Where am I

This weekend was the first that I was home every day, and I really enjoyed it. After returning home from school at the usual time of 5:30 on Friday, I went outside with my sister Olo and our two cousins Uket and Simo. One of the things I love about Langa is the constant energy in the street. Kids are always outside playing with each other and adults can often be seen chatting in front of houses. Simo had brought a rubber bouncy ball to play with (admittedly one of my favorite pass time activities). We took the ball out into the street and made up a game with about 10 other children. Who knew that chasing a bouncy ball on pavement could be so entertaining. We played with it for about an hour and it was fantastic. Afterward we played another game in which I just chased the kids around the street. Apparently, making spirit fingers while running is quite monstrous.
I woke up on Saturday morning, and as I was cooking my family a champion’s breakfast of scrambled eggs, sausage, and toast, I stopped mid- chop to re-think where I was. Life at my school, in my house, and with my family and friends has become so normal that sometimes I forget I am across the world. I am in Africa. What?
One of the things I have realized here is that I can make a home wherever I am. Langa has become my home; its smell, its roaming dogs, its playing children, its morning fog that I see every day on the way to school, the smell of chicken and rice, are now a representation of comfort. I love everything about this place, and it will be very hard to leave. This Thursday, we will be going to the Eastern Cape, where we will do a rural homestay for a week. I am excited for this, one reason being that many people from Langa grew up in that area.
On Saturday night, my sister Ayanda and I met up with Julie, a friend of mine from my program who is also staying in Langa. There were other American students in Langa this weekend from a different abroad program, and we ended up going to a braai (barbeque) with them close to Julie’s house. When we arrived, we found a mixture of local South Africans and American students. The night was awesome, and by the end of it my clothes smelled of braai smoke. The scent reminded me of making bonfires up north (up north = northern Michigan for all you non-Michiganders) while roasting marshmallows and listening to Dad’s infamous “scary” stories about mystical owls.
After getting home around twelve, Ayanda and I realized that we had no key to the gated garage. The gate stands about ten feet tall, and in between the metal bars are large spear head-like pieces that protrude from the top and middle of the horizontal metal bars. Instead of waking up Mama or Tata to open the gate, we thought it would be a great idea to attempt climbing over. I should have listened to my inner voice when, before climbing, I had a mental image of me seriously hurting myself. But instead I thought, heyyyy you’re only in Africa once, right? Climb the damn fence. In the end, it was far from pretty. Ascending in my flip flops, I somehow managed to reach the top. I looked like an unbalanced cat on a telephone wire as I wobbled dangerously close to the metal spear-heads that were starting to poke through my jeans. But at this point, there was no turning back. I should have formed some sort of game plan of how to get down, but the combination of beer and uncontrollable laughter thwarted any logical decision-making. Ayanda had already semi-gracefully landed on the other side, and was waiting under me to catch my body if it should fall. Disclaimer: Ayanda is eighteen, about 4’11 and 95 pounds. Not much assurance. In the end, I attempted what I thought to be a James Bond move involving a nearby wall and a water pipe. I failed miserably, and as I came crashing down onto Ayanda I reached my right hand out for anything to grab on to. Unfortunately, one of the metal “spear heads” was the only thing my hand found. After recovering from the fall, I looked down at my burning hand and saw a bloody puncture wound on my inside palm. Still laughing hysterically, we went to my room and dug around for my trusty first aid kit. I had never been more appreciative of alcohol wipes and band-aids. After treating my hand, I swallowed two pain-killers and fell fast asleep. What a night.
On Sunday, we went to a famous place called Mzoli. Known for its braai meet and party setting, many of us had it on our bucket list of things to do before leaving South Africa. Before going, I expected to enter a semi-rowdy setting of loud music, people sitting and standing, and an abundance of meat in every corner. Upon arrival, we could hardly drive because masses of people were floating on the streets. We swam through a sea of broken bottles and bodies to enter the dancing area in a small hut where the floor was shaking from the bass. The air smelled like bbq sauce, sweat, smoke, and beer. Interesting combination. I couldn’t get over the masses of people going in and out of the area, and at first we felt overwhelmed trying to push through the crowds of people. I couldn’t believe that Sunday, of all days, is the busiest. Mzoli’s had already closed at eight, so our attempt of eating famous braai meat failed miserably. In the end, we just danced until 9:30 until the music stopped.
Well this post was entirely too long. But I couldn’t resist writing about my fun/injury filled weekend.