Yesterday, I said goodbye to Jenna and Nanosh. It wasn’t the last goodbye – I saw Marcilio in Johannesburg – but it was by far the hardest. I don’t think I even understand the emotions I went through and am still going through, and will be for some time. All I have known for the last two years is poof! gone.
I had time to think about that on the bus from Maputo to Johannesburg yesterday, but they showed movies, the scenery was spectacular, and I was in and out of sleep. It’s really amazing how intensely I can get lost in thought, and how the smallest distraction can prevent me from getting there.
So it cost 200 Rand for the bus here, then 180 Rand for the taxi to my hostel. It all translates (plus food) to about $85. Still cheaper than a flight, for sure. And now I’ve got time to think, though I’m not sure I want it. What it really means is that I’ve got time to be sad or be anxious about the next few days. I’m sure I’ll keep myself occupied in Prague, after I get tickets for the hockey game I don’t want to miss and a jacket so I don’t die from the cold.
Johannesburg, from what I’ve seen, could be a city pretty much anywhere, except that everyone’s got razor wire and security guards. It’s nice, in a “I don’t want to live here” kind of way. Had a nice conversation with my taxi driver who was born and raised (and still lives) in Soweto. I told him I was interested to see it one day, but didn’t get his contact info after he had to pull out the map and have me navigate to the hostel. “I’ve been driving this taxi since 1989.” Oh, well.
So, these are my last hours in Africa, in an Afrikaner-run hostel outside of the most dangerous city in the world. Two black labs have become my best friends, along with the cook/pool boy, but that relationship is more one-way than with the dogs.
I nearly froze my ass off last night. Had to put on my fleece and keep my socks on just to sleep. Yeah, I’m going to be real cold tomorrow.
The border post put my South African entrance visa ON TOP of my Portugal stamps. Ouch. Patience.
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I’m in Johannesburg airport. Not without considerable cost, though. I was overweight (not personally, in terms of luggage) by 10kg, so they wanted to charge me $36 per kg over. Ha! I wasn’t laughing. So I went downstairs to the shippers and they wanted $160 for the entire 10kg. But I didn’t have an extra bag. So a guy sold me a small piece of shit for $20, and I packed it with 10kg of my crap. Then the guy told me I could put up to 19kg into it, no problem – same price. So I did! That lightened my two pieces of luggage. But I totally forgot that prior to doing all of this, one of my pieces weighed 19kg. I only remembered after checking in. Oh, well. $20 bought a rolling Samsonite with questionable zippers and a tougher time in Prague hauling around two bags instead of just one. Phooey.
I bought a cheese sandwich from a Changana woman. She was really happy to see a whitey speaking Changana. Fun stuff. And I passed a glass bin full of change in the terminal. Nothing strange, right? As I looked for the label marking the charity, I noticed there was NONE. OK, maybe it’s the $4 Guinness talking, but I’m quite convinced that Westerners not only have too much money, but we’re WAY too trusting. Hell, I might try that in the States to try and get back the $180 I spent just getting an extra 10 kilos of my accumulated African crap home.
Peace,
John
