Month: June 2018

The first week of this month my family journeyed north to the Pilanesberg National Park. While we had done several smaller driving tours of animal sanctuaries, this would be the first time that we really ventured into the bush. Pilanesberg isn’t originally native habitat though. In the 1970’s the South African government created the nature preserve in the crater of an extinct volcano. Over 6,000 animals were brought in from Namibia in the early 1980’s. Today those numbers top 10,000 including lions, elephants, rhinos, and cheetahs. I think everyone’s expectations were lofty, and we tried to prepare our sons for the disappointment of not seeing any of the elusive Big Five. (Can you name them?) The park is simply massive at 250 square miles and while the roads (paved and unpaved) provide access to most of the area, the odds of spotting one of the three lion prides or a southern white rhino is not always in a visitor’s favor. Secretly I was ok with this. I didn’t want the journey to be a drive-through experience or pre-packaged show that’s the same for every tourist. I would always prefer sitting and waiting and letting nature find us if she wanted to.

We arrived at the Bakubung Lodge in the early afternoon and were immediately impressed with the grounds and rooms. It’s winter and the slow season here, so the lodge had shutdown the boilers for the two rooms we had originally booked. My wife’s parents and our youngest would share a room, and my wife and I and our other son would bunk down in the other. We brought air mattresses for the boys just in case. I’m learning that in South Africa you’d best take care of yourself and be pleasantly surprised when it works out that you didn’t have to. It’s much easier than having any sort of expectations, especially when the term “resort” is used. The rooms were comfortable and clean and quiet. We opened the curtains and doors to the patio to see the park immediately on the other side of an electrified fence. The nature was there too.

For dinner we opted for a braai experience hosted by the lodge in the national park. For me this was the most enjoyable part of the trip. I don’t think the rest of my family found it as powerful I did. They can be forgiven as it was a cold open-air truck drive in the dark to the braai. In addition the food wasn’t exactly American kid-friendly, and the boys were already tired. But as we left the hotel grounds and entered the park gates, a mountainous bull elephant emerged from behind a thicket. It froze in the truck’s spotlight unsure what to make of our commotion and the smell of diesel exhaust. Our driver told us to be quiet in a concerning tone. From its massive head two tremendous tusks reached out and down disappearing into the grass. I judged that it was easily twelve feet tall as turned and sauntered back into the night. When the brush stopped moving, we rolled on. Above the truck a million stars appeared. The drive rattled us around for another 20 minutes before coming to an abrupt stop at a human sized gate. Entering the braai area we were welcomed with a song from eight singers and a drummer. The food was laid out buffet style, and we sat down on benches around long wooden tables. At the center of it all was a warm glowing bonfire. The kids didn’t eat much of the unfamiliar food and were restless for the dessert portion. For them chocolate, whatever its form, is always more appealing than the main course. The camp was protected by a less than intimidating fence and torches, but we were reassured that the animals on the other side wanted nothing to do with the noise or light our group was making. Still I couldn’t help but wonder if somewhere out in the darkness something sat salivating at the smell of grilled lamb, chicken, and beef.

As the moon slowly made it’s way above the surrounding hillsides, it struck me that we were completely surrounded by miles of wild and remote natural wilderness. I huddled close to the inviting bonfire and savored the last of traditional Zulu/Tswana meal. As I warmed by the red coals and watched my kids watch a group of drummers perform, I forget about the world beyond the light of the fire. For over an hour that night my family sat there together, listening to songs and staring into the dancing flames like human beings have done for tens of thousands of years. The drummer’s rhythm and singing ebbed and flowed rising with the smoke up into the star speckled sky. In that moment of holding my family close and removing the anxieties of the modern world, I felt that maybe this one life could be enough. For all the distance and distractions that moving to South Africa has entailed, we are now who we want to be.

The following day we loaded up the lodge’s safari truck for our afternoon tour. After the cold temps the previous night we each wore several layers and hoarded blankets in preparation. The boys tried to contain their excitement and rattled off as many animal facts, relevant or not, pertaining park’s wildlife. Entering the gates in the daylight was exhilarating. Armed with their gift shop binoculars, the boys kept watch as we bounced along a dirt road deep into the heart of the park. In the distance we spotted herds of kudos and impalas. On a ridge in the distance our guide spotted a cheetah. While I agree it did resemble a four-legged animal, from 300m away I wouldn’t bet on correctly identifying it. The afternoon was spent bobbing along in the back of the truck, calling out zebra and giraffes and cape buffalo. On the way back to the lodge we did find a family of elephants crowded near the road and a lone hippo in the tall grass next to a lake. The boys pointed and posed for pictures, and felt a sense of accomplishment. The sun set over the hills and left us with a parting gift of magnificent reds and yellows and finally a deep purple before finally turning on the stars for the night. If our only experience at Pilanesberg was our four hour tour, we would have left satisfied. However, the park held back something special for the following morning.

On day three the lodge and valley was completely fogged over as we made our way to breakfast in the canteen. Bundled in the same clothes as the previous days, we climbed aboard the truck and settled in for a morning of limited visibility. Our guide was in a great mood and tried his best to make us laugh as we re-entered the southern gates. For an hour we drove along mostly in silence looking at the fog sitting heavy on the golden grass fields. In what would be a trip-defining moment for my son, the truck slowed and the guide pointed out a group of elephants to our right. The other people on the truck repeatedly said elephant and pointed to where the bushes moved with something sort of large and gray. Our eldest but not our quietest child then corrected everyone by pointing out these elephants were actually rhinos. The southern white rhinos (not to be confused with the tragically extinct northern white counterparts) are imposing and prehistoric looking animals. About five of them snorted and chewed and slowly bulldozed their way through the underbrush towards the truck. The largest stopped about 20 meters away and gave us a spectacular view of his size and majestic presence. Looking around the faces on the truck, I saw smiles and wonder and bewilderment. Several nationalities were represented on our tour and every single smile betrayed the same overpowering emotion, something between awe and fascination. For just a moment we were all children again, marveling at the raw power and beauty of the animals before us.

 

With our spirits high and as the fog started to slowly burn off, we continued on the rough dirt road with our eldest chirping about how he had correctly identified the rhinos when no one else did. Within a few kilometers we spotted few cape wild dogs (the original native inhabitants of the park). Just as our driver was pointing out the fact that the dogs were usually an indication of lions, we heard it. The truck creeped forward not more than fifty meters until the sound of lions was clear. The fog had lifted enough to see a hundred meters clearly, and there off to the left of the truck, the western pride, comprised of a dozen or big cats, had just taken down a cape buffalo or a larger kudu for breakfast. Through the tall grass we could see the lions circling and ripping at their kill. We couldn’t take our eyes off of them. As the largest one ate, he kept the others at bay with a sound that I can’t describe, but that I can still feel in my chest. It rumbled like thunder in the distance and inspired a primitive fear. There’s no way to talk about it. I don’t care how good your surround system is, this wasn’t only audible, it was palpable as well. We held our boys a little tighter as the truck maneuvered for a better look at the feasting lions.

Within minutes the pride was on the move again. On big paws and with a carefreeness that bordered on arrogance, they walked out of the grass and onto the dirt road. Our truck followed, rolling in neutral as the cats crossed in front of us and drank from a stream that ran by on our right. By now the sighting had been radioed in and other cars and trucks had shown up to get a glimpse of the digesting cats. Having seen the show and feeling supremely lucky, we moved on to find a mother and calf hippo at the head of the same stream the lions were drinking from. Further down the road a family of giraffes and zebra enjoyed a late brunch overlooking the valley behind us. The sun warmed the metal frame of the truck and we started back to the lodge for lunch. My youngest son sat on my lap, his head bouncing off my shoulder as he gazed out over the foreign landscape as we rumbled along.

I don’t know what this international adventure will continue to hold for me and my family. We are happier here, I know that. The boys have a wide circle of international friends and they love their school. My wife is absolutely crushing her job. I’m content in reading and writing and running a little every day. And for the first time in my life,  I’m a father first, not a teacher, not a coach, not a parent who is pulled in too many directions. But in four years time from now will I go back to teaching? Will we find a little American suburb of another artsy up-and-coming city to call our own? Can you go back? Would you? I don’t know the answers yet, but I’m terrified of losing this feeling of aliveness which permeates every aspect of our African days.

Be good and keep in touch.

What I want is for the two of us to meet somewhere by chance one day, like, passing on the street, or getting on the same bus.

– Haruki Murakami, 1Q84

Returning to Nashville was everything I hoped it would be. I spent my time seeing former students and families and friends. I ate at all my favorite local eateries, and most of all, I could see the city and country that I’ve called home in a new light. I landed in Atlanta on a Friday morning and was immediately witness to a line of frustrated customers and apathetic employees at a Dunkin’ Donuts. People being bothered by the presence of people. Annoyance. Irritation. Anger. When I arrived at the gate for my Nashville flight, I saw it again. Bitterness at our flight being delayed nine minutes because our flight crew was late getting in. As I sat down in my seat for the last leg of my journey, I half laughed. Is this really how I used to go through life? The last twelve weeks I had grown to appreciate the difference between problems and inconviences. Landing back in America I could see it now, and I was a different person because of it. Right?

By mid-morning I was parking at Hillsboro High School. The memory of the double-takes and smiles when I first walked through the door warms my heart. It was the last academic day of the school year and both the teachers and the students were relaxed and happy about their impending freedom. I didn’t head for my old classroom right away. I felt like room 213 wasn’t mine anymore, and I was scared that seeing someone else teaching in there would be like seeing an ex laughing with someone new. You expect it, but you can’t erase that feeling. I wanted to keep my memory of that place, not to make new memories. Geography can be funny in that it can hold on to the echo of the sounds and smells and light, and I guess I wasn’t ready to walk back into that yet. So I settled in the IB History teacher’s room and more than gladly accepted the hugs and the high fives and genuine smiles from students and teachers alike. We told stories and laughed and reminisced. It was a true homecoming and a feeling that would be extended through the ten days at graduation parties, dinners, the state track meet, long runs, and happy hours. I’m warmed on this cold winter morning just thinking about the joy of it all.

 

That first night I attended a graduation celebration for Addy, a former student and one of the managers for the XC team. I was exhausted after 8,000 miles of travel and nearly 40 hours awake, but seeing familiar and friendly faces energizes and enlivens. I was both inwardly and outwardly happy when my head finally hit the pillow for a solid night’s sleep.

The next morning I had a few hours to polish my commencement address before the second and third graduation parties started. Frothy Monkey on 12th Ave South has long been by go-to study and writing home. I sped from East Nashville where I was staying with a fellow teacher to the popular coffee shop hoping to beat the crowds. Driving again in the US was an easy enough adjustment, although I did try to get into the car on the wrong side several times. Another habit I carried with me from Pretoria was the constant vigilance at intersections. Car hijacking on a Saturday morning in May in Green Hills or 12th South is highly unlikely, but I couldn’t ignore the road intelligence that I’ve worked hard to develop. Drivers in South Africa are bad, but they are making me better at being vigilant and anticipating other people’s dangerous habits. At Frothy Monkey I over ordered on the food and coffee enjoyed every sweet bite while I searched for the right words.

As for the speech itself, I worked on it for three weeks. It was difficult to narrow to a specific topic and then to narrow the topic to the five minutes allotted. After a dozen practice runs, I was still hitting roughly seven and a half minutes. I didn’t know if the jokes would go over, and I felt a bit like a fraud. What gave me any credibility? I was an unemployed English teacher who left the luxuries and modernity of America for a developing country. The only thing I was certain of was my uncertainty. I had asked for this opportunity, but I think what I really wanted was to teach my class again. I wanted to talk with my students, not to formally address 2500 people, most of whom didn’t know me or why I was on the program. This is one of those “be careful what you wish for” lessons that I still need to learn.

In the preparation, I had watched at least a dozen other speeches and stole what wisdom I could from my favorite writers and texts. In the end the final presentation was just over eight minutes. I hoped the administration would forgive me if it felt long-winded. Another week and I might have been able to say more with less. As it was, I’m mostly proud of the product and how it was received. I wish I had been more expressive in the delivery, but I felt the need to rush through to make up for the length. In the writing and sharing, I did feel a sense of closure that I didn’t know that I had needed. Leaving mid-year was right for my family, but as a professional, it left a huge hole in my heart. I was grateful for the opportunity to come back and to see everyone together again. It was a great privilege to see these students head out into the world. You can find a video of the speech recorded by Hillsboro librarian (and jack-of-all-trades) Joyce Claassen on YouTube.

As I’ve said before, this group of students was very special. As their teacher in 7th grade and 9th grade, their 10th grade AP and 11th grade IB English and Theory of Knowledge, and 12th grade capstone, we’ve been around the block a few times. I will forever be an advocate for looping. In fact if I head back to the classroom, that might be a condition for my employment. For five years we shared our laughter and tears and wins and losses and accomplishments and disappointments.

I watched them grow out of athletic socks and baggy cargo shorts and braces and awkwardness into confident, knowledgable, and capable human beings. We traveled to Greece and Turkey and Ireland and the UK together. We ran countless miles together. They threw me a baby shower for my first born and made meals for my family when my second born was in the NICU. They babysat my kids and kept me working hard even in the face of the most absurd conditions. Today, thousands of miles apart, I still feel that we are a community. The love and passion I brought to the class was a direct reflection of the love and passion they shared with me. They made me a much better teacher and parent and friend. Everyone was appreciative that I made the long trip home for graduation, but really I was the one who was grateful.

While cash might have been more useful as a graduation gift, I am still an unemployed teacher (until I can sell some books anyway). Instead, I hand picked paintings and jewelry and accessories from South African artisans at our local market. In buying almost forty paintings by Gab Duru, I hope that not only am I showing the students and families how much I admire them and appreciate the positive impact they’ve had on my life, but that we are also helping to make a difference in the life on an artist. If you would like a piece of Mr. Duru’s art, please feel free to reach out to me and I will make sure it gets back to you in America.

 

 

 

 

 

That week in May I attended ten more graduation parties. The warm feelings continued and as my schedule filled with coffee dates and whiffle ball and last runs in Percy Warner, I tried to fit more and more in. Without noticing the effect it was having on me, I started overbooking my limited time. Everyone’s request was a priority. I would show up late apologizing only to have to leave early or risk being late to meeting with the next friend or student. Luxury problems. I failed to deliver all the graduation cards and gifts. Regrettably, I had to miss one graduation party altogether. Over the week I would cut out time for meals and honk at traffic and drive like a South African taxi and try to make everything go faster. I had transformed back into the impatient American who always felt behind the clock. It was amazing. In this environment, my former self and habits re-emerged. Even now, three weeks removed I still feel a hint of disappointment that I couldn’t achieve all that I wanted in my ten days. At the end of this amazing adventure in a few years’ time, I wonder if I will be able to hold on to the South African pace of life and peace of mind that I’ve found here. Is it me or is it the American environment which drives people to hustle and rush and be impatient in the name of getting just one more thing done?

I’m happy to be back in South Africa, but I miss those people left behind. I wish there was more time for laughter and stories and sharing meals. Call it whatever you want: Fellowship, Community, Family. It is what we all seek. As my youngest son says, “It fills my bucket.”

So what is next for the class of 2018? We are all awaiting news of their IB scores and results in July. Most are headed off on new adventures next fall. Some are headed to their first choice of universities with scholarships in hand. My heart is with those who are more disappointed by how their senior year concluded. Navigating the world of financial aid and college acceptance requirements is difficult and often disappointing for all involved. We like to tell ourselves that anything is possible, but the reality isn’t always true. Or rather, that what’s possible isn’t always an easy or straightforward path. Regardless of the individual situations, I have the utmost faith in all of the students who walked across the stage on May 23rd. They are good human beings. I know they can change their world because they have already changed mine. I’m planning a trip to Kilimonjaro next year, and I hope some of the students and families will be able to make it. Like all of our adventures, it will be open invitation. This isn’t the end. We still have mountains to climb.

Be good and keep in touch.