One Last Stop - South Africa

It's embarrassing that it has taken me 3 years to finally pen the layover I had in JoBurg before returning to the US from Rwanda. I guess, in some ways, I had forgotten that it was a task on my to-do list. I think it also took a while for me to revisit my blog from such a painful memory.

So I had a 5-hour layover in JoBurg, where I had to leave the airport terminal and go through customs in order to reclaim my bags and re-check them at the airline's kiosk. I recall being overwhelmed at how big and shiny and fresh the airport looked, as I wandered around with my bags.

A porter came over to me and offered to help me bring over my bags to the kiosk - I gratefully accepted his help. I had mentioned I had a healthy amount of a layover, and that I was not looking forward to waiting in the airport a long time, He insisted that he get one of his friends to drive me around the city in his cab before my flight. I was hesitant, but he was persistent. I wasn't able to voice a decline, which was taken as an acceptance.

Okay, this was a pretty stupid move. I knew it as soon as I hesitated to say, "Absolutely not." I knew the stories about JoBurg's crime and racial divide. I grew up being told to say "NO!" to strangers. But I was feeling really reckless at the time in my life, and I was curious.

After dropping off my bags with the airline again, we went down an escalator towards a pleasant old man waiting around in a knitted sweater. He looked like a black Mister Rogers, if you know what I meant. Friendly - elderly - harmless.

And yet I knew that I shouldn't go with him because of the risks. Instead of saying, "Thanks, but no thanks", I told the porter that neither of them were going to get paid for their services unless I got back to the airport by a very specific time, and I instructed the porter to call us on the hour, every hour, while I was out of the airport. They accepted this. And I followed the old man to his car.

Driving around JoBurg's outskirts, it became very clear to me just how developed South Africa really is...compared to Rwanda, at least. It looked like the industrial MidWest of the US, during autumn (it was autumn, after all). There were houses with big protective walls surrounding them, and strip malls, and traffic jams. I was regretting leaving the airport, and started incessantly asking for the time and reminding the old man when I needed to be back by. He patiently nodded as he continued pointing out interesting cultural and historical places we drove past.

He took me over to Sandton so I could see the Nelson Mandela Square and perhaps enjoy something to drink at one of the outside shops. I could not get past the clean and developed community surrounding me, with people casually shopping in the stores and talking to each other on the phones. I hadn't seen such "normalcy" in months, and got emotional in front of the Mandela statue. People might have thought I was moved by the large statue in front of me...but it was something simpler than that.

Finally, the guy had heard enough of my repeat airport reminders, and packed me back into the car. For a Mister Rogers kind of guy, this guy was cursing in Zulu (his native language) and speeding as quickly as he could while weaving between cars...all to get me back to the airport.

Thankfully I got back to the airport well before my requested time, and both guys got paid, as promised. And my adventure was over.

I shopped and ate solemnly in the massive, wealthy airport.

Rwanda: Final Words

I'll try to keep this brief.

The last week has been a rollercoasters of lows, some not-so-lows, and even lowers. I don't really want to get into the nasty, confusing details, so I won't. Let's just say it has been tumultuous, confusing, and cry-inducing, and I'd rather focus on more pleasant thoughts.

My last days at work were alright. They were steeped in my own emotional turmoil, but I was fortunate to find the love and comfort of my former colleagues, who braved through the storm with me as much as they could.

I bartended at the Dutch Embassy's Residency in Kigali on Queen's Day for a friend's catering company. I came donned in my little bartending outfit, and my students joined me in what was our first and last time working together as a work team. They did pretty well, considering. And the party was good, but I have to admit...the Dutch folks who came were rude and a bit overbearing. And especially when they had thrown back a handful of beers and/or wines and/or whatever. I was shocked by some of their behavior by the end of the night, and we had to really put our foot down and say, "Knock it off!" to them. I felt like riot control on tap - they wouldn't let us pack up after the party ended!