An Incredible Journey-24 Hours in Egypt

Getting to Egypt was a bit of an adventure. After Katie and Dan dropped us at the East London airport in South Africa, we got a lift to our hostel in what we thought was a taxi (but actually turned out to be some random guy who offered us a lift). After the impossible task of locating Buffalo Backpackers (quite possibly THE WORST backpackers on earth), we headed to Spar to grab some dinner. We bunkered down, read some and relaxed after a jam-packed week and a half with my friends from home.

Around 4 p.m. we pulled out our bus tickets--the ones that would take us from East London to Joburg, where we'd catch our flight to Egypt (and then on to India). It was only then that we realized our bus left that night! Somehow we'd read the tickets wrong and assumed we left the following day. We ran to the bus station only to learn that a) it was closed and b) buses to Joburg leave just once each day. Missing our flight out of the country wasn't an option. And since it departed the following day, taking the 22-hour journey by bus wasn't an option either.

So we scrambled.

No one at Buffalo's would let us use the phone and not a single person could tell us where a pay phone we could use was located. So we raced around the streets of East London trying to find a way to contact the local airport. With 30 hours to liftoff, it seemed our only option. After several desperate minutes on the phone, we'd been assured there was space enough on a morning flight from East London to Joburg. And while it would leave us 16 hours to wait at the airport, we were mostly just happy to be on our way and out of the black hole of East London. We were, however, less than pleased about the $120 price tag (especially since we'd already purchased a bus ticket on top of it).

So the following morning we loaded up our bags and headed to the airport, where we barely made it on the departing flight. Once we reached Joburg, we were unable to pass through airport security (we had 16 hours til our flight, after all), so we settled in at a cafe, people watched and read Shantaram. The book, which is a fictionalized autobiography of a guy living in Mumbai, is probably bigger than the Bible, so we were happy to offload it before boarding our plane to Egypt. (Turns out 16 hours is long enough to finish reading an 850 page book and to walk around the entire international terminal a few dozen times.)

Egypt wasn't a big part of our six-month travel plan, but when Rachel looked at tickets and found the cheapest way to Mumbai was through Cairo, we were pretty excited about the prospect of a visit--even if it was for just 17 hours. I'd always dreamed of seeing the pyramids and had heard from others that the city was a great destination.

Getting off the plane was like entering another world--one where females didn't exist. There were no women anywhere--none in the terminal and certainly none working. It was something I'd continue to notice when we left the airport and ventured into the city. Men were present and moving about everywhere you looked, but women were nearly impossible to find in this very traditional society.

We payed for our visa and hired a car for the day--one that would take us to the pyramids, the Sphinx, over the Nile and to a historic mosque, but also around the city limits, too.

Aside from the men, who stared endlessly as we walked out of the airport, the first thing I noticed about Cairo was that it was freezing! After two years in a place where the average temperature is over 100 degrees, arriving to sub 60 degree temps proved a major shock to the system. One we definitely were not prepared for.

Our driver took us to a hole in the wall for breakfast, where we feasted on the best falafel I've ever had. From there, it was through the city and to the pyramids. I was shocked by how run down Cairo looked. I'd imagined it to be a city of wealth, not just because of the tourists who arrive from around the world, but because of the pictures I'd seen prior to visiting. But as I looked out the window, my eyes were met with smog, pollution and decay. Rooftops were literally covered in garbage and it looked like buildings were breaking down before my eyes.




The Nile (Thats not a reflection off the water. It's smog.)




These cars are not parked. The traffic was INSANE.

I expected the pyramids to be somewhere more isolated--smack dab in the middle of a desert or well off the beaten path. So I was incredibly surprised to find that where the city ended, they began. You can literally walk from the door of a Dominos Pizza to the Sphinx.



Just like Mount Rushmore, both the Pyramids and the Sphinx were smaller than I expected, but both were still interesting to see. There were men offering camel rides everywhere we turned and plenty of people eager to take our picture for a price (neither of which we were interested in).


The Sphinx




Rachel and I looked like gypsies with all our brightly colored sitenges wrapped around us. It was mostly to keep warm, but also to avoid the leering eyes of men.





After the pyramids we headed to a famous mosque within the city limits before returning to the airport for our flight to Mumbai.




A traditional Fez Maker

Seventeen hours later, we finally boarded our plane to India. We were unsure where we'd stay once we arrived (we hadn't booked anything in advance--not the best plan, considering we would arrive on New Year's Eve), but we were still incredibly excited (and a little bit sad) to finally leave the continent of Africa after 27 months there.

An Incredible Journey-Christmas and the Wild Coast!

I've spent Christmas in some pretty incredible places. Malawi last year, and before that, with my Namibian host family who welcomed as one of their own. (But I'd still have to say, Christmas at home with my own fam is probably the most incredible place of all.)

This year's holiday was no exception. And it was particularly special because Katie and Dan were with us.


A view of the countryside from the seat of our car

We left Cape Town a couple of days ago and headed east along the Garden Route to the Wild Coast, where we made a stopover in Knysna to celebrate Christmas. We stayed in what will likely be the fanciest place we'll see on this trip--complete with adjoining rooms, a pool, a quiet area for reading and relaxing, a beautiful garden, delicious breakfast and a braai pit and kitchen we put to good use preparing our holiday meal.


Our Room


The Breakfast Room


Me and Rachel


Dan Manning the Braai


Cheffing It Up


Relaxing!

Our last stop before leaving South Africa was Cintsa, a tiny village in the heart of the Wild Coast. While the region gets its name from the wilderness it's surrounded by, we thought it could have easily gotten it from the crazy travelers staying at our hostel, Buckaneers. Despite feeling a little out of place, we ended up having a good time and enjoying the beach--even if it was a little cold!


A Tiny Inlet


A Beautiful View

An Incredible Journey-Cape Town

Rachel and I had already been to Cape Town, but that didn't make our second visit any less fantastic. That's because this cosmopolitan town had plenty to keep us busy and loads of delicious food for us to eat. (I had nachos twice in one day!) There were plenty of other RPCVs around, too, which made celebrating my final African birthday a real occasion. Especially since Katie and Dan, two of my favorite friends from America, were there to join us.


The Streets of Cape Town


My Birthday Dinner


The Birthday Dinner Crew


Early World Cup Prep

Rachel and I had already done a lot of the more touristy things in Cape Town, like Table Mountain and the Cape Point tour. But I'd tried and failed to visit Robben Island, the prison where Nelson Mandela was held captive for 27 years. I'd read his book, Long Walk to Freedom before visiting South Africa the first time, and was determined not to leave the continent before seeing where most of his story took place. Luckily Katie and Dan had booked tickets well in advance, so we were able tour the island during their visit. While most of the experience took place in a bus, where a former prisoner explained daily life at Robben Island, we were able to get out and walk around the cells where Mandela and several other well-known political prisoners stayed.


The best view of Table Mountain is from Robben Island


Mandela's Prison Cell


The Yard, where prisoners spent one hour each day


The Garden where Mandela hid his Long Walk to Freedom manuscripts

As part of the birthday festivities, Katie and Dan also planned a tour to some local vineyards. Rachel and I had done something similar on our first visit to Cape Town, but both Katie and Dan are real winos and the couple not only rented a private car, but picked a selection of tiny mom and pop vineyards (as well as a couple of big ones) for us to visit. It was the perfect way to spend an absolutely beautiful day!


The Vines


The Casks at De Toren


Outside Simonsberg. They even make their own Champagne!


The Cheese Tasting at Fairview--Almost as Good as the Wine

Tomorrow we say goodbye to Cape Town and head out along the Garden Route, bound for the Wild Coast. (Katie and Dan rented a car, so no more hitchhiking and public transport for us!) We'll be hitting up a couple of spots we missed the first time around, and celebrating our last Christmas on the continent, too.

An Incredible Journey-And We're Off!

Today marked the start of two incredible journeys. The first, our lives as Returned Peace Corps Volunteers (RPCVs). The second, a five-month journey through South Africa, Egypt, India and Southeast Asia with Rachel, my CATJAR friend.

We woke early and said our goodbyes to the few volunteers that still remained before hopping into a cab and heading out to the B1 for the last time. It was only about 6 a.m., but we had high hopes of making it as far as Cape Town before nightfall. And we were planning to hitchhike the entire way. (We are, after all, ladies on a budget, and without much Nam cash left to spare!)

Our drop spot just beyond Windhoek city limits was a pretty poor one, and we waited nearly two hours for our first pick up: A guy who was only going as far as Rehoboth, about an hour south of Windhoek. Originally we'd agreed to ride only with people who were traveling as far as Keetmanshoop, but after hours on the roadside, we were just happy to be on our way.

Luckily, the man dropped us off at a petrol station, where a guy with a bakki was happy to take us the rest of the way to Keets. Rachel rode in the back while I made four hours worth of small talk up front. The sun was blazing and needless to say, Rach wasn't wearing sunscreen (she never does). We made a quick stop at a Wimpy's for milk shakes and then our ride delivered us to the outskirts of town, where we waited for a ride that would hopefully take us to Cape Town.

At first our prospects seemed weak. A mac truck offered us a lift for R100 each, but it was after 4 and he didn't have working headlights, which meant in a couple of hours we'd be forced to pull off to the side of the road and wait until morning. So we decided to roll the dice and wait a while longer. Which worked out in our favor. A brand new air-conditioned Mercedes with a nice South African driver who bought us cool drinks and snacks, pulled up and offered us a lift all the way to Cape Town. A six-hour journey directly to our hostel door. The perfect Nam send off!

Saying Goodbye

Last week I watched Jessica leave Khorixas for the final time. A Ministry of Education car filled with two teachers attending a workshop pulled up to our flat at 7 a.m. and without much fanfare or emotion--she was suddenly gone. It was a moment we'd both been preparing for for months, but neither of us was actually ready. There weren't any tears and there was no hesitation--but when the door slammed and her car pulled away the text messaging started and we realized life as we knew it had finally come to an end. Two years, officially over.

Today, it was my turn.

There's a thing about Namibians--they never want you to be alone. And while my former American self found it a tad bit annoying to have zero personal space, the more Namibian version of me I'd now become appreciated this cultural difference more than ever this past week. Our flat was a revolving door of friends and colleagues concerned about me staying alone. Richel didn't leave last night, even though she was clearly tired:



Today's ride to Windhoek was no different. My hospital arranged for a car to collect me at 8 a.m, and with three extra spaces, I was allowed to bring whomever I wanted with me. So Lorraine, one of my best friends in the place, came along. She brought a CD of Nam tunes my colleague Kate made. And Katrina, my little sister here, came along for the ride, too. About an hour before the car arrived she and her entire family came by to wait with me--anxious to see her off, but I think sad to see me go, too. Katrina's mom gave me a long hug and danced me around the room while singing me a song about friends leaving and big hearts. It was incredibly touching, not just because the words were obviously coming from her heart, but because two years ago, when we first arrived in Khorixas, Katrina's mother couldn't speak a word of English. Now, she can carry on conversation! I tried hard to hold back the tears (something I've spent most of this week doing). Seeing Tu-O giggling behind his hand on the cot as his mom danced me around the room made it a little bit easier.

By 8 a.m. we'd said our goodbyes and loaded my pack into the car. Funny how I came to Namibia with a single bag--and today I left with the exact same one packed with half as much. I've learned how little a person actually needs, I guess. We popped in Kate's CD and were on the road with Khorixas in our rearview before I knew it. And before I was really even ready.



The ride to the capital felt shorter than usual--maybe because I knew it was my last and was dreading my arrival there--the goodbyes and the hugs and definitely the tears. Katrina was visiting her family for the holiday in Otjiwarango, so we dropped her off in the location there. A drunk old man came up and started talking to me--probably because I was the only white person he'd ever seen there--while we were in the middle of saying goodbye. Such exchanges are always a bit annoying, but this time, even more so. I wanted to shake the guy and tell him I was in the middle of saying goodbye to my little sister--a girl I loved to death and was uncertain I'd ever see again. The gravity of the situation was too much for me, and he couldn't begin to understand what he was getting in the middle of.

As we pulled away and left Katrina behind, the tears started to flow. I was devastated. And while I'd attempted to mentally prepare myself for moments like that one, it hadn't really worked. Goodbyes are never easy. Especially for me.

A few hours later (and about five rotations of that entire Nam Tunes CD) we arrived in Windhoek. And once again, the tears were ready to flow. Lorraine and I had been good about not crying over the course of our five hour drive--we'd kept the conversation light and tried to trick ourselves into thinking I wasn't going anywhere. But as we pulled up to the Peace Corps office, it was clear that hadn't worked. We got out of the car and were prepared for a quick hug. But it turned into a long embrace and all out sobbing. In front of the security guard, no less. "He's probably wondering who is this crazy black lady crying over a white woman!" she said. But my guess is, he'd seen it before. Probably lots over these past few weeks.

They pulled away and I went back to the lounge, where several other volunteers who'd already left site were waiting. There's this glazed over look your eyes get when you leave a place you once called home--faces attached to bodies that have been worn down and beaten. And everyone seems to move in a daze, cautiously circling around the others--not saying much, and certainly not bringing up what we'd all just been through. We had the look of people on the cusp of a breakdown, and I guess for most of us, we were trying to avoid the realities of our situation. It was easy to tell we were emotionally exhausted.

We checked in to our hotel--Rachel and I shared a room in preparation for the next five months we plan to spend together--and left for dinner at Joe's Beer House with Speech and her friend EmKay. I was excited to see an old friend, but also extremely sad because it meant I also had to say another goodbye. Speech was one of my first friends in Khorixas. He taught me the proper way to mop floors (turns out you have to sweep first) and helped me out on nearly every project I started. I'm so proud of all he's accomplished--that he became a SCORE volunteer and eventually moved all the way to Windhoek. It's been an incredible experience to watch him grow and I'm so grateful to call him my brother.



Dinner was delicious, but saying goodbye was hard. After a week's worth of endings and a day spent saying all of my big goodbyes, I was shattered. But my heart was full. And while there were still more tears, I was in good company because they weren't all mine.

The Last Week

After two years of uncertainties, hardships, successes and friendships, it's officially time to leave Khorixas. I am certain this will be one of the hardest things I ever have to do. I'm happy, because I feel like I'm leaving my home--I have a family here that I love as much as my own, and friends that I'm as close to as those I left behind in America. To me, that means I did my job. I integrated. I changed. And ultimately, I grew.

After 27 months of constantly learning, I finally feel like I understand the way things work and what to expect, and as I prepare to leave here, I know all of that is about to change. I'm excited, because while leaving Khorixas means the end of one chapter, it also means the beginning of another. In less than a week I'll begin my five month journey through South Africa, Egypt, India (where I've been wanting to go for practically forever!), and Southeast Asia. And while I know that experience will be an amazing one, it's hard to wrap my head around actually leaving. There are so many goodbyes to say and the unanswered question of, "When will I see you again?" hangs over every one of my interactions with the people here I love.


The Neighbor Kids


Me and Mila


My Office Building


My Office

Jessica and I decided to have a yard sale of sorts over this past weekend. We thought it was a great excuse to get rid of some stuff and also an opportunity for people here to get in on some American goods on the cheap, too. (We didn't want to just hand things out because it makes life harder for the next volunteer.) We expected two big benefits from the sale--more room in our flat and less to pack in our bags. But there was another perk to our plan as well. The last few days have turned our place into a revolving door of visitors. Friends, colleagues, teachers and nurses have continuously stopped by. Whether to look at what's for sale or simply to say hello, it's been the easiest way to insure we see everyone before we leave. And it's nice to have them coming to us, instead of having to search each and every person out ourselves.


Me and Jill-Tasha


My Supervisor, Dr. Nkire and My Colleague, Kate


My Nam Fam


Boois, Jeremy and Marianne


One of the Things I'll Miss the Most

Isabelle and Lorraine pooled their funds with some other ladies at the hospital and got me a traditional Damara dress, too. I was sad that Jessica wasn't around to see me in it! The dress was red and white, with puffy sleeves and a long skirt, and while I thought it looked absolutely HEINOUS on, the people at the hospital loved it and everyone kept telling me how beautiful I looked. I know they really meant it, too. Getting the dress was really incredible, because it symbolized their acceptance of me into the Damara culture. Wearing it was really special for everyone here, because it meant I'd accepted their culture as part of my own, too.


Fashion Show!


Me and Merline