or crying to go outside to find his mum, who would already be sweeping the yard. I would wake up, take Nixon outside, then get back and start with my morning reading. After that I would wake up, get charcoal and start a fire on the brazier to boil water for bathing and making morning tea.
Meanwhile I would sweep the house, make the room and go outside to say 'mwauka bwanji' (good morning) to our neighbour who everybody refers to as Ma Chileshe (Chileshe's mum). She is the comedian of the neighbourhood and also became a dear friend to me, who could already make me smile before she even said a word. Still wearing her night wrap on her head, she would already be sharing stories as she washed her dishes, asking if anybody else also heard the thunder striking at 03:00, or what time the neighbourhood prostitute next door came home last night.
By that time my water would be ready and I would take a quick bath in a big basin in the bedroom, as we did not have a bathroom, and I would be off to the community school where I worked. The constant demand for attention and the noise of so many excited children cramped into a small room could be quite exhausting, but I loved spending time with my more than sixty kids, who were so heart-warming despite their visibly tough circumstances.
After roaming around town I would enjoy the long evenings of sitting outside with the other ladies from the neighbourhood. As we prepared food on the charcoal braziers, we would share stories, dream about the houses we hoped to own one day, and advise each other on life's hardships, like alcoholic and cheating husbands, and other issues that were dear to our hearts.
Going through my days like this, I slowly discovered that behind the overwhelming first impression of this city, there was a lot to appreciate. Even though the food was nshima (maize porridge) every day, the endless variety of vegetables that we ate it with brought happiness to my vegetarian heart. Pumpkin leaves, sweet potato leaves, rape, bondwe, okra, impwa and lumanda to just name a few, often made into a delicious relish, mixed with pounded peanut flour.
No matter how dislikable Lusaka had seemed at first sight, it eventually became home to me. Even at the crowded bus station I learned to find my way. The conductors, who can be quite rough and intimidating, now know me, and walk me to the Chawama buses with a smile. You gotta love it :)
Walking around Kulima Tower, one of Lusaka's most crowded and chaotic bus stations, you do not actually feel that Zambia is one of the most thinly populated countries in Africa, with only 15 people per square kilometre.
The scene that greets you is crowded, noisy and intense. Lusaka's dusty, crusty roads are filled with swarms of blue minibuses, taxi's and other cars, continuously hooting their way through the never-ending congestion. They push themselves into intersections and roundabouts, seemingly without caring for a dent more or less, and with no respect for the faded zebra crossings.
The pavements are the territory of hundreds of street vendors, selling ear buds, pegs, fried meat, lollies, shower caps, strange looking orange mushrooms, trousers, Ray Ban sunglasses, much needed frozen water and a whole lot of other random things.
All this made my first experience in Lusaka rather overwhelming. I was not sure how I would ever get used to this city and find my way around all its busy corners.
But as I had been told before by people who got to spend more time there, Lusaka has a way of growing on you, and lo and behold, not long after getting there, I had fallen prey to that and Lusaka had worked its way to my heart.
Chawama, the compound where I lived, was no less crowded and chaotic than the city centre, even though it is situated on the outskirts of town and has more of an informal settlement feel. I stayed in a one bedroom house with no electricity or water (see my pre-previous blog) with a lovely family.
There is Bridget, who became my dearest friend and sister, her 1 year old son Nixon, and from time to time her husband, my big brother, who is a truck driver assistant and would sometimes come home for a few days in between his trips to Zimbabwe, Botswana, Malawi and Congo.
My day mostly started at 6:00, with baby Nixon throwing himself at me, wanting to play, or crying to go outside to find his mum, who would already be sweeping the yard. I would wake up, take Nixon outside, then get back and start with my morning reading. After that I would wake up, get charcoal and start a fire on the brazier to boil water for bathing and making morning tea.
Meanwhile I would sweep the house, make the room and go outside to say 'mwauka bwanji' (good morning) to our neighbour who everybody refers to as Ma Chileshe (Chileshe's mum). She is the comedian of the neighbourhood and also became a dear friend to me, who could already make me smile before she even said a word. Still wearing her night wrap on her head, she would already be sharing stories as she washed her dishes, asking if anybody else also heard the thunder striking at 03:00, or what time the neighbourhood prostitute next door came home last night.
By that time my water would be ready and I would take a quick bath in a big basin in the bedroom, as we did not have a bathroom, and I would be off to the community school where I worked. The constant demand for attention and the noise of so many excited children cramped into a small room could be quite exhausting, but I loved spending time with my more than sixty kids, who were so heart-warming despite their visibly tough circumstances.
After roaming around town I would enjoy the long evenings of sitting outside with the other ladies from the neighbourhood. As we prepared food on the charcoal braziers, we would share stories, dream about the houses we hoped to own one day, and advise each other on life's hardships, like alcoholic and cheating husbands, and other issues that were dear to our hearts.
Going through my days like this, I slowly discovered that behind the overwhelming first impression of this city, there was a lot to appreciate. Even though the food was nshima (maize porridge) every day, the endless variety of vegetables that we ate it with brought happiness to my vegetarian heart. Pumpkin leaves, sweet potato leaves, rape, bondwe, okra, impwa and lumanda to just name a few, often made into a delicious relish, mixed with pounded peanut flour.
No matter how dislikable Lusaka had seemed at first sight, it eventually became home to me. Even at the crowded bus station I learned to find my way. The conductors, who can be quite rough and intimidating, now know me, and walk me to the Chawama buses with a smile. You gotta love it :)
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
My first day at work
(My first day at work was 3 weeks ago so this is rather delayed)
When I first entered the class room I was worried whether I could even make my voice heard, about the many chattering kids voices. But as soon as I opened my mouth to greet them, they all jumped up and and welcomed me with a loud and hearty " good morning teacher!" " How are you teacher?" " Fine thank you teacher!"
Bwafwano community school is located in Chawama compound, one of the poorest surburbs around Lusaka. The school is a 1 classroom bulding in the middle of a open dusty field, surrounded by crowded markets where flies swarm around dried fish, mangos and the dried caterpillars that are a loved local snack.
The classroom is filled with broken desks and benches. far too few for the over 60 pupils that were there when we arrived. Some are seated on the floor, or on top of the broken desks. Others pile up on the few benches, while others just stand in the back.
We had initially thought we would be working with about 15 children, but the crowd that greeted us was far bigger. Children in community schools like Bwafwano hardly have any teachers and far too little activities, so most of them are usually desperate for any form of knowledge anyone is willing to impart, especially if they are muzungu's (My Dutch workmates).
They were so eager and listened attentively as I introduced our project. They kept on nodding yes madam to everything I said. We gave them a first drawing exercise, for which we had to provide them with materials because they hardly have anything. As we were handing out papers and pencils, we quickly realised it would not work out, as we had not counted on so many children. So we had to be creative and break the pencils in half. Even then we could not supply everybody, as new ones kept on coming in, so more were left waiting for others to finish. It was very difficult to watch them as they struggled to draw, on their laps and on the floor. It was heart warming how they were so disciplined and willing, but it was just very hard for them to do a proper drawing on their lap.
Working with these children, who just kept calling for me every opportunity they got, " teacher! teacher!" and the eagerness in their eyes, left me so humbled and yet so satisfied. I enjoyed it so much and it confirmed why I had wanted to do this project in the first place: I love working with kids.
Seeing how they struggle with the little means they have makes me want to help them in any way I can. Even after just one day of working there I already felt I would love to work there longer so I could really make a difference. This experience makes me wish I had the funds and resources to improve and transform this place into the proper school that every child deserves.
When I first entered the class room I was worried whether I could even make my voice heard, about the many chattering kids voices. But as soon as I opened my mouth to greet them, they all jumped up and and welcomed me with a loud and hearty " good morning teacher!" " How are you teacher?" " Fine thank you teacher!"
Bwafwano community school is located in Chawama compound, one of the poorest surburbs around Lusaka. The school is a 1 classroom bulding in the middle of a open dusty field, surrounded by crowded markets where flies swarm around dried fish, mangos and the dried caterpillars that are a loved local snack.
The classroom is filled with broken desks and benches. far too few for the over 60 pupils that were there when we arrived. Some are seated on the floor, or on top of the broken desks. Others pile up on the few benches, while others just stand in the back.
We had initially thought we would be working with about 15 children, but the crowd that greeted us was far bigger. Children in community schools like Bwafwano hardly have any teachers and far too little activities, so most of them are usually desperate for any form of knowledge anyone is willing to impart, especially if they are muzungu's (My Dutch workmates).
They were so eager and listened attentively as I introduced our project. They kept on nodding yes madam to everything I said. We gave them a first drawing exercise, for which we had to provide them with materials because they hardly have anything. As we were handing out papers and pencils, we quickly realised it would not work out, as we had not counted on so many children. So we had to be creative and break the pencils in half. Even then we could not supply everybody, as new ones kept on coming in, so more were left waiting for others to finish. It was very difficult to watch them as they struggled to draw, on their laps and on the floor. It was heart warming how they were so disciplined and willing, but it was just very hard for them to do a proper drawing on their lap.
Working with these children, who just kept calling for me every opportunity they got, " teacher! teacher!" and the eagerness in their eyes, left me so humbled and yet so satisfied. I enjoyed it so much and it confirmed why I had wanted to do this project in the first place: I love working with kids.
Seeing how they struggle with the little means they have makes me want to help them in any way I can. Even after just one day of working there I already felt I would love to work there longer so I could really make a difference. This experience makes me wish I had the funds and resources to improve and transform this place into the proper school that every child deserves.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
My African indentity tested
Sitting in my office at The Big Issue and thinking about my upcoming trip, I really looked forward to going back to a third world country, or the real Africa as Capetonians call it.
Looking back, I think I over romanticized what it would be like, walking in the dusty streets, using toilets outside and bathing with cold water, just like the way I remembered it from when I was growing up. I liked to think of myself as a real ghetto girl who could handle any kind of lifestyle. I expected I would get to Zambia and just perfectly fit in and adjust. Me and Jorrit had even spoke about how we were going to stay at cheap crusty places to save money. But even before I reached Zambia I realised that maybe I had been living in Cape Town for too long.
The real Africa already started testing me when we boarded the bus from Windhoek to Livingstone. It was nothing like the comfortable air-conditioned sleepliner with lots of leg space and nicely reclining seats that we had boarded from Cape Town. The heat on this bus was unbearable and made me question whether I was actually up for this.
And it did not end there. Once we arrived in Livingstone, at the humble guest house where we planned to spend some days, heat-wise the worst was still to come. I had a fan in my room, but it did not help much at all. It was only blowing around hot air. It was so hot that I could hardly sleep at night. Walking outside during the day was almost impossible, as after some minutes I would feel sick like was going to faint.
I started getting so frustrated. I found myself constantly complaining about the heat, the fact that the water tasted funny and was just too hot to drink directly from the tap, not wanting to walk after 10 in the morning in fear of the sun burning me... For two days I was a sweaty moaner. Until.... I discovered Freezits :).
Freezits are small plastics containing frozen lemonade, sold by the road side in different chemical flavours for only 500 ZMK (Zambian Kwacha), less than a rand. My discovery of Freezits suddenly made the walks to town bearable, as long as the little girl who sold them at my corner was there, and had another one for the way back.
With the heat out of the way, I finally got a chance to enjoy Zambia. I thought I had settled in and had become real African after all, but when I arrived in the capital Lusaka I found myself obsessed with hygiene, wanting to wash each and everything I bought from a street vendor, even my Freezits and bottles.
On top of that I just couldn't handle the crusty toilets and bathrooms of the backpackers that we were staying at, which was not even a run down crusty place like we had imagined, but quite upmarket and above my budget. The toilets smelled and couldn't flush properly and had flies all over them, the doors to the shower could not close properly, let alone lock. They was nowhere to hang your towel while you showered and the walls and the floor looked like the kind you never want to ever get your skin to get in contact with. As if that was not bad enough, the floor was just always flooded with suspicious looking water.
I was so disappointed in myself, considering the fact that I thought I was so ghetto. And the fact that my all my Dutch friends seemed so cool and down with it, or rather pretended not to be bothered by all this.
Maybe the Cape had slowly but surely turned me into a coconut, unable to cope with the realities of the real rough Africa. Just when I thought it could not get any worse. I moved to Chawama compound, one of the poorer suburbs outside Lusaka, to live with a family in their small little home. No running water, no electricity, no bathroom and no proper toilet, just a small hole outside that is shared by whoever wants. Slowly but surely I adjusted to it and even started appreciating it more and more, to the point that I am now totally loving it. So...maybe I am still African after all. You can take the girl out of Africa, but you apparently can't take Africa out of a girl... ;)
Looking back, I think I over romanticized what it would be like, walking in the dusty streets, using toilets outside and bathing with cold water, just like the way I remembered it from when I was growing up. I liked to think of myself as a real ghetto girl who could handle any kind of lifestyle. I expected I would get to Zambia and just perfectly fit in and adjust. Me and Jorrit had even spoke about how we were going to stay at cheap crusty places to save money. But even before I reached Zambia I realised that maybe I had been living in Cape Town for too long.
The real Africa already started testing me when we boarded the bus from Windhoek to Livingstone. It was nothing like the comfortable air-conditioned sleepliner with lots of leg space and nicely reclining seats that we had boarded from Cape Town. The heat on this bus was unbearable and made me question whether I was actually up for this.
And it did not end there. Once we arrived in Livingstone, at the humble guest house where we planned to spend some days, heat-wise the worst was still to come. I had a fan in my room, but it did not help much at all. It was only blowing around hot air. It was so hot that I could hardly sleep at night. Walking outside during the day was almost impossible, as after some minutes I would feel sick like was going to faint.
I started getting so frustrated. I found myself constantly complaining about the heat, the fact that the water tasted funny and was just too hot to drink directly from the tap, not wanting to walk after 10 in the morning in fear of the sun burning me... For two days I was a sweaty moaner. Until.... I discovered Freezits :).
Freezits are small plastics containing frozen lemonade, sold by the road side in different chemical flavours for only 500 ZMK (Zambian Kwacha), less than a rand. My discovery of Freezits suddenly made the walks to town bearable, as long as the little girl who sold them at my corner was there, and had another one for the way back.
With the heat out of the way, I finally got a chance to enjoy Zambia. I thought I had settled in and had become real African after all, but when I arrived in the capital Lusaka I found myself obsessed with hygiene, wanting to wash each and everything I bought from a street vendor, even my Freezits and bottles.
On top of that I just couldn't handle the crusty toilets and bathrooms of the backpackers that we were staying at, which was not even a run down crusty place like we had imagined, but quite upmarket and above my budget. The toilets smelled and couldn't flush properly and had flies all over them, the doors to the shower could not close properly, let alone lock. They was nowhere to hang your towel while you showered and the walls and the floor looked like the kind you never want to ever get your skin to get in contact with. As if that was not bad enough, the floor was just always flooded with suspicious looking water.
I was so disappointed in myself, considering the fact that I thought I was so ghetto. And the fact that my all my Dutch friends seemed so cool and down with it, or rather pretended not to be bothered by all this.
Maybe the Cape had slowly but surely turned me into a coconut, unable to cope with the realities of the real rough Africa. Just when I thought it could not get any worse. I moved to Chawama compound, one of the poorer suburbs outside Lusaka, to live with a family in their small little home. No running water, no electricity, no bathroom and no proper toilet, just a small hole outside that is shared by whoever wants. Slowly but surely I adjusted to it and even started appreciating it more and more, to the point that I am now totally loving it. So...maybe I am still African after all. You can take the girl out of Africa, but you apparently can't take Africa out of a girl... ;)
Borderline syndrome
The queue on the South African side was going so fast and smooth. Everyone who reached the front quickly had their passport scanned, got their stamp and they were done and gone. I was hoping I would not hold the queue, but as soon as I handed the lady my refugee passport she was not impressed by the fact that it could not be scanned and she requested for my refugee status which... I did not have with me.
My best friend Shingi, just a few minutes before I boarded the bus in Cape Town, told me to leave the original document behind, because it might just get lost and it would be safer this way. At the time I believed him... but when the angry looking lady insisted I provide it I felt like my nightmare was coming true.
After convincing her that my passport should be enough and showing her a photocopy of my refugee status, I was allowed to go through, after spending longer on the queue than anyone else.
I was not even surprised when I came outside and saw my bag among the ones that were to be searched. My previous experience when I travelled to Mozambique came to mind, when I had to unpack my entire bag. As I was starting out to do the same thing this time, the customs guy only asked where I had bought my backpack. and went on to say that he had no intentions of going through my underwear.
Now I got back on the bus to drive to the Namibian side of border feeling even more insecure. As soon as it was my turn and I handed over my passport, the guy went to the back to ask his superior whether they allowed people with my kind of passport.
At this point I was saying my silent prayer and I overheard the superior telling him that I had a prearranged visa, meaning it should be fine for me to enter. The only bad surprise was that I they gave me only three days to stay in the country and with no questions asked I quickly left the office.
While I waited outside for Jorrit to finish, two immigration officials started harassing me some more. I had already overheard them discussing my looks, and whether or not they were Rwandan, then when I came closer they started questioning me about things like my marital status. I could not help but think me and borders just don't mix, but I was already happy enough I got into the country.
Having just three days meant all our plans had to quickly change. We had booked a few nights at a backpackers in Windhoek and had originally planned to take our time travelling through Namibia to Zambia, getting to see some places along the way. But now we only had three days to leave the country and due to the fact that we were travelling by road that meant that we actually only had few hours to spend in Windhoek.
We dropped our big backpacks at the backpackers and as soon and went to see if the immigration office could make a plan for us, but to no avail. We just had to leave, there was nothing that could be done they told us. So with no time left we quickly went to the Intercape bus depot to organise for us to board the 6pm bus that same day.
We realised this bus would be the only way for us to get out of the country on the Zambian side in time. So we quickly called their office and we were told that there were still three seats available, but... we couldn't book on the phone so we quickly had to dash to the depot. We rushed through the heat, and when we arrived their, still panting, we were told there was just one more seat left. We pleaded with the consultant to please make a plan for us, but she said it was really not possible. What would we do now? Go back the same way as we came, to the South African border?
During that moment of dismay and total silence I just sat down on their chairs saying my silent prayers and just saying Lord I leave it up to you. And then, just seconds before we left their offices, the consultant lady called us back and said: oh wait... I think I have two seats for you. “I think I love you so much right now", were the only words I could say at that moment. She smiled and you could just see that being able to do such things was what gave her job satisfaction.
After such a dramatic morning we booked ourselves two seats on a city tour bus, just so that we would not leave Windhoek without even seeing it. As soon as we got to the bus I felt very silly for doing this, because as was to be expected I was the only black person on board. Passing through townships and seeing all the kids just stop to wave was so awkward for me, but yeah, I guess that's what you get for doing such touristy thing. I really do not see myself ever doing such again.
Before we left for Livingstone we went to have a nice lunch i took a shower, and I was somehow glad to be leaving the backpackers that just made me feel like I was in Europe with all the wazungus. At 6 pm we got on a bus waved goodbye to Namibia and left for Zambia.
The trip from Windhoek to Livingstone was not as pleasant as the trip from Cape Town. The seats were less comfy and but the worst part was the heat. Me and Jorrit were sitting in different seats but close to each other and just very close to our dream spot: the front row sits on top of the double decker bus. After we overheard that the two volunteer students who were occupying them were going to get off on the next stop, we got very eager and we spent the rest of the night just waiting and eyeing them, making sure we would not fall asleep and by the time we wake up they would be gone.
And yes, finally we did get the sits and we managed to have some nice naps after that, but the heat just got unbearable after we woke up. For the rest of the trip the heat got worse and we were just counting kilometers and hours to Rundu and then Katima Mulilo, the border town, which seemed to take forever, but at the border coming into Zambia thank God it was a totally great experience. No hassles at all and for the first time I felt quite normal, and I just knew that Zambia was going to be great :).
My best friend Shingi, just a few minutes before I boarded the bus in Cape Town, told me to leave the original document behind, because it might just get lost and it would be safer this way. At the time I believed him... but when the angry looking lady insisted I provide it I felt like my nightmare was coming true.
After convincing her that my passport should be enough and showing her a photocopy of my refugee status, I was allowed to go through, after spending longer on the queue than anyone else.
I was not even surprised when I came outside and saw my bag among the ones that were to be searched. My previous experience when I travelled to Mozambique came to mind, when I had to unpack my entire bag. As I was starting out to do the same thing this time, the customs guy only asked where I had bought my backpack. and went on to say that he had no intentions of going through my underwear.
Now I got back on the bus to drive to the Namibian side of border feeling even more insecure. As soon as it was my turn and I handed over my passport, the guy went to the back to ask his superior whether they allowed people with my kind of passport.
At this point I was saying my silent prayer and I overheard the superior telling him that I had a prearranged visa, meaning it should be fine for me to enter. The only bad surprise was that I they gave me only three days to stay in the country and with no questions asked I quickly left the office.
While I waited outside for Jorrit to finish, two immigration officials started harassing me some more. I had already overheard them discussing my looks, and whether or not they were Rwandan, then when I came closer they started questioning me about things like my marital status. I could not help but think me and borders just don't mix, but I was already happy enough I got into the country.
Having just three days meant all our plans had to quickly change. We had booked a few nights at a backpackers in Windhoek and had originally planned to take our time travelling through Namibia to Zambia, getting to see some places along the way. But now we only had three days to leave the country and due to the fact that we were travelling by road that meant that we actually only had few hours to spend in Windhoek.
We dropped our big backpacks at the backpackers and as soon and went to see if the immigration office could make a plan for us, but to no avail. We just had to leave, there was nothing that could be done they told us. So with no time left we quickly went to the Intercape bus depot to organise for us to board the 6pm bus that same day.
We realised this bus would be the only way for us to get out of the country on the Zambian side in time. So we quickly called their office and we were told that there were still three seats available, but... we couldn't book on the phone so we quickly had to dash to the depot. We rushed through the heat, and when we arrived their, still panting, we were told there was just one more seat left. We pleaded with the consultant to please make a plan for us, but she said it was really not possible. What would we do now? Go back the same way as we came, to the South African border?
During that moment of dismay and total silence I just sat down on their chairs saying my silent prayers and just saying Lord I leave it up to you. And then, just seconds before we left their offices, the consultant lady called us back and said: oh wait... I think I have two seats for you. “I think I love you so much right now", were the only words I could say at that moment. She smiled and you could just see that being able to do such things was what gave her job satisfaction.
After such a dramatic morning we booked ourselves two seats on a city tour bus, just so that we would not leave Windhoek without even seeing it. As soon as we got to the bus I felt very silly for doing this, because as was to be expected I was the only black person on board. Passing through townships and seeing all the kids just stop to wave was so awkward for me, but yeah, I guess that's what you get for doing such touristy thing. I really do not see myself ever doing such again.
Before we left for Livingstone we went to have a nice lunch i took a shower, and I was somehow glad to be leaving the backpackers that just made me feel like I was in Europe with all the wazungus. At 6 pm we got on a bus waved goodbye to Namibia and left for Zambia.
The trip from Windhoek to Livingstone was not as pleasant as the trip from Cape Town. The seats were less comfy and but the worst part was the heat. Me and Jorrit were sitting in different seats but close to each other and just very close to our dream spot: the front row sits on top of the double decker bus. After we overheard that the two volunteer students who were occupying them were going to get off on the next stop, we got very eager and we spent the rest of the night just waiting and eyeing them, making sure we would not fall asleep and by the time we wake up they would be gone.
And yes, finally we did get the sits and we managed to have some nice naps after that, but the heat just got unbearable after we woke up. For the rest of the trip the heat got worse and we were just counting kilometers and hours to Rundu and then Katima Mulilo, the border town, which seemed to take forever, but at the border coming into Zambia thank God it was a totally great experience. No hassles at all and for the first time I felt quite normal, and I just knew that Zambia was going to be great :).
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Delays, tears and sheep(s)
After months of preparations I was finally ready to leave. But Cape Town was not ready to let me go just yet.
First my visa was delayed, then my Dutch friend whom I was to travel with unexpectedly needed an emergency passport which took another week to be issued. When that was finally done, we had to wait two more days for the next available bus.
So I found myself having more time remaining in Cape Town than I had originally planned, but somehow I lost track of time. The more time in Cape Town I had, the more things piled up on my to-do list and when the day of my departure came, I just couldn't believe I had ever planned to leave even earlier.
Between doing a freelance story and meeting with some friends I still had to say bye to, I suddenly realised I had not even finished packing. Now I only had a few hours left in CPT (how time had flown) I was not so sure if I was ready to leave just yet, but the next morning at 10:00 I was on a Intercape bus, waving goodbye to my dearest best friend Shingi. With tears in my eyes I was departing.
But soon the tears were replaced by excitement, joy and much laughter. After so much drama, stress and postponing, I couldn't believe I was on that bus :).
The trip to Windhoek from CPT felt short and sweet, every scene made me more curious about what was to come next. The weather was lovely, not very hot or very cold, it was just perfect.
The scenery soon got a bit boring, with the same landscape for hours and hours and hours, but I had a book by Ellen G White that kept me busy in between the nice deep cool chats I was having with Jorrit (coolest traveling buddy :)) about our hopes and dreams, who and what we would miss the most back home, and about real and imaginary sheep(s).
All of a sudden we were in Springbok, getting close to the border. As the sun started setting, and the dusty hills were covered in a golden glow, I spent my last South African airtime on my last goodbye-messages.
No matter how beautiful and calming the surreal landscape was, as the border came closer, I got more and more nervous. My childhood border-experiences came back in my mind. Would I finally be able to cross a border smoothly, in a legal manner? With the pre-arranged visa stamp already in my passport, I thought nothing could go wrong anymore, but how wrong I was...
First my visa was delayed, then my Dutch friend whom I was to travel with unexpectedly needed an emergency passport which took another week to be issued. When that was finally done, we had to wait two more days for the next available bus.
So I found myself having more time remaining in Cape Town than I had originally planned, but somehow I lost track of time. The more time in Cape Town I had, the more things piled up on my to-do list and when the day of my departure came, I just couldn't believe I had ever planned to leave even earlier.
Between doing a freelance story and meeting with some friends I still had to say bye to, I suddenly realised I had not even finished packing. Now I only had a few hours left in CPT (how time had flown) I was not so sure if I was ready to leave just yet, but the next morning at 10:00 I was on a Intercape bus, waving goodbye to my dearest best friend Shingi. With tears in my eyes I was departing.
But soon the tears were replaced by excitement, joy and much laughter. After so much drama, stress and postponing, I couldn't believe I was on that bus :).
The trip to Windhoek from CPT felt short and sweet, every scene made me more curious about what was to come next. The weather was lovely, not very hot or very cold, it was just perfect.
The scenery soon got a bit boring, with the same landscape for hours and hours and hours, but I had a book by Ellen G White that kept me busy in between the nice deep cool chats I was having with Jorrit (coolest traveling buddy :)) about our hopes and dreams, who and what we would miss the most back home, and about real and imaginary sheep(s).
All of a sudden we were in Springbok, getting close to the border. As the sun started setting, and the dusty hills were covered in a golden glow, I spent my last South African airtime on my last goodbye-messages.
No matter how beautiful and calming the surreal landscape was, as the border came closer, I got more and more nervous. My childhood border-experiences came back in my mind. Would I finally be able to cross a border smoothly, in a legal manner? With the pre-arranged visa stamp already in my passport, I thought nothing could go wrong anymore, but how wrong I was...
Friday, October 22, 2010
I am not my hair
Lately I have been looking at people's heads on the minibus taxi to work. I have been looking in salons and on the net. All in search for a hairstyle that I can use for my adventure.
A hairstyle that will be simple, modest and above all easy to maintain on no budget. On my trip I will probably be busy enough stressing about a whole lot of other things, having the time of my life and learning so much, so the last thing I want to be worrying about is hair drama. To this day I am still in a dilemma. What to do?
I am a simple girl. I stopped putting damaging chemicals in my hair in 2004 and have been natural ever since. Since then I would just do braids and plaits, or wear my afro. And every time it grew long silly me chopped it off again. Back then I thought my hair just looked nicer when short. And when I let it grow again, the heat of blow-drying would kill it big time, so I did another big chop and enjoyed my TWA again.
But it has now reached the point where my hair is not as short as I would like, but not as long either. It has just been lingering in the land between short and long. I do not feel like cutting it any more, so I am impatiently waiting for it to grow long enough for me to do something new with it.
It has been growing naturally now, without any blow-drying and I have been contemplating on getting locks for the longest time. I even consulted Thandi, my sister loc pro on helping me get them, but now... ummm... am still not so sure. I have already decided on the method of making the locks I would want, but I still have to decide how thick or thin my locks will be, and I just worry that if I lock them now before I go, they might not look so good because my hair is still so short.
Another option I am considering is twisting my hair, just having my hair in twist all the time, but with the option of untwisting it on days when I miss my afro. What's a girl to do? It might seem like such a trivial matter to some, but for a black girl it's not. I am not my hair, but my hair is so difficult. It just does not not give me the option of not doing much about it, or putting little effort into it. So I have to do something. But what?
A hairstyle that will be simple, modest and above all easy to maintain on no budget. On my trip I will probably be busy enough stressing about a whole lot of other things, having the time of my life and learning so much, so the last thing I want to be worrying about is hair drama. To this day I am still in a dilemma. What to do?
I am a simple girl. I stopped putting damaging chemicals in my hair in 2004 and have been natural ever since. Since then I would just do braids and plaits, or wear my afro. And every time it grew long silly me chopped it off again. Back then I thought my hair just looked nicer when short. And when I let it grow again, the heat of blow-drying would kill it big time, so I did another big chop and enjoyed my TWA again.
But it has now reached the point where my hair is not as short as I would like, but not as long either. It has just been lingering in the land between short and long. I do not feel like cutting it any more, so I am impatiently waiting for it to grow long enough for me to do something new with it.
It has been growing naturally now, without any blow-drying and I have been contemplating on getting locks for the longest time. I even consulted Thandi, my sister loc pro on helping me get them, but now... ummm... am still not so sure. I have already decided on the method of making the locks I would want, but I still have to decide how thick or thin my locks will be, and I just worry that if I lock them now before I go, they might not look so good because my hair is still so short.
Another option I am considering is twisting my hair, just having my hair in twist all the time, but with the option of untwisting it on days when I miss my afro. What's a girl to do? It might seem like such a trivial matter to some, but for a black girl it's not. I am not my hair, but my hair is so difficult. It just does not not give me the option of not doing much about it, or putting little effort into it. So I have to do something. But what?
Thursday, September 2, 2010
The life I have / the life I want
I am so excited I just can not contain myself. All I think about is my upcoming trip. Even at night I just sleep thinking, planning and imagining how it's all going to play out.
It's now official: I have resigned from my job. It was such a relief after five years of being confined in an office, behind my computer. It feels like I am setting myself free. I have enjoyed being a graphic designer and am sure I will always design. But for now I want to experience other sides of life.
I want to explore, I want to learn and I want to teach the wonderful truths God has blessed me with. I want to breathe the air of other places and try out different things to survive. I want to watch the sunset in Mozambique, Malawi and wherever else my journey will take me.
I honestly think there is more to life than just sitting in my office corner, designing magazine after magazine full of things I do not even agree with, in an environment that I used to love, but do not like so much any more. Earning money, paying bills and then struggling to get by till the following month. Having a very easy and simple job, but always living in fear of when your boss will just lash out at you.
I do not want that any more. I want a simple life, where I can just live out of my back pack. Where I will not be worrying about buying more things for my flat, earning more and more and spending more and more.
So as I have said before I gave my landlord notice that I will be moving out end of this month, I have told my dad about my plans, and now it's all starting to feel very real. It is finally happening and I am still just as excited as when I got the idea to do this first time around.
I have been busy going sorting out all the things that I still need to sort out before I can go, but most of my plans for the coming months are still vague. I have lots of ideas, but I have not fine-tuned every detail, and I doubt I will have done so on the day I leave. Everything is still open.
Am I not scared? Yes, I am very scared. But I have no doubt in my mind that I must do this, regardless of how it will turn out. I have promised myself never to regret this decision. I have wanted this for so long and now the opportunity has finally come.
Of course I worry about what will happen. What if all my plans will not work out? What if all my things get stolen? What if something bad happens? I have played all kinds of scenarios in my head. But still... I just want to go. I am still young. I have no husband or children to care for yet, so I guess this is just the perfect time. And if I do not do this now, I will just have to live with with no answers. I don't want to live my life just asking: what if...? I hope my journey will answer my question whether there is really more to life. Just stay tuned to find out...
Right now I am trying to figure which route I should take from here. I will be going to Zambia first. Through Namibia? Zimbabwe? Botswana? I'm not sure yet. But I will keep you posted about what I decide.
Please say a prayer for me as I plan and prepare further for this journey. That the Lord will teach me and reform me and that this journey will help me attain a character that is good, pure and noble. I have been praying about it a lot. And no matter how much I worry, it's just awesome and reassuring to know that no matter what may happen, God will be with me. Every step of the way.
It's now official: I have resigned from my job. It was such a relief after five years of being confined in an office, behind my computer. It feels like I am setting myself free. I have enjoyed being a graphic designer and am sure I will always design. But for now I want to experience other sides of life.
I want to explore, I want to learn and I want to teach the wonderful truths God has blessed me with. I want to breathe the air of other places and try out different things to survive. I want to watch the sunset in Mozambique, Malawi and wherever else my journey will take me.
I honestly think there is more to life than just sitting in my office corner, designing magazine after magazine full of things I do not even agree with, in an environment that I used to love, but do not like so much any more. Earning money, paying bills and then struggling to get by till the following month. Having a very easy and simple job, but always living in fear of when your boss will just lash out at you.
I do not want that any more. I want a simple life, where I can just live out of my back pack. Where I will not be worrying about buying more things for my flat, earning more and more and spending more and more.
So as I have said before I gave my landlord notice that I will be moving out end of this month, I have told my dad about my plans, and now it's all starting to feel very real. It is finally happening and I am still just as excited as when I got the idea to do this first time around.
I have been busy going sorting out all the things that I still need to sort out before I can go, but most of my plans for the coming months are still vague. I have lots of ideas, but I have not fine-tuned every detail, and I doubt I will have done so on the day I leave. Everything is still open.
Am I not scared? Yes, I am very scared. But I have no doubt in my mind that I must do this, regardless of how it will turn out. I have promised myself never to regret this decision. I have wanted this for so long and now the opportunity has finally come.
Of course I worry about what will happen. What if all my plans will not work out? What if all my things get stolen? What if something bad happens? I have played all kinds of scenarios in my head. But still... I just want to go. I am still young. I have no husband or children to care for yet, so I guess this is just the perfect time. And if I do not do this now, I will just have to live with with no answers. I don't want to live my life just asking: what if...? I hope my journey will answer my question whether there is really more to life. Just stay tuned to find out...
Right now I am trying to figure which route I should take from here. I will be going to Zambia first. Through Namibia? Zimbabwe? Botswana? I'm not sure yet. But I will keep you posted about what I decide.
Please say a prayer for me as I plan and prepare further for this journey. That the Lord will teach me and reform me and that this journey will help me attain a character that is good, pure and noble. I have been praying about it a lot. And no matter how much I worry, it's just awesome and reassuring to know that no matter what may happen, God will be with me. Every step of the way.
Monday, August 2, 2010
How to tell my dad
Now I had finally made up my mind, I still needed to make up other people's minds about my decision. Friends, colleagues and family, I slowly had to start telling them about my plans to leave Cape Town. Most of the people I told so far responded positively and were excited for me. Others did not seem to understand my choice at all. How could I just leave my comfortable life and the security of my job, to go on this journey, not even knowing where it will lead?
Now October is quickly coming closer, I remained with one more very special person in my life, who I had not told anything yet. I was not in a hurry to tell him. To be honest, I was even a bit scared of what he would think. That very special person is my dad.
My dad, my earthly father, is not a saint. He has his weakness, but he is one of the few men I admire most in the whole world. My father is not a pastor or a head elder, but I admire and respect him so much. He is not a professor or a lecturer, but he is my favourite teacher. I do not always agree with the decisions he makes, but I believe with my whole heart that he always has the best intentions.
He is a man of strength. My brother calls him a hustler, but I just think he is a man with deep love for his family, who would do anything to make sure we survive and are ok. He hardly tells us that he loves us, but through his actions we all know he does.
With no formal qualifications or masters degrees, he has been able to support us against all odds. When war took away everything he had worked hard for, and most men in the same situation gave up on life and on their loved ones, he went on living and giving. Life was often not good to him, but to us he managed to make things seem like a bed of roses most of the time. He just made us all feel safe, regardless of the fact that he knew not where our next meal would come from.
There was a time when he only earned R200, but he still managed to support a family of 9. Not even once did I hear him say we were too many for him to look after, or that he did not want to do it any longer. Not only did he feed us and put a roof over our heads, he also managed as much as he could to educate us, or rather find means and people to help educate us.
When no other members of our clan were able to look after the orphans in the family, he took them under his wings, and treated us like his own. After my own biological father passed away he allowed me to call him my father and he treated me like his own daughter. I love him for allowing me to be blessed like this and giving me the privilege of having an earthly father.
I really could not have asked for a better one. He taught me how to give, even when I did not know how. He taught me and my siblings to be survivors. I am where I am now because of my heavenly Father, but also because of my earthly father. I am so grateful to him, whenever I think of all he sacrificed and went through, just so that we could all eat and have bread in the morning, it almost brings tears to my eyes.
In my culture we hardly tell our parents how much we love them, or maybe it's just my family, but even though I don't hug and kiss my father and tell him I love him, I really do. And I hope some day soon I will gather the courage to sms him and say: love you dad. Eish, I really don't know how, but I will try. I hope he lives long enough for me to have the pleasure of introducing him to my children and grandchildren one day.
Last week, I finally gathered the courage to tell him about my plans. I remembered how he once told me that travelling helps one become open minded, and hoped he would still feel the same way about that now. At an unexpected opportunity, I told him straightforward, almost as if it was a casual thing. Dad, I will quit my job and go work in Zambia. And.... he agreed. He did not say a great deal on it yet, but he also did not say anything to stop me. He was supportive rather, exactly like I had hoped.
I am sure he must have thought: mmm... this girl... But I hope he can be proud of me for doing this later. I have never really wanted to become rich at any stage of my life, but my dream is to one day have enough money to buy my old man a nice car and a home. I do not see that happening any time soon, but well... a girl will keep dreaming. :)
I know it is not father's day, but who ever said we should only love and appreciate our old man on father's day? This post is for you dad.
Loads of love,
Your daughter
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
My first blog
Having grown up as a refugee girl, all we ever did was move. Move from home to home, from school to school, province to province and country to country. I was never really that excited about it most of the times, because everytime I moved, I had to leave my friends again and start over.
Sometimes we were moving to better conditions, but still, with each country we moved to, we had to learn a new culture and new languages. We had to fit in. Social circumstances never allowed us to get comfortable in any environment. The need for better education, living standards and more security kept us on the move. It was never really up to me where we were going, or if I wanted to travel.
Now I am 22 and we have finally settled, but I feel like my journey is not over. That's why I am about to embark on one of the most important journeys of my life. And unlike before, it's all up to me. I am controlling the current that my boat will flow on. I am not running away from war, or moving because my dad has lost his job, or because South Africa is kicking me out.
I will be travelling to Mozambique, Malawi and Zambia. And just like before I do not really know how things will turn out. I am not sure where this journey will take me, but I am excited about it and embracing it. So I have not renewed my house lease for after October and at the beginning of September I will be handing in my resignation letter with a month's notice. I will be quitting my job, packing my bags and doing what I do best: move.
That's why I am starting this blog. I am hoping this will be the first of many blogs to come, where I will share my journey. I have a few projects I am hoping to do, but mostly I just plan to live, help, cry empathise, blog, do some mission work and most importantly learn and survive.
I am not a very good writer so ya’all will have to bear with me. I also hardly write, so this is a big step for me and hopefully this blog will help me, or rather force me, to pen my thoughts and share with those who will get hold of it. I hope it will be educational, a blessing and a nice rollercoaster ride for both u and me.
So sit back and enjoy!
Sometimes we were moving to better conditions, but still, with each country we moved to, we had to learn a new culture and new languages. We had to fit in. Social circumstances never allowed us to get comfortable in any environment. The need for better education, living standards and more security kept us on the move. It was never really up to me where we were going, or if I wanted to travel.
Now I am 22 and we have finally settled, but I feel like my journey is not over. That's why I am about to embark on one of the most important journeys of my life. And unlike before, it's all up to me. I am controlling the current that my boat will flow on. I am not running away from war, or moving because my dad has lost his job, or because South Africa is kicking me out.
I will be travelling to Mozambique, Malawi and Zambia. And just like before I do not really know how things will turn out. I am not sure where this journey will take me, but I am excited about it and embracing it. So I have not renewed my house lease for after October and at the beginning of September I will be handing in my resignation letter with a month's notice. I will be quitting my job, packing my bags and doing what I do best: move.
That's why I am starting this blog. I am hoping this will be the first of many blogs to come, where I will share my journey. I have a few projects I am hoping to do, but mostly I just plan to live, help, cry empathise, blog, do some mission work and most importantly learn and survive.
I am not a very good writer so ya’all will have to bear with me. I also hardly write, so this is a big step for me and hopefully this blog will help me, or rather force me, to pen my thoughts and share with those who will get hold of it. I hope it will be educational, a blessing and a nice rollercoaster ride for both u and me.
So sit back and enjoy!
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