Lions & Elephants & Poop, OH MY!

I'M IN ZIMBABWE!!!

I've been here about two and a half weeks and, so far, it has been even more amazing than I ever imagined. For those of you who don't already know, I'm working with a lion conservation and breeding program in the midlands of Zimbabwe just outside of a town called Gweru. I live and work at a place called Antelope Park with the programs African Impact (a volunteer organization) and ALERT (African Lion and Environmental Research Trust) with the goal of repopulating Africa with lions.

The lion population has has been decimated over the last 30 years. Literally. 90% of the lions who were here 30 years ago, are gone. And what is Africa without the lion? Not anything I want to see.

Anyway, although our goals are lofty, my job is rather humble (I AM still a volunteer, after all), but it's still very important to the program and freaking awesome, besides! My daily hours are from 6:30AM to around 7:00PM with breaks for meals. It's a long haul and some icky and back-breaking work, but not all of it!

Seeing as how there are animals of all shapes and sizes here at the park, you can perhaps imagine the myriad of poop that these animals leave for us to clean up. Lion poop is gross. They are big and they are meat eaters. We also get to clean up the halves of cows that are left behind after a feeding! Hooray! . . . Gross. There are horses here as well, so those of you who have ever been to a stable can sympathize with the amount of shoveling involved in the care of close to 30 horses. We also have elephants! If you're like me, you'd probably guess that these would be the worst to clean up after, but, like me, you'd be wrong! This is one of the easiest jobs at the park. They eat grass. It's big, but it's mostly in one place, and it's nowhere NEAR as stinky.

Still have your attention?

Didn't think so.

Anyway, for those of you who either made it through the poop paragraph or just skipped over it (smart cookies, you are), now to the good stuff. The REALLY good stuff.

I walk with lions.

Seriously.

At least once, if not twice a day, I join a small group of lion handlers and other volunteers, open an enclosure, and take cubs from 3-18 months out for a stroll in the bush. No fences. No weapons. Just us, the lions, and our humble sticks. The sticks are not there for our protection. They instead serve as an extension of our arm. That way, if cubbie wants to play, which is often far too rough for human's super sensitive skin, we can offer them our stick and it's just as if they were lovingly chewing on our paws. We take them on these walks to help prepare them for the next stage of the program. Lions who grow up in enclosures in captivity have no hope at being wild lions someday. So, we introduce them to the bush on a daily basis and sit back and watch their instincts take over. These cubs, having never seen their mothers hunt, do just that: they hunt. It might be each other, it might be a butterfly, but it might be something real, like a zebra or a giraffe. They know exactly what to do (although some are far better than others). It's amazing. I've seen the 10-month-old cubs chase after a full grown giraffe! (To put that into perspective, that would be a lion about the size of a Labrador taking off after, well, a GIRAFFE.)

We also get to connect with the cubs. Now that they are more familiar with me (and like me), I can kneel down next to them and scratch their back and neck and, if they REALLY trust me, their belly and chin! This is really only with the younger ones. The older cubs are over us humans, and that's what we want. In the next stage of the program, human contact is cut off, so it's more than ok if they don't want a snuggle!

Anyway, I'm running out of time here, but I'll try to post again some time soon. I'm leaving for a 5-day trip to Victoria Falls tomorrow, so that'll be fantastic.

If you have any questions you want me to answer, just post them in the comments section and I'll be happy to answer! Missing you all!

“You do the hokey pokey/ And you turn yourself around/ That’s what it’s all about!”

Without a doubt, my legacy at Siyazama Preschool will be . . . the Hokey Pokey. What can I say? It was a smashing success! Did the kids know the difference between their right and left? Definitely not! They don’t even speak English! But, did they have a blast and a half “shak[-ing] it all about”? HECK YES! As a matter of fact, their very favourite part was the clapping at the end, particularly the part of “a-bout” where I taught them to clap under their leg like I used to do at roller rink birthday parties in the third grade. Good times . . .

But I digress. The last month of my life was spent at Siyazama Preschool in the township of Imizamo Yethu (ee-mee-zah-moe yeh-too, or Mandela Park as the white people call it). It’s a small building with three rooms. One room is used for nothing other than putting kiddies in time out, the middle room is where they eat and hang their backpacks, and the back room is where they spend most of the day playing, watching videos, or (occasionally) learning! In this one tiny room, there is usually one teacher, every once in a while there’s the principal, and about 60 children between the ages of 2 and 6.

Oh, and me.

Did I mention that only the principal speaks English? YEA. That meant that on days she was there, I could communicate with her. And if she wasn’t (and she often wasn’t) . . . OH WELL! Put it this way: Janie got pretty damn good at international sign language, smiling and nodding, and other forms of non-verbal communication.

My main responsibility was creating and teaching workbook exercises to teach the children how to write the letters of the alphabet. Now, when I say “workbook,” I’m perhaps being a little generous. They became workbooks. In fact, they were actually blank notebooks that I had to individually write in daily exercises . . . for approximately 26 children. There were many days when these workbooks were the absolute bane of my existence. I tell you what, there are only so many times you can write “l is for lion” and it’s corresponding page of exercises before you go cross-eyed and the word “lion” begins to look like Sanskrit. BUT, it was the most productive I ever felt at Siyazama, so I wasn’t going to let a pesky little thing like not enjoying writing out 26 identical exercises every day stop me!

There are other reasons why the workbooks were a constant cause of inner conflict. On the one hand, it felt SO amazing to help a child work through their mistakes until they could write a perfectly acceptable “g,” especially when you consider that I couldn’t effectively just tell them how to do it. However, the teacher and the principal have little, if any, training on teaching young children, so when a child does something wrong, they’ll probably just get yelled at in a tone that suggests that it’s ridiculous that they (a 5-year-old) doesn’t know how to write a proper “g.” Rather, these teachers prefer to take the child’s hand in theirs and do the worksheet for them . . . SUPER! Now what has the child learned? Nothing. If the teacher does the worksheet, the kid doesn’t even have to be looking at it. It’s just magically done and magically the teacher is pleased with the child . . .

I saw this happen for about a week and a half before I plucked up the courage to mention it. After watching Viola, the principal, do the ENTIRE page for the letter “k” in about 10 seconds after I had spent an hour and a half the night before making sure that each child had at least one letter to do for worksheet time that day, I gently got her attention and said something tactful like, “Actually, Viola, I’d really like it if the kids would do the worksheets on their own. Obivously, it’s fine to help them out when they need it, but it’s important to me that they do it themselves.” She nodded and smiled and didn’t seem offended, so I guess it worked. Kind of. They still did worksheets for the kids sometimes, but it happened less frequently, sooooo I’ll call that a victory!

Teaching and interaction styles and customs were often surprising to me, as a matter of fact. The way children are treated here is much less gentle than at home. Not saying that our way is absolutely right and theirs is absolutely wrong, just that they are different. For example, when I say “less gentle,” I mean that milder forms of corporeal punishment are more than acceptable here. Things that I found shocking at first were standard practice. For example, when the children were a little slow to form a circle around the room, one of the teachers would often roughly grab them by the shirt or shoulders and shove them into place. The teacher also often used a stick to get the children’s attention. Don’t worry, she wasn’t hitting kids with it, but she would strike the ground in front of them or on the table top to make a lot of noise and get them to pay attention or back up. Yes, it made me nervous and even uncomfortable sometimes, but it certainly was not my place to intervene, especially since no child was really being harmed.

A side effect of this norm of rougher handling and yelling was that I had little, if any power to get the kids to be quiet. Between that and the language barrier, I was little more than a spectator or unintentional instigator when left in the room by myself. Knowing the kids knew the word “quiet,” I would sometimes shout it out and then shush them. This would either be ignored, or several of the kids would echo, “QUIET!” to the rest of the class. I never knew if they were sincerely trying to help me, just repeating a funny English word because I said it, or mocking me. I suppose it didn’t matter. It never worked anyway!

This lack of authority also spilled over into conflicts between the kids. Usually, thankfully, issues could be sorted out quickly and easily just by separating kids who were fighting or cuddling a child who was crying. Unfortunately, though, sometimes things weren’t that easy. Take the swings on the playground, for example: after my first week, I never went near them again! A child would be on the swing, having a ball, and then suddenly, another child would stop the swing and sit directly on top of the first child telling them to move. Then, three more children would descend upon the exact same swing, all grabbing and pushing and squirming and shouting. At first, I thought, “Oh no! I have to do something to keep these kids in order and teach them that they have to share and wait their turn!” However, I only speak English, they only speak Xhosa, and they have learned from experience that the most persistent and outrageously stubborn one will be the one to get the swing. I would start with talking, asking them nicely to stop standing on their friend’s kneecaps. When that didn’t work, I tried a more firm verbal approach. When that failed, I had to resort to physically prying the children off of the swing. You’d think that might work, right? WRONG! Just as soon as you had managed to pull an uncooperative child off the swing (after considerable physical effort to get them off the swing without actually hurting them) and set them off to the side, they’d dart between your legs and latch on in an even more impossible grip. In case you don’t buy how ridiculous it was at the swings, even the janitor who speaks ONLY Xhosa and is absolutely adored by the children there couldn’t wrangle them. We tried everything. Nothing worked. I never even looked at the swings again.

As this tale may indicate, sometimes these kids could be . . . difficult. But that was the challenge. I couldn’t be afraid to break up a fight or to be stern or to punish a child. They had to learn that such behaviour was not allowed. And I just had to learn how to handle things without communication. There were so many times that a child would come up to me crying, speaking spit-fire Xhosa, and pointing at another child. What could I do? At best, I could assume that the other child had done something to the one who was crying. But what? Did they punch them in the face or did they refuse to share their lollipop? Thankfully, my extensive experience with children has taught me that 9 times out of 10, a crying child just wants a little attention. Even if something was actually wrong, if I just gave them a hug, wiped away their tears, and tickled them, all was well again. This actually led to children preferring to talk to me about their problems since the teacher would probably just tell them to suck it up.

I was also unofficially put in charge of first aid for the same reason. Thankfully, it wasn’t needed but three times, but children would come to me with their “wounds” or nosebleeds, and I’d patch ‘em up! Interestingly enough, this was an interesting experience unto itself. South Africa has a serious HIV/AIDS problem, particularly among poor populations like the one I was working in. It’s estimated that close to half of people living in the township I worked in are HIV+, whether they know it yet or not. That meant that I couldn’t treat blood or open cuts as nothing. Even just to put on a bandaid, I had to don my latex gloves. I’ve never had to be careful about the possibility of exposure to HIV while working with children before I came to Africa. It was a strange thing to get used to. I also had to make sure that if I had any cuts or abrasions that they were covered by a bandaid ASAP. Even IF I’d somehow got an HIV+ child’s blood on an open wound on myself, chances are still astronomically small that I could become HIV+, but it was weird and kind of scary to think about.

Anyway, back to the kids: Even though they sometimes gave me headaches, I came to love those kids. All the little monsters usually made it up to me in the end and of course my star students were always perfect. The first name I learned was Sisipho (see-see-poe) and from that first day on, she was one of my favourites. She is one of the brightest, sweetest, and most mature children there. I love her! I also acquired a son and a daughter while there. My son is a 4-year-old boy named Oyama (oh-yah-mah) who latched on to me in my first week. I’m not sure why, but he just liked to be near me. Didn’t matter where we were, he wanted to either be wrapped around my leg, face buried in my pant leg, or in my arms, had resting on my shoulder. He’s missing his four front teeth. He’s adorable. My daughter is 3 (I think) and her name is Aftin. She’s one of the smallest people I’ve ever seen and her throne was sitting on my lap. She was a mischievous little bugger, but she could be very sweet. She even came in with a sneak-attack kiss on the lips at the beginning of my second week, which may have been part of what led to my string of sickness throughout the month . . . Regardless, it was sweet.

The kids also finally learned my name after four weeks! They started out, as with every new volunteer, calling me “umlungu” which is Xhosa for “white person.” I was not going to tolerate being called “White lady! White lady!” by 60 children, on top of which I wanted them to learn that, just like they are not all “black child,” I am an individual and I have a name. It’s “Jane.” Anyway, every time they called me “umlungu,” I would just look at them and say “Jane” until they said it back, and then I would respond. Some of them even loved just saying my name out loud. Just cuz. Or just cuz they wanted me to look at them. Whatever.

All the kids loved getting attention. Even more so than children at home, I think. For one thing, at school, they were one of sixty all vying for the attention of one to three adults, one of whom was usually a white foreigner (how exciting!). It was always so simple to make them smile. That’s one of the things I loved most about them. Even if I couldn’t carry on a conversation, or even ask them a simple question, I could make them laugh.

Some days were more difficult than others to organize activities for the kids to fill time. I’d want to teach them something or play a game, but wouldn’t be able to teach it since I didn’t speak the language and the one bilingual person on the staff was so rarely there. Some days, especially when the weather wouldn’t permit outside play time, the teacher would just pop in a VHS tape and let it run all morning. Then, when it was finished, she would rewind it . . . and play it again from the beginning. I don’t care to share with you how many times I watched the same damn Barney video. Those songs will never be out of my head. And no, I don’t mean the “I love you, You love me” gem. I’m talking about songs about brushing your teeth and the season called “fall.” (Kill me now.)

Thankfully, though, the teacher and I formed a really wonderful and inexplicable bond. We only really spoke to each other when she asked me the time, but somehow we became friends. She impressed me. When Viola was gone, she was much more fun and engaging with the kids. She was creative. She was lively. The children loved it and it was adorable. Sometimes, a child would do something funny, in the way that only children who just don’t have the sense of embarrassment that comes with adulthood do, and we would just look at each other and start laughing. I loved that. I’ll miss that.

Well, I only have four more days in Cape Town! Tomorrow I move from my home away from home here in Hout Bay to a hostel/backpackers in the city bowl. I’ve got some big plans for my last few days, so I’m pretty excited! I just know how much I’ll miss this place and these people.

To Shelby, Hanna, Karoline, Vanessa, Micha, Sisipho, Oyama, Aftin, Brian, Ibenathi, Yibanathi, Mziwonke, Khanya, Asivile, and the countless other people I’ve had the absolute pleasure of meeting: Thank you. I am truly a person changed for the better from this experience and from the things you’ve taught me.

(Not that they’ll EVER see this, but) I’d also like to send a special shout out to Afrika and Bridget. The things you taught me are too numerous and personal to recount here, but more than anyone or anything else, you both taught me more about real life in Africa and the strength of the human spirit than I could have ever asked for. In the short time that I’ve known you, I’ve not only become closer to the Africa I came to see, but I’ve also found a new direction in life: social work. The future has never seemed so clear to me, and that is in large part thanks to you both. Thank you. I’ll miss you.

Observations of Africa . . . So Far.

I haven’t posted on my blog in a while (oops), so I thought I’d go for a teaser/mini update for this one. The following are just some things that I’ve seen and/or noticed that either surprised me or just things I’d never seen before.

1)     There are 11 official languages in South Africa, and even more unofficial ones. Thankfully, almost everyone speaks English, though often as a second language. Also thankfully, since I’m white and am usually dressed in cargo pants and performance fleece, I am correctly assumed to be a tourist, and therefore people start with English when talking to me. However, if I’m dressed more ambiguously, some people may start in with Afrikaans. Better still, if I were black, I’d probably be approached first with iziXhosa or isiZulu and if I didn’t understand, I may be judged by the people talking to me. Language here is a complex issue, but one that I haven’t come into much negative contact with. For me, I just end up being unable to communicate verbally if the other person just doesn’t speak English. International sign language, anyone?

2)     Pedestrians as I know them from home, even in Memphis, are no comparison whatsoever to pedestrians here. I was completely unprepared for this aspect of life in Africa. Often there are no sidewalks and often people walk everywhere who cannot afford a car. Therefore, people are walking in the shoulder on the highway, literally only inches from the traffic barrelling past them. This includes children, too. At first, I was shocked that no one else was shocked when a huge truck tore past them, but now that I’ve also been walking on the shoulder with traffic speeding past, it doesn’t bother me in the slightest. I’m still nervous when I’m in a vehicle that appears to get uncomfortably close to a woman carrying an infant, but . . . Anyway, it’s something I’ve noticed.

3)     Cadbury is the big chocolate tycoon here, instead of Hershey’s. Most of their stuff I could take or leave, but . . . the Tempo bar . . . it is something else. It is something sent from Heaven. It’s irresistible. In fact, it’s come to the point that I have a Tempo bar approximately once a DAY. I don’t even really eat chocolate at home! What’s happening to me?! But really, if you get the chance to try one, DO NOT pass it up. It’s the perfect balance of caramel, biscuit (AKA cookie bits), and milk chocolate. PERFECTION.

4)     Seeing wildlife just wandering around has not yet lost its novelty and excitement. I hope it never does.

5)     Things are still very segregated in South Africa. Hout Bay, where I’ve been staying and volunteering, is actually something like a little petri dish of South Africa: on one side of the bay, there’s the township of Imizamo Yethu (AKA Mandela Park to the white people who cannot pronounce it’s real name) where all of the black people live, mostly still in a squalor of shacks and unsanitary conditions; on the other side of the bay, above the harbour, lives the “coloured” community (another leftover category from the apartheid regime) who has a little bit of money, and therefore, a drug problem; then, in the middle of it all, only a stone’s throw from the black and coloured communities living in poverty, you’ll find the roomy homes and manicured lawns of the rich white people. It’s startling. And Hout Bay is no exception to the rule. The very rich rub up against the very poor all over the country.

6)     Somewhat as a result of the issue from #6, I’ve noticed that many white South Africans appear to be ashamed of their nationality. I certainly understand why. After all, apartheid was only 20 years ago, so I can only imagine how it would feel to be a white South African right now.

7)     People here are freakin’ friendly! Walking to and from my volunteer placement, or just out and about, I say hello/smile/nod/all of the above to almost everyone I pass. It’s a fantastic way to start the morning, and it reminds me of southern hospitality, and I like that.

8)     Many women carry their babies on their backs, tied up with a towel to keep them in place. Baby’s secure and out of the way and always seems oddly comfortable. I love the way it looks and it’s a lot cheaper than a Baby Bjorn!

9)     African taxis (AKA a “kombi”) are one of my favourite things about Africa. Rather than calling a cab to come and pick you up, or waiting at a stop for a bus, you just kind of . . . wait by the road for a big van to drive by. Usually they are certified to carry 16 passengers, but they’ll pack in around 19 if they can, or even if they can’t, to maximize their money. As they drive by, you wave them down and climb in! You can get bargain rates to anywhere in the area. There isn’t really a route they take, nor are there specific “kombi” stops. You just ask the driver to stop when it’s time to stop, or wait until he kicks everyone out before he turns around to go back! Some people worry about safety on these things, but I used them every day to get to my placement in Swaziland and have used them countless times here to get into Cape Town and back to Hout Bay. Drivers are usually friendly and helpful, as are the other passengers, they only run while it’s light out, and people tend to just keep to themselves and ride it out! And, as I mentioned, they’re CHEAP! Whereas a taxi from Hout Bay to Cape Town city center may cost around R250, I can take a kombi and pay only R9! I love it. LOVE IT.

Did I mention I went bungee jumping?

Made it to Cape Town, folks! I’m all settled in Hout Bay, a suburb of Cape Town that is only a very scenic 20-minute drive from the City Bowl, and have survived my first week of volunteering at a preschool in the nearby township of Imizamo Yethu! But I’ll get into all of that in my next post. First of all, I’ll catch you all up on my last week of travelling along the South African coast!

Port Elizabeth was basically a bed to sleep in for the night. We arrived around 10pm and left around 7am the next morning. This unfortunately also meant that I couldn’t see my friends who live there, since we had no time. However, Port Elizabeth was the first time I spoke to my family on the phone since my first day in South Africa a week beforehand, and my first time to talk to Skylar on the phone since my layover in London THREE weeks beforehand! It felt SO great to hear his voice and, to top it all off, he got his NREMT results while we were on the phone and, of course, he PASSED! I’m so proud of him. And it felt really good to be with him in any way when he got the news.

The next morning was spent on the Baz Bus again. About 4 hours with the single most talkative bus driver I have ever seen in my life and, no, not in a good way (particularly for that early in the morning). But, we were thankfully rid of him once we arrived in Tsitsikamma, our next destination.

Once we got settled in our new backpackers lodge, we decided to go ahead and do our included canopy tour that day. We left around noon, and spent the early afternoon zip-lining between the canopies of different forest trees. It was lovely up there and some of the slides were pretty long and pretty fast. We had a great time and even the girls who were nervous at first were really mastering it by the end! But, just as it was in Swaziland, it was fun, but certainly not as thrilling as you might think.

However, after our included lunch, I and the other girls piled into the shuttle to visit a place with plenty of thrills and, admittedly, a place I was all but certain I’d never see: Bloukrans Bungy, the highest commercial bungee bridge in the world . . . Ok ok ok, I have spent much of my life slowly whittling away at my fear of heights, working up to skydiving, but the ONE and ONLY thing I knew that I would NEVER do was a bungee jump . . . But here’s where things went terribly and wonderfully wrong and something changed. I don’t know exactly what changed or how it changed, but change it did. All I had heard about for the past two days was this damn bungee jump, over and over again, and for one reason or another, I started to think, “Well, maybe I could do that . . .” But first, as always, I had to talk to people, ask lots of questions, and, if possible, see it for myself first. I messaged my friends Tracy and Megan and learned that the snap at the end wasn’t that bad and that Tracy was glad she did it, but would never to it again. I learned that most people’s scariest moment, other than the initial jump, is the first rebound when you are briefly back in a freefall. I learned that you’re not left hanging upside down for a really long time after your jump. I also had seen a promotional video on the Baz Bus that morning that showed a little more of how it actually looked and that it could even be fun! All of this information made it feel more real and more possible.

Joanne was also interested, which was another boost of confidence. I mean, I wouldn’t necessarily be alone out there . . . Kene, the only guy with us on the trip, had been excited about it the whole trip, but a day or two before we got to Tsitsikamma he decided that “it didn’t interest him” and if he spent the money, he’d rather spend it on skydiving . . . suuuuuuure. We’ll see about that here in Cape Town. He maintains that he didn’t chicken out, but I think that’s exactly what happened. Regardless, Joanne and I were ready to check this nonsense out and see if we had a shot in hell at actually going through with it.

We arrived at the site and made a beeline for the viewing platforms to get our first real look at this beast. I have to my honest, upon first sight my thought was something like, “Hooooolyyyyyyyy SHIT.” The bridge spanned a massive and deep ravine and from where we were standing, the ropes and platform were miniscule in comparison. My stomach was instantly full of butterflies. But then, something unexpected happened. The more Joanne and I looked at it, the more confident we started to feel! It was like my brain just said, “Aw, fuck it. You’re already here. Why not?!” Joanne and I looked at one another and decided: GAME ON.

After a quick bathroom break to avoid any embarrassing incidents, we were suddenly at the registration desk getting weighed and signing our lives away and handing over money. We were in it to win it, now! We had to rush a little bit because there was a group leaving in five minutes. Perfect: less time to think or chicken out. Once we were fitted with our harnesses, we met our fellow jumpers: Jack, a teenager from Britain whose parents brought him, and billy, an older man from the States, ex-Air Force, along with his wife who had done the jump 7 years earlier and was no present to offer moral support. With barely a pause, we were off down the path to the bridge! Our main guide for the next half hour or so, another Joanne, told us that our jump could reach speeds of 90mph, our rope would stretch out to about 180m (or about 590ft) of the 216m (or about 710ft) from the bridge to the ground below, and that we were going to have a great time . . . oh my GOD, we were really doing it! Joanne and I joked that he shouldn’t have told us all that until after our jumps, but honestly, I didn’t really know exactly how high it was until I did the conversion from meters to feet later that evening! I mean, shit! I’m glad I was blissfully ignorant at the time! But, man did I feel good! I was ready and I was excited.

Our first challenge was to make it to the jumping platform by way of a footbridge underneath the road with a floor made of a slightly heavier chainlink design, making it see-through to the ravine below. It also gave a little bit with every step. Thankfully, I was so pumped up for the jump that I made it across easily. I kept my eyes forward (except for one look out at the ocean and one glance straight down), walked quickly, and kept one hand on the railing. Once we were on the platform, I started to get even more excited. There were guys running around everywhere: taking pictures, setting gear, pulling ropes, and God only knows what else. But at the same time, they were all smiling, chatty, and striving to help us all relax and enjoy the experience. It was very comforting without bringing the energy down.

The order was decided (we think by weight) and it was to be Billy, Jack, ME, and finally Joanne. I tell you what, these guys were NOT messing around once it was time to jump. The jumper was sat down, strapped in, told one or two things about how safe it was, and they were off . . . off a bridge . . . In a flash, Billy and Jack had jumped and it was my turn. I at least got to see Billy come back up, so I knew that at least he had survived!

They sat me down on a block next to the platform and got to work. Securing padding on my ankles, tying a strap around the padding around my ankles (using a knot that he assured me would get stronger and tighter the more weight was on it) that could support a weight of more than three tons, and comforting me by saying that this was “100% safe.”

Suddenly, I was up, bunny hopping to the safety rail (since my ankles were secured together), they hooked and unhooked a bunch of stuff, they put their arms under mine, carried me to the edge with my toes hanging over, I lifted my head up, held my arms out, heard them shout “12345BUNGEE!!!” and I jumped.

I felt and thought so many different things over the next 30 seconds, but in the moment, my mind was completely blank. The first thing to set in was absolute TERROR. I wish my DVD had sound, because I hit an octive and decibel I thought impossible. I was in freefall more than 700ft from the rocky stream at the bottom of the ravine . . . What in the FUCK am I doing?!?!?!? And then, even before all the slack in the rope was gone, the beauty of what I was looking at and how I was looking at it struck me like a bolt of lightening. Billy’s wife, before our jump, had said that you feel like an angel in flight, seeing the world the way God sees it from heaven. And as stupid as I thought that sounded when she said it, that was exactly it. My screaming stopped. All I could hear was the wind rushing in my ears. And I gasped. Not from fear, but from wonder . . . Now, that is a feeling I will never forget, and although it felt like it happened in slow motion at the time, it probably lasted less than a second.

Then came the next bit of terror: the first rebound. Just like everyone had said, I bounced back up, my body rotated back to horizontal, and I was back in freefall. I think it’s only as scary as it is because you’ve already felt the relief of the rope catching you, so when that’s suddenly gone again, you do not like it.

After that, I just bounced up and down several more times, all the while feeling the rope tight around my ankles. At one point, I finally relaxed. You can see it in my video: my hands and arms have been out the whole time, but they suddenly just drop and hang over my head. It was then that I started to feel an intense self-pride. I was all alone, on the other side of the world, hanging from a rope, dangling upside down from a bridge. WOW. And all this from the girl who, less than a month ago, had said “NEVER” to the bungee.

I pulled my hands up to my head and face out of disbelief (and possibly thanking God for my survival). I could feel the blood rushing to my head and unable to escape my feet. Then, my savior arrived, introducing himself as Spider Man, turned me upright, and we were pulled back up to the platform. I was grinning like a damn fool when I was finally gently placed back on the platform. I did it. I made it. And it felt incredible.

The remaining two days of the bus trip paled in comparison to the bungee experience. I felt like I’d been admitted into a secret society. Now, when everyone asked if I did the bungee . . . I could say yes! But, our next stop was Cape Town, which would mark the beginning of the next chapter of my trip. We celebrated our last night together at the famous Mama Africa restaurant on Long Street. Everyone ordered something different so we could all try everything: I had the crocodile kebabs (sort of like a chewier, seafood version of chicken), but I also got to try a traditional beef dish, warthog, and ostrich!

The next morning I was picked up by my new volunteer coordinator, Shelby, and was whisked off to my new home away from home in Hout Bay, Cape Town, South Africa. It’s been a week and a half now, and I’ve seen and learned SO much already.

. . . But that’ll have to wait until my next blog post. Look out for it this weekend!

Halfway to Cape Town

Well . . . I actually typed up a blog post two days ago, but I couldn’t upload it at the time and the document I saved it on has disappeared, so . . . I guess I just have to type it again! Sheesh . . .

Good news, though is that I have so many interesting things to say so it should be fun to write (again) and to read! YAY! So, here we go:

My last post was pretty short and just a basic update: I’m alive, having fun, the end. So here’s my chance to go a little (or a lot) deeper into the past week of bussing along the South African coast. I’m travelling with a guide, Mzamo, another English All Out Africa volunteer, Kene, and three other English girls who are on a month-long trip through South Africa, Joanne, Lisa, and Katherine. We’re using the Baz Bus which is a service taking travelers door-to-door from one hostel to another. Their route spans the entire South African coast with stop-overs in Swaziland, Lesotho, and even a shuttle to Mozambique! Even though the driving can be a little questionable at times (I’ve held my breath and clenched my body more than once as we made a pass around an 18-wheeler on a two-lane mountain highway), but mostly it’s a relaxing and cost-effective way to go.

We started in St. Lucia, a little beach resort town. We arrived mid-day and decided to go on our included hippo and croc cruise that afternoon. We saw birds, including the appropriately named Goliath heron, an antelope or two, some of the biggest crocodiles I’ve ever seen, and TONS of hippos (pun intended)! The hippos were having a lazy afternoon, just snoozing in the shallow water of the estuary. I got some great photos, which I hope to post soon.

The next day was our only full day in St. Lucia, and boy, was it a biggie! The morning was relaxed for me. The three English girls went on a tour of the nearby cultural village, but I stayed behind to sit in the sun, drink some tea, photograph the monkeys robbing the bar, and catch up in my journal. After lunch, though, all of us except Kene, headed out for an afternoon game drive in the Hluhluwe Imfolozi Game Reserve! This was my first game drive in Africa and I was SUPER excited! Even the impossibly windy hour-long drive out to the park couldn’t sour my mood. We spent about 2.5 hours driving all over the park and, in the process, got up close and personal with zebra, antelope bachelors and harems, buffalo, vultures, beautifully colored birds, baboons, rhino (both black and white), and even lions off in the distance! It was absolutely amazing how close we got to some of them. Even the rhinos were so close that I could have thrown a rock and hit them! . . . I didn’t, of course. But I could have . . . And I FINALLY learned the difference between white and black rhinos! Ready? It has NOTHING TO DO WITH WHAT COLOR THEY ARE because, in fact, THEY ARE THE SAME DAMN COLOR! Actually, black rhinos have smaller heads that they hold up, and white rhinos have bigger heads that they hold down. That’s it. Why they’re called different colors, I don’t know. Weird. The lions were still pretty darn far off, but seeing them got me all giddy and excited for my trip to Zimbabwe! I can’t wait!

We left the park just in time to watch the sun dip down below the hills, snuggled up under some blankets and drove the substantially less terrible hour-long drive back to St. Lucia. Waiting for us shortly after our return was the hostel’s free Wednesday night dinner, provided by the staff. It was a traditional South African meal of pap (a flavorless filler made of corn meal that I’ve eaten more often in the last three weeks than I care to mention) with a meaty stew. To be fair, pap is meant to be a base. A blank canvas on which the rest of the meal may be painted, so, as long as the paint is tasty, so’s the pap! And besides, it was free! And who am I to turn down a free dinner?

After dinner, though, was the real fun. The hostel invited traditional Zulu dancers to perform for us! They were dressed in furs and headdresses and held sticks and carried in drums . . . I was excited. The performance was phenomenal! The dance seemed centered around impossibly high kicks. These guys were so limber that they would literally kick themselves in the shoulders! And they would kick themselves HARD. It was so intense and so high energy and so celebratory that Joanne and I agreed that it would, no doubt, be the next workout craze to sweep our respective nations: ZULU FITNESS! Something like that . . . we’re still working on our marketing approach . . . Anyway, they showed us a wedding dance as well as competition dance, in which each dancer performs individually. Then, not at all surprisingly, they started pulling audience members out of their chairs to try their hand at traditional Zulu dancing. One at a time. For the whole crowd.

This was one of those moments in life where you think to yourself, “Please, dear Jesus, don’t let them pick me,” and yet, at the same time, you are really hoping they will. How often do you get the chance to dance with the Zulu, after all?! I figured only one, so I was simultaneously nervous and relieved when one of them grabbed my hand and pulled me up on stage. But have no doubts in your minds. I went for it. BIG time! I was high kicking and laughing and even threw in a side kick I’d seen some of them do! I looked absolutely ridiculous, I’m sure, but I had a blast. I even had our guide, Mzamo, laughing for the rest of the night just thinking about my performance!

Anyway, it was a fantastic end to the day and my time in St. Lucia. Next stop: Durban!

Thursday was spent traveling on the Baz Bus, cooking dinner, and going to bed. We did have some pretty interesting dinner conversation, though. The topic eventually turned to Swazi politics and, since Mzamo is Swazi, I was finally able to get some questions answered in a straightforward way. We talked a lot about the king in Swaziland and how the people really feel about him. His name is King Mswati III and he isn’t exactly following in the wisdom of his father’s reign. His father reigned for longer than Queen Victoria and was the one to give Swaziland its independence from England. He’s revered and respected and remembered with such fondness because of his many accomplishments, but also because of his laid-back approach to things. He was always available to the people, and even though he had 70 wives and 200+ children, he never went overboard with the whole “life of luxury” nonsense. The current king, however, is the picture of extravagance. Each of his 13 wives has three luxury brand cars and 11 million rand to spend in Dubai on a shopping trip once a year. He also spent R48 million on a single day of celebration. Oh, and did I mention that ALL of this is taxpayer money? Meanwhile, children are orphaned by AIDS, go without food, and approximately 40% of the country is unemployed . . . SUPER. Mzamo was saying that he thinks the monarchy may die with this king and that the transition out of it may be a bloody one. It was a truly fascinating conversation and absolutely refreshing to get an uncensored African opinion.

The next day was much more light-hearted! Mzamo, Kene, and I headed to Durban’s World Cup stadium first thing in the morning! We were going to take a tour and I was considering doing the “big swing” which was from the stadium’s arch over the pitch! It looked like it could be fun, but unfortunately, it didn’t happen. We were on the bus, pulling up to the stadium, when a few guys who worked at the swing introduced themselves and started pitching us the swing. Then, once we arrived, they coaxed us into their office saying that we could get our tour tickets there . . . which we could not. They would not let us leave and as a result, not only was I completely put off of the idea, but they made us miss the 10AM tour by five minutes and have to kill an hour until the 11AM, essentially wasting our entire morning of our one full day in Durban. Thanks, guys.

Thankfully, though, the tour of the stadium revived my good mood. It was awesome! Once we were inside the stadium, it just took my breath away. We got to sit in the stands and learn about the symbolism of the colors of the seats (blue for the ocean and orange for the African sunrise) and the arch over the stadium (a nod to the “Y” in the South African flag representing a divided nation coming together) and hear about the unsung anti-apartheid hero for whom the stadium was named and walk along the pitch and sit in the dugout and take pictures . . . yea, good day. I even took some photos in the dugout as the “disappointed coach” or the “focused substitute player.”

After the stadium, Kene and I headed to uShaka Marine World, an aquarium and water park for which we had tickets included. The aquarium was fun with lots of fish and even shows like you’d find at Sea World with the penguins, seals, and dolphins. It never ceases to amaze me how an aquarium brings out the childlike wonder in me . . . It was a nice way to spend the afternoon.

That night was our last hurrah in Durban, and boy, was it a doozie: dinner at Moyo, this single BEST restaurant experience of my life. No joke. It was that good. In fact, I will dream about it for years to come. First of all, the décor was a blend of eclectic, modern, and some kind of marine “Alice in Wonderland.” The lights were even molded to look like jellyfish! Second, and primarily our reason for going there, the food was incredible: delicious and beautifully presented. There was a complimentary starter of bread with different dips such as olive oil, coriander, garlic, and red chili. I also treated myself to what ended up being an absolutely massive strawberry daiquiri. For our main course, we all tried the Durban classic known as “bunny chow”: a loaf of bread hollowed out with curry stuffed inside. The perfect amount of spice, heat, and flavor. And, just when we though we were done, someone said “dessert.” I ordered the “Accra banana bread with peanuts and chocolate cake,” thinking that it might be a slice of banana bread with some goodies on top. But no, it was a huge slice of cake! I just melted on the spot, it was so good. Lastly, there was the atmosphere. Once we were seated, a young woman came by offering hand washing and face painting. Everyone except Kene opted for a Zulu branding: delicate flower designs for the girls and Zulu warrior markings for the guys. Then, there were the Zulu dancer/singers. They blended the traditional and the modern beautifully and with lots of flair (not to mention noise, including the single biggest vuvuzela I have ever seen). We saw them perform three or four times while we were there, including a private song sung just for our table! The cherry on top? The price. For all that I paid R135, including a sizeable tip, which comes out to ‘round about $20-25. YEA.

After such a magnificent evening, the next day was pretty banal. Up at 5:30AM, approximately 11 hours spent on the Baz Bus, all to arrive at Chintsa of the Wild Coast around 5PM. It was quite the long haul, but once we arrived, I saw that it was all worth it. This is easily one of the most beautiful places I have ever been. Rolling hills (not dissimilar to the Texas hill country, just distinctly more African), dense vegetation right up to the sandy beach, shallow estuary, and wavy bay. Just stunning. And not completely overcrowded with people! The perfect balance of company and seclusion. It was so beautiful that I had to have a closer look before it got too dark, so I dropped my stuff on a bed and headed off to the water. I was just in time to see the sun setting. The water lapped against the sand and the few kayaks left lazily at the shoreline of the estuary, birds called from all directions, it was cool and breezy, and the sun was hot orange with the sunset. It was so overwhelming that I actually teared up. Cheesy? Maybe. But it really was stunning. I made myself a memory of the sunset, made a date with the sunrise for the next morning, and headed back to the cabin.

Yesterday was another exciting, yet powerfully relaxing day. The morning began with the girls joining me for the sunrise, then a free breakfast provided by the lodge, and then we were off to a morning of horseback riding along the bay! Unfortunately for me, the horse our guide wanted to put me on was tacked with an extremely English saddle, so me and my Western-style trained self ended up riding the aptly named “Fat” Freddie who was fitted with a “trailblazer” saddle that was more suited to my experience. At first, Freddie was terribly reluctant to expend energy for anything other than eating, but once we made it down to the beach, he started getting excited, and so did I! Most of the others on the ride were absolute beginners, but the guide accounted for my experience and gave me plenty of chances to try to whip Freddie into an open canter. Mostly, I’d get him going just in time for him to have to slow down again, but I got one beautiful, long, easy canter with him. It felt great. Hills and trees on one side, sand beneath me, the rolling ocean on the other, and me blazing through it on my chubby steed . . . Felt pretty darn good.

The afternoon was far more lazy, as has been today. I sat on the beach, journaled in the sun, and walked through the waves. I even stalked a German Shepherd puppy and his owner for about an hour. Now, by “stalked” I only mean that they happen to position themselves in my eye line, but he was so flippin’ cute that I couldn’t tear my eyes away. He was having so much fun and so desperately wanted to be at his owner’s heels, but his owner was standing in the surf, and the pup was just still too suspicious of the waves. He’d get close to his owner just in time for another wave to chase him up the beach, then he’d chase it back into the ocean, and it’d start all over again. Adorable.
Today, I’ve just been reading in the sun, walking around, and writing the blog post. The rest of the day will be more of the same until a 5-hour bus ride to Port Elizabeth, where we will spend the night (and less than 12 hours) before heading off to our next real stop. It’s been a fabulous time here in Chintsa and I know that I’ll leave a little piece of my heart here when I go . . .

Swaziland to South Africa . . .

(Fear not, friends, this post will be significantly shorter than my last, as I only have a limited time left on this computer before it automatically logs me off!)

Well, folks, I left Swaziland on Tuesday morning and am now in the beautiful and exciting post-World Cup country of South Africa! I'm excited for the next phase of my adventure, but it was really difficult for me to leave "the beautiful kingdom" behind. Not only will I miss all of my fellow volunteers, but also the many Swazi young people who became my friends at the Youth Centre. I was inspired there and I learned more than I could have ever hoped to in such a short time. Not only that, but I left just a week before the Reed Dance Ceremony in which young women from all over the country will gather right where I was staying and perform traditional dances for the king who will choose one of them for his next wife! The guys at the Youth Centre even offered to get me a traditional outfit so that I could participate. Isn't that nice? OH, and did I mention that this outfit does not include a shirt? Yikes . . .


I'll miss the adventure of taking the kombi to and from my volunteer post everyday, the walk to the grocery store, the intense and amazing conversations, and how friendly everyone was.


The computer is about to cut me off! More later!

Sanibonani from Swaziland!

Alright! First blog post from the road! Go me!

The past couple weeks have been absolutely, unbelievably amazing. I’m only here two weeks and, honestly, from the first day of my volunteer project, I knew that wouldn’t be enough. It took absolutely no time at all to fall in love with this place and these people, and here I go, leaving before I’ve even really begun!

But let me back up a little bit and talk about the journey here first. It was an adventure to say the least. Five cities, Four flights, three days, and a combined 22 hours in the air left me . . . drained. Austin to Dallas/Ft. Worth to London (where I had a 12-hour layover) to Johannesburg to Manzini just kicked my butt. My time in London was just weird. It was my third or fourth time there, I had no desire or money to really see anything and my back hurt from carrying my stuff and sleeping upright. I did, however get a power nap in the grass in front of Buckingham Palace, though! It was delightful. The only good news from this epic journey: both the 9 and 11 hour flights were “overnight” based on the time zone I was headed to, so once I arrived, I didn’t end up all that jetlagged! Hooray!

Upon arriving in Swaziland (At last! At last!), it finally hit me: “Hey, Janie, you’re in Africa! Say whaaaaaaaaaaat?!” At the airport (and I use the word “airport” pretty loosely), I and some other volunteers made our way through customs. They seemed baffled by the fact that none of us knew exactly where we were going or who exactly was picking us up at the airport, but they graciously allowed us into their country on a 30-day tourist visa anyway.

The next two days are a blur of new faces and names, settling in, and general confusion. There was, in fact, a hot second there where I thought I might have ended up in the wrong place! Not so, thank God. Evidently, I’m just the only one here on my specific program. No biggie. Anyway, the first full day mercifully began with our orientation. I learned how to greet people in Siswati (the local language, although everyone speaks English as well), that Swaziland was the second smallest country in the world and one of the only remaining absolute monarchies, and that I would be the first volunteer EVER sent to the Lobamba Youth Centre, and I would be on my own . . . Super. At first, I was completely intimidated. I was to, completely on my own, organize these young adults (age 18 and up) in drama games and something called “interaction talks.” Nice. I had no idea what that meant. However, after meeting the coordinator at the Youth Centre, Welile (pronounced phonetically), I had a much better idea of what they wanted. They were trying to get the Centre off the ground. They wanted it to be a place where young people could come to relax, interact, get help, and excel. They just needed a little help getting there.

Once I knew their needs, the camp counsellor and theatre student in me kicked into action. The first day I planned was all games: name games, Schwing, Red Light/Green Light, Look Up/Look Down, etc. I’m still having trouble learning names since they are not only names I’ve never heard before in all my life, but because Siswati is one of those African languages that includes a clicking sound as well as some other pronunciations you won’t find in the King’s English. Despite that, however, the games were a HUGE hit. I was laughing and joking with everyone within minutes and I could feel the ice breaking. We also spent some time that first day just talking and asking questions. Mostly they asked about life in America, specifically Texas. They had even seen “Walker, Texas Ranger”! They were also surprised to learn that HIV/AIDS is a problem in America. Finally, I think hearts broke all over Swaziland when they found out that I have a boyfriend. And a firefighter, to boot! Thankfully, though, no one offered to be my “Swazi” boyfriend that day. That’s what any other man here will say. Even if you say that you’re married, they’ll say, “Ah, yes, but you don’t have a Swazi husband . . .” It’s hilarious, if a little awkward.

It wasn’t all fun and games that day, though. As we were all sitting around talking, one of the older boys, Sihle, asked if he could make a speech in his own language so that it would be his. I said of course, and Welile translated for me. He spoke passionately about how this Youth Centre was theirs and how they needed to treat it and each other with respect and kindness, whereas now, he felt like they would ignore each other if they crossed paths in the market. Even if Welile hadn’t been translating, he was so clear in his ideas and so invested in his words I think I still would have gotten goose bumps. I mean, this guy could PREACH. Eventually, his speech turned into a heated discussion with some of the younger guys who felt that it was his responsibility to include them since he was older and he had failed to do that in the past. Gradually, they decided to put the past in the past and start fresh. And then they did the unthinkable: they thanked ME for making it all happen. I felt like I hadn’t done a thing, but everyone was so grateful to me for bringing them together. I wasn’t sure how to feel about it, but I decided that I would earn their gratitude during my time there.

Anyway, I left that first day feeling completely inspired and bursting with ideas for the coming weeks. Over the next few days we played some more games, did some exercises with jelly beans and courage beads and trust webs to help them feel comfortable opening up to each other, and brainstormed how what it was they wanted the Youth Centre to be. I’m immensely proud of what we accomplished. I mean, all I really did was start the ball rolling and let them run with it, but I felt like I was making a difference. Something tangible and real would linger on long after I left Swaziland, and that felt great.

Most of the other volunteers here are working at NCPs (Neighborhood Care Points) where orphans and vulnerable children who cannot afford to go to school gather during the day to be looked after, fed at least once, and taught at least some basic skills, like literacy. While this is a highly noble purpose, I feel honoured to be where I am. Not only am I helping to build something new, but I’m able to connect with these Swazis much more easily than one can connect to a 3-year-old who doesn’t speak much English. I can ask questions, debate, discuss, and at least begin to truly understand the state of things for average people in Swaziland. Is the HIV/AIDS epidemic really that bad? Absolutely yes, it is. I have yet to meet someone who hasn’t lost almost their entire family to AIDS. Does the king really have 13 wives? Yes, he does, and he may acquire another one at the end of the month at the Reed Dance ceremony, but many people think he won’t since he hasn’t chosen a wife in the last four years. Can people divorce or be openly gay in Swaziland? No, they cannot. Are people here religious? Yes, about 70% of the people here are Christian, but these same people also believe in witchcraft

It truly has been amazing, the things I’ve learned. Ask me some time. I’d love to tell you about it.

The Youth Centre isn’t the only volunteering I’ve done, though. I also spent a couple days learning about and volunteering with an organization called Gone Rural boMake. This is an initiative to help Swazi women in very rural and traditional (i.e. highly patriarchal) communities generate income by selling handicrafts that they weave from grass. They weave everything from placemats and napkin rings, to home décor, to bowls. What makes these special is that Gone Rural buys the grass that the women have harvested and dye it fantastic colors before selling it back to them. This means that not only are the products very well made, but they’re also unique. Check it out at http://www.goneruralswazi.com/!

My role in all of this was to take one day and travel out with the Gone Rural folks into a very remote community up in the mountains, and intellectually stimulate and play with the women’s children while they bought, sold, and traded their grasses and finished weavings. It was the coldest day I’ve had here that we went up into the mountains (of course), but the children were so incredibly delightful and adorable, that I didn’t mind the cold one bit. They all huddled around me and we put puzzles together, read books, drew pictures on little chalkboards, and played soccer. It was amazing to see these children, who had probably never seen a puzzle before, figure out spatial relationships of the different pieces to try to make the picture again. Some of them used the chalkboard to show me how well they could write and speak English. Not that they ever actually said all that much. As so many little kids do around adults they’ve just met, they remained bashfully quiet and would only occasionally whisper and giggle to each other in Siswati. It was irresistibly cute. One little girl in particular took a shine to me. She was the youngest one there, probably about two years old. Her nose was running and she wore all pink. She sat right at my hip, then on my lap, then played with my camera, then guarded “her” book from all the other kids, then showed me her soccer skills (that girl will grow up to be a fabulous goalie, mark my words).

We spent about two hours on that mountaintop before I was back in the truck, rattling back down the dirt roads at a blistering 65 miles per hour. It was over way too soon. But, at least I got myself a little something to take home with me from the Gone Rural shop!

But it hasn’t ALL been good-deed-doing here in Swaziland. I have had some time to see and do things that one should do when they travel. One of our first afternoons here, we did a walking tour of the village of Lobamba. We saw traditional stick and mud houses, tasted the local beer, saw the king’s palace off in the distance, and tasted our first braii (the local and delicious version of barbecue). I also hiked the mountain behind the lodge where we’re staying, called Sheeba’s Breast. Unfortunately, I have no idea who Sheeba is or why this mountain is named after her mammary gland, but there’s no denying that the peak of the mountain does, in fact, look like a “tit” as one of my British co-volunteers so delicately put the other day. It was an excruciating hike up, thrillingly beautiful and triumphant at the top (minus the part when I thought I might never be able to get down), and a rather easy descent. I also took a day to go 4-wheeling (or “quad biking” as the Brits and post-colonial Swazis call it) through a private game reserve! I eventually got quite comfortable on the vehicle, though I never thought I would, and did some rather death-defying things. Unfortunately for me, I was the first in line behind our instructor, so besides him, I was the first to tackle any of the obstacles that were presented. I essentially became the group’s now-watch-and-see-what-NOT-to-do girl, but I conquered almost everything in the end! I did end up in a ditch once . . . but it was only because I’m an idiot. Yea. No excuse there.

OK, well this blog post is already FAR too long for anyone except my mom to read all the way through, so I think I’ll cap it there for now and maybe try a briefer post next time . . . maybe . . .

Hoping for one more post before I’m off to South Africa on Tuesday!

Loving and missing you all!

ONE WEEK!

I'm excited.

Lots to do this week, though! Moving out of the Rosedale house, packing up everything I own (either to take with me or store at my parents' house while I'm away), make sure I have everything I need to take with me, soak up all the Austin I can, and enjoy every minute I have left with my family and friends by my side.

Thai visas SUCK.

Those of you who know me know that I am what they call a "planner."


I like researching things to death, planning out the basics, and checking things off of lists. Now, that's not to say that I never get down to the wire on a deadline every once in a while, but when it came to my visas for my upcoming trip, I wasn't going to take any chances. I researched and asked undeniably inane and irritating questions of my travel advisors and friends and I got my materials in as far in advance as possible.


And then, there was Thailand. My research and questioning led to the conclusion that I could apply for a tourist visa upon arrival in the country that would cover my full stay. However, it recently came to my attention that I will be in Thailand two weeks longer than expected, pushing me over the 60-day limit. There IS, evidently, a 90-day tourist visa, but you must apply for that in advance with a Thai embassy or consulate. Ok, no problem.


PSYCH! Big problem.


Unfortunately for me, after the issue date of the visa, I would have only 3 months to get into the country. I leave the States in a week, it's July, and I won't be in Thailand until December. Neat.


Well, after a momentary panic, I contacted the fine British folks who helped me organize this trip. As always, they were very reassuring and helpful. Nothing is yet resolved, but I am expecting a call from a Thai visa expert first thing in the morning (my time) to help me sort things out!


Everyone cross your fingers for me, but it looks like Lil Janie may be applying for a Thai tourist visa in the embassy in Pretoria, South Africa whilst she's living and volunteering in Cape Town, South Africa during the month of September . . . Yea, surely NOTHING could possibly go wrong here!


*Sigh*


Deep breaths.

hooray, BLOG!

This will be my very first blog. Ever. 


I've never been terribly good at this sort of thing, but many of you have asked about how to keep up with my trip while I'm away, so . . . here's my solution!


I'll tell some of my better stories and keep you up to date on location basics here on the blog and post photos to Facebook! If you don't have a Facebook account, I'm pretty sure I can post a link to the specific album straight onto here that anyone can view, so no worries!


So, come along, friends! Follow me via my blog to the far-reaches of the planet and join me on my adventure!