The week before I left for South Africa, my younger daughter moved out of our house and into an apartment with her older sister. Both girls had been wanting to find an apartment together for months, but they had two tricky requirements: the place needed to be dog friendly, and it needed to be affordable.
It used to be that “young adult kids living with their parents” had a lazy-moocher vibe, but not so much anymore. Often it seems that young adults are living longer with their parents — not because they don’t want to move out (at least not in the case of my younger daughter), but because housing costs are so prohibitive. As much as I wanted my daughter to move out, it seemed foolish to get locked into a work-to-live spiral if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. But my younger daughter was aching to move out, and my older daughter’s wonderful little basement rental, while super cheap, didn’t allow dogs.
So the girls puttered along, looking, asking, and dreaming.
And then some folks from our church posted that they had a basement apartment coming available, and the girls jumped.
While I was thrilled about the apartment — it’s spacious and airy, only ten minutes from our house, and reasonably prices — it was still expensive. But then I decided to look at it from another angle.
This might be the only time these girls would ever have the chance to live together. Sibling relationships are worth an investment, and living together (especially when they couldn’t stand each other for the first 18 years of their lives, ha!) is an experience in its own right, perhaps even more valuable than international travel or college courses, or any of the other countless number of things they might spend their money on.
And the worst case scenario? They’d come to realize it was more than they wanted to pay and would move out after their contract was up.
In the weeks leading up to their move-in date, the girls were abuzz. They made plans and scavenged for furniture. My younger daughter packed up her room, and my older daughter began dog searching in earnest.
I didn’t have much time to process the transition as it was happening — I was in the middle of my own upheavals — but coming home to a household of just three made my post-travel befuddlement all the more disorienting. Every time I walked by my daughter’s echoey bedroom, I felt the emptiness.
It’s a weird feeling, having kids move out. I definitely don’t miss when they were younger, but each time a child leaves home, it’s another thunderclap of finality. Those-clap-years-clap-are-clap-GONE. That part of my life is over, and even though it’s time for it to be over, and it’s what I want, there’s still a mourning. I’ll never get those years back.
My husband is patching the walls in my daughter’s vacated room in preparation for painting and then its transformation to guest room. My younger son wants to move into the newly vacated room, but I said no. He already has a whole room to himself, plus the clubhouse. I don’t want him feeling too comfortable here. If he wants to spread out, he’s gonna need to find a bigger nest.
Recently, on the Cup of Jo website, someone wrote, “I saw something so sweet the other day — reframing the ‘Empty Nest’ phase as the ‘Open Door’ phase, and orienting your parenting for that to be the end goal. Your home has an open door for your grown kids to come and go, through texts, calls, and in-person visits.” I love that.
Just the other evening, my daughter-in-law stopped by to pick up cheesecloth and milk, and while I dished up our supper, she stood in the doorway and entertained us with stories about her day, her classes, winter skiing, and house projects. My younger daughter stops by to drop off her dog while she’s at work, and to deliver buckets of diner slop for the pigs (and sometimes goodies for us). Tuesday this week, my older son and his friend came by for a late lunch. My older daughter calls, texts, and pops in to pick up her mail, tools for the jobsite, sourdough starter, etc —
And just as I was finishing that sentence, my daughter-in-law popped in the door to return a kettle and pick up her mail, and we ended up chattering about organ meat, butchering, and pig fat, as one does.
So are we in the Open Door phase? Why, yes. Yes, we are, and I love it.
P.S. Just a few days after switching apartments, my older daughter got a 12-week-old Border Collie named Luna who positively bubbles with wiggles and cuddles.
Of all the questions that I’ve gotten about my trip to South Africa, here are the top two.
#1. Are you glad you went? Yes! It was an adventure. I got out of my comfort zone. I made new friends. I learned stuff. My world view got wobbled. I used my brain in different ways. I did new things and ate new food and felt uncomfortable and tired and invigorated, and all of that is a very good thing.
#2. Do you think other people should go? This answer’s a little more complicated. The short answer is yes, of course. The more people with wobbly world views, the better (and you can quote me on that). But travel to South Africa takes lots of resources — financial and environmental — and it’s not really practical to think that many other people will make the trip. Nor should they, necessarily. I’ve noticed that it’s often the teens and young twenty-somethings who seem to do more international travel (either on their parents’ dime or via their own savings or as a part of their college studies), or the retired folk (just look at the demographics in our group!), but I believe there are two groups who should be encouraged to go on this trip.
Group 1: Young middle-lifers People in their 30s and 40s have an idea of what they want to do in the world, and they’ve had some experience doing it. They have energy, and they still have a large chunk of their working lives ahead of them, years in which they can implement new ideas that may have a ripple effect in their own communities. The downside is that this demographic often has kids, mortgages, and college debt, which means that financial and logistical assistance is required so — here’s an idea — perhaps some of the retired folk might opt to forgo an adventure for themselves and instead sponsor some younger people to go in their place?
Group 2: Leaders of Global Organizations I’m thinking specifically of Mennonite Central Committee, one of our church’s organizations that does development and peace work around the world, but leaders of any type of outreach organization — anyone who aspires to “help” people in other parts of the world — would be enormously challenged and impacted by this sort of pilgrimage. Of all the people who might go to South Africa, I believe this is the number one group that needs to go. (Any MCC folks reading this? Let’s talk!)
***
Throughout our trip, our leaders repeatedly referred to the Kairos Document, a paper that was written in the mid-80s by a bunch of South Africans as a challenge to the church. One of my first days back home, I printed it off (it starts on page 37) and read most of it before breakfast.
It was one of the most interesting and thought-provoking documents I’ve read in a while because it challenged some core theological ideas around peace, forgiveness, and reconciliation.
from the Tutu’s museum
For example, according to the South African Kairos doc:
When we call for peace, who is calling for it, and why? Because saying “peace, peace” can actually be a form of oppression, depending on who is benefited by it.
Notice which actions get classified as “violent” and which ones don’t, and then ask why. Many times, when disadvantaged groups of people act out, their actions are labeled violent but the police/military response is not. To take this one step further, consider this: Is a woman who is fighting back against a rapist being “violent”?
Being reconciled to an oppressor is an act of self-sabotage and a ludicrous goal.
When Jesus says to “turn the other cheek,” he is not talking making a statement about refraining from using force or resisting injustice. Rather, he is speaking against taking revenge.
Interesting fact: This South African Kairos doc inspired the Palestinian Christians to write their own version of a Kairos doc, which you can read here.
Coates often gets frustrated with journalists because they like to say the situation (in this case, he was talking about Palestine) is complicated when it’s actually quite simple: there is one system of justice for one group of people and another set of justice for another group of people.
Figuring out how to fix the problem is the complicated part, said Terry. Yes, Coates agreed, but the first step is that the people on the other side of the situation people — the people living under apartheid, or suffering from the after-effects of apartheid — need to be “enshrined” to tell their story. Those are the people who need to articulate what needs to change, not us.
Oppression is not necessarily ennobling. Victims can become victimizers. For example, Black enslaved people fought against the Native Americans, free Black North Americans inflicted their ideals on Black Liberians in an attempt to “civilize” them, and the Jews suffered the Holocaust and are now the Israeli government is inflicting “genocide in service of apartheid” on the Palestinians.
***
I didn’t get around to finishing one of my books about South Africa — My Traitor’s Heart — until after I’d returned. And here’s the thing: reading about South Africa prior to going compared to afterward was a totally different experience.
Beforehand, reading about South Africa made me feel anxious. I felt overwhelmed by the stories, the violence, the complexities, the traumas. Since I didn’t know the context, there was no way for me to put the information in context, but since coming home, even though the material is still heavy and uncomfortable, it’s no longer scary. Now that I’ve been in South Africa, I have a framework within which to ground the material.
***
The first time I mentioned that South Africa was dangerous, a commenter said, “Don’t perpetuate that narrative. Those places are so, so much more,” which is very true. But it’s also true that South Africa is dangerous.
The question, I think, is not whether or not South Africa is dangerous, but rather why.
Why is South Africa dangerous? Who is perpetuating the violence? How do we define violence?
Steve told us that there are two levels of violence. The violence that we see, and that we most often react to, is the second level of violence: the fighting, the looting, the uprisings, the slapping back, the lashing out. However, it’s the first level of violence — the silent, quiet ways in which our systems oppress, segregate, demean, minimize, and diminish Black and brown people — that causes the second. This first level of violence is often invisible (to us white people), so we are mostly unaware of it.
***
One day, Pokie used an analogy to illustrate the problem with reconciliation and reparations.
Here’s my version of it, wildly paraphrased:
Imagine that someone came to your house, told you to get out, and then took up residence there. These people slept in your beds and ate the food in your freezer and grew stuff in your garden. So you camped close to your house and, whenever possible, raised cain over the injustice. The people living in your house eventually decided that they wanted some peace, so they approached you to ask how they might be reconciled to you. Would you like to plant something in the garden? Do you want to stay in the guest room? Would you like to come over for supper once a week? Tell us! We want to be your friends!
If the thief won’t let go of the stuff they stole, what does reconciliation look like?
Chapter 1: The US South. Chapter 2: South Africa. Chapter 3: The Underground Railroad, Florida to DC. Chapter 4: Benin, West Africa.
While the trip to South Africa pulled me out of my context in order to learn about the place in which I live, the trip to the South felt more tangible, more raw and pertinent, because it focused on our history and gave the backstory to our many of our current issues. Both are valuable, just different.
***
In case you might end up going to South Africa one of these days, here are some travel tips!
Almost everything can be purchased with a credit/debit card — even street vendors have handheld scanners — but understand this: no one will ever take your card and walk away to make a payment as we do in US restaurants. If your card walks away, it may not come back.
Having some cash (rand) is nice, so go to an ATM and get a small wad. I did not do this, and there were a couple times it would’ve been nice to have some on hand.
Ubering is wonderful. Download the app. Do NOT take taxis.
Get an eSIM. Works a charm. 10 Gigs for $32 was more than enough for my 2.5 weeks there.
Never ever ever leave a bag sitting anywhere unattended in public. It will not be there when you get back.
There is no obvious dress code, at least not in the city. In churches, most women keep their shoulders covered, and dresses hang knee-length or lower.
The climate is fickle. Pack layers.
Tipping is expected.
Take a headlamp. Power is not consistent or reliable.
Hit up street vendors for all the souvenirs. They have lots of small things like bracelets (I actually wish I got more), key chains, hats, and necklaces.
Food items to schlep home: biltong, rusks, meat-flavored potato chips, mealie meal, peri-peri, Ms. H. Ball’s Chutney, wine (pinotage), amarula liquor, shortbread, and loads of rooibos tea.
Do all the food shopping in a grocery store prior to heading to the airport. I thought I’d just pick up a few things in the duty-free section, but the stuff was crazy expensive and the selection was crap.
Important IMPORTANT note: if you’re flying through Doha on the return trip, you are not allowed to carry more than 1 liter of wine. I’d planned to get all my wines in the duty-free store so I wouldn’t have to pack them, but check out lady looked at my boarding pass and was like, Nope, you can’t take these. DO NOT EVEN GET ME STARTED ON THIS LEVEL OF CRAZY. So I came home with nothing: no pinotage, no white, no amarillo. I am bitter.
Silver lining: However, if flying Qatar airlines, you can check three bags; if I’d-a planned better, I would’ve gotten an extra bag, stuffed it full of ALL the food and wine, and then checked it. Next time!
And thus concludes my South Africa writings. If you’ve been following along, thank you and congratulations. We made it!
Days Twelve to Fifteen The last part of the trip was two days and three nights on safari. During the days we went out on game drives, and we stayed in a house that butted right up against Kruger National Park and had its own private pool and chef.
When I’d learned that we had the option of adding several days of safari to our trip, I got myself tied up in knots deciding whether or not I should go. An extra 1K was a lot of money, and the idea of driving around in a hot vehicle with a bunch of people for hours on end just to stare at some animals that may or may not show up sounded an awful lot like my version of hell. But maybe I was being shallow and clueless?
So I systematically grilled everyone I knew who had once lived in African and/or gone on a safari. Everyone, every single person, said I should do it, so after a few more days of agonized waffling (I knew I was being ridiculous) I decided to go for it. I’d probably never be in South Africa again, so why not. The worst that could happen was that I’d hate it for three days and then it’d be over. Whoop-de-do.
Kruger is about the size of Israel and completely fenced in, which actually kinda made it feel less wild even though the park is, I assure you, totally wild. When members of our group would wander a bit too far when we stopped for potty breaks at the unfenced-in stations, our guides would get visibly agitated, and the one time we were watching a far-off leopard lounging in a tree and our guide got out of the car to hand out cold drinks to us and then then the leopard decided to drop out of the tree, the guide shot back into the vehicle in a flash.
How long would it have taken the leopard to get from the tree to us? we later asked. Four to five seconds, was the answer.
Aside from that, nothing much of note happened.
We didn’t get to see any lions taking down impalas — we didn’t even see any lions, for that matter. Our drivers mostly kept to the paved roads with short dashes down dirt roads to check out river beds and watering holes.
The elephants were fun — I wished I could’ve just sat there for hours watching them — but our stops were short. We had to keep moving and looking.
Because, see, a safari is kind of like thrift shopping. Maybe you’ll see something, and maybe you won’t, but the fun is in the hunt. (If you like thrift shopping.)
Some of the animals we saw: elephants, a cobra, wildebeests, kudu, warthogs, impala, water buffalo, giraffes, leopard, hippos, baboons, crocks, zebras, assorted birds, etc. What we didn’t see: lions, rhinos, and anything killing anything.
just a couple weeks too late
It wasn’t all driving. We stopped at an elephant museum one day and had lunch in a touristy-kitchy-educational place. Another time we paused mid morning for a snack of rusks and thermoses of hot tea.
Staying at the private house and having a private chef was an event in its own right.
Our chef would come out to introduce the different parts of the meal, and the servers would stand against the wall while we ate and visited.
giving me Downton Abbey-esque vibes
The menu was pretty incredible: multiple courses, cocktails and appetizers, lots of game (impala, kudu, and ostrich, as well as tuna tartare and escargot).
this magical little machine brewed the coffee AND frothed the milk
Servings were small so I never felt overfull, and the meals were absolutely delightful, but you know what? I can only do fancy for so long before I get hungry for honest fare. When I think of all the food that we had in South Africa, it’s the simple homemade meals that the women at St. Benedict’s served to us that stand out to me. That was the food that truly fed me — and that I want to recreate in my own kitchen.
last night in South Africa
Am I glad I went on the safari? Yes, absolutely. The animals were fun, but even better than the animals was getting to see more of South Africa.
Up until that point, we’d been stuck in cities, so getting to see the river beds, scrub trees, sunsets, and red dirt of Kruger — to feel the cold morning air and the blistering noonday sun — and then driving to and from Kruger through the Limpopo mountains, fields of orange groves, and small towns was a whole experience unto itself.
coming down out of the Limpopo Mountains
That’s the part I loved.
The Last Couple Travel Days We left Kruger, bussed to Jo’burg, and then hopped on an evening flight for our 8-hour trip to Doha, Qatar. I was seated next to the window, penned in by two young, friendly women, their laps full of computers, blankets, and cords.
Almost immediately, I felt panicky. My shoes were too tight. I was hot. I couldn’t breath. I needed to pee. I had to take my contacts out. I felt full. I couldn’t move. I was thirsty. I couldn’t drink (because then I’d need to pee more). I needed to find my evening medicine. Finally, I got up to go to the bathroom (which was a process, considering how long it took them to dig themselves out) where I peed, popped a Xanax, and then went back to my seat and promptly passed out for the next six hours, thanks be to the pharmacuetical gods.
For the next 13-hour flight I once again had a window seat — nooooo! — but Seth, upon hearing how miserable I’d been, voluntarily swapped his aisle seat for my window seat, at which point I was so relieved and thrilled that I threw my arms around his neck and tried not to cry.
That’s the flight when I figured out that drinks were free on international flights and celebrated by having a gin and tonic and two glasses of white wine.
