Today I wanted to write down some of the funny things I’ve
experienced here in South Africa. Sometimes it’s the little things that get you
through the day, or make you look back and laugh. Most of my experience so far
have been the kind that suck in the moment, but thinking back make me laugh
like crazy, so I wanted to share some of those random moments that I have
experienced so far.
First off, I have a new hatred of turkeys. Before coming to
South Africa the only time I thought about turkeys was when I was thinking how
delicious my turkey sandwich was. They were just the animal that was sacrificed
so that I could enjoy a delicious Thanksgiving dinner, but now my views of this
seemingly innocent animal has drastically changed. My host family happens to
own the most evil turkey in the world. Everything is afraid of this giant white
bird, including me. When I first arrived I noticed the smaller children running
from the bird, but thought they were just playing. Now I understand that the
bird owns the yard, and we are trespassing on its turf. If anything gets too
close it will puff up its feathers and chase you down. If you don’t run fast
enough you will end up with little gashes down your legs from the turkey’s evil
little beak. Even the dogs run from this devil animal. The best part about this
not so fun game of chase is that the outhouse seems to fall right in the middle
of the turkey’s hunting ground. I can usually make it there without incident,
it’s getting out that seems to be the challenge. I am pretty sure that it hides
in waiting while you make the trek to the toilet, plotting its attack, and then
once you’re inside it moves into striking distance. Sometimes it will even
stick its creepy little head through a small hole in the door trying to get to
you. This is when I like to throw open the door really fast, smacking it in the
face, and then make a run for it. How sad is it that I am being bullied by a
turkey?
Along with learning to play dodge the turkey, I am now
playing dodge the marriage proposals. Apparently being tall and blond in this
country means that you would make the perfect wife. I’m pretty sure that half
my teachers are already planning the wedding between me and one of their
sons/cousins/brothers. I mean I understand that I am an exceptionally awesome
person, but I feel like people should want to meet me before they decide they
want to marry me. Going shopping has now become a test of my negotiation and
communication skills. Word seems to have gotten around that I am living in a
village close by, and that I would make an excellent partner, because people
seem to just know me in the stores. People who I have never met will call me by
name, and then spend the next ten minutes trying to convince me to give them my
number, or marry their random relative. I always thought that I was pretty good
when it came to persuading people or communicating my opinions, but no matter
how I tell these people that I am not interested, they just don’t seem to give
up. In any other situation I might be impressed by their tenacity, but now it’s
just annoying. So when telling them no seemed to fail, I did what any good
person would do, I started lying. The minute I get off the taxi in my shopping town
I become Mrs. Kelsey Lynch, and I have a very handsome husband working back
home in America. The small sliver band that I normally wear on my thumb moves
to my ring finger, and I like to talk with my hands as much as possible so that
people might catch a glimpse of my fake wedding ring. It is amazing how much
easier it is to convince people that I am married than convince them I’m not
interested in marrying a random guy who approached me by the frozen chicken.
Nothing says romance like a bunch of frozen chicken heads and feet. I’m not
going to lie, if anyone asks to see a picture of my imaginary husband, you
better believe that I’m going to show them a picture of Johnny Depp. If I’m
going to have a fake marriage it might as well be to the man of my dreams,
right?
Aside from avoiding devil birds and random marriages, I have
finally mastered the public transportations, well almost mastered. When I first
arrived in my little village, the taxis scared the crap out of me. One; no one
speaks English, two; the cars look like they might fall apart if you kicked it
too hard, and three; they stack you in the back like sardines. However, it is
the only way to get anywhere in this country, so I sucked it up, and I figured
out where to get the taxi to my village, and even made friends with some of the
drivers so they would let me sit in front if I got their early enough. Well
today I did not get there early enough, so it was either wait who knows how
long for another taxi to come and fill up, or cram in the back with everyone
else. Now, when you try to imagine a taxi here, think about a Ford Ranger truck
with a small camper on the back. There are small wooden benches along the edges
over the wheel wells, and then they cram at least 12 people along with all of
their groceries in before closing up the truck bed and heading home. In the
best situation it is uncomfortable, and in the worst situation it is extremely
painful. Today was one of those worst situations. First off, I am way taller
than most women in this country, so I am usually the only one hunched over
trying to avoid smashing my head into the roof when we hit pot holes. It also
means that I am the only one with my knees pushed up into my chest in order to
make room for the 5 kg bag or rice the lady across from me wants to put on the
floor. Today it was packed more than usual with huge bags of rice and corn
meal, so I ended up having to twist my left leg under my right and pinch it
between a bag of rice and a box of who knows what. By the time we got to the
village, which is only about 15 minutes away, my whole leg was numb. When the
driver lowered the hatch I was flooded with relief at the chance to get out and
walk the rest of the way home. Unfortunately I was not prepared to move when I
wanted to. When I stepped down with my right leg I figured I would just walk
off the numbness of my left and turned to make my way home. I then stepped with
my left leg, shifted all my weight on to it, and went straight down. I totally
ate it right next to a taxi full of people who already looked at me like I was
a crazy person. Luckily the driver helped me up before he started laughing, and
it took at least a full two minutes of swinging my leg around before I could
even limp home. It was embarrassing to say the least, and I guarantee it will
only be a matter of hours before the whole village knows that the white girl
fell on her face in the middle of the road. On the bright side, I’m sure it
will be a great conversation starter over the next few weeks.
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