South Africa: Lag

South Africa – Day 2

Jet lag is a bitch. I'm awake but I'm not here. My hands are uncooperative stones, my back a knotted cluster of barbed wire. I drag myself to the shower and brush my teeth with strange water, afraid to taste or swallow. I think about coffee but there's no coffee maker nor coffee in this house. I lumber back to my room to pull on my socks, rubbing at my eyes like a child.

My room is a cozy 11' x 6' rectangle with soft pink walls and a single window dressed with bars that are, themselves, dressed with bars. The two great panes of glass swing open about 10 degrees each – enough to let some air in and still keep a person out. A large wooden bureau dominates about 1/6 of the room. There's a desk with a small lamp and a wooden chair beside my bed. I can type from my bed with little effort but sitting in the chair gives me more of a the sense of being on task; at least, that's what I imagine. I haven't done much of anything yet. “This feels like a dorm room,” I think to myself before reminding myself that that's the point. The whole room smells like dust and aged wood. I sneeze just thinking about it. An abstract painting hangs on the wall, reds, oranges, and whites exploding all over the canvas. It's the only thing in the room that isn't modest.

I get dressed and we head out to explore the neighborhood. As we familiarize ourselves with our new surroundings, we buy what we think we'll need for the house. All around us, locals are going about their day. Many of them drift in and out of English. None of them have an issue with staring at us. And it's ok. We stand out.

The shops have different names but familiar looks. It would almost feel like home save for the massive mountain lingering behind nearly every building. Something about it tugs at my innermost parts, beckoning me toward it as if it has secrets and stories to share with me. I am shamelessly fascinated by it.