The following is a recounting of the travel day that will forever and always go down in history as perhaps the most hilarious, outrageous, and physically and mentally taxing day of my World Race so far.
Times are subject to guesstimation.
Names have not been changed to protect dignity; if you did the thing, you own the thing.
I know I do.
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Sunday, January 3rd.
6:30am - Pumba's Backpacker Hostel. I wake up to the sound of another squadmate tripping over haphazardly-placed luggage. I can't really be irritated, though, given that 1. I don't actually live at this hostel, I technically live at the other one, down the street; but I don't like it and choose to sneak into a spare bed here each night and do the walk of shame back each morning. And, 2. pretty sure it was my luggage she tripped over.
8:45am - Kayla (the other one), Taylor, Greg and I power walk across town to do last-minute grocery shopping at the Pick-n-Pay, with the intention to be waiting at the store the moment it opens at 9. While waiting outside, I buy Taylor and I two muffins for breakfast. The next morning, I will not remind her that I bought her this muffin, eating it when I am too hungry to "just drink more water".
9:35am - Everyone is finishing hugging goodbye, but our squad is never truly "done" saying goodbye until everyone has been squeezed at least three times and someone's gotten their face licked. I stand next to my pack and shout, "If you need to hug me, you need to do it RIGHT NOW, otherwise I'm putting on my backpack and then you're gonna have to work around the straps."
I get my face licked.
10:10 am - The Gautrain to Park line. Even though there are plenty of open seats on the train, I prefer to stand, forever convinced that one day a bystander will see my feet braced like the skateboarder I wish I was and think, "Dang, girl's got great balance." The train goes over a bump, and I crash into the seat back.
12:15pm- After an hour of sitting curbside on our packs, our two teams have piled onto the bus that will eventually take us to Harare, Zimbabwe. Taylor has an assigned seat downstairs next to a stranger, and after one look at her panicked face, decide that, no, sorry - she is going to sit up here next to ME.
12:35pm - The man who my adjacent seat actually belongs to finally boards, and I tell Taylor to play dead. He leans over her and asks me if this is seat 9A. I shake my head no. He points to the seat, and I follow his gesture. SEAT 9A. I blank, completely unable to conjure anything to say other than the most shouted phrase in the lines at the Syrian refugee camps. I sigh apologetically, nodding towards the dead girl next to me: "Family. Family. Baby."
12:40pm - 10:30pm - I make a series of short hourly videos with the intention to send them to my friend Alex once we arrive. I never send them. Alex, I will send them. Highlights include: Mall Cop 2 playing on a loop (but only the first half) and the ongoing sounds/NVH of a bus seat next to an open window when there is no internal air and you are traveling at 70 miles an hour.
10:30pm - The bus pulls into a heavily paroled compound at the South African border, and we are emptied from the bus and directed to walk to the opposite side of the lot. We funnel into a poorly lit parking lot of sorts, where hoards of men, women and children are packed and waiting in lines that wrap the lot twice.
10:40 pm - 4:10 am - For the next 6 hours, I alternate between standing and when my pack gets too heavy, laying down. This is a both a blessing and a curse: every 15 minutes or so, the line jolts forward, and the girls wake me up to grab my things and walk forward a few steps. The ground leaves a film of grime along my left arm and shins that Joy mistakes for a bruise. Kayla Garrison sits in a small puddle of some mystery liquid and makes no move to get up.
4:20 am - Passports stamped. We clamor back onto our bus, which drives us a few blocks to the Visa processing site. We fill out our forms in line, borrowing pens from each other and writing on backs.
5:45am - Our whole team has our Visas, except for Kayla. Around the station, teammates are falling asleep leaning on countertops and walls, and someone commands me to go back to the bus under authority that "you look like death". I smile, and a weird sort of laugh-scream comes out of my throat. Apparently when death laughs, it sounds like a microwaved hamster.
7:15 am - 1:00pm - Kayla finally gets her Visa. We drive another 8 hours to Harare, where our ministry host will be waiting to drive us another 2 to our ministry site. I settle back into my seat and close my eyes. Just as I'm drifting off, Mall Cop 2 comes on.
1:15 pm - Harare, Zimbabwe. Because we are now 8 hours late arriving, the car our host had called for us has left. Pastor Maza arranges for us to catch another public bus, instead. We pile all our gear into the back of a pickup truck, obediently sit on it, and are shuttled across town to another station.
2:30 pm - Public bus. The bus seat I'm squeezed into was probably designed to sit one person, but I am currently sharing it with a mother and her young son, the terry cloth fabric on the seats soaked through with someone else's sweat. The mom helps the boy drink orange Fanta, the bumps in the road causing it to start spilling down my leg and side. "Sorry, sorry," she says, trying again. More orange Fanta. "Sorry!" A little more. I smile and think, I could catch hummingbirds if I wanted to.
3:40pm - The bus stops suddenly in the middle of the dirt road, and we are motioned to get off. Pastor helps us stow our packs in a waiting car, and we begin walking after it. A mile or so later, we come to a fenced house best described as the Paper Street house from Fight Club. We drop our bags and collapse, motionless, on the dusty floor.
I glance up at the yellowed curtains blowing gently in the humid breeze, and decide immediately that I love it.
Someone points to the rat hole next to the floor and whispers, "What are the odds you'll put your hand in there?"
Welcome, month five.