There is no cohesive way to talk about the notable yet random highlights of the past week or so. Thus, writing this blog reminds me of when my stepmom, Mel, makes smoothies. You throw in a whole lot of edible matter that has been lying around the kitchen, and if it tastes good—great! If it doesn’t, I still have another week here to try to knock out a stellar piece of literature. The smoothie analogy makes me realize how much I am ready to go home. Granted, I absolutely love working at both the daycare and the hospital and cannot fathom leaving the beautiful children. I found out that at a CCS meeting today the head office of the entire Home From Home organization had good things to say about me—I didn’t even know they knew who I existed because I only work in the daycare! However, the strain of living in such close proximity with a lot people at the CCS home base is definitely starting to show, especially since I’m perfectly content to live in my own thoughts much of the time. We have also had an unusually large share of house drama since I got here, like the favorite driver getting dismissed as well as a not-so-favorite volunteer, and an issue of some people keeping alcohol in the house, which is halaal because of the many Muslim staff members. I also feel like I have done everything I want to do and can feasibly do in Cape Town with my budget and time frame, particularly with completing the world’s highest abseil today. This requires a story.
I knew this afternoon would be interesting just from the demographics of the group. With whom does one go abseiling, other than two other college-aged girls and Raphael, the good-humored, middle-aged man from Haiti who lives in New Jersey? We rode the cable car up to the top of Table Mountain, ears popping all the way, and met up with the Abseil Africa staff for the experience their website calls “Dope on a Rope”. As I learned, abseiling is the same as rappelling, comes from German (ab=down, seil=rope), and was first done by early adventurers in the Alps. Essentially, one walks down a rock face, perpendicular to the ground. After signing our lives away (I thought White Shark adventures already owned my soul) and receiving harnesses, helmets, gloves, and a safety briefing, we hiked out to the edge. The staff was cracking jokes the whole time we were setting up, but for the first time since planning this excursion I felt my stomach coil like a python and my heart start to pound. My friend Kala, who had abseiled before, and I opted to go first. They had us lean off the ledge to take our picture, told us there was a surprise halfway down, and then it was go-time. After the first couple of steps, I peered over my shoulder to see the water of beautiful Camps Bay winking sparkles at me, as if to say, “Don’t look down!” A thousand-meter drop is not something to be trifled with. Because of my indoor rock-climbing experience, thanks to 7th grade PE class (some things you learn in middle school are useful), everything was going pretty well with intense concentration until suddenly we stumbled upon The Surprise. In reality, we didn’t actually stumble on anything because there was nothing there upon which to stumble. The side of the mountain cut in sharply and completely gave way to open space. Now, I’m not one to curse but you can be sure I was shrieking things I wouldn’t say in a job interview. Kala and I realized the only thing to do was to essentially freefall and try to control our speed as much as possible. After accepting this, I was much more at ease. I accidentally spun around to face the ocean and spent the rest of the way absorbing the natural beauty I will miss so much and singing Eye of the Tiger. Seemed reasonable at the time. After we finally touched glorious, glorious ground, I was giddy with adrenaline and certain that I want to do this again somewhere in the world. We watched as Kelsie and Raphael made their way down the mountain a bit more clumsily, with Raphael even tangling himself up in Kelsie’s rope, and chuckled knowingly when they also discovered the biggest surprise I think I’ve ever had. When everyone was finally 112 meters lower than when we started, we expected our guided hike back to the top, which ended up being a lackluster “Go that way, you’ll find it,” from the staff member at the bottom. After more than 20 minutes of scrambling over rocks and many allusions to the Donner Party, we arrived back on top of the giant table. My opinion is that abseiling is more of an extreme sport than skydiving or bungee jumping because it’s also cognitively extreme. With the other two, you essentially let yourself go and let gravity take over. Today, I felt I had to suppress my mind’s instinct to blank out because you have to be conscious of placing every step and regulating your speed down the mountain. I have never considered myself an “extreme sports” person, but I can definitely see myself doing this again. Heck, especially since every other one in the world is smaller.
11/30/11, 6:03 p.m.
I’m back after intermission. I just found out today that my friend Ariana and I are in a huge picture together in the Athlone News from the march on Friday! Friday was the first day of an international campaign against domestic violence that’s particularly prominent here called “16 Days of Activism.” A Salvation Army women’s shelter, Carehaven, organized the march along with CCS, so all the volunteers participated in a workshop about a month ago discussing abuse with women from various shelters and painting signs to hold during the march. When November 26th finally arrived, I donned the official garb of a march marshal, which was a neon green penny about two sizes too big, and grabbed my sign and a vuvuzela. The march kicked off from Carehaven and wound through the streets of the Athlone neighborhood before arriving at a field where there were speakers, performances from a primary school, and facepainting done by some other CCS volunteers and me. The march itself was a bit awkward because they were hoping for a turnout of 1,000, expecting 500, and then ended up greeting about 100 at Carehaven. Plus, the police band never showed up, and we were chanting and making all kinds of noise but the streets seemed deserted. In the end, regardless of what passerby’s beliefs we may have influenced that day, I think it was an important event for the women themselves. Sometimes it’s good to shout what you feel but are usually afraid to say, even if it falls on deaf buildings. “Genoeg is genoeg! Enough is enough! Hands off our women and children! Break the silence, stop the violence!”
I know I promised an obscure medley in this blog, which is why I want to end with Thanksgiving last Thursday night. There are simply some holidays that shouldn’t be attempted in other countries. Usually the CCS tradition is that the volunteers get a chance to cook by making a traditional turkey dinner, but after a food fight in the kitchen last year the staff decided to ask a restaurant to attempt Thanksgiving. A few of us did get to make pumpkin pie, though, and a volunteer even made vegan stuffing! Although I hadn’t seen turkey here at all before that night, there was indeed turkey, as well as green beans and mashed potatoes. The climate in South Africa isn’t really conducive to the presence of bogs, so cranberry sauce’s esteemed place was usurped by a wine sauce. Nice try. Interestingly enough, the most memorable part had nothing to do with the food. The CCS director asked me to come up with Thanksgiving decorations, so a few days beforehand I cut out a rakeful of fall colored paper leaves with “I am thankful for…” written on them and stuck them in everyone’s notice pouches—volunteers and staff alike. I was surprised that much of the staff took it very seriously, and there were some pretty striking responses. I would never think to write that I’m thankful “for my family members who are still alive,” even though I certainly am.
I guess there is a spine running through and supporting this blog—gratitude. I’m thankful for the opportunity to see sights, do things, and think thoughts that would not have crossed my path had my life gone on the trajectory set for me ages ago. I’ll be relieved when I touch ground in Philadelphia next Saturday, but my experience in Cape Town will forever be an important part of who I am.
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