Twinkle

It was one of those evenings where everything that I'm going to remember about the day happened in about 45 minutes. And within those 45 minutes everything looked beautiful, the mountains were a little sharper, I breathed a little deeper, I made my supper a little slower, and standing outside my room with all the lights off and the stars twinkling above (with the moon half full) I talked to the universe, talked to all that is bigger than I am. I leaned my head back, closed my eyes, and let everything out. I teared up, felt everything cut pretty deep, opened my eyes, and rattled off a short monologue to the silhouettes of the mountains about how I was eternally grateful for everything; what I've seen and done, what is to come. To think we're all so small, just little dots on this Earth, and sometimes things that we experience, we see, feel so big, immense, shaking. It's times like tonight that I want to store away in my memory, in my heart, wherever they're easily retrievable, so I can pull them out when I need a reminder... a little boost... or maybe, I should say, something that will bring me back down, connect and ground me to the bigger picture. So that's what I did, I wrote everything I was thinking in my journal, I committed what I could to memory, and then I took out my colored pencils and the plainest piece of paper I could find and wrote THANK YOU FOR THIS LIFE. I got the gummy, sticky, tacky stuff that I use to put up everything on my wall (it even works to plug up leaks in a tin roof... trust me I've tried it!) and I put it up on the side of one of my new shelves, right at the end of the bed, so when I wake up in the morning, that's the first thing I'll see when I open my eyes.

Striking

It's striking. I went to visit a couple of other volunteers this past weekend. Good ol South Africa had public holidays on monday, thursday, and friday of last week. Sweet! I left last Thursday and managed to make it to my friend Keri's for the night in about 51/2 hours and 6 taxis. I love it. I love the feeling I get when I board a taxi, we wait for it to fill up, I buy an avocado to eat in the mean time, we pay, and then the koombi starts off towards the next taxi rank. I love being squished next to people. I love hearing the music (one driver even put his memory stick into the stereo and played mp3's... I was fascinated). I love trusting myself enough to venture across the province, across South Africa. I love looking around sort of lost, maybe confused, and having someone offer help, answering my question, giving me directions. So I went to Keri's, spent the night, went to Abby's (2 more taxis away) the next day... spent the whole weekend hiking, keeping warm and dry (it was cold and rainy), talking, eating, and watching movies. Then Monday... started the whole process again, in reverse. On taxi number 5 or so of my journey I sat all the way in the corner, the 4th seat, next to a guy who introduced himself as Numbuso. He asked the usual questions... where I was from, what I was doing here, etc., but in a different way than usual. I could tell he was truly interested. He asked questions that referred to my answers. Asked how I felt about being in South Africa. Was I missing home? Was I scared riding on the black taxis? Did I like it here? He said he expected it was hard. (it's always so nice to hear that... ) I told him it helped to meet nice people who were willing to help me. That I wasn't scared. And then... right before the taxi turned into the rank he looked me straight in the eyes and said, "Mmapula, God has a plan for you, you'll be ok." I was kind of stunned, taken aback. I thanked him, but felt like that wasn't enough. How do you thank someone enough for giving you air? Allowing you to breathe a little easier? The last months and weeks I've been on the ups and downs. I'm riding them out, but it's exhausting and sometimes I feel so low I'm not sure how to drag myself back up. The little things help, but sometimes they're not enough motivation. We got out of the taxi, him holding my backpack while I made my way through to the side door, and we parted ways in front of a taxi he was supposed to be taking. Sepela Gabotse. I walked to catch my next taxi, found I was in the wrong rank for long distance trips, and turned around to head in the right direction. It was seconds I know, but Numbuso was gone. He was there, we shared this taxi ride, he gave me the push, and then he was gone. It works out that way a lot. I have a list of people I keep in my head. A list of people who have crossed my path just when I needed some sort of sign, but only stayed as long as they needed to. It's funny. They have no idea how I remember them, or if I do. I do though. I remember them very well.