Africa Revisited

Devil's Peak rises behind the surprisingly sunny winter campus. The old buildings covered in bald vines own the grandeur of an established east-coast university, yet are snugly draped on the mountain side, overlooking the Cape flats that stretch out till the silhouetted Stellenbosch mountain range. This area of South Africa contains both the most expensive property of the country as well as its poorest inhabitants.

Ive beheld this view before, almost five years ago. A time that seems so easily bridged, almost casually. Two weeks ago I was back on the hill in Swaziland at Waterford Kamhlaba. It was a late afternoon as I entered the grounds. The mid-term holidays had magically erased the students and staff, leaving the buildings as the set for my recollections. My thoughts effortlessly flowed back in time and brought me life like depictions of experienced situations. My long hours in the theater hall, basketball practice on the outside court with the low standing sun, games of pool in the IB-residence.

From the huge windows in Ad and Ans' house, very little in the view is altered. The highway from Oshoek is finalized, and a new house has sprung from the valley below. Unnervingly silent, in contrast, is the absence of my beloved aunt. Every spot in the house echo's some of her chatter and laughs, expecting her to appear again. With the house, that is sold to the Vice PM, I find it in me to say goodbye to a warm woman I've come to love as a 19-year old. At the farm, the greenhouse skeletons still hint at a more flourishing past, with most of the farmland now unused. Ans lays buried next to her son Mark, his glass memorial plate broken. The trees surrounding the grave side have grown big. The mango trees I helped planting now bear fruits.

Ward smiles when I enter the office. His hair is long and he put on some kilo's, exactly advancing him into the posture that would have always suited him. Neither of us can believe in this moment of reunion that five years have come and gone since. He tells me he's got two girls at home, and a third kid coming :"The doctor said that Robyn couldn't have anymore kids after the first... I guess it must be me!" As Im about to pull out of Malandela's I run into the brothers Maguire and Phumi, who are waitng for the bazbus to pick up some backpackers for their newly opened hostel. After reminiscing a booze fueled trip to Kruger, we get down to Anthony's favorite story about his working visit to a car dealer in Sloterdijk. "(Spoken in remarkably well executed thick Dutch accent) This is the coffee machine, its the most important part of the building. And this is the second most important part of the building: the toilet. First you take a coffee and then you take a toilet!" I praise his choice of profession, as he will find a new and eager audience every night to retell his story to.

The line crawls slowly across the third corner. Two checkpoints on my way to registration have been successfully met. More forms have been filled and signatures required in 4 days than in one year at UVA. My legs are getting used to the numerous staircases, that invite an internal and eternal repeat of the rocky theme song. But the silver lining lies in the absence of clouds altogether. This is the kind of winter I've been praying for all my life.