"I will explain - No, there is no time - I will sum up..."

I've been avoiding writing this post for awhile.

It's hard to sum up what this trip has meant to me. I feel profoundly changed, and those changes are tough to process. It's going to take some time.

But now, I'm back in Canada, happily ensconced with my family and friends. My first few days were filled with exclamation points: "Unlimited hot water!!!" "Fast, reliable internet!!!" "Little fear of being raped while walking down a busy street in broad daylight!!!" This is the Canada I know and love.

And this is the Edmonton I know and love. The International Fringe Theatre Festival started last night - it's my favorite time of year. Hundreds of kooky shows, music, art, odd and wonderful people everywhere. It's like a family reunion, and it's only a couple of blocks from my house. It makes me proud to be an Edmontonian, and I'm glad to be back.

The Last Saskatchewan Pirate: One of my favorite local bands, Captain Tractor, performing one of my favorite local songs.

But I feel unsettled. Mostly because it's been all too easy to slip back into the familiar patterns, falling back into work and sleep (or non-sleep, as the case may be) and our busy social life. Yet I find myself feeling oddly homesick for a place I only spent a few weeks, and I have an ache in my heart for the people I connected with so deeply while there. I don't want the learning and the changing that I experienced on this trip to stop. And I want to find ways to continue the work that I experienced with Hands - even though I can't be there full-time.

I came home from this trip feeling oddly euphoric. While that feeling has lifted somewhat - call it a bizarre form of jet lag - I do feel far more at peace than I usually do. I look at my beautiful house, my wonderful healthy, hopeful family and friends, my interesting career - and I see I have pretty much everything I could want in life. The way I look at my future goals has shifted. They used to stem from a sense of dissatisfaction - "Why don't we have a bigger house?" or "I wish we made more money." Or "We better hurry up and have kids or else." But now I feel far more circumspect - it will all happen in good time. I'm not going to stop working toward the goals, but I no longer feel driven by the dissatisfaction with what I have or don't have, or where I'm at. And that is such freedom.

I feel far more content with being in the moment, just stopping and enjoying where I'm at and what I'm doing. They tried to teach me that kind of awareness in theatre school. It took twenty years, but now I get it.

I also have a much better understanding of the saying "First World Problems." I used to be a sweater-of-the-small-stuff. It's probably too radical to say that now I'm not, but I sure have a lot more peace about the usual annoyances of daily life.

But I also have a lot more vitriol about one thing: negativity. I have very little patience with negative, complain-y, controversy-loving, drama-seeking behavior. I used to buy into it. But after this experience, I have no room for it in my life. I not a Suzy Sunshine, but I have no energy to dwell on what's wrong with this world. I'd much rather focus on what's right with it. (Like this documentary: I Am - it's on Netflix, and well worth a watch).

And so, I'll leave this blog with a challenge to you, dear reader. Do something today that makes this world a better place. If you can afford it, sign up to spend $20/month to take care of a kid in Africa through Hands at Work: http://www.handsatwork.org/ca-give/. If you can't give money, find your own gesture that helps someone in your community or abroad. Even just smile or strike up a conversation with a stranger. Every small act builds up to create positive change. You have no idea what kind of difference you can make in someone's life.

You've all made a difference in mine. Thank you for being a part of this journey.

We are family. We are one.

The girls on my Hands team will know this one. It's an introduction song that goes like this:

Stand in a circle and hold hands. And sing, "This is Marliss, next to Michelle. This is Michelle, next to Judy. This is Judy, next to Kayley. We are family, we are one." And repeat.

Cheeserific.

We first sang it at a Care Point with the care workers, and it went more like this: "This is Michelle, next to Lindiwe. This is Lindiwe, next to Siphwe. This is Siphwe, next to 'an unpronounceable name to our English tongues we didn't catch..." We are family, we are one."

And I was immediately uncomfortable. Singing the words "We are family, we are one" felt weirdly cultish. And to sing it with people I'd never met, and might never meet again, just felt wrong to my western brain.

So I hated the song.

But it was also an ear worm. In a quiet moment, particularly on one of our many long car rides, one of us would start singing it, loudly and off key. And we'd laugh, and we'd all join in.

It didn't take long - like maybe a day - for our team to start to feel like a family. And the more we sang it, the more it felt natural. And lovely.

And I started to believe it.

So often, I think when we travel, we're making comparisons and looking for differences from home. I certainly do. "This place sure is flatter/warmer/colder/beachier/wetter/nicer/uglier than home," is part of my inner dialogue when I travel. And it's easy to make the same comparisons about the people that you meet as well. That's where culture shock comes in.

But the "We are family" song made us look for similarities, rather than differences. Lindiwe has a gorgeous smile, just like Michelle from Bragg Creek. Beautiful Jackie, from Kenya, likes colorful fabrics as much as I do. And we all like having our nails painted.

And the more we noted our similarities and our common purpose, the more I liked - no, loved - these ladies I had just met, and might never see again.

It's an African tradition to refer to people with a family name, even if they have no familial affiliation. So everyone is Ma Jane or Sis Jaclyn or Gogo (grandmother) Daphne. It's a sign of affection and respect.

But for someone like me with a very small family, and a narrow definition of the word, I found this uncomfortable. But it grew on me, and it makes me see the close ties we all share, and the necessity of each person to make a community work. Each person here is important, connected and integral to the success of the larger group. It's not cultish, it's practical.

And it's a tragedy for all when anything bad happens to any individual.

I saw this interdependence in the animal world as well. The hyena relies on the leopard for scraps of meat, the impalas eat the short grass after the wildebeest eat the tall. It's a delicate ecosystem - and we are part of a delicate ecosystem too.

I got to be quite close with Jackie, she-of-colorful-fabrics, and she told me how she had gone to England to help out her niece with her first child. I asked her what she thought of England, and mentioned that it was one of my favorite places on the planet.

Jackie was quiet for a moment, and said, "Yes, it was nice. But I could never live there."

I laughed and said, "Is it because of the weather?"

She said, "No. It's because no one knows their neighbours. It was isolating. It felt wrong."

And she's absolutely right. I think at home we are far too concerned with our privacy, our safety, our own concerns, our own stuff. We cocoon ourselves in little bubbles, we live in big houses that we have no need to leave, except to go and buy more stuff. And where I'm from, we avoid leaving those houses to inure ourselves from the weather. We don't need our neighbours because we think we are self-sufficient. We want to be left alone.

While I don't think we all need to sell our big houses and move to a commune, when I get back, I want to learn how to be a better community member - a Sis and a Ma (not a Gogo yet). I want to connect more, because I see how important it is. For an introvert like me - especially someone who works from home and so values my own time and space - that's going to be tough. But just because I'm an introvert, it doesn't mean I don't love being with people. I just need a little quiet in order to refuel.

I've been intensely social on this trip - and interestingly enough, that has been refueling too. I've made so many new families: my Hands family - both at the Hands hub and in the communities we worked in, my hosts in California and London, the Besters here in South Africa, the Linkner family I shared my safari with, and the fabulous people at Motswari Game Preserve. While there may be plenty of endangered species out there, good people are in no short supply.

I've met so many of them on this trip.

We are family. We are one.

Fear Factor: South Africa Edition

So, remember how I told you I was sleeping out in the bush the other night?

Well, compared to where I am now, that was New York City.

Tonight, I've elected to sleep in a hide, twenty minutes away from the nearest people. And those people are an hour and a half away from the nearest town. This, friends, is really the bush.

And if you're reading this, it's proof that I've survived. This is Fear Factor: South Africa Edition.

I've decided to sleep out here - by myself - for a number of reasons. First one being, it sounded really cool. In the daylight, when we visited with 8 other people. I said - out loud - wouldn't it be cool to sleep out here? I was thinking with my husband, when we come back some time in the undetermined future.

But then, the more I thought about it, the more I thought it would be a fabulous adventure if I did it by myself. Tonight. So, I asked. The owners said yes. And here I am.

So I should probably describe where I am, as it's too dark to take any pictures.

I'm at a water hole, deep in the wilderness. All around me there are leopards, lions, buffalo, rhinos, antelope - any number of animals. And no electric fences this time, for my comfort or yours. Now, despite the wilderness, I still have five star (well, maybe four and a half star) accommodations. I am high in the trees, open to the stars. I'm in a king-sized bed with the fluffiest duvets. They've set out hot water for morning ablutions, a picnic chest filled with wine and scotch, even lotions and potions and a port-o-potty for midnight marauderings. In short, this is how I expect to camp from now forward.

But the fact remains I'm out in the bush, twenty minutes away from people, in a gorgeous dark night. Frogs are singing, stars are abundant. I can see the Southern Cross from my bed.

It's my second last night in South Africa.

It's fitting, perhaps, that I'm sleeping under the constellation Scorpio, as that is my sign. I feel so at peace, so far away from every stress, so complete and happy with myself. It's an amazing feeling. And an unfamiliar one.

But tonight - though it's my penultimate night, maybe it really is my ultimate night in Africa. I'm completely alone, which means I'm completely alone with myself, and for a self-confessed introvert, it's a place to refuel.

And I already feel reinvigorated. I'm excited about everything. I'm excited about work when I get home. I'm looking forward to new projects and new challenges. I look forward to how this new self will manifest.

I've been tested here, but I feel like I've passed. I haven't figured out all the ways yet, but I feel so proud of myself and everything I've accomplished here. Small things, like making new friends and driving on the opposite (read: wrong) side of the road - even driving on 12 lane freeways in San Francisco.

Actually, my driving experiences on this trip have taught me a valuable life lesson: though it often looks chaotic - it may be 60 miles an hour on an 8-lane bridge, or even  just remembering to turn into the far lane when turning right - if you just focus on what you're doing, it's easy. If you freak out, you're lost. But staying in the moment with a little focus makes it all doable. It's a metaphor for life.

Staying in the moment is key. I'm rarely able to do this at home. I'm usually ten steps ahead of the moment, and I'm not really experiencing anything - I'm too busy planning. But here - especially when the moment is beyond my control, which at home cheeses me off beyond my patience - I've found great peace in simply doing what's called for at any given time. And even if it's not a particularly enjoyable task, like waiting for an air plane or hoeing a garden, the sheer enjoyment of throwing yourself into the task at hand and not thinking too far ahead has been a relief and a joy.

Something to remember for when I get home.

As for being here - exactly here, and figuratively here, I know that I will return. I'm already planning a more ambitious writing project with Hands for next year - here's hoping the stars align and we're able to make it happen.

I'm not sure if I've found my purpose, as I hoped when I set out. But I know that the work that I love to do involves deep connection with people. I find it when I teach and adjudicate - and volunteer.

I used to find it when I'd write. Unfortunately, the demands of being a professional writer have whittled that away, to a certain extent. Now I write for the client, not for me. But it's been writing to you, dear friends, in this blog, that has helped me to find that connection, that love again. Writing has been enjoyable - and necessary - for the first time in a long time. A huge thank you to all of you for helping me to find that again.

I'm excited about my new venture for this fall - starting a new company with a friend of mine which will be helping women - in particular, female entrepreneurs - find their own style and build their personal brand, both online and in real life. We're called the Retail Therapists, and we'll be launching this fall. It speaks to both my passion for shopping - and for connecting with people on a deeply personal level. I'm excited as to where it will take us.

And I really am excited about writing again. There are a number of corporate projects in the wings, and this break away from work - completely away - has been exactly what I need to regain my equilibrium and passion for this work.

And to my husband - my darling life partner - this time away has been tough. All along I've wished he was here. But there is a part of me that is glad that he wasn't. I needed to go this trip alone - I needed a reminder of my own strength and courage and independence. These are things I haven't thought a lot about since we've been together, since I've been focused on the strength of our partnership. But having the freedom to do this alone - I've come back stronger and healthier, and more and more in love with him. I really do have the right mate - anyone who understands me well enough to let me have this solo adventure, to know that I needed it, well - it has been a great gift of love. I'm so very grateful.

And next time, he's coming with me. I wouldn't have it any other way.

As for where I am right now, right at this very moment, it's so very quiet. Nearly midnight, and even the frogs have stopped singing. The stars have faded to faint pins of light - clouds are rolling in, which has the mixed blessing of preserving warmth, but losing out on the night sky show.

I can't express how happy I am, right at this moment. If I could sum up this trip in one moment, it would be this. Here.

Good night.

The Other Africa

I now understand why tourists spend millions of dollars every year to go on safari in Africa. Because it is worth every last shiny cent.

This is what I've been up to for the last two days:

Wake up at 5.30 am. Those of you who know me know that I'm often just turning in at this hour, so this is the only thing about the experience that is less than stellar.

6 am coffee and muffins.

6.30 am: game drive in the bush. And I mean the bush. Our stalwart driver Herold actually drives over bushes and deadfall - some as tall as 5 feet - in the converted land rovers that drive like tanks. But for all of you conservationists, don't you worry - our path is virtually invisible within minutes of barreling through - the growth is that thick. The elephants make a much bigger mess than we do.

The morning drive lasts 3.5 hours, which I thought would feel long, especially in the cold of the early morning. But it's over in a blink, and it may just been the most exciting 3.5 hours of the day.

To quote our lovely Kayley, "I'm pretty sure this is where they shot The Lion King." The countryside is gorgeous - autumn colors, even though it's winter now, low scrubby brush, tall grass, deep sandy river valleys, rolling hills, forest, twisty Halloweeny trees, occasional palms and spikey acacias. You can't help but say to yourself in awe: "It looks like Africa!"

And then there are the animals. Giraffes, zebras, elephants, rhinos, hippos, monkeys, baboons, buffalo, a million different kinds of antelope and deer. Gorgeous, colorful birds - the sound track is just as engaging as the view.

But best of all, for me anyway, are the cats. Two leopard sightings yesterday - one, a young male fishing in the river (his name means courage in the local language because he isn't scared of anything - hyenas or land rovers alike). This fella actually caught a fish, but spent more time grooming his feet - they don't like water any more than a housecat, and he couldn't wait to get his feet dry. The other leopard we saw was a watchful mother with her two cubs. The cubs wrestled like kittens and rubbed heads and groomed each other - no more than 10 feet away from us.

And then there were the lions: four females and three big males. Again, we were able to watch them from not more than 8-10 feet away. Totally relaxed around us, they lolled and ate and groomed themselves. It was amazing to see their similarities to my kitties back home. I love that my girls are just like mini-lions in their habits.

Today we saw four shy rhinos, and tons of elephants and buffalo and zebra and giraffe. And we drove through (literally through) some of the most remarkable country you could possibly imagine.

So, imagine doing this in the morning, getting back to the camp - and when I say camp, I actually mean luxury villa - for 10 am, eating a huge breakfast, relaxing for a few hours, and then going for another 3.5 hour drive around 3pm.

Then dinner in the BOMA (British Officers Mess Area - so very, very colonial). And dinner is a fancy four course affair - with five star food and great company.

Then sleep, rinse and repeat.

Today I got back to camp after our early morning drive to an urgent text message from the family I was staying with in White River. Their youngest boy has come down with the measles. I was supposed to stay with them for tomorrow night - my last night in Africa.

But one quick phone call later, I rearranged my plans to stay with my new friend Jaclyn from my Hands team instead. We're going to have a slumber party for my last night.

It feels pretty great to be more than half the world away from all my friends and family, and yet have someone to call for a last minute couch-crash. It's amazing how little time it takes to make good friends.  

First Night in the Bush

It's nine o'clock at night and I'm in the middle of the African bush. I've never seen dark like this - I can hardly see my hand in front of my face. And there are so many stars. Stars I've never seen before. Happily, there is a high voltage fence separating me from the lions, but they're out there, and they're close. I saw a lion family lolling earlier today - nothing picture-worthy, alas, just some ears and a twitching tail - about a mile from here. It's an honour to join them in their home.

I'm nearing the end of my journey, and I'm both looking forward to going home and dreading it. Of course I'm missing my husband and our friends and family and our kitties, and I can't wait to see them. And see all of you.

But there is something here that I'm scared to leave. I feel fulfilled here. The work at Hands wasn't work at all - it was joy. It was heartache too, and I think if I stayed here longer, I'd feel it even more.

But there is courage here. And such commitment.

Case in point. Early last week we met three little girls, the oldest of whom was being abused by her father. I saw her standing alone on the sidelines, when all the other kids were playing games. I went over to her, and saw that she was crying. I tried to put an arm around her, but she shrank away. So I stood beside her for awhile. She eventually let me hold her hand.

At the time, I didn't know what was wrong. I was pretty sure it was major, because she was the first kid I saw cry. Even amidst all of the horror these kids face, for the most part, they put on a happy face.

Before long, one of the girls on my team came and took my friend by the hand and led her away. I'll be honest - she slipped my mind. There are just so many kids.

But it was Kayley, our lovely 18-year-old UK team member, who thought to ask her story. And that's when we found out about the abuse. The little girl is nine. And she has two younger sisters. The abuse is nightly - whenever the father is home. The mother knows, but she won't do anything about it for risk of losing the father's income.

And this is one of the hardest things to stomach - the wholesale abuse of children, the fact that their rape is so normalized that nobody blinks. And that poverty trumps child rape in the survival game. I feel rage when I think about it. And I feel helpless too. Because even if you manage to protect one kid, you can't protect them all.

But we did our best to protect this girl and her sisters. We took the story forward and told the leadership at Hands what was going on.

The next day, a crew of Hands folks went into the the community, spoke to the mother, and removed the girls from the home. Social services is now involved, and the father will likely be arrested.
On my last day at Hands, I asked what was likely to happen to the girls.

The answer was both grim and inspiring.

"Frankly, if Hands wasn't involved, the charges against the father would probably be dropped," says Dan, oh-he-of-movie-star-looks. "But that's not going to happen. It's in my DNA, and the Hands DNA, to fight for these girls," he says. "I don't care if I have to sleep in front of their house every night, and they have to sleep in my truck, they will be safe. Now that we're on this story, we're going to do everything in our power to make sure nothing further happens to them."

Powerful words, and from anyone else they might ring overly-dramatic and hollow. But Dan, himself a father of three, means it. I've never seen anyone so fierce. And that's the kind of people who work with Hands.

It's that kind of courage in the face of utter adversity I've seen here time and again. I'm inspired and humbled. I only wish I had that kind of courage myself.

And yet, the best compliment I've received while I've been here was from Daphne, our 73-year-old Aussie grandmother. "I'm pretty sure that not very much fazes you, does it."

I've taken Daphne's words to heart. It wasn't long ago that I felt afraid of everything.

But now I'm sitting in the middle of the African bush in the dark, with just a small fire and my iPad for company. Let's not forget about that electric fence. But I don't feel afraid.

Progress.