Choc chip Muffins and Crocodile Tails

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Farewell Australia

My mum was ordering a birthday cake for my brother when he called, ‘Bek, I don’t think I can make it to dinner tonight.’ I was fuming but held my temper. It was my farewell and his surprise birthday party. I watched my mum go to the effort of selecting a cake and dictating the message, ‘It’s my farewell dinner. Why can’t you make it?’
‘I’ve made a booking at the restaurant under my name but my girlfriend has this problem you see and she needs my car…..’ I didn’t want to hear the rest of it. He will not get away this time, not when the entire family (and I mean small community) had put aside tonight to be there for his surprise birthday and my farewell. Steph had called earlier asking about what sort of gift to get him and he was about to pike for someone he had known for 6 months. Someone who accidentally sent him to a mental hospital no less and I had to drive 3hours to bail him out of. That’s another story in itself. Right now, I was regretting missing such a prime opportunity to exploit the troubled mental health institution to punish the twat. ‘You. Will. Be. There. If you don’t I will take a baseball bat to your car.’ I said quietly, walking away from my mother and sitting on a bench. I hung up. Ten min later, he called to tell me he will be there but late.

The night ended up grand and my brother did turn up. My loud family became even louder when we all sat down at the two of the biggest tables in one of Sydney’s finest Chinese Seafood Restaurants. I am fairly sure we annoyed half the diners with balloons, cakes and tacky table decorations of the sparkly variety. Gleefully I was presented with many red Asian packets with cash in them as farewell gifts and my brother received a gym bag from my aunty. Heck, his birthday was a week ago; I’m leaving for the next couple of years. Steph and I drank a few bottles of wine between us and my mother delighted on how well I spoke Vietnamese when tipsy. She even pushed a few more my way and paid for the lot. As the night continued, my Vietnamese became even better, to the extent my traditional grandmother could understand me coherently. She managed to keep her false teeth in check tonight and enjoyed all that was on offer.

My mum is the person I admire most in this world and I love her. I am going to miss her terribly but glad that she is letting me go with no guilt and her blessing. Even though I know her dream for me is to be married, buy a house next door and give her grandchildren. Twin girls. Like I can do that on demand. Like I have a boyfriend.

Before embarking on lengthy travel, you try to squeeze in absolutely everything you love to do for ‘just one last time before I leave’. For me its coffee, lunch, second hand book shopping in Newtown with my best friend. We fawned over books, gasbagged over lattes (soy hot chocolate for the lactose intolerant anti-caffeine drinker) and window shopped for things I can’t possibly carry on my back.

We found time for shopping for things I actually needed and without her there, I don’t know if I would have packed at all. Finally at some ridiculous hour of the morning, I was packed and said my goodbyes to Lisa. There were no tears or girly squealing and melodrama at the front door. I was in total denial. It didn’t feel like I was leaving for a UK working holiday, otherwise known as the Australian Rite of Passage, but an 8 week holiday in Southern Africa.

To my surprise my parents actually parked the van and accompanied me into the airport. Normally it’s a drive by at the departure entrance where I would have to commando roll out of the side door and carefully avoiding my backpack follwing behind me at concussion inducing speed. Sydney airport parking costs are extortionate. Certainly not worth farewelling their only daughter at the gate while she toddles around a foreign country for a couple of months. This time it was different, this time my parents had doubts of my returning. No university to finish, no job to come back to and certainly no love of my life. Or ex-love of my life. In fact there is not even a potential on the horizon. I made sure of that before I left. I am now worth the $10 per half hour.

Sminth found me first. There is one thing you need to know about Sminth, she’s unique. Being with her at times is like eating a double choc chip muffin. You know you don’t need it, there will be consequences but still thoroughly enjoyable, and you have to tell your friends about it, if not warn them about the dangers of over consumption. She’s entertaining in a special way but she is who she is. We are complete opposites. I like my privacy and being in the middle of nowhere with minimal luxuries. She is a social butterfly who packs an emergency facial kit. Don’t ask why we are on a Southern African Camping trip together. I guess I have been over dosing on double choc chip muffins for 10 years now and old habits die hard.

I hugged my parents and finally let go of my mum to head towards the gates with my life in a 60L Mac pack without turning around. I didn’t want to look back. But I had to. I lost Sminth. Oh, that’s right; she went off to buy some sort of beauty product to give me some private time with my parents. At least I think that was her ploy, she could just really need some moisturiser.

In Limbo

Eight hours later we were flying close to the South Pole and our kind pilot suggested we look out of the window. It was beautiful; some icebergs were cracking and floating across a still Antartic Ocean. The sun was streaming down on pristine blocks of floating ice reflecting orange across its surface. We weren’t even on terra firma and already a magical moment.

We landed in Durban, not by choice. Apparently nothing is flying in and out of Johannesburg due to horrendous thunder and lightning. Sminth, myself and other weary passengers stared out of the window at the sunny Durban sky with mistrust. ‘Where are you girls heading to?’
‘South Africa, Botswana, Zimbabwe, Zambia, Malawi and Mozambique’
‘My word! You girls are brave! If I were your mothers I wouldn’t let you do that!’
‘And where are you going?’
‘Home,’ interjected the son. I waited for him to finish. ‘Durban.’
‘Erm, you mean you have to come back here?’
‘Four hour drive from Johannesburg.’ Oh the irony.
‘Hey, did you say you were travelling to Jo’burg? Where are you girls staying?’ We looked up to see a pint sized Indian-Australian smiling at us through thin glasses. ‘Drifters Inn, you?’
‘Don’t know.’ Oh my lord, if there is one place you wanted to pre-book accommodation, its Jo’burg. Especially, if it is your first time.

Our kind driver eventually found us despite the delay and offered us some prunes. There was no thunder, no lightning not even spittle of rain. Welcome to African siesta. A little time void which occurs for your maximum inconvenience. It was humid and we raced around the city centre at 7:30pm to our dwellings. The city is formidably ghostly at night and only those with the constitution of a Marine and a mind of a muppet would even attempt to go through Jo’burg post sunset. I tried to spot the diamond building through tired eyes. I am sure it exists! It was there the last time. Lisa can vouch for it, I think. Her memory can be temperamental.

At the Inn we checked in, met Bethel the bar tender/waiter/bell boy and Sminth order some vegetable something or rather while I passed out on the bed from exhaustion.

26th of March 2005

The Smalls

I woke up to silence. It was glorious. No hoodies hooning down the road, no frenzied Arabic exchanges over the fence and no alarm clock. It finally hit me. I am unemployed. I have not been unemployed for over 6 years. What was I thinking?! No source of income and no routine. Looking up at the thatched ceiling and the still light blue sky out the window, I am in Johannesburg again and everything settles inside of me.
‘What’s your status?’ Huh?? Sminth looked at me. ‘What’s your status? Ready for breakfast?’

Coffee. Fresh percolated coffee. I was beginning to function as I drank my poison of choice. ‘Are you going on the Southern Circle tour?’ A small blonde child asked us. ‘Yes,’ Sminth answered. ‘Are you?’
‘I’m here with my family. We’ve been here for a couple of days already to acclimatise. Have you met the dogs?’ Meet Jules, 13 years old and ready to match wits with Sminth. I salute him. Then we met Imy, 11 and already taller than me. Oh the shame. Sminth picked up her glass and headed over to the hotwater kettle. The kids looked on with wide eyes. When the water touched the top, predictably 'AHH!! Hot! HOT!'. Eleven year olds understand the laws of conduction, sadly my dear friend does not. 'What do you do for a living?' the mother asked. 'She's in PR and marketing for LG.' She pulled a face, a cross between shock and amusement. 'You will pull that face alot.'
Later we met Maddie, the older sister and the father. Aussies. Why am I surprised? The English banished the disreputable to a flat country at the arse end of the earth, only to have them populate and invade the rest of the world.

That night, at our briefing, we met the last of our group, a German couple. She speaks great English, him not so well. Derick briefed us over a dinner of crocodile tail, ostrich and other tasty African dishes. ‘I need you to give me your indemnity forms with insurance details on them.’
Sminth looked a bit peaky over her plate of ostrich meat. She excused herself to the toilet, covering her mouth.
‘Oh, you don’t have to get your form now; you can give it to me …’
‘Ah, I don’t think she keeps her insurance forms in the toilet. She’s about to throw up her dinner, don’t think foreign meat agrees with her,’ I interrupted. She recovered with some modicum of dignity and joined us at the bar. Not long afterwards, it was my turn to depart but only to my bed.

Half an hour later there were some German mutterings outside my room. Followed by some giggling and Sminth’s voice. More German, followed by English, then German. Sminth was breaking the language barrier at record speed. I am sure she will fill me in the morning. She filled me in as soon as she walked through the door. ‘The German couple aren’t a couple!’ She squealed. ‘He’s her hairdresser! Who brings along their hairdresser?’ Good question from the girl that brought an emergency facial mask. Only she could find gossip without understanding a stitch of German. Like I said, double choc chip muffin, its bad for you but you know you want more.

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Photos

Mum
The most beautiful woman in the world, my mother.

Brother
Brotherly-sisterly love

The Girls
My aunties Helen & Steph, after a few bottles....

Nan
Well, my nan thinks I'm funny....

A Small Community
Some of my family... there are more, somewhere.

Imy
'11 year old Imy and already taller than me. Oh the shame...'