One Day to Go

Here I sit, the day before I leave South Africa, and I am a complete mess of emotions. It was only 138 days ago that I was feeling these exact same emotions about leaving the United States.

This experience is one that I cannot even begin to put into words. Since I've been here, I've learned so much about myself, the world, and the way I fit into it. I've found my home, my heart, and grown my passion in ways I never anticipated. Each place I spent time, from Robben Island to Hermanus to the Cape Flats, has taught me something. I've learned to slow down. I've learned to appreciate what I've been given. I've learned to find joy in everything.

I'm scared to leave. I have assimilated into South African life and it's difficult to remember how to function in the US. I think back to the initial culture shock I dealt with when I arrived here and I am anticipating the same when I get home. At least I'm a little more prepared this time.

One thing I am really going to miss is the weather. The crazy snow and blizzards lately in Washington will be a drastic change from the gorgeous 100 degree African summer I've been experiencing. I have developed a tan like I've never had, and it will surely wither away quickly after I get home. I'll miss that.

I know I'm all over the place in this post, but the reason is that I feel so disjointed. I'm nervous about leaving. I'm nervous about being home. I'm nervous about not knowing what to do next. Africa has changed so much in me and I'm anxious to see how that affects the ways in which I understand my surroundings.

Despite all of this, I cannot wait to see my family and friends at home. Even though I know I belong in Africa, I also know I belong with Shannon and our little family and I am excited to be back with them.

KLJ

Dearest Kelsey,

It’s taken me a while to write this letter. I’m not even quite sure where to begin.

The more time I spend in this amazing place, the more I realize that this trip has been bringing me closer to you. You would have loved all of the adventures I’ve gone on. The cheetahs especially, but more than that. You would have loved Africa, at least what I’ve experienced of it. I want to show you so many things here.

There are so many bugs here, big exotic ones. I saw a massive four or five inch caterpillar the other day. It was definitely a Kelsey kind of caterpillar. I’d never seen one quite so big before. I wish you were there. That was the same day I went to see the cheetahs, which I did for you. They were beautiful. Big and majestic. Just like you. I felt you next to me that day. Sitting in there with Enigma. Were you petting him, too? I hope so.

You were the kind of girl that held a special place in her heart for all things wild, and I think you would have been a woman with a passion for the beauty of wildlife. I’m certain you and I would have shared a passion for Africa, and the more I ruminate on that, the more assured of it I grow. There is an entirely different life force here that has wrapped around me like a comforting blanket, and I can sense that it would have been the right fit for you too.

I knew this trip would be a lot of things for me. I also knew that I couldn’t know what those things were until they happened. It’s turned out that it has become a time for me to learn about different outlooks on life. I’ve had a chance to exist in a slower pace. I’ve learned about who I am as a friend and the strength I possess as a woman. But one of the things I never expected was to feel you here so strongly. You are almost everywhere I go here.

I’m still unpacking what that means. Was that part of why I was pulled here? What am I supposed to learn from this; from your presence here? Am I getting to know you better? Am I preparing to finally let go? Why are we here together? Did I bring you here or did I find you here?

I think you are a big reason why I am reluctant to leave. I’ve felt closer to you here than I have ever before. I’m afraid to lose that. I’m afraid to lose the new relationship I’ve built with you. But I’m also afraid that I’m supposed to leave you here. You belong here, Kelsey.

I love you and it breaks my heart every day that you were taken away. But I really hope that you’ve found peace.

Goodnight, my Angel, now it’s time to sleep.
Always, Sam

One Soul, Two Cultures

In my final two-and-a-half weeks, it is finally beginning to settle in that I have to leave my home. Over the last 120 days, I have been eagerly counting down the time until I could return to my fiancée and our furry family. But now, those days are gone. Of course, I am excited to return to my family and friends, but when it comes to the life and home I have built here in beautiful South Africa, I am anything but.

When I first arrived in Stellenbosch, there were many things that were wildly exotic and quintessentially African, like the gorgeous intertwining trees that are ubiquitous in this country. The masses of wild Birds of Paradise were charming and unwilling to let me forget that I was, indeed, not in Kansas anymore. Sights that, in America, people pay good money to see, such as a herd of zebras or water buffalo, or a flock of ostriches that originally enticed me to draw out my camera have since become commonplace. All of these things that were new and foreign have become part of the everyday and it takes effort to picture my life without them. Along with the sights that I am now accustomed to are simple ways of life that I am beginning to realize are not compliant with American social norms. One of the things I have come to love is the freedom to go barefoot wherever I am. “No shoes, no shirt, no service” doesn’t exist in South Africa, and I openly celebrate that.

The first day I went barefoot was a handful of weeks into the semester. I was walking to class on a bright, warm day in my flip-flops. I had noticed, in the past, many guys sans footwear, but I had recently spotted a girl without shoes and I was excited to test the waters. I confidently pulled my sandals off my feet and stowed them in my bag. The rest of the walk to class felt much like a primary school student getting to wear her favorite new school clothes in public. I was positively gleeful.

On Halloween, during my terribly exciting walk through Cape Town dressed as a zombie, we came upon a gaggle of tourists. Of all the things to be concerned with- the mess of blood dripping from our mouths, our ripped, stained clothes, the awkward limp accompanying our gaits- they looked at us with unsure eyes and asked, “Why aren’t you wearing shoes?”

Just tonight, I made my umpteenth all-too-routine trip to Tapas. Each step of the walk down the two flights of stairs, down the two halls, over the ant-filled sidewalk crack, out of the Concordia stronghold, out to the Academia parking lot and through to the little snack shop was made with bare feet.

This is so normal to me now. Going to class, going to the library, going for food can not only be done without shoes, but also without regard, and I don’t want it any other way.

Another of the things that are now ordinary to me is the absolute diversity of the country. While it is true that Stellenbosch is a very conservative place and, by correlation, non-diverse by African standards, by American standards, it is exceptionally diverse. If I go a day without hearing at least 5 languages, something is wrong. If I don’t struggle with the pronunciation of at least two of the words I am reading, I’m not paying enough attention. I’ve learned at least 12 different ways to say a single English word correctly. I hear clicks during conversations and think nothing of it. I am greeted by smiling faces of every color imaginable every day and I don’t want it any other way.

Being back in the United States is going to be difficult. I’m no longer solely American, though I’d argue I never was. I have become a beautiful cultural hybrid, fluent in dollars and rand, in Celsius and Fahrenheit, in sakkies and bags. I am part South African now and as it finally settles in that I have to leave my home, I am anything but eager.