In Which I Leave the Lions and Enter the Unpredictable City of Capetown

Well, now the Drakenstein people have my blog address, so I have to be careful what I say...

Lots of changes since my last entry. To move in chronological order, we got a new volunteer at Drakenstein, who arrived on Sunday. Hans, from the Netherlands, who requests that I don't write about him, but I have to mention that he's the only person I've ever met who takes his cat to the park, and how does he know I wasn't going to say nice things?

Some highlights of the week- Elzette nearly stepped on a Cape Cobra in a lion enclosure, which freaked us all out. Vesil chased it with a shovel, but it had buggered off by then. On Tuesday morning four of us gutted 273 chickens. That's a full wheelbarrow of guts. Even after scrubbing my hands several times, Donkey Girl wouldn't eat the peach slice I brought her until I put it on the ground. We also finished messing with gravel after a full day on Thursday. It does brilliant things for the abdominals, raking gravel does. Determined to wear me out at last, on Friday we dug deep holes in tough soil. I admit, my legs were starting to shake at that point.

Lion watching: Edina and Jack, a brother and sister from the illegal pet trade in Romania, are digging a trench next to their water trough. We suspect a plot for world domination. They're in on it with the ibises. I was disappointed by Aneta in heat. She's really more lukewarm. I watched her stealing chickens from Ringo and rousting him from his shady spot, but nothing raunchier than that. He sniffs at her tail hopefully, but no love. Peanut and Chippy, who live next to the volunteer camp, continued to pace the fenceline every sunset and roar, just to keep us in our place.

I left Saturday morning, said goodbye to people and discovered that they had a bet on to see whether I would cry. I'm not sure who won, but there were no tears. Damn uppity Crunchies (they tell me this is a term for Afrikaans-speakers, and not a very nice one). I might miss them... you know, a little. Don't get cocky, back there! Leaving places is hard, no matter how much you do it. They're probably all gossiping about me now anyway... Bloody Crunchers.

I received a notable compliment this week as well. Hans told me "Without a doubt, you are the toughest woman I've ever worked with" and that he had to work to keep up with me. I told him that he should meet some of the woman I'VE worked with, which is true, and yet I have to admit I was gratified. Actually, smug is the appropriate term. My ego was purring, and I knew that if it didn't get beaten back to it's proper place, there'd be no living with me.

Luckily, Humble Pie was on the way. After an uneventful train ride, I reached Capetown and went to an internet place to look up the location of my hostel (smart people write this down when they make the booking, but I have limits). It was then that I realized that I'd read the description wrong, and my hostel was nowhere near the city centre, where I wanted to be, and I had no idea how to get there. After basically walking in circles, with a throbbing headache, aching shoulders from the bags and getting increasingly overheated, I had met no one who could give me advice. This was not a moment went I felt tough. It didn't help that the people who recognized the address all said "District Six? That's the dangerous part of town, don't go there."

Well, what with the headache and everything, I was not feeling up to defending myself or even being particularly alert in a dodgy part of town where I didn't know where I was going. So I took the advice of a facebook group entitled "Fuck this. I'm doing what I want." Long story short, I said to hell with the tiny deposit I'd placed on the booking, and I walked into the nearest hostel in the city centre. It isn't dirt cheap, like District Six, but it's reasonable, it's well placed, and I like the people there. English Claire and Mark, South African Marius and Namibian Steve are the others in my room. They told me where to find a chemist (that's Brit for Pharmacy) so I could do away with the headache, and once I was finished running around, they were still there to hang out. I joined them for drinks last night, and now find myself with a case of early-morning insomnia (ok, well it was early when I got online).

I'll probably be in Capetown for the week. There are hikes to take, places to swim, street singers and dancers. I might be into some day trips or overnight trips nearby as well, once I find out what there is to do. But the important thing is to save money.

Take care, you lot! And keep your eyes open, because in my whole four months in Africa, this is probably when I'll be online the most!

Molting

I've decided that the first two weeks of an adventure should be thought of as the molting period. In Africa's case, it's quite literal molting, because this is about the amount of time it takes to burn, burn again, learn to remember to put on your damn sunscreen, and peel. These two weeks are also used to develop the handy blisters that turn into even handier calluses, to catch and recover from whatever flu or cold is in the area that you don't have the immunities for, to learn how much water you'll need to boil and chill for the day, and to accustom yourself to sleeping in a new places with new sounds. Then there's the cultural molting- you learn to stop doing things your way and to adopt someone else's methods, you adapt your social habits- most importantly, you learn the local swears. Thusfar, I've only used Afrikaans curses in my head, but I'm getting there, I'm getting there.

Since the last entry, I have left behind my lobster color, and become... well, if not tan, at least tawny. Like Rupert the caracal. But with freckles. I'm sleeping through the night, I've got my calluses back, and life has generally settled for now.

Morning at the lion park begins with cleaning one or two enclosures, which incidentally is also a good opportunity for collecting. I've got an owl feather, a raven's primary, lion fur, some lovely rocks, and an intriguing raptor skull that Vesil, a staff member, has offered some of his favorite pieces in exchange for. No chance. My skull. Once-in-a-lifetime find. After enclosures, we frequently gather branches from various invasive trees to feed the goats. My other work has ranged from shoveling gravel to gutting chickens to brushing the donkey. (I'm curiously fond of this donkey. I suspect there's a lot of donkey guilt leftover from Ecuador, where we had to feed them to the carnivores. It had to be done, but... I like that I can pamper this girl with carrots and peach slices, and know that she'll never end up in a lion's belly).

Three afternoons a week (mon, wed, fri) we feed the lions, and this is the best time for lion-watching. Technically, my job is crowd control, but since the school year just started (remember, it's summer here) our "crowds" have been minimal, so I get a lot of staring in. The kids start feeling frisky about an hour before feeding time. The younger ones start wrestling like kittens, the older ones might pace in front of the fence, moaning to the two-leggers to hurry it up. Once they've inhaled their chickens (they do get red meat when there's a donation, but it's mostly chicken) they clean their paws and either go to sleep or start snuggling with their roomies. Yesterday I watched Shumba and Bai, one of the cuter couples, washing each other's faces. I recall a similar experience with a puma cub as feeling something like a sandpaper massage, but it's probably more comfortable when your face is covered in coarse fur. This week I also witnessed Chumba taking his sexual frustration out on his brother Mufasa's head, and Goliath catching and chewing on his brother Simba's tail. Aneta has just gone into heat, so part of today and tomorrow will certainly be spent watching how her roomie, Ringo, copes with the situation. It's his first time. They tell me that however sweet a male might be with a female under normal circumstances, once she's in heat all bets are off. In addition, his equipment is barbed- the pain of entry apparently stimulates ovulation in the female (for all the good it will do them, since our boys are vassectomized). I wonder if they've tried a domestic violence seminar...

I have had some angsty moments, when I'm just angry at Africa- for ants eating my cough drops, for water I have to boil, for being freakishly hot, for waking up already sweating. These moments pass once I've dealt with the issue at hand. My only other small angst has been of a feminist flavor. It's been explained to me that men here are "gentlemen". Bah Humbug and Piffle- I can lift it on my own! I was the strongest barmaid at the Skeff, and don't you forget it! It doesn't help that the last female volunteer they had here apparently fainted while working on a hot day, and thus the staff have been attempting to treat me like porcelain. Frankly, fainting is the last of my worries. I've fended it off before- just drink water and sit down if your vision goes wonky. You'll be fine. Hopefully Elzette, who gives me most of my work, has accepted by now that I'm hard to kill.

This coming week I'm getting a buddy in the volunteer camp- some guy from the Netherlands. I'm worried that because he has The Testosterone he'll get all the good work and I'll be stuck cleaning indoors. But most likely not. They've got my number by now.

Well, I'm off to buy my ticket to the next stop, Tanzania. I'll write again next weekend. Miss you guys...

Sacred Ibises are Stalking Me

Seriously. Yesterday I saw my first one, flying overhead, and I was excited- the Egyptian god of wisdom, after all! Later that evening I saw two more- still cool. Now there's a flock of them picking around the donkey's pen next to my cabin, and I'm getting suspicious. They're up to something.

Life has changed. Last winter in Alaska I considered myself lucky if the temperature was up to -10 degrees. This past wednesday, it was 43 degrees Celsius. For those of you without calculators to hand, that's 109 fahrenheit. In my professional opinion, Yeesh!

Drakenstein Lion Park is working out well so far. The owner, Paul, embraces the fact that he who would try and force a lion to do anything will end up as the head of a fascist-govt-style anti-lion militia, or as a lion's chew toy. Thus, everything here is done the lion's favorite way- bribes. And if a lion becomes uneasy in his trap cage while we're cleaning his enclosure, he's immediately released, so that they don't come to dread going in. The enclosures are large and shady, and lions never live alone unless they have personally poo-pooed the alternatives.

There are 29 lions, 1 caracal, a donkey lawn-mower, a mess of goat composters, plus one sheep who isn't sure whether he's a goat or a dog, and two chatty crows named Stoeffels and Pete. Like the macaws in Ecuador, the crows are fluent in curse words (mostly in Afrikaans), but they prefer the more demure "Bye!" and "More, Stoeffels!" (good morning, Stoeffels). If you could only teach them the appropriate times for each phrase, these guys could put the Walmart greeters out of a job. The lions come from all manner of abusive backgrounds- circuses, zoos, illegal pet situations, and especially the canned hunting industry. One lioness. Ziyanda, is one of only 300 white lions in the world. Not albino; her eyes are blue, rather than pink- it's just a different, and extremely rare, coloration. Certain assholes of the world will pay a million dollars or more to shoot one of these. So she'll be staying here.

Everyone on staff here speaks Afrikaans at home, which is most closely related to Flemish. They're good about speaking English when I'm around, though, being more than fluent. South Africa has about 11 official languages, and English is the most common one. They tell me I use english rather differently even than most americans, though, which is interesting. Most importantly, the people here get my sense of humor. That's all I ask from a place.

My biggest hurdle here has been the sun, which I completely foresaw, and thought I had prepared for. I didn't take into account the reaction my skin has had to the sunblock I brought... either allergy or the sunblock is getting too old. S'ok. I have a game plan. Since I have the weekend off, I'll be buying new sunblock and bulking up my supply of aloe, then hoping for the best. My genes weren't designed for this: Anglo-saxon-gaelic-norse. That's a complicated way of saying Pasty. Add a year in Alaska, and I could give Elmer's glue a run for its money.

Correction. That was true five days ago. Since then I've taken on more of a maraschino cherry hue. It would be quite fetching, on a lobster.

On a curious note, I don't seem to need sleep here. The winds almost always pick up at night, and for some reason it keeps me awake, although the lions roaring don't bother me. I'm used to lions from Ecuador, but I haven't gotten used to the winds yet. Don't mistake this for a complaint, though- as long as I lie still and quiet at night and tell myself stories, I find my energy levels during the day are undiminished.

My digital camera, Cesar, is still in the custody of my friend Helen in England, but I have disposable cameras with me that I am putting to use, and I promise photos once they're developed and scanned, probably in May...?

I'm glad I'm here, but I miss you guys anyway. That's a given. Take care, be good, and avoid the clap. And email me or somesuch. Oh! And watch out for ibises, I just get a shifty vibe from them!

And Boy, are my arms tired...

Okay, two days in an airport/plane are exhausting. Officially. And I have to say it's a little discouraging when you get to your destination and find out that your luggage is still in Qatar. Especially when you spoke to three separate people in Qatar airport to make sure it would get there.... Whatevs. I'm over it. If it doesn't get here in the next few days, I will officially not to over it, though.

Anyway, I'm here at Drakenstein Lion Park, and I've already helped clean a few enclosures. I think.... I think I've finally found a warm place. Not fake warm, like the 9000 ft spot in Ecuador, but really warm. Hot, even. So far, I've loving it. After 11 months in Alaska, nothing could be sweeter.

Drakenstein is on a green plain, with jagged mountains in the background. They've got 29 lions, and my neighbors are a herd of goats, a donkey and a caracal named Rupert. I'm the only volunteer here for the next two weeks, but the staff is friendly. Rupert isn't. High winds at night make you think there's someone trying to get into your cabin, but I'll soon get used to that. K. I've got to go buy food. I miss you people! Officially!

Exploring Quiet Hysteria

Nights before a long trip never go well... it's like putting out honey for the nightmare gnomes. Packing went suspiciously well, and I've crammed what I think are all the necessities into my hiker's backpack and a smaller backpack for the plane. I'm almost confident that I haven't forgotten anything that I can't replace once I get there.

Remind me why I do this again?

Yeegads, my nerves are humming! I think... the solution is more tea. Channel the inner Brit, that is the road to peace... and freckles. One comfort is that after two days of this I should be so exhausted that I won't have the energy to be shy. Happened in Dublin. Exhaustion can be a major aid to making new friends fast.

I feel like I should be saying something very deep and meaningful... or at least funny... but my brain lacks focus. So... well... I miss you guys, but that's nothing new. I always do, even when I fall out of contact with people. Take care of yourselves. I'll write again when there's an opportunity. Who knows, there might be an internet cafe in the airport, and this'll be majorly anti-climactic.

Preparation for Takeoff

The proverbial "they" say that Pride goeth before the fall... well... I do recall pretty cocky on the way to get my first round of Africa shots. When I got my shots for Ecuador, I was working six days a week, in addition to three gym workouts, and I barely stuttered. Well.... Thud. No, in fact, the word is Splat. I fell. The evening following my first round of shots (Tetanodiptherimeningitinfluenza) I spent on the couch with bright red cheeks, uttering whatever disjointed sentences tottered through my head. Standing up was a doubtful option, due to balance issues. This week's line up (H1N1/PV-poliohepatitis) was much fuzzier, with fewer after-effects, so pride is restored pending another fall.

I go through this, of course, in accordance with my plans to spend four months in Africa, which brings me to my next point: people and their warnings. Gangs, political violence, disease, and large carnivores are the most popular subjects of discussion, and I've tried to remain calm while explaining that most of these are easily avoidable. But the other night, I was having dinner with two high school friends, Melissa (aka Git R Dunn) and Sydney (aka Pinky). Now, Pinky Syd is doing her masters in business in Manchester, England, and upon the first mention of Zimbabwe, she turns to me and says, "Irene, you shouldn't go to Zimbabwe." I prepared myself for the usual speech, but the next words out of her mouth were "They have hyperinflation there!!!" Or was it superinflation, Syd? I can't recall... Anyway, it had both the benefits of drawing surprised laughter, and of being something practical to prepare for. Round of applause for Pinky!

In addition to Pinky and Git-r-dun being around, I also had a visit from my college chum, Sabina (They call her Petunia), and took her in turn to team up with Tricia (aka Rookie) in Boston, yet another mini GWiM reunion. Since graduation, we've only ever managed to gather three of the six of us in one place at one time. But there's always the five-year reunion. Whatever. I can still tease Saby about her height, and Tricia about her cast of expressive voices. Amazing what an evening of friendly character defamation can do for the soul!

On a sober note, my sweet little brother of the canine variety is having problems with arthritis in his neck. He's a solidly mature dog now, ten years old, and had a similar round of pain last winter. I know all this logically, but it's still tough to watch him lie still all day, and hear him yelp with pain. Makes me feel pretty rotten about leaving.

My plane leaves tomorrow afternoon, and it will be two days before I reach Capetown. That's not normal, just a side effect of buying through cheap ticket agencies. The upside is I'll get a bit of a world tour of airports. I'll write another entry before I leave, perhaps I'll even wax sentimental, and then I'll post again as soon as I can!
Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a to-do list to write!

Oh! I forgot! Got confirmation today of my February and March plans! February I'll be in Tanzania, living in a hostel that operates its own volunteer services, so I'll be able to explore of range of non-animal-related work! Nice change of pace. Then in march I'll be in the Thuma Forest Reserve of Malawi doing whatever they need done (wildlife surveys, repairs, etc).