understanding the emotional epic adventure

I know my friends and I highly doubt that many will read this. That’s okay. I was told to write everything down. I did. I am on journal number three.

I stopped writing publicly for a while. I was afraid. I was scared. I did not want your criticism. I did not want your judgment.

I do not care about your criticism. I do not care about your judgment. Maybe I just need your understanding.

You all heard the story of my “epic adventure”—my hitching tales, the trading of my passport, getting robbed…etc. This story is less exciting and glamorous.

The last time I wrote seriously I was in Cape Town. Everything I did was stupid. But, I learnt a lot about myself in that epic journey. Here is a bit of the tale:

In Cape Town I found the achievable juxtaposed with the unachievable. I achieved one thing I had set out to do: run an ultra marathon. I cannot, and will never, achieve something I want so deeply in life—to relieve loneliness and really “know” the people around me.

In Cape Town I realized you can never “know” anyone, especially when no one really “knows” you. I exposed so many of my secrets to myself. I was petrified by them. The sheer weight of myself and the things I had been running from for so long. I became burdened.

In Windhoek I wrote, “I am stressed, aggravated and anxious. I do not know what is happening next, where it is taking place or how long I will be there. I am plain scared. I do not like not having a plan. I am uncomfortable because I cannot figure this out: what am I looking for? It feels like for the first time in my life I am doing something for myself. There are no essays to write, no deadlines to respect, no resume to build, no superiors to impress, no one watching. I am so lost. What am I trying to achieve?”

I asked myself, “is it alright to be twenty years of age and be absolutely lost?” I was so angry to have lost that sense of self I worked so hard to build in Canada. I had no one to blame. No one robbed me of it. I let it die. I was so angry. I hated Africa for disappointing me. I remembered a conversation with a South African “mercenary” I met on the bus to Windhoek. He told me all war is greed. He said Africa is greedy.

It took a while but I gave up on the “real Afrika.” Looking back, I annoy myself with the relentless search: a craving for “Africa.” I was disillusioned. I thought back to my trip to a psychiatric hospital in Swaziland. My stomach churned. I still cannot articulate that day. Simply, it hurts.

You move on. I went to Zambia thinking I would answer my questions there. Within five minutes on the bus I knew I was making a mistake. My seat was missing. The door was broken. There was a torrential downpour and the bus was leaking. My journal reads, “This is the type of bus you die on. I am so incredibly stupid for embarking on this journey.”

I held my breath the whole way. I made it. I made it there with not an accessible penny to my name. I needed a place to sleep. I traded my passport as collateral for US$100 to a Canadian. She left the country with it. I slept soundly. I gave up. I was not defeated. I was content. “I will get out of this,” I thought.

I went to Victoria Falls. It was sexy. Wet. Exotic. Beautiful. Lonely.

On April 16th my passport was returned to me. I wanted to move on. I hitched a ride to Lusaka. With the equivalent of US$300 stashed all over my body, I was petrified. “If this car gets jacked, this time I am dead. I can laugh later if I make it to my destination.”

I made it. In Lusaka I had no where to sleep. The one option was simply unacceptable. I would have been raped, robbed and murdered. I did what any reasonable white female would do. I borrowed a tent from a kid and climbed in at 2am after drinking away the tragedy of yet another school shooting in the USA. I was drunk. I would never have fallen asleep otherwise.

As I drifted to sleep that night I cried. The last time I cried was when I had called my Canadian professor from Swaziland. At the time I was distraught. He told me I was strong. In that tent, I was not strong. I was just going…

In the morning I received a compliment.
“How long have you been in Lusaka?”
“One day”
“How long in Africa?”
“Four months”
“You walk like you know Africa”
“Thanks, I don’t”

I bought my ticket. I was going to Tanzania that night. For now though, I needed to deliver a rugby ball to a Nun with a bunch of ruggers from the UK. I took a genuine interest each of them. It was at that moment that I realized people love themselves.

I boarded my bus to Dar es Salaam, a 31 hour ride. The driver had no seat. It was a mattress folded in two. The bus was oversold and they were shipping fruit and live chickens underneath. Luggage and women and children occupied the isles. The bus broke down three or four times. I stopped counting. The man next to me noticed I was cold. He shared his blanket. He touched me. He did not stop. I could not tell him to stop. It is not that simple. I never slept.

In the morning at the border a nice guy took care of me. I switched seats to sit with him. I had never met someone so kind. He bought me chapatti and tea. He negotiated a price for a sim card. He made sure I got my visa.

We got on the road. The drivers switched. The new one took off, racing around hair-pin mountainous turns. Again I was convinced death was eminent.

I discovered God. I prayed. I read a Bible. I clenched my teeth. I told myself I would not do wrong. I would a better person. I would work harder. I would be better. I would dedicate myself to morality. I would be better. I would stop hurting.

I did not want to slave myself to my sins. I wanted to be free. Mark 8:36, “For what shall it profit a man if he shall gain the whole world and lose his soul?”

I thought about why I like running. I imagined I was back in Cape Town running on top of Chapmen’s Peak. The road ahead of me gave me direction. The ocean below cleansed my past. The mountain above was all possibilities. I was sure I would never feel these things again. This was it. I was dead.

I never died. I was drained. But, I never died.

In my arms was my best friend. Screaming and hugging, we were reunited after nine months apart. I was nervous things would not be the same. What if we had changed? Nothing had changed.

We talked about boys. We talked about home. We talked about Africa. We talked about development. We talked about our places in the world. We talked about school. We talked about the future. We talked about fear, hatred, pain, depression.

We partied.

One night we went to a dance club. I became disgusted with all the decadence. Everyone was trying to escape reality. Why try and hide from the world in front of you?

April 22, 2007: “I am at peace with life right now. I have no need to inebriate myself. Why continue to hide from reality?”

My best friend and I got to talking. “When we get home, even if we haven’t changed, people will expect that we have. I guess we can choose how to be different and doing so won’t be unfounded.”

April 26, 2007: “Who shall I be tomorrow? I feel as though I have a week and a half to choose my personality. Where do I begin? Do I first decide what I do not like about myself or do I choose what I do like? What character shall I be? What face is mine?”

I remembered something an old boyfriend told me. I am too many things to too many people. I have one thousand lives and he will never get to see more than one. Remembering this hurt.

My personality at home was irrelevant for the time being. I had business to do. My best friend had to send some letters and I had to book a flight back to South Africa. After a long day in Dar es Salaam I wrote, “This is hell. This is lonely. This is awkward. Frankly, I do not care about these countries—develop or don’t. You choose. Just do not sit around whining and wishing to develop. WORK!”

I thought a lot about coming home. I wanted to come home so badly.

I boarded a plane to South Africa and bid farewell to my best friend and the girls. I cried. On the plane I looked out the window. I told myself that if this plane were to crash it would be okay. I am content. I am done. If I am to die, I am ready.

Back in South Africa I went to an Indian wedding. Why? I had nothing better to do. I then went to Pretoria to attend a private military conference. I got to Pretoria early. I was in the hotel alone. I did not even know if we were staying there. I lied through my teeth so that I could leave my bags there. It worked out, we stayed there. My professor, his grad student and I gav’r with the tequila shots.

I did not understand them. They were not conversationalists. I was frustrated. We had fun though. I embarrassed them at what we thought was a gay bar.

Then I was alone. Three days until I was to fly home. I let my introverted side take over. I realized I like people with depth and complexity and emotions. I realized I am excessive, curious, personal, and passionate. I realized I was not ready to grow up. I did not fit in with people my age. I gravitate towards people older. I was missing something significant, someone significant. I was running too fast for anyone to keep up. I knew I was too scared. I could not trust.

I discovered Islam. “We are not born in sin, we are born in weakness.” I looked for pure intentions and wanted to reject self indulgence.

As I got closer to home I grew more introverted and nervous. I felt like my trip was a dream. It never happened. Too much happened.

I asked myself, "what have I learned here?" I could not answer the question.

I got home. Africa was more than a distant dream. It never happened. I never felt that sun. Ate that food. Met those people. Saw that horror. Sang those songs. Loved those friends. Never.

But I did go to Africa. I notice it more and more every day.

I went to yoga about a week after coming back. I had to leave because I could not keep my emotions in control.

Post-culture shock. It is a roller coaster. Days are unpredictable. Some days I hate riding the TTC. I do not like people. I am apathetic. I do not care.

Other days, I deal. The TTC is no problem. Everyone around me, their time is no more valuable than mine. I respect this. I do not stress. I do not care.

The parasites have left my system. I am finally healthy. I have a great job. I am working on school and volunteering. I am busy.

I party. I embrace that decadent lifestyle of music, lights and drinks that I detested in Tanzania. I am escaping. I am trying to distract myself.

Time flies; a goodbye to Swaziland.

Just over three months ago I sat crying in a Paris airport. I was scared and overwhelmed and excited. At 5am in the morning, in Charles de Gaulle, I attempted to muster the courage to venture out into the city. Now, I have been traveling alone through Africa—has my audacity often been stupidity?

In Swaziland, I was culturally uncomfortable in the classroom. I felt ethnocentric and for the first time I hated being called upon to answer questions in class. I had a unique experience, in that for the first month in Swaziland, I only met Swazi's. After about one month, I met some other Africans—a Tanzanian, Kenyan, Ethiopian, Ugandan, and my closest friends, Botswana's exchange students.

Just under a month and a half in, I met my first white person: a Finnish rugby player.

Given the fact that I was the only Westerner with the Swazi's, I gained access to culture that most never see. I was able to ask sensitive questions and feel as though I got honest answers. I asked questions about development, international aid, women's rights, politics, war, rape... I was able to see a world that few outsiders see, but too many live though and even more die by. I saw apathy, indifference, and ignorance. It was challenging and frustrating. On February 18^th, I wrote in my journal, “I wish I could scream out and tell this country to get its act together.”

The glaring gaps in infrastructure made me feel like a fish caught in a net of red tape. I felt as though Swaziland had tasted liberalism and spat it out in disgust. The King, after all, received university education in the UK. All my friends from other African nations were the first to articulate that Swaziland is “backward.”At Guelph, I have a professor who, explaining International Relations realist theory, would say 'if I yell fire, you would all get up and go to the exit.' This was to emphasize that in certain situations, humans all act the same. If you were to yell fire in Swaziland, some days I doubted whether Swazi's would move at all.

Development, as I have come to see it, is a complicated mess. Some days I thought and still think that this world would be better off if the West just pull out of Africa and let it get its own grip.

Daily, I played hide-and-go-seek with my character. I wanted so badly to be humbled or to become more gracious. Instead, because of the role of women in Swazi society, I lost a lot of self-worth. After my phone, laptop, money, and clothing were stolen from my room, I felt violated and vulnerable. All trust as i knew it had disappeared. My friends, the ones who I trusted, had betrayed me. I was told that the problem is that I had too many friends in Swaziland and that is why I was robbed. Too many people knew too much about me.

I wondered, “how can I replace myself?” I wrote in my journal, “it is not the material goods that matter most, it is the sense of self—the character of me—that seems to have been lost in this setting. I am a trusting person by nature, I live like an open book with my heart on my sleeve, I always have many friends—are these the things making me vulnerable?”

I got over it, however. I stayed in Swaziland and I moved on. I learned to say, 'ces't la vive' and TIA on a daily basis. I decided to hope that maybe someone truly needed benefited from my stolen goods. I was surrounded by friends who did not get my jokes. In reference to the robbery, I would say to my friend Pearl, “it was Pearl with the candle stick.” Thinking everyone had played the game Clue. No one got the joke. I would call people “never-nudes.” They did not get that one either. It made me laugh more, and since then I laugh more than I do in Canada—you have to to get though the days.

I had fun in Swaziland and I loved the experience. More or less, I loved Swazi's. I ate pap, mealie bread and meat with my hands. I learn t to cook like a Swazi and I spoke some of the language. I woke up one morning at 4am to 'fetch a cow.' I found myself climbing a mountain with two 50 year old Swazi men to get this cow. I was sick and dehydrated. We got to the top. There were cows everywhere. We saw a local auntie. The two men talked to her. In siSwati I could hear that something was not right. The cow we had come to fetch was at the bottom of the mountain, it was at the vet getting inoculated. I said, “great, we will just walk back down and grab it.” It was explained to me that we had to get the cow from the top of the mountain and that on Wednesday we would climb to the top again. I am still learning (and laughing) from this absurd experience.

I traveled a fair bit, and I still am. Maputo—the capital of Mozambique—bothered me. I described it in my journal as a place where, “bodies were scattered like empty tequila bottles.” I felt that, “the unforgiving smell, coupled with the sights of environmental indifference and human neglect is haunting.”

But, as Ben Elton writes in his book The First Casualty, “Everybody is a bloody poet these days. Everybody wants to tell, everybody's scribbling away, but it's no good. Nobody will ever find a way to bridge the gap between those who were there and those who weren't seems a common theme, this frustration that nobody will ever understand.”

I leave for Namibia in the morning, from there I will discover what is on th other side of the Caprivi Strip. I will be back at the end of May and I anticipate post-culture shock.

Sharp, sharp.

meghan.

Two Oceans Ultra Marathon

56km. Finished in 6hours, 53minutes.
My foot was in pain, but it was okay.
I never really got that physically tired.
Today, my foot hurts and I am tired.

Loved every minute of it.
The sights were spectacular!

Will do it again, but for now I will give my body a rest.
I am giving up long distances for a bit.
My friend, Rok, and I are going to row this summer.
I will cross-train and get super fast with the 21km distance.
I might attempt another 42km in 2008.

thanks for being there with me. happy easter from sunny Afrika.
sharp, sharp,

meghan

Ultra stupid

I am running an ultra marathon this Saturday. It’s the Two Oceans marathon in Cape Town. Starts at the Indian Ocean and ends at the Atlantic. 56km. Was supposed to take six hours.
I am still running it, however I just met a physio who has informed me that the pain in my foot is a ripped tendon. …sigh…ouch.
He, my physio friend from Germany, is messaging my legs, stretching and icing me, and will tape up my legs and knees for the race. If I finish, I finish…if I don’t, well, I don’t. C’est la vive. I will get an x-ray or something after.

X xo, wish me luck.

FRONT PAGE NEWS FROM THE SWAZI OBSERVER

So if anyone knows how to make a headline, it would be me.

I leave Swaziland tomorrow—for good—and today’s National Swaziland Observer have a huge picture of me on the front cover.

The headline reads, “CAMPUS THEFT: Canadian Student Abandons Studies …after being robbed of valuables including foreign currency. Story on page 3”

The photo is brilliant; I’m smiling like I am having the best day in the world. Too funny, check it out.

CAMPUS THEFT: CANADIAN ABANDONS STUDIES
By Teetee Zwane

A Canadian student on an exchange programme at the University of Swaziland (UNISWA) has since abandoned studies and packed her bags after being robbed of her valuables at the Kwaluseni campus.

Canadian-born Meghan Okeefe related her disappointment and misery to The Swazi Observer, stating that even though she had not planned to leave the country so soon, circumstances had forced her.

The student, who arrived in January, said she was first robbed of her cellphone during the recently held Intervarsity Games hosted by the local institution. After this incident, Okeefe said she went to South Africa and upon her return, found that her room had been broken into.

“When I left I had locked my valuables into the locker, but when I came back it had clearly been opened with a key, which was quite surprising to me since I had taken mine with,” she said.
The student related that the burglars got away with a laptop, money valued at over E6 000 in pounds, dollars, euros and emalangeni, as well as two bags and personal items including childhood photos, computer cables, etc.

“This was quite a blow for me because the laptop had my research material and besides that, I’ve lost very valuable items like the childhood pictures,” she said.

Okeefe stated that the matter was reported to the university administration and police. She said after the incident, she was moved from the ladies’ N Block where she had initially been accommodated and relocated to the university’s staff quarters.

The exchange student had enrolled for a geography programme and was doing her third year of study. However, she said since she no longer had funds nor most of her research material to continue with the programme, she was leaving the country tomorrow.

Okeefe expressed a desire to continue her short-lived stay in Swaziland, further stating that she had applied for an internship programme with a Manzini company.

“If I do get into the programme, I will definitely come back,” she said, adding that the university needed to sort out the issue of security at the institution’s residences as this created a bad image and posed a threat not only to foreign students, but also to local ones.

Meanwhile, Registrar Sipho Vilakati said he was not aware of the incident as it was probably handled by the wardens, adding that he was still to investigate and would be in a position to comment after such.

On the other hand, Warden Philemon Matsenjwa confirmed the burglary. He said the matter was still under investigation and being handled by the police.

“The university is in the process of improving its security and as it is, we are visiting other institutions to learn more about their security systems so as to improve ours,” he stated. Matsenjwa further allayed Okeefe’s suspicions that the person(s) responsible for the burglary might have been from within the institution.

“The burglars probably knew she wasn’t around because footprints were found outside her window, indicating that they went in through it and must have had a key to the locker,” he added. Police Public Relations Officer Superintendent Vusie Masuku also confirmed the matter.
He said the Sigodvweni police were investigating the case and working tirelessly to apprehend the culprits as well as recover the stolen items in order to restore them to their rightful owner.

He said the total value of Okeefe’s stolen property exceeded E16 000. “We appeal to the public to notify us if and when suspicious items are sold to them,” he added.

SOME DAYS I AM SCATTERED

I feel scattered here in Swaziland, especially since I forgot to go to class today.

Generally speaking, I am neurotic in Canada. I meticulously keep my room clean, I closely watch what I eat, I am always showered and wearing clean clothing, I never miss a day at the gym, and I always know what’s going on and where I have to be when.

Here, I walk without pride.

My shoulders slump and my tummy hangs.
I don’t know if it is because of my skin colour, or because generally not a lot of females display pride when next to men, but I slouch more than usual.
I don’t care to take my clothing to the laundry or bother to shower. My room is a mess with ants and bugs and dirt everywhere.
I eat god-knows-what and far too much of it.
I don’t run daily, even though I should for my marathons.
I neglect responsibility. I forget to call, or worse, forget to show up to class or meetings.
I hand papers in late, poorly written and sloppy.

I am just another lazy Western-visiting Swazi-slob.

I hope I get my act back together when I find my way onto Canadian soil.

Cheers

Zimbabwe: Stalemate or checkmate?

My time is almost up in Swaziland. Given that I had my phone, laptop, clothing, and about 6,000 rand ($1,000 Canadian) stolen from me, I have decided to cut my semester short. I negotiated with my professors to left me finish all my assignments early so that I can head off to South Africa to run marathons, conduct research, and choose my own adventure.
My adventure might take me towards Namibia and, seeing that I only have a life, a passport, and a credit card left to lose, I might as well head into Zimbabwe.
Saturday’s Times of Swaziland wrote that, “Zimbabwe, once the jewel of Africa, is now no more than a germ in the eyes o many fellow African brothers and sisters.” Last week, Zimbabwe’s “opposition” party, the Movement for Democratic Change (MDC), hosted a prayer meeting which resulted in bombings in Harare, the death of a young activist and the brutal beatings of members of the opposition—including the leader of the MDC, Morgan Tsvangirai, who was placed in intensive care with a fractured skull.
The police who lead the raid we allegedly paid Z$1.1million (about $17 Canadian—a lot in Zimbabwe) for their actions by President Robert Mugabe’s government.
With political and social unrest, an untrustworthy and crumbling armed force, and hyperinflation, it appears that Mugabe’s Zimbabwe is going down the drain. Yet, it may not be the end of his reign, if African examples provide insight for speculation; it may just be the beginning of Mugabe’s brutality.
After a law was passed banning political parties for three months, Mugabe is now the leader of the only legal political party in the state: Zanu-PF.
Mugabe, who once said, “the gun which produces the vote should remain its security officer—its guarantor,” came to power three decades ago by voicing a philosophy of violence during the bush war fight against the white-minority government of Ian Smith.
In a nation with no free press and little freedom of speech, Mugabe breaches international human rights laws daily and the citizens of neighboring countries are getting frustrated. In a letter published in all neighboring press, civil society has spoken out about the deafening silence and blinded eyes that local leaders have towards Zimbabwe. Specifically, members of the Southern African Development Countries (SADC), and the African Union (AU) have finally been openly criticized.
“We are outraged that not a single state within SADC and the AU have issued a statement decrying the situation and calling for the restoration of and respect for human rights in Zimbabwe,” said the letter.
In response, John Kufuor, the Chairman of the AU and the President of Ghana, said, “The African Union is very uncomfortable. The situation in [Zimbabwe] is very embarrassing.”
This statement says little because on the ground here it is unlikely that neighboring countries will actively work to help the citizen’s of Zimbabwe. African states are far too protective of sovereignty, and unless the AU is asked, they cannot intervene. While the influx of political refugees into neighboring states may lead political leaders to take some action, instead Mugabe may just close his borders and go about politics ‘his way.’
Mugabe has, however, said that he will change the date of his next presidential elections (in which there is little likelihood of having an opponent) from 2010 to 2008, so that unrest in his state does not clash with the FIFA World Cup in South Africa.
Maybe this is a step in the right direction, but John Makumbe, a political scientist at the University of Zimbabwe suggested that police harassment will make citizens even more daring in their action against the government. Chaos may erupt just like the unrest of 2002, when the last presidential election occurred.
There are rumors that Mugabe is considering declaring a state of emergency, but AU forces are far too weakened by their role in Darfur to act with any muscle.
So, instead, I will keep my ear to the ground and head into Zimbabwe, not with much money, but instead with clothing to trade for the goods I need. Items means more than money for the unfortunate citizens of Zim who’s voices are calling.

For up-to-date news on Zimbabwe, check out the Mail and Guardian or the Zimbabwean.

--photo: me in Durban