"Words are the voice of the  heart."
 Confusius
  
We are back a little more than 2 months. Much has
happened and most of the much was finding one’s feet and integrating into a new
country. However, with a big difference compared to the US, Latvia, France or
Germany: the country is new, but not foreign, rather familiar in regards to
language, culture, customs, habits, traditions, even
quirks.

 I discovered that command of a language can
empower or debilitate after moving from Africa to the States. I could speak
English – well enough to do almost everything, but not well enough to feel
comfortable. I had to think how I want to say things; I had to write my patient
reports out before I could dictate them; I said wa’t’er,
tom’aa’to’ and l’aa’f (like the
British), are you be’tt’er mrs
Be’tt’y, instead of wadu,
to-may-to, laugh, are you be’dd’a
mrs Be’ddy’. I called traffic lights -robots, the trunk of a car – a boot;
glove-box – cubby. I took a lift to
the second storey of a flat…meaning…I
  took an elevator to the second floor of an apartment. 
 
The unfortunate, often embarrassing mistakes: I
could call a stupid driver an aghs-hole without a blink of an eye whilst it
caused my friend to almost overturn the car,“Caren, you can never say that! It
is extremely bad.” My innocence was shattered, “Oh, sorry, I did not know..”
Another reverse one: fanny pack…now that is bad for a South African since fanny
refers to the female private parts!

 I could not understand for the longest time why
you would call plastic knives, forks and spoons silverware? It is everything
but… How could you eat on the run? It’s take-out, not take-away; ‘tomayto’ sauce
is ketchup and tea is cold with ice, not warm with milk; you don’t hoot, but
honk; you go to the bathroom, not the toilet; when your child is naughty you
kneel down and say, “we don’t do
that”? Who was naughty here? You spank or paddle, not give a hiding and you DO
NOT spank in public, because then HRS will take your children away and they will
disappear in the system and you will NEVER see them again. That scared the
daylights out of me! I learned to use the very foreign to my vocabulary word scoot very appropriately, “Scoot your
booty!” That is but a few I can think of quickly. 
 
I could not pray in English for the longest time.
It was a victorious moment when my friends could understand what only God could
to this point. The day they understood my ‘take-out’order at a McDonalds
drive-through was the day I felt I finally arrived in America…it took my tongue,
vocal chords and vocab 2 ½  years
to finally make it to America!

 A year later the language trepidation struck
again – in a major way. We moved to Latvia…where complete foreignness met us:
not only the language, but the way it looked – funny curlicues hanging on to
letters, tiny roofs protecting words’ heads and little stripes and dots causing
such confusion when you plunge into the turbulent river of the Latvian language. 
 
With the help of Gundega, my blonde, hip language
teacher I managed to acquire enough words and phrases to blow up my arm rings
and keep me afloat. I trained hard under the watching eyes and listening ears of
Gundi until I could finally paddle to shallower water and feel ground under my
feet. A year later I could crawl out onto the beach and start to waddle around
in markets and stores being able to communicate enough to be understood. By the
end of the 2nd year I
  could even deliver a Christmas party speech. I forgot about that until recently
  when I discovered a video and I was quite impressed with myself, because right
  now I can say, ‘’anna esmu caren” and that is about it! A shame after all that
  hard work.

 Back to the US and by this time we’ve slipped
into the American tongue like a hand into a glove: the boys sounded born
Americans, the parents not, but we could do life smooth-and slickly in English –
pray, preach, write, fight, laugh, learn – no problem. I even learned to 100%
appropriately use offish  colloquial 
phrases like: “Hel-lo-ho…?” widening my eyes, stick out the chin – just
  slightly while the word swings off the tongue; or the sarcastic, “Sorreee”; or
“du-u” for stupidity or when you tell a story about someone in his/her absence,
“bless her heart”. And one of my favorites is, “let’s blow this joint!” 
 
From the US to France and oh my, was that ‘très
difficule’? French is decidedly one of the most challenging languages to hear,
to get with your ear. You learn to read, write, but when French emits from the
mouth of a Frenchman you have problems: no idea where the sentence starts or
ends, no idea how many words in the sentence, because everything is strung
together and together and together forever. I love what Mark Twain had to say
about French in his biography,

  ‘It has always been a marvel to me --
that French language; it has always been a puzzle to me. How beautiful that
language is! How expressive it seems to be! How full of grace it is! And when it
comes from lips like those [of Sarah Bernhardt], how eloquent and how limpid it
is! And, oh, I am always deceived--I always think I am going to understand
it.
- Mark Twain, a
  Biography

 With French-in-Action, listening to cassettes
repeatedly as well as Radio Info my ears could finally grasp and hold on to a
few words and then the chipping away slowly followed, like trying to open a
coconut with a blunt object…chisel and chip and chisel and chip…gradually French
started to make more and more sense and I even started to enjoy it, except…when
we had to perform serious business in French like going to the regional ‘mairie’
for our registrations or long stay visas; trying to order firewood or fuel over
the telephone (actually any business conducted over the phone was quite a
nightmare) or going to a doctor that could barely speak a word of English. He
decided after my first visit to him that I could not have a depression anymore.
One only uses anti-depressants for 6 months! Hello-ho…? Trying to explain in
French my medical history of 16 years of depression was a perfectly horrid
experience. He nodded his head every now and I still left without a
prescription. Well, I guess when in France do as the French doctors decide…I
convinced myself I have no more depression until 3 months later when I hit, not
an all-time low, but something very close to it. Thank you docteur ? …I cannot
even remember the man’s last name
anymore.

 After floundering around for hours in a giant
supermarket trying to find basic food supplies I decided I do not need that kind
of anxiety, so I asked Willie to drop me off at the store one Saturday morning,
armed with an outsize English-French dictionary, pen and notebook. I started in
the first aisle and slowly worked my way through every shelf. It was quite an
eye-opening experience, “Aa, gingembre means ginger, poivre – pepper, viande –
meat, fish – poisson, savon – soap, chausette - socks etc” Four hours later,
“Voila!” saved me much future shopping
  distress.

 My mom taught us, “There are small 2 keys that
unlock the hearts of most people: please and thank you.” 10 words in the French
language, most of the time, can unlock the aloof façade of a Frenchman, “Excuse
moi, monsieur/madame j’ai un problem. Est’que vous me aidez s’il vous plait?”
Excuse me ma’am/sir, I have a problem. Can you please help me? Admitting your
need for help softens the heart and breaks through defenses. The French are
fiercely proud of their language and it is a high value to speak it properly –
for them, not necessarily an expectation for foreigners, although they do
appreciate it if you address them in French and at least show that you are
trying.

 They, on the other hand will seldom admit that
they can speak or understand English, for fear that they might have to speak it
and reveal their poor command. It is a language pride thing and I do understand
it after living in the culture for 5 years, so admitting and submitting when you
need help give them confidence and oftentimes propel them to speak or help in
their not-so-good-English.

 The French language became a serious bone of
contention for Willie and me. My French improved snail-slow and I could butcher
my way through most of what needed to be done. Willie on the other hand, !bless
his heart!, really jumped into the French ocean with commitment and dedication:
language school, intense Alliance Francaise classes in Paris for 3 weeks during
summer vacation and finally twice a week one on one sessions for months with one
of the best tutors in Fontainebleau. It was during this mammoth attempt that
Willie realized and decided he has no more language chips left: no more
gray-matter space left for another language, but for ‘bonjour’, merci, s’il vous
plait, and a few more. That meant I had to help buy car parts, figure out phone
and internet bills, register a British car in France, explain, inquire and
translate: mega-stress! On our way to Feu Vert (auto-parts store) with my
killer-size dictionary on my lap, I would look up, write down and practice
trying to say, “we need a spark plug for a Honda diesel whatever”. The worst
was: we would get there and Willie will ask the assistant, “Est-que vous parlez
un peu Francaise?” They usually will put up their hand with a millimeter opening
between index finger and thumb, “Oui, un petite peu.” That’s all you needed to
hear – that petite peu meant business may be conducted in English! 
No need for me to whip out my spark-plug crash course vocabularly…awful,
  not just for me, but also for Willie who felt chained by a foreign
language.

 Great was the relief when we moved to Germany for
Willie and me, because both of us had German as a foreign language at school, we
lived in Namibia where German was one of the 3 ’official’ languages and last,
but not least – German is a far kinder language on the ear, since Afrikaans, as
a Germanic language, share the same phonetics with German. Pronunciation
therefore is easier and listening makes far more sense. 
 
Willie could organize our car and home insurance,
negotiate with our very Allemanisch car mechanic and order his food in German!
Awesome! 

After 17 years of juggling language balls we have
returned to Namibia. As we crossed the Otto Beit bridge from Botswana into
Namibia the balls and foreign-language-stress plonked into the river. Most
people can speak Afrikaans, English and often German and the black people can
add to that repertoire more than one tribal language as well: Ovambo, Damara,
Herero, Nama…

 It is quite unusual to hear Afrikaans,
specifically, spoken so widely – and not just by ‘whites’.I feel sad that I have
to mention it in this way – single out specific people groups, because in South
Africa, Afrikaans unfortunately, but I guess, for valid reasons, is often
referred to as the language of the
oppressor.

 We are experiencing the very same red tape and
schlepp of entering a ‘new’ country, but it is still infinitely easier than any
of our previous country/culture moves. The reason…?The language! With that I
will allow Antoine de Saint-Exupery, French poet and writer to have the last
word:

 ‘Language
is the source of misunderstandings.’


 

20 July, Wednesday  ‘but unfortunately I am no angel yet!’ 
 
We are back one week and we find ourselves in a strange place – suspended between an accomplishment and a new beginning. I know it is not an anti-climax. Arriving at our destination was the climax, but taking the goal away has left a void, an empty space…and emptiness. The goal, the end was always there, barely at times when we were fighting freezing temperatures in Europe and Turkey; when we were stranded because of visa difficulties: Syria and Sudan (big time); when the going became tough with body-mind-and spirit-bashing roads; when clean concepts captured in words like hygiene, water, shower, toilet, flushing,
odorless, dust free, spotless vanished or maybe have not arrived yet; when we
did not enjoy one another – when we were not a ‘nice family’ – it did not happen
too often, but boy, as Kris Kristofferson sings and I paraphrase a little: 
 
'cause, when its good, lord, there ain't
nothing better
But, when it goes wrong, it sure can be
wrong’

 I look back and I see, in the big picture,
how I left Germany, literally and figuratively spoken, in winter: my soul was
cold and shriveled up and I’ve tried to cover myself with emotional rags of
anxiety, fear, insecurities and borderline depression. Stress of any kind – how
miniscule – became the thread that kept the rags together and we had reels of
stress: 
       
Berlin – 10 day delay trying to get our Syrian visas. We finally
decided to leave without Willie’s and made arrangements for it to be DHL ‘ed
       
Severe cold made it impossible for us to camp which had financial
implications
       
The cloud of visa uncertainty hovered over us from Germany to Serbia to Turkey: no
visa in Serbia, no visa in Istanbul until it finally arrived in Antalya, Turkey 
        
Almost immediately the next uncertainty changed from a shadow
into a reality. We now have our visas, but not Andrej and Hugo and our hope was
that they will be able to issue visas at the Syrian border. They refused which
meant the guys had to go back to Istanbul with the bus and fly over Syria to
Jordan a week later! This meant turn around, arrange for bus and plane tickets
in places where good internet is far and in between, extra unplanned expenses.
Most of this came down on Willie’s shoulders which did not help the stress
situation at all.
        
During this time we received news that our container has arrived
in Namibia, but customs did not want to release the furniture to the moving
company, because of longstanding unresolved problems between the 2. We got
caught in the middle and every extra day in the warehouse cost us money. Willie
tried to figure out all the details in between campsites, traveling and
unreliable internet connections. True is the saying: far from your belongings –
close to mishap.
      
Egypt: In Cairo we heard from the Sudanese embassy that no visas
are issued to US citizens and a stretched out ordeal followed where we got stuck
in Aswan for almost 10 days where Willie spent days in the embassy and with the
help of the US consulate in Khartoum finally succeeded to negotiate a deal. That
did not mean the end of our troubles: the next was to find a place on a ferry
filled to the brim with Sudanese refugees from Libya; as well as for the car and
Sammie on the barge to Wadi Halfa in Sudan.

 Continuous and chronic stress for almost 3
months took its toll on all 4 of us and I reached a real low in Addis Ababa
where I wondered if it would not be better for all of us if Sammie and I fly to
Namibia. I was outvoted and I’m glad that I was forced to hang in there. 
 
These are a few of the high stressor peaks,
but we were so often rewarded, as in downhill skiing with the thrill and
exhilaration of new and awesome places, experiences and people. It was times
like these that brought perspective; times that we realize this is all worth it;
times that we discovered we are closer after conflict, because we purposefully
wrestled through issues to find solutions; times that we lack words to describe
the grandeur of nature bestowed on us in such variety of ways: mountains,
deserts, rivers, oceans, seas, heights, depths, vastness, color, gentle, harsh,
warm, cold …

 Culture, language, color, face, tradition,
clothes, religion…locked up in a human being…what a fearful and wonderful
ongoing mystery…that we had the privilege to explore and experience deeper. It
was no longer a picture on a page, TV or movie screen, but we could climb into
and join it for a brief period of time. 
 
It’s not possible to withdraw and remain an
isolated unit when you travel through 21 countries. To survive and to survive
well and safe you have to bow to, accept and respect the eccentricities of the
culture you have entered: learn the essential basics of the language – at least
thank you and please; try to understand and acquire rules of tradition and
social interaction: e.g. when you sit in a Middle Eastern country, be careful to
not show the soles of your shoes - it is rude; dress conservatively; do not
expose too much bare skin when you are a woman in many of the Middle East and
African countries and when a man, rather wear trousers than shorts; be polite,
friendly and kind. Graciously accept differences and as much as you can, refrain
from judging what is foreign and/or incomprehensible according your value
system. Experiencing cultures in the way we did, bring perspective: I am a drop
in a vast ocean of humanity – it’s not all about me, and it also brings awe for
the uniqueness of God’s incredible creation. 
 
As days became warmer, life gradually
reduced to daily survival: will we drive or rest, if we drive – how far, where
will we sleep or camp, what will we eat and drink, where will we buy food and
supplies? Unnecessary frills trimmed away to leave only the basics and in some
strange way the same happened inside of me: I shed my rags as the thread wore
thin. Stress we had, but I stopped clinging to it. I held it lightly with Ruco’s
words forever echoing in my mind, “chillax ma, it’s just another day in
  paradise!” I, likewise, had the scales pulled from my eyes: I could see more
  clearly, and therefore appreciate more deeply the beauty in small things,
  previously overlooked: warm, running water – greatest!; running water – greater
  and if not – also great, because one can top and tail just fine in 200ml of
  water! Clean, flushing toilet – greatest; flushing toilet – greater and if
  neither – a squatty bush potty – very great! Food, however basic – greatest,
  greater and great intertwined with immense thankfulness because we could eat!
  Health and Safety: soaring thankfulness! A safe, comfortable place to sleep
  even though the ground is uneven and until dust do its part – spiraling
  gratitude! Thankfulness and gratitude are rivers that flow out to form a sea of
  contentment that thrusts out grumbling
discontentment.

 All of this sounds sweet and angelic, but
unfortunately I am no angel yet! I often stumble and crash along, make mistakes,
say wrong things, BUT I am much healthier and recovery from blunders seems to be
faster. 

The change of seasons is a mysterious
wonder: the sun mischievously creeps into the day just a little bit sooner and
lingers a little bit longer than the previous day until we, 2- 3 weeks later,
express our surprise as we are surrounded by more light; temperatures rise a
wee-degree every day and we are again ‘surprised’ when we wake up one morning
with snow melting. Bare trees explode overnight and we are‘surprised’ when we
suddenly notice their soft lime-green leaves. The process is subtle, gentle and
barely noticeable. How it happened and exactly when we do not know, but there
comes a day when the change is obvious, “Summer, is here!” 
 
How it happened and exactly when I do not
know, but the change is unmistakable: Summer has arrived also in my inner
being!

‘amper tuis, amper tuis, my hartlam’ 
 
One of my favorite South African singers is Amanda Strydom. I love her passion for music
and can, so often, relate to the lyrics of her songs. Several songs over the
years away from home have become favorites of which one is called ‘journey home’
in which she describes her thoughts, feelings, emotions and observations as she
drives homes. From the words one gathers that she feels beaten up: whether
emotionally or physically, I don’t know, but regardless of feeling beaten up she
still focuses on her goal of reaching home. The words are:

 (‘vuisvoos, maar gefokus) focused, though feeling beaten up

 (Ek ry en ry en ry deur die Lang Karoo) I drive and drive and drive through…

 (Met‘n suitcase vol gedagtes) with a suitcase stuffed with thoughts

 (Ek kyk die ding maar so) I watch what’s happening

 (En ek ruik my ma se beddegoed) I smell my mom’s linen

(Radio Algoa sing
John Denver uit die dood) On the radio John Denver sings from the grave

 ‘Take me home country rose’

 (Al die ou bekende name groet my langs die pad) familiar names greet me on the road

 (Bakens wat nog sterk staan, wat my altyd huis toe vat) strong beacons always taking me
home

 (Skielik sien ek water) Suddenly I see water

 (Ek voel die baai se wind) I feel the Bay’s wind

 (En ek verbeel my ek hoor pappa vra) I imagine hearing my dad say to my mom 
 
(Vrou waar bly die kind) “Where is the child?”
 
(amper
tuis, amper tuis, my hartlam) almost home, almost
there…

 For weeks I’ve repeated the last phrase, ‘almost there, almost there, almost home…’, but I never realized the depth of emotions churning inside of me once the time came to cross the border. This is what I wrote in one of the last day-to-day journal entries:


‘amper tuis, amper tuis, my hartlam’ 
 
I could not sleep last night and was awake till 3:30. I am so excited and it feels like the day before I got married, or had a baby or did something spectacularly exciting. I am actually going home after 17 years…and I did not realize the depth of the emotions churning around in me: 
 
nervous – the long-awaited day has finally come

 overcome with thankfulness for so many things that I’m afraid I might leave something out: 
·       
protection through almost 6 months of traveling– we never felt unsafe or in danger, but for what happened in Harare; health: minor problems here and there, but nothing
significant; no serious problems with ‘Old Faithful’ after almost 27 000 km
which is remarkable, especially after hearing what could go wrong and did with
other over landers; 
·       
no accidents on treacherous roads shared by almost anything and anyone you can think of –
wheels, people, livestock and much more you cannot think of
 ·       
faithfulness of friends and family over the world who ‘traveled’ with us in thoughts, prayers and messages of love and care; 
·       
although we are running tight - financial provision to bring us here in spite of unexpected and
unplanned extra expenses with visa problems and border crossings; 
  ·       
growing closer and knitting together of 4 hearts for life through shared joys, hardships,
difficulties, emotional ups and downs– and this is a big one, because we know of
splits, fractured and very strained relationships during and at the end of the journey; 
·       
basic, but good food most of the time – we never went to bed hungry; 
  ·       
amazing opportunities
where we could fellowship, and share in the lives of friends in ministry that we
worked with for many years; countless experiences of meeting new friends planned
and unplanned –sometimes in the most unexpected and strange circumstances and
always with a strong sense of: this is no coincidence
and…and…endless…
 ·       
I want to cry and I’m not sure what to cry about? I’m not unhappy or sad – filled with wonder about what we’ve seen and experienced; filled with awe for grace bestowed on us;
filled with the unspeakable for the mystery of life.

 It is a cool crisp morning and we pack and strap in record time.
Our excitement is palpable – we enter the last stretch like marathon runners who
can finally see the end.


I wait outside and there across the Otto Beit Bridge, a stone
throw, Namibia. The crisp air has warmed up and as I look across to our final
destination it almost feels as if time has frozen; even the atmosphere is
  holding her breath for the last crossing!

 Across the bridge with Willie Nelson singing in my mind,‘Good
morning, Namibia, how are you? Say don’t you know me, I’m your native daughter…’
17 ½ years of leaving, visiting, leaving, visiting, but always having to leave
again. This time is different though: we are back with no leaving lurking in the
distance. 

We take pictures outside the border post – we’ve made it! It is
hard to curb the emotions racing, chasing and crashing into one another. 
 
The 4 of us share an unspoken, strange and unfamiliar sense of
accomplishment; filled with humble thankfulness I want to shout it out to the
world, “we did it, 21 border-crossings, 27 000 km: Namibia!” 

4 months reflection 
 
I skipped 3 months, not because I forgot – I actually thought hard about it and tried, but the inside process was not done yet, like bread in an oven. Another month has passed and I made a discovery - my drum is empty. I left Germany with an inner drum overflowing with emotions, anxieties, fears, uncertainties, expectations and more. Somehow, sometime, maybe over time, it all leaked out…

 Thinking over the past 8 months, thus going back to October 2010, severe pruning took place in our and my life – actually, it really started in 2007: when our lifeboat began to rock in the stormy waters of office politics and strained relationships. France and several close friendships were pruned away when we moved to Germany in 2008. We replanted in Germany, but in shallow soil – we knew it was a temporary shift. More losses followed: a‘secure’ job position, an organization and intimate friendships. 
 
These losses had a profound effect on me personally pruning away confidence, emotional stability, health – leaving someone behind that I did not know: a shell that existed from one day to the next – a day, most of the times, devoid of meaning. 

As Hugo was getting ready to graduate our next season plans started to fall into place: the time has come for us to return to Africa. A 17 year chapter of our life was coming to an end and that brought mixed emotions: excitement to return to our family, friends and heimat with a new future focus on opportunities to help develop Member Care in Africa and establish our
  professional careers. But also sadness for what we are leaving behind: 8 amazing years in Europe, saying goodbye to friends and our home in Germany – a home that was truly a haven for us and so many that passed through. As our ‘stuff’ started to disappear in boxes and emptiness echoed in our home, I realized that another layer of familiarity and comfort were pruned away and uncertainty of the unknown loomed before us.

 Moving, transition, saying goodbye, exchanging the familiar for uncertainty create high stress and all these things filled my emotional drum to the brim and it was with this drum that I left Kandern on the 19thof January. Our transitory lifestyle pinched like new shoes: learn to travel through Europe in the middle of winter; develop a routine of pack up, travel, find food and a
place to stay and start afresh the next day. The seemingly insignificant became significant and pierced through self-centeredness and a fixation on the emotions and feelings of ‘I’.

 I started to wake up with the gift of a brand new day in my hands – a day filled with the unknown and uncertainties, but a day that gave me a choice to live life, with all its challenges, to the fullest or choose for it to slip away, devoid of meaning, stripped of joy.  

The daily demands of our journey gradually, almost gently, forced itself into my drum, expelling an unhealthy occupation with myself, my emotions and feelings. I am a processor and will always be, but with a balance, a definite tongue-in-the cheek and a good measure of humor -  ‘chillax ma, it’s just another day in paradise…’

 Andrej and I talked about all the changes that we discover and observe in ourselves:
we’ve developed a travel routine and rhythm, we know where goes what, to pack and strap up the vehicle takes maybe 20 minutes, compared to almost 2 hours in the beginning. We’ve learned to work together as a team; we are getting more streamlined by the day. We do not mind cold showers or sometimes even no  showers; we are happy when we find a somewhat decent place to sleep; and accept if it is not the case. Food needs are reduced to basics and staples, but it satisfies and leaves us content. 

Our appreciation for the small comforts and the things you’ve never thought of before has soared. It takes very little to make us very happy and we look at what we had, what we accepted and took for granted, with renewed and fresh appreciation.

 A scene from the movie, “The Mission” comes to me every time I think through this journey of pruning: one of the main characters played by Robert De Niro, was a slave trader and when he became a Jesuit he felt that he had to do something to redeem himself, so he decided to climb up the waterfall dragging with him a heavy ball of scrap metal– symbolizing his guilt and sin. He wanted to pull it to the top and through this act receive forgiveness. The dramatic scene near the top of the waterfall is, after another unsuccessful effort to pull it to the top, the priest that accompanied him walked over and with one quick flick of a knife severed the rope tied to the weight and freed the guilt ridden man.

 The journey this far has freed me from emotional baggage that I carried and dragged
with me when we started. When exactly did it happen? I’m not sure – it was a gradual every-day severing of a few cords until somewhere it was cut free.
 
After the pain of pruning subsides, new growth starts to flow until it erupts into magnificent beauty… 
 
‘I can be changed by what happens to me, but I refuse to be reduced by it.’
 Maya Angelou

  Egypto-glyphics…?  See photos in Gallery: Egypto-glyphics

We are on the first floor of our hotel and the window overlooks the street below us:

 It is fascinating, intoxicating, unadulterated Egyptian life: Tiny personal-owned stores line the streets:

·         the vegetable grocer displaying his produce in the most inviting and creative way;

·         the butcher’s store, tiled with white porcelain, blood-stained tiles where from the ceiling carcasses of cows, goats or sheep are suspended, neatly wrapped in white linen cloths for fly protection;

·         a sewing store: 2 sewing machines sit out on the street and anything that might need to be fixed or sewed can be taken there;

·         a card making, photo copy store: the photocopy machine stands out in the street and you walk up with your need, hand it over and it is copied right there for a minimal fee;

·         the haberdasher store that sells anything from buttons, thread, accessories for hair, clothes, pins, needles, scissors…anything tiny that you do not think of until you need it and then it you really need it!,

·         fruit grocer;

·          micro-mini supermarket – 3ft x 1 ft: sodas, juice, crisps, candy, chocolate, tea, coffee, cookies, pasta, soup, boxed cheese like feta and goat, yogurt;

·         another micro-mini supermarket and customers are determined by who owns it;

·         dairy store selling fresh milk 2x/day – you bring your own container to be filled; yellow cheese; all kinds of white cheeses; olives, pickled lemons, carrots, peppers, home-made yoghurt, sour milk;

·         cleaning products for the house, bath, kitchen, house, etc;

·         a pharmacy – usually a bigger store that you can go in to; most of the others you buy from the street;

·         tea houses where men sit at tables, drink black, sweet tea while smoking their water pipes, watch the world walk by and talk about the community, Egypt and the world

·         carts pulled by donkeys or horses pass by and stop to sell vegetables; barley feed for donkeys and horses; hills of garlic;

·         cars, motorbikes, little trucks, big trucks, bikes, 3-wheeled motorbikes drive up and down, honking as far as they go;

·         people walk, stand and sit everywhere – in the streets and on the side-walks;

·         Veiled young women walk in groups holding hands, giggling, laughing, talking;

·         older women, usually dressed in black, most of the time heavily veiled or in a full burkha walk around with little children;

·         men with gray, brown, white long robes, many turbaned– business men, owners of the little stores, stand around talking, smoking and discussing…? ;

·         young teenage boys cling to one another, laughing and being silly most of the times 

·         ramshackle street food vendors cooking sausages, schwarmas, falafel, kofta in the street or on the side-walk

·         ice-cream shops 

·         green ice-cold, extremely sweet sugar cane drinks served from beer glasses, rinsed under tap water ready for use by the next customer

·         rainbow colored cell phone stores – color depending on the company: pink – T-mobile; red- Vodafone; orange – Mobilnil…

·         internet cafes

·         fish mongers – (probably my least favorite…because of the smell at the heat of the day)

constant incessant human, animal and automotive activity wrapped in noise that tightropes a Western sanity threshold…noise pollution…all the time – day and night. It wanes during the early morning hours, but never dies down – never, but should it cease for some miraculous reason, then the mosque’s muezzin would fill the gap – 5x/day

It is fascinating, exhilarating, energy-giving, energy-zapping; it is rare, strange, diverse, peculiar, different, and unusual – culture zones removed from what is familiar and comfortable to us

Players:

“our man” – an official in Khartoum

“Mr. Sudanese” – official in Sudanese embassy

Passport lady

Passport boss

The scene: Sudanese Embassy in Aswan

Sunday, 3 April: We are at the Sudanese embassy 8:30. “Our Khartoum man” told us before the weekend (Thursday) that the permission-for-visas fax was sent. Willie sees the passport lady in an office downstairs as we walk in, and she mumbles something of a fax which Willie understood to be that the fax came. She told him that we have to wait in front of her office. We sit in front of an office with a wooden door, in a frame of bleached out yellow walls decorated with dirt smears. On one wall, a framed photo with the ruins of an ancient Sudanese temple; on the other wall: the silhouette of a Sudanese man standing by a bright yellow sunflower; on the 3rd wall something that looked like a collage of I’m not sure what? 4 chairs line the wall facing the passport lady’s office and to the left of the chairs is the passport boss’ office. The floor is covered with a tired and worn-out carpet. To the right of the 4 chairs down a short hallway are 2 offices that we had nothing to do with.

 9am: a young man opens the passport lady’s office. Willie is sure that they open at 9. The young man cleans the carpet and the office with a sickening-smelling deodorant cleaner that stings our eyes and makes us cough. The door gets locked again. 15 minutes later another official looking man unlocks the office, sits at the desk, makes a call and leaves again. Other “customers” have now appeared – all Arabic and they freely enter the office, do their business and leave. The boss man arrives; he does not look at us, unlocks his office where flip-flops are sitting under his desk. Several turbaned men enter his office and close the door. All 4 of us are patiently watching the activity whilst we wait for the passport lady who has not appeared yet.

9:45 am: no sign of the lady and Willie decides to go down to see where she is. He comes back with the disturbing news – he misunderstood her – no fax! Willie calls “Our Khartoum man” who tells him that “Mr Sudanese” official has told him that the fax was sent! “Our man” sends Willie an e-mail with the details of “Mr Sudanese”. Willie calls “Mr Sudanese” who tells Willie he will fax it in an hour. Willie tries to explain to him that our car needs to go on a barge in the next 2 hours and we desperately need the fax. He asks “Mr Sudanese” to speak to the passport lady who has since entered the scene. She speaks to “Mr Sudanese” and then takes the phone to the boss man who also speaks to “Mr Sudanese.” We have no idea what is said, because it is all in Arabic and no one speaks to us.

Phone back to Willie and “Mr Sudanese” tells Willie to call “our man” again which Willie did. “Our man” tells Willie to call him back in 10 minutes – he will try to speak to “Mr Sudanese” Willie calls him back in 10 minutes - this time to hear that “Mr Sudanese” wants more money before they will fax it! Willie calls “Mr Sudanese” again to try to explain our dilemma. The phone goes dead – out of minutes! We now realize that the chances that we are going to miss the barge are getting bigger and bigger by unsuccessful minute after another.

12pm: The passport lady and passport boss lock their offices – time for lunch. We are left without words as we realize our car will not be on the barge and we not on the ferry. The Brits call us. Willie explains our situation. They are still hopeful and say they will try to stall the barge loading…maybe we will be successful after lunch!

The waiting room is getting hotter, the photo-paintings uglier, the walls are closing in. Hugo and Andrej go find us something to eat. I start to feel sick and go to the car to be with Sammie. To have the phone recharged is a major operation – all of us in the car, fight the traffic until we hope to find a Vodafone. Before we do that we discover that there is an open internet line in the building. Willie speaks to “our man” again and he says he will pay “Mr Sudanese” and we can refund him when we come to Khartoum! (if …!)

1pm: Lunch is over and the passport lady and passport boss are back. Willie skype-calls “Mr Sudanese” who tells Willie he will fax the permission in 5 minutes. 10 minutes later: no fax. Willie calls “our man” again and he asks Willie to call him back in 10 minutes. Willie calls him back in 10 minutes. He says permission was given, but now it is only a transit visa – we will have 5 days! (That is ok  - all we want is the fax) 15 minutes later – no fax – we cannot get hold of “Mr Sudanese”; “our man” cannot get hold of “Mr Sudanese” either. He has turned his phone off for the rest of the afternoon and the evening. No contact. Willie goes to the passport lady to ask if there is a way that they can help us – maybe call the Sudanese embassy in Khartoum – it is from them that the permission must come. She informs Willie with an emotionless face that they can do nothing – they do not call – they can only give us visas if they receive the fax! “Come back tomorrow.”

3pm: We have to leave the Sudanese embassy, because they are closing for the day. 

We miss the barge, so that means another week in Aswan till the next barge and ferry go! All 4 of us are drained and tired. We buy an ice-cream on the river walk; we have a quarrel; we are fed-up with everything: with strangeness, with strangers, with beggars, with hawkers, with peddlers, with interferers, with hasslers; we have hit the wall!

We decide to stay in the hotel where we were going to (if our car was on the barge)  – it is cheaper than our campsite in Cairo and we do not have the energy to deal with finding a campsite, unpacking, cooking food, packing up again. All we want to do is what Albert Hamilton sings: “go out, damn it, close the door, don’t slam it, let me be alone awhile, to give my nerves a rest!” We want to close and lock a door, lie on a mattress, fall asleep and not be harassed by thoughts of visas; unsuccessful calls to and from Sudan; mounting frustration and feelings of helplessness - just for a couple of hours.

Later, when it is cooler we discover an ice-cold, beer glass size, green, sugar cane drink – sweet, sweet… which we have with popcorn!  An extremely sweet ending to a bitter, bizarre day!

4 April, Monday

I go with Willie to the embassy, but sit in the car with Sammie. His presence calms me and I do not have to look at the ugly walls and doors on the first floor that freak me out. I try to read, but it is unsuccessful; I try to write the blog, but have no words; I try to look at my e-mails, but my eyes do not work. All I want to do is collapse under the strain of the incredible uncertainty…and I cannot get a grip on it however much I want to…

Willie comes back to the car at 12pm. It is lunch! The situation looks grim. No fax, no idea what the deal in Khartoum is. We return to the hotel.

Willie and I take Sammie for a walk. I stay at the hotel and crash into a semi-comatose state. Willie returns to the embassy for another afternoon of: calls from Willie to “Our Khartoum man” to “Mr Sudanese” to promises of faxes sent; to no faxes received; to copies of receipts faxed; to news that faxes of copies of receipts mean nothing; to more calls; No-fax-No-help.

Willie comes back to the hotel after 3 tired and dejected.

5 April, Tuesday 

Another day…Willie takes the car for an oil change and from there goes to the embassy again. No news, no fax. He speaks to “our man” who tells Willie that “Mr. Sudanese” has told him that the fax was sent. It is not a transit visa anymore, but a month visa. It is the strangest, most confusing situation and one does not know who to believe, what to believe. Hope soars with news, but then plummets, crashes and dies after a few hours when what was said or promised does not materialize. How long does it take for a fax from Khartoum in Sudan to reach Aswan in Egypt? Willie begins to wonder if they hand carry the faxes…?

Another warm afternoon in the Sudanese embassy and then at 2 pm:

The passport lady appears to tell Willie that she has received the fax and that he must come back the next morning!

6 April, Wednesday, Aswan: We have our Sudanese visas in hand after almost 3 agonizing weeks of emotional yo-yo-ing, uncertainty, helplessness, frustration and stress.

I receive the following message from Ruco, our oldest son in the States, who has figured from my e-mails and face book updates that I am an emotional mess:

"hey ma chillax - dis net "another day in paradise"

Reading those words was like taking a strong dose of some kind of medication – chillax…added to Hugo’s question: “What is the worst that can happen?”

It is time for me to stop and enjoy this day of today in paradise!

 

2 months of a tortoise lifestyle: carrying our house with us – living and moving in it; sleeping on it. The shell does not grow, cannot grow, so stuff cannot grow – rather – we prefer for it to shrink. Lots of growing happening all the time – growing on the inside: learning to live with 3 other people 24/7 – no place to go, except for the odd occasion when it is possible to withdraw for a brief period of time.

Lots of growing: 4 people sharing a confined space with a dog; sharing bitter cold and not yet sweltering heat, dust, weariness, monotony of a desert road disappearing in a hazy mirage, hunger, thirst, potty breaks on the side of the road, sunrises, sunsets, not being able to shower for several days, spectacular beauty of nature, the surprise of a first-time-seen bird, the excitement of a new city,  the befuddlement caused by cultural differences, the curiosity of a next campsite…the satisfaction of a wonderful meal or an ice cold drink, the simple joy of a hot shower, a flushing toilet, running water, enjoying the lavish hospitality bestowed on us by the friends we’ve visited on our way.

4 people sharing good and bad news, excitements and disappointments, happy and foul moods, laughter and temper tantrums, encouragements and discouragements, joy and sadness, mood swings, fun and not fun,

4 people sharing life intimately and intensely;  

4 people growing on the inside;

4 people growing together, closer together or further apart…

Life has become complicatedly simple: reduced to survival in a good way – content with a good night’s rest, thankful for safety during the night and on the road; for health, for food – however simple, for something to drink – regardless of the sugar or carbonate content; continuously appreciative of new places, sights, sounds, incredible opportunities, experiences; acceptance(without an attitude) of discomfort, being sweaty and smelly, not so clean bathrooms, toilets, campsites, dust and sand – sometimes even in your food; of the moods of the others; willing to humble yourself and say you are sorry, or you’ve made a mistake.

So, how am I doing with all of these 2 months into this journey?

Physically: I no longer look like a rinsed-in-Chlorox(Jik)- sheet. The Middle-Eastern sun has decked my skin with a healthy golden tinted glow.

Health: I still enjoy taking my anti-depressants, blood pressure and thyroid medication and am glad that I have enough to last the trip. I’ve taken an extreme step forwards in that I’ve not used any sleep medication since we left on the 19 January! I continue to be amazed when I wake up in the morning when I realize that I’ve slept another night. This by far it is one of the biggest miracles after struggling with a sleep disturbance for 40+ years!

Emotionally: Rollercoaster…not the X-treme rides anymore…the kind brave kindergarteners can enjoy: some days good and other days not so good. I am without a doubt of sounder mind and my tolerance for stress has improved – some days I think only marginally, but I may be too hard on myself. My biggest surprise? I’ve not realized how stuck in my ways and thinking I’ve become and molds that have started to solidify around me are shattered on a daily base: rigidity, comfort, habits, routine. None of them were bad molds and when I needed it they’ve served as anchors, but setting too tightly in them has made me more inflexible than in the past, making it more difficult for me to cope with change and uncertainty. I’ve prided myself in the past on being flexible, easy to cope with change, being able to weather high stress. I know my stress-tolerance has been compromised after my depression and increasingly more so during the last 5 years as menopause dipped into my reserves as well.

Daily anxiety was part of my life for the last 4 years: a result of almost chronic stress caused by a sad and difficult life event, aggravated by hormonal imbalance and emotional instability. The 6 weeks of uncertainty about our Syrian visa played into perpetuating the anxiety. Crossing borders during the years of traveling always triggered angst, so crossing borders, even in Europe exacerbated stress. What a basket case I will be after crossing 25 borders?  As we settled into a daily routine of traveling, I gradually got better. I made a conscious decision to not allow finding a camping spot when we bush camp to upset me as much as it did in the beginning. As for crossing borders: Hungary into Serbia was bad; Serbia into Bulgaria was better; Bulgaria into Turkey was actually not bad; Turkey into Syria: quite horrible since the boys were turned back; the second time was better, because I knew what to expect; Syria into Jordan and Jordan into Egypt really good…Progress! Then I totally derailed when we realized the door for Sudanese visas are shut …I became a pulpy, paralyzed mess – especially when our friends, the Brits breezed through the process. Each one of us 4 had a different response:

Andrej shared a miniscule degree in my stress. He grew quiet – very quiet, especially when we were in the Sudanese embassy. He practiced the power of positive thinking, and affirmation and managed to talk himself into believing it will eventually work out.

Willie was mightily stressed which is probably the reason why I lost it so bad. By nature Willie is positive and will explore every possible avenue before he will accept that something will not work. When we went to the Sudanese embassy, Willie was not going to leave without a visa…we did leave without one after having had an opportunity to explain our situation to a “big boss” who knew the procedures. Closed door! Willie not only carries the responsibility for our well-being, but also for the vehicle, planning our trip, finding decent, safe campsites –  and on the side dealing with our container crisis in Namibia - responsibilities which do not lighten, so encountering a set-back like this does take its toll.

I would have liked to better support him especially by not reacting to his stress reaction, but I really struggle to do that. I know in my mind what I want to do, but my response was so far from that.

Hugo: I am mystified by his response to these kinds of situations. There is an acceptance of what life hands out and I do not think his blood pressure raised a fraction. I asked him to explain to me what the process, taking place inside of him, is. His first answer was a question to me, “What is the worst that can happen? No one is dead or injured, right? How will obsessively fretting about it change anything? The worst is that we do not obtain a visa and since Libya is unpardonable for traveling at the moment, as is Somalia (our alternative options!) we can sell the car and fly back to Namibia!” Well that is exactly the heart of my fears…for Hugo that is then exactly what needs to happen…?

How different we are? How different do we process and internalize? How intricately and wonderfully fearful we are made? That is where I will stop for now.

Spiritually: as our journey home continues, so does my journey with God. I am given countless opportunities to trust God with our daily life and experiences. Some days I do better…I recognize the opportunity, appropriate it, rest in His provision and enjoy the peace. Other times I struggle, I fret, I worry…Years ago we had a South African/Namibian long distance athlete with the most uncomfortable running style: he looked as if he was going to trip and fall over his own feet every step, but he never did and he was champion for his distance for several years. His nickname was: “Loop-en-val” – Run-and-fall. My race reminds me of Loop-en-val often. Encouraging for me is that, even though I stumble, even though I fall, I do see progress and I pray that I will continue to look at the process and not be weighed down by the failures, which is where my melancholic disposition wants to camp.

One month and longer reflection

We are on a journey from Germany to Namibia: a journey with a beginning and an end. Life is a journey with a beginning and an end. During the last two years I had a heightened awareness of the brevity of life, my life. I lived my life and suddenly, one day I realized that I’ve probably lived more years of my life than the years left. The Bible says 3 score and one – that makes it 70, give and take and I am 54. That’s morbid thinking some people might say and it could be, and I had the choice to deny and suppress thoughts and feelings or face the reality and come in touch with how I feel about it. I do not enjoy getting older – all the changes in my body, decreased energy and stamina and I especially do not like what the mirror tells me!

I am not looking forward to dying and I wonder if I ought to feel guilty about it? “Do you not want to be with Jesus, enjoy heaven and life everlasting?” I want to feel more excited about it, but I have no idea what to expect and to be honest: I am also scared and that is the root of my problem, the heart of the issue. It throws me back to a familiar place – a place that I’ve hoped I’ve left behind: a place of feeling condemned, judged, guilty and never good enough in the eyes of God – a layer deeper: I do not feel loved and neither do I understand unconditional acceptance or grace – a layer deeper: I do not believe that God loves me; that He is good and that He wants the best for me. Therefore I do not trust God and I am of such weak faith. Why would I then want to look forward to dying or being with Jesus?  That’s my feelings.

I know the Bible, I love the Bible and I know what God tells me about Himself; about His-story and I yearn to return to what I discovered and experienced 3 years ago at Face to Face. I walked into God’s embrace; I sat on His lap; I rested my head in His bosom and I felt His all-surrounding love; I saw His eyes - how He loved me and delighted in me. Because I understood and experienced His love, I could appropriate it, enjoy it, but more so it swept out all my fears, insecurities, control issues and expectations and it freed my heart to love without condition, to forgive, to tolerate, to bestow grace and love on others, especially those closest to me: Willie, Hugo, Ruco and Kristi and I could do it not because of myself, my efforts, but because He helped me to allow Him to love me. I basked in the glow of Face to Face for 6-7 months never growing tired of this new found joy and understanding that because my Dad is a King I am a princess!

Shortly after I came back from Face to Face, ominous storm clouds started to build around our work situation. With my new understanding of who God is and what it means to call Him Abba, my Father, my Dad in baby shoes I managed to weather the storm quite well.  Several circumstantial things happened that gradually eroded my freshly laid foundation away: I was very excited when asked to help develop a certain strategy for our office and region. Excitement turned to disappointment when this process was stalled for different reasons; 2 weeks upon my return from America, February 2008, we received the news that my team mate whom I traveled with tragically died in a car accident; our move to Germany followed which in itself was extremely stressful and our work situation deteriorated even further.

 Ever so softly voices from the past started to whisper in my soul. My focus shifted and I tumbled head long into a state of depression, disappointment and grief. I was robbed of my new found joy, security and trust and I discovered a Caren I’ve not met before – filled with insecurities, distrust and emotional instability. Months of walk, stumble and fall followed turning life into a survival course. Destructive behavior patterns became my taskmaster who tried to trip me all the time. I found myself face in the mud so often that I wanted to give up trying. I hated myself: for doing the things that I purposed not to do; for irrational thinking eliciting irrational behavior. Willie, being the person closest to me, also became the one to whom I often directed the wrath of my frustration, desperation and failure. I’ve lived with depression for almost 20 years, but this was a foreign and new state of mind  - an unknown contender for my sanity.

My parents came to visit in the summer of 2010 and my mom encouraged me to go to an OBGYN for an evaluation. She felt menopause was also a factor to reckon with and was she right! Over the last 10 years new friends and family of depression paid visits, but in spite of them, I managed to stay reasonable in control. Now they’ve gradually invaded my being and were taking over control. The OBGYN, in a very German pragmatic way, shook her head and could not believe that it took me 10 years to come to this point. After a thorough examination she concluded that I have “retired ovaries” (that is why I love Germans so much!), and will do well on combination hormone therapy. This was October. It takes time for a ship to change its course as it was going to take time for my body to make the needed adjustments. I wanted to feel hopeful, hang in there, but nothing has changed for me and on the 7th November, after several days of see-saw behavior I told Willie that I need to go to a psychiatric clinic where I can get professional help. I am losing my mind and wreaking havoc in and around me.

8 November: I saw the OBGYN again

9 November: visited a friend who attended F2F and she encouraged me to hang in there and take determined steps towards hope

10 November: I decided I will open my Bible after giving up trying months ago. As I wrote down the date 11-10-2010 I was reminded that this was the day 3 years ago that I walked into God’s embrace and experienced unconditional love and acceptance.- words foreign to me in my current state. As I thanked God for what happened 3 years ago, I felt a heaviness lift from me and I knew it was over! And it was. In a letter to friends close to me I wrote, ‘I cannot explain it and I have no desire to understand it. God did not give Job an answer other than: I am God, the Creator, your Creator, the All-knowing, All-powerful, Almighty God. That is enough for me. “

So back to the beginning…. We are on a journey, but I came to realize during the last 2 months that this is more than an overland from Germany to Namibia, more than ‘going home’. It is all that and more…it is a journey personally designed for me…a journey back to inner healing…a journey where daily I am stripped from rigid patterns that have set into molds of comfort…a journey back to even better, higher, wider, longer, deeper of what I have  experienced at Face to Face. Stripping and breaking are painful and I probably have more ‘unfun’ than fun right now, but fun filters through enough to enjoy it and since I have a grasp of what is happening my 54yr old being is working hard to flex with and not fight against.

Update 26 January 2011

Berlin: snowing...!

Status: Inertia

Reason: We've applied for Syrian visas and have not heard from them yet.  Yes, or no will affect our travel plans majorly. Yes: we can continue as planned. No: we will have to reroute.

Leaving Kandern was more difficult than anticipated. Our original plan was to leave during the first week of January. We received our new passports the end of December, 3+ weeks later than anticipated and we could not apply for any visas until we've received the new passports. It was therefore best to stay in Kandern where we had a warm room; we could also finish final sorting, packing and administrative stuff.

In 3 countries - Sudan, Ethiopia and Syria one has to secure visas before arrival at the border. Willie and I received our Sudanese visas a week ago, and we've applied for Syrian visas through an agency in Berlin. We are currently waiting to find out whether our application for Syrian visas was successful. We will have to make a different plan for Hugo and Andrej since they do not have residency in Germany anymore.

We left Kandern Wednesday 19 January. On our way out we had to stop at post-offices in France to mail letters and boxes(parcels). By the time we had that done, it was almost time to find a place to "camp" for the night. Campsites in Europe typically do not open before April, so our first night on the road was spent in a parking lot in Wintersdorf (less than 200 km away from Kandern!)   Willie and I were in the rooftop tent and Hugo and Sammie in the car. It rained and snowed during the night and it was freezing cold. 5am Willie woke up with a wet shirt! We had no idea where the water came from, but the mattress was wet! Finally Willie realized that we did not put the poles for the rain cover in...so the water happily dripped onto the floorboard during the night and the mattress eagerly absorbed it.  Well, that is school money - hopefully we will not have to pay that again.

Thursday, 20 January, we arrived in Berlin after a difficult drive through snow, rain and lots of construction! The campsite in Berlin was open, but we decided to go to a youth hostel because it was so bitter cold.

Willie and Hugo went to the USA embassy on Friday where new pages were put into Hugo's passport.
 
The visa agency told Willie that we will not know about our Syrian visas before Tuesday/Wednesday which is today. This far we have no news yet. There is a feeling of helplessness and frustration with this kind of waiting, because there is not too much we can do other than WAIT!