South Africa-Getting there
Overnight on Friday, my water went out. Thanks to the weird functioning of my geyser, I was able to use the water stored there to bathe and flush my toilet and wash up my dishes and all that kind of thing. I was a little concerned that it was a billing problem or something, but when I saw people from all over the neighbourhood trekking to the nearest borehole with buckets on their heads or in wheelbarrows, I knew it was a Water Board problem. So, in the morning I left, hoping that the water would be back in time for Moses to feed the dogs that evening, as I hadn’t anticipated having water trouble and the geyser was running pretty low.
On the plane, David and I sat across the aisle from each other, seat dancing, bouncing, and quietly chanting, “We’re going to Cape Town! We’re going to Cape Town!” Occasionally I’d tap David on the shoulder and say, “There will be electricity all day, every day in Cape Town!*” or “There will be water in Cape Town!” Occasionally he’d tap me on the shoulder and say, “There will be good cheese in Cape Town!” Each of these proclamations inspired another round of bouncing or seat dancing.
We discussed whether we were going to experience culture shock, being in a “first-world” city after so long. We spent a lot of time discussing the food we were going to eat and when and how often. We took advantage of the layover in Johannesburg to go to the vodacom shop and hire sim cards for our phones**-a brilliant idea I think should take off other places as well.
Flying in to Cape Town, we were like country cousins on their first plane ride. Our aisle mates must have thought we were crazy; we ooohed over the actual streets having actual lights instead of just being illuminated by the cars on them; we aaahed over the buildings more than four stories tall. Our luggage arrived with us-always a miracle when you have a connection in Jo’burg-and we found out from the guy driving the hostel shuttle that we were lucky because one of the airlines had lost the luggage of an entire flight earlier that day.
The driving speeds on the freeways took a little getting used to: I kept expecting a goat or a small child or a bicyclist or some chickens to dart out amongst the lanes of racing traffic, and it made me a bit anxious. There was a guy standing on the divider between the lanes bound for Cape Town and those heading toward Somerset West, which was a little odd, but other than that there was nothing on the freeway except the vehicles that were meant to be there.
We arrived at Long Street Backpackers, which was a busy and a little crazy, what with the bar already being quite active. One of the owners gave us a little tour, and we both found ourselves mentioning that we live in Malawi quite a bit. Part of it was apologizing that what we wanted to get information on first was not anything of great cultural import, but rather, “How do we get to the mall?” “Where’s the nearest movie theater?” “Where can we get sushi?” (Turns out, the answer to all of those questions was, “walk 10 minutes to the Waterfront”)
If you ever go to Cape Town and want to stay in the thick of things on the cheap, I really recommend Long Street Backpackers. I’ve had more comfortable and less shoogley bunks (I’ve also had less comfortable and more shoogley bunks, and not just in Malawi), and there aren’t quite enough bathrooms, but it’s got spirit and it is close to everything. Also, a big deal is made out of respecting that some people have to get up early in the morning, and so it gets pretty quiet after midnight, except in the designated loud areas. It makes a huge difference, though, whether you’re in the front of the building, near the balconies that people go to after midnight. When we got there we were in the back rooms, and it was quiet enough for uninterrupted sleep. When we came back after going to the Winelands, we were near the balconies and the noise from the street outside never let up until the wee hours of the morning.
We met one of the people sharing our room-a Dutch guy on his gap year, whose name I don’t remember. We told him how we came from Malawi and he was impressed or astounded or something. He kept on saying, wow, that must be hard and the things of that nature. He asked us how long it took us to get to Cape Town. Blantyre is only a 2-hour flight from Jo’burg, and Zomba is only about 60km from Blantyre, but we left at 7:30am for our 1:30pm flight because what with the 4 minibuses it usually takes to get to Blantyre when you can’t get a hitch, we wanted to leave some time for things like running out of petrol and the like. I was laughing as I described this, and about the water going out, and other funny Malawi stories. The Dutch guy was just scandalized, saying repeatedly how impressive it is that we’re spending Two. Whole. Years. here and how difficult it must be to live in Malawi and how happy we must be to finally be in civilization***.
I wanted to throttle him. How dare he talk about Malawi that way? I felt like Malawi’s older sister, perfectly willing to tease and rag on my younger sibling and probably meaning at least half of what I say, but by god if someone else says the same things, I will kick their ass. I tried to give allowances for him being young and stupid, but it was still really hard not to hate the kid for trying to be sympathetic but succeeding only at insulting my home, temporary though it may be.
Instead of beating the guy up, though, I decided maybe I was just tired and went to bed. Well, after I cleaned up the beer the other roommate spilled on my bun because he was drunk enough to think that a top bunk was a good place to rest a beer bottle.
*Turns out there’s been a lot of power cuts in Cape Town lately, although we were lucky enough not to experience any.
**This was the start of my credit card (Capital One) giving me trouble. Again. I had called, at my own expense, to tell them I was going to Cape Town. They had no record of it. My mom is my power of attorney, and as such, they should have listened to her when she said that I am in South Africa. Just like they should have listened to her when I was in Tanzania; but they didn’t either time. This time they made no record of having called my mom or having talked to her. They also removed any record of me living in Malawi. I have had my account frozen every time I go to a new country, regardless of how much information I provide them with beforehand. When I ask how they mean to fix the situation, they tell me I need to notify them, but that notifying them doesn’t guarantee anything. They also refused to reimburse me for the international calls I had to make to sort out their mistakes. If I had a real job, I’d be getting a new credit card, their customer service has been so bad. And they’ve left me stranded in countries I no longer wanted to be in more than once, and yet don’t seem to get how that’s a problem, because they’re just “protecting” my accounts.
***I really hate that word, civilization. Because what is some place that isn’t civilization? Savage-land? And what are the people who don’t live in civilization? Semi-modern Neanderthals? It’s condescending, and even worse than that, to my language geek brain, it’s inaccurate.
On the plane, David and I sat across the aisle from each other, seat dancing, bouncing, and quietly chanting, “We’re going to Cape Town! We’re going to Cape Town!” Occasionally I’d tap David on the shoulder and say, “There will be electricity all day, every day in Cape Town!*” or “There will be water in Cape Town!” Occasionally he’d tap me on the shoulder and say, “There will be good cheese in Cape Town!” Each of these proclamations inspired another round of bouncing or seat dancing.
We discussed whether we were going to experience culture shock, being in a “first-world” city after so long. We spent a lot of time discussing the food we were going to eat and when and how often. We took advantage of the layover in Johannesburg to go to the vodacom shop and hire sim cards for our phones**-a brilliant idea I think should take off other places as well.
Flying in to Cape Town, we were like country cousins on their first plane ride. Our aisle mates must have thought we were crazy; we ooohed over the actual streets having actual lights instead of just being illuminated by the cars on them; we aaahed over the buildings more than four stories tall. Our luggage arrived with us-always a miracle when you have a connection in Jo’burg-and we found out from the guy driving the hostel shuttle that we were lucky because one of the airlines had lost the luggage of an entire flight earlier that day.
The driving speeds on the freeways took a little getting used to: I kept expecting a goat or a small child or a bicyclist or some chickens to dart out amongst the lanes of racing traffic, and it made me a bit anxious. There was a guy standing on the divider between the lanes bound for Cape Town and those heading toward Somerset West, which was a little odd, but other than that there was nothing on the freeway except the vehicles that were meant to be there.
We arrived at Long Street Backpackers, which was a busy and a little crazy, what with the bar already being quite active. One of the owners gave us a little tour, and we both found ourselves mentioning that we live in Malawi quite a bit. Part of it was apologizing that what we wanted to get information on first was not anything of great cultural import, but rather, “How do we get to the mall?” “Where’s the nearest movie theater?” “Where can we get sushi?” (Turns out, the answer to all of those questions was, “walk 10 minutes to the Waterfront”)
If you ever go to Cape Town and want to stay in the thick of things on the cheap, I really recommend Long Street Backpackers. I’ve had more comfortable and less shoogley bunks (I’ve also had less comfortable and more shoogley bunks, and not just in Malawi), and there aren’t quite enough bathrooms, but it’s got spirit and it is close to everything. Also, a big deal is made out of respecting that some people have to get up early in the morning, and so it gets pretty quiet after midnight, except in the designated loud areas. It makes a huge difference, though, whether you’re in the front of the building, near the balconies that people go to after midnight. When we got there we were in the back rooms, and it was quiet enough for uninterrupted sleep. When we came back after going to the Winelands, we were near the balconies and the noise from the street outside never let up until the wee hours of the morning.
We met one of the people sharing our room-a Dutch guy on his gap year, whose name I don’t remember. We told him how we came from Malawi and he was impressed or astounded or something. He kept on saying, wow, that must be hard and the things of that nature. He asked us how long it took us to get to Cape Town. Blantyre is only a 2-hour flight from Jo’burg, and Zomba is only about 60km from Blantyre, but we left at 7:30am for our 1:30pm flight because what with the 4 minibuses it usually takes to get to Blantyre when you can’t get a hitch, we wanted to leave some time for things like running out of petrol and the like. I was laughing as I described this, and about the water going out, and other funny Malawi stories. The Dutch guy was just scandalized, saying repeatedly how impressive it is that we’re spending Two. Whole. Years. here and how difficult it must be to live in Malawi and how happy we must be to finally be in civilization***.
I wanted to throttle him. How dare he talk about Malawi that way? I felt like Malawi’s older sister, perfectly willing to tease and rag on my younger sibling and probably meaning at least half of what I say, but by god if someone else says the same things, I will kick their ass. I tried to give allowances for him being young and stupid, but it was still really hard not to hate the kid for trying to be sympathetic but succeeding only at insulting my home, temporary though it may be.
Instead of beating the guy up, though, I decided maybe I was just tired and went to bed. Well, after I cleaned up the beer the other roommate spilled on my bun because he was drunk enough to think that a top bunk was a good place to rest a beer bottle.
*Turns out there’s been a lot of power cuts in Cape Town lately, although we were lucky enough not to experience any.
**This was the start of my credit card (Capital One) giving me trouble. Again. I had called, at my own expense, to tell them I was going to Cape Town. They had no record of it. My mom is my power of attorney, and as such, they should have listened to her when she said that I am in South Africa. Just like they should have listened to her when I was in Tanzania; but they didn’t either time. This time they made no record of having called my mom or having talked to her. They also removed any record of me living in Malawi. I have had my account frozen every time I go to a new country, regardless of how much information I provide them with beforehand. When I ask how they mean to fix the situation, they tell me I need to notify them, but that notifying them doesn’t guarantee anything. They also refused to reimburse me for the international calls I had to make to sort out their mistakes. If I had a real job, I’d be getting a new credit card, their customer service has been so bad. And they’ve left me stranded in countries I no longer wanted to be in more than once, and yet don’t seem to get how that’s a problem, because they’re just “protecting” my accounts.
***I really hate that word, civilization. Because what is some place that isn’t civilization? Savage-land? And what are the people who don’t live in civilization? Semi-modern Neanderthals? It’s condescending, and even worse than that, to my language geek brain, it’s inaccurate.