lost in africa and other adventures by leah moriarty

Today we decided that we should write a musical entitled “Liesbeeck Gardens…the Musical,” in which the main song will be “Noooobody knows the trouble I see….”

  You see, Liesbeeck Gardens is the “residence” in which we dwell.  The reason that the word “residence” is written with such sarcasm is because we actually live in a jail-like edifice, which we have nick-named “Oz.”  Oz is complete with a cement courtyard, a 10-ft fence and no heat.  A warden (factual title) looks after our freezing rooms with spot checks and every night it sounds like someone was shanked in the yard. 

Do not get us wrong, we love Oz.  We have fantastic flat-mates that will pretend to love the American cuisine of grilled cheese and macaroni that I force-feed them.  We can shout to each other across our balconies and hear the beautiful opera music of Mzo (one of our orientation leaders) any time we want.  Mostly, we get mad street-cred for living in the fabulous life of Oz, and do not have the boring cushy American life of the CIEE mansions in which our peers reside. 

So lack of internet, safety and the fact that we have to swipe to get in AND out of the building does not deter our enthusiasm of living in Liesbeeck Gardens.  We love it, thank you Kari Miller (even though you do not want to see us while we are here.) 

Three hundred international tourists rode the tour busses to the most south-western tip of the continent of Africa called the Cape of Good Hope; in other words, the most peaceful and stunning part of the earth I have ever seen. Mountains overlook the meeting point of the Atlantic and Indian Oceans, and beyond that, there is nothing besides ocean for much farther than any human can see.

After climbing to the lighthouse, I climbed past the “take a photo of me for my mom!” over the wall in my galoshes and perched on a rock overlooking nothing but waves. I sat until the voices behind me disappeared, and I have never felt more elated. From that point, none of the petty business that always worries about me mattered. Now that feeling does not come every day.

After two full days of loosing Laura in JFK, consolidating two already bulging carry-ons into one due to London’s paranoia, playing endless games of “go-fish,” and knowing that half the people on our plane ride would be living with us for a semester, I made it to Cape Town. Bright orange fleece-clad smiles bombarded us with welcome despite the layer of gathered grime and fatigue from the airport.

After name games and initial, awkward first conversations of, “where are you from? Where do you go to school? O you must know so-and so…” Quinton, our resident director/father figure, informed us that are attending Nelson Mandela’s birthday celebration, an event called “90 Minutes for Mandela.” The event is a huge soccer game at a major stadium in Cape Town. The best players from all over Africa played the best players from the rest of the world in a 90-minute soccer match.

Pascal, my orientation leader (or as Quinton calls, “SOL mate”), explained to me that this game has so much hype because it draws everyone from different races and socio-economic classes, because it is in honor of Nelson Mandela, South Africa’s savior and symbol of change. I could see it in everyone in the packed stadium’s faces. From the cheering, chanting, waves, standing, running around and into the field, every fan was quite visibly thrilled, and their contagious excitement consumed me quite easily, an effective cure for jet-lag. At the end of the tied-game, the whole stadium sang “happy birthday” to Nelson Mandela. Seriously, who gets a chance to sing such a song to such a figure that often?

I leave tomorrow for Cape Town, South Africa, and all day I have just been kickin’ it with my dog Ramona, not really feeling the nerves inside of me. The nerves will not hit me until I board the plane, as per usual. I have spent this whole summer reading, discussing, hearing stories, looking at photos etc., but no matter what I read, hear or see in pictures- I will never be able to anticipate any experience or know exactly why Morgan gets a whole new orb of energy every time I mention Cape Town.

I was on the Super Shuttle leaving D.C., I was crying, naturally after saying goodbye to some very important people in my life, when the girl on the shuttle next to me became appalled when I told her I was going to Africa for the next year. “Why would you ever do that?!” she said as I blow my nose in the seat next to her. I just replied, “I don’t knowww” and immediately shut myself away from the girl with my white ipod headphones.

Then I thought to myself: “Wow, I really have no idea why I am doing this for a year.” And then bit my lip to fight back more tears. After the driver dropped the girl that did not know how to react to crying strangers off at her terminal, he asked me about where I am going next year. He was from Cameroon and was so eager to tell me about West Africa. He instantly took away some of the doubt I was carrying after spending the summer with friends who I will miss dearly. I do have no particular reason why I have decided to go abroad for two semesters, but as petrified I am at the idea of being gone for so long, I know that the experience I will have will contain the best stories in my hypothetical autobiography, and that the important friends will be there when I return.

“But most critically, sweet, never try to change the narrative structure of someone else’s story, though you will certainly be tempted to, as you watch those poor souls in school, in life, heading unwittingly down dangerous tangents, fatal digressions from which they will unlikely be able to emerge. Resist the temptation. Spend your energies on your story. Reworking it. Making it better. Increasing the scale, depth of content, the universal themes. And I don’t care what those themes are- they’re yours to uncover and stand being- so long as, at the very least, there is courage. Guts, Mut, in German.”- Special Topics in Calamity Physics by Marisha Pessl

I’ve been convinced to start a blog for my travels this year. I am leaving next week for Cape Town, South Africa and will be there until the end of November, and then I will be in Ghana until next summer. I am in Washington, D.C. at the infamous Porter House- I’ll keep you all posted when my adventures begin.

~Leahmo