Our hangovers did not help matters as we tried to pack our things and get cleaned up. A wonderful, car-owning friend was kind enough to drive us to the border post before heading to work. The taxi was nearly full, but we scarfed a box of chips (french fries) and downed a couple of cokes for breakfast before loading up and heading off. We were all very excited and pleased with how easily and efficiently we had got underway. As luck would have it, we even ended up in a vehicle known as a "quantum". Unlike the ubiquitous mini-bus taxi, or kombi, this has individual seats for each passenger and an aisle down the center. This means that they can't cram extra people in and you don't end up squished between two large women, a box of chickens and someone's suitcase.
We sailed along smoothly for a few hours, making a quick bathroom/gas/smoking stop. We had made great time and would be able to make it to the airport with hours to spare. When only about an hour outside of the city, our luck finally gave out. In the middle of a long stretch of straight, flat highway, beneath a country-road overpass, the driver pulled to the side of the road and stopped. He got out and popped the hood open. There was no smoke or strange smells coming from underneath, so we weren't too worried. However, after poking around the engine and a fruitless search in the glove box, he told everyone they can get out of the car and rest. The car had burned through its oil and no one had thought to bring extra. Now, with the condition of most public transportation vehicles, stopping to top off the oil on a long journey is not uncommon. But, that requires bringing the stuff with you.
After a year of such mishaps though, we were un-phased. As the driver tried to call his fellow drivers and figure out a plan, we crawled up under the overpass and found a nice place to sit and chat. While the things we talked and gossiped about probably did constitute "chatting", with the traffic roaring by and the apparent love of motorcycling people had that particular day, we mostly just shouted at each other. This went on for a good hour or two until a replacement vehicle arrived from the city to take us. That time was sufficient for me to uncover a small mystery, but not to solve it. There was a colony of birds that had taken up residence under the bridge. I'm not sure what they are called, but I've seen them all over Southern Africa. They make a sort of nest out of mud. They collect it a mouthful at a time and form a little pocket on the underside of some surface, usually roof overhangs or things like bridges. Anyway, there had to have been hundreds of them and the overpass was nearly solid with their dwellings. That is, only one side of the overpass was. The side we sat on was that of the northbound lane and not a single nest was to be seen on our side of the center line. The southbound side, as I said, was teeming with the things. But, the day was hot and I was tired, so I didn't think to much about it. I'm still not sure what it was all about though. Was it just chance? Something with wanting shade from the embankment in the morning but sun after noon? Or do the birds just like to crap on everyone heading away from Johannesburg?
Anyway, we eventually got underway again, though now with those extra hours we had thoroughly gone. We finally arrived at the taxi rank in Jo-burg, but now had to find our way out to the airport. Though time was short, one of our party insisted we find a bathroom first. This irked me, but turned out to be the best plan for, as she wandered into the confines of a sketchy bar, I chatted with some of its patrons. Each having made his way through several quarts by this, the early afternoon, they were more than friendly and eager to chat. After talking a bit they learned where we were headed and very kindly told us the cheapest way to get to the airport which ended up saving us some R300!
Following their directions, we made our way through the crowded taxi rank and found the one that took us to the airport. Once at the airport, we grabbed a couple pizzas to chow on since it was by now around half past three and none of us had eaten since breakfast. I can't describe the eagerness with which we waited. As soon as the big board indicated the flight was disembarking, we were amongst the crowd peering in anticipation at the set of doors through which they would come. We each held signs (crudely fashioned from our pizza box lids) welcoming our respective family members to the continent.
As I waited for what seemed ages, a thousand paranoid thoughts flit through my head. What if she missed the flight and no one felt like telling me? What if she had been arrested by customs for trying to bring in too much cheese or too many knives? What if she made it here, but has emerged through some secret, hidden exit that leads not into the airport lobby, but via extensive underground caverns, to some massive, dangerous Johannesburg slum? What if she made it here and had already come out, but we had both changed so much in a year that neither would recognize the other? Oddly enough, none of these things happened. After a few moments she came strolling out of the correct doors, without police escort, and looking much the same as I remembered.
Waving my sign madly, I pushed my way through the crowd and welcomed her to the continent with a big hug! Some how I thought that her being here would be strange. Its a whole different place and culture and everything and figured seeing her dropped into the midst of this new life I have would feel odd. However, after a few minutes I realized how strangely normal it was to be with her. The land and the people, the transport, the weather, everything else was vastly different, but our relationship was the same as always, and in a short time it seemed, in some way, as though she had always been here.
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