Saturday, October 26
Wittewater to Goedverwacht
14+3k/10.5mi
Sunny & Hot
It was a weird night. We were all in bed by 8:00. When I got up a little before 5:00, everyone else was still asleep. It felt like every rooster in the town was announcing the coming day. The very loud conversation that had started behind the community center after we went to bed was still going on, at full volume. We could see the house through our bathroom window, so it felt like the partiers were in the next room. They finally got quiet after the sun was up and we were all well into the start of our day.
When I unlocked the door and stepped outside in the dawn twilight to breathe some fresh air, I noticed a huge fire in the distance. It looked like someone was burning garbage, but the timing seemed odd. The scene had a post-apocalyptic feel to it and was a little unsettling
To a person, we were sluggish and tired - off. Whatever differences existed between us, with the exception of A., we were all hardy and faced our new days with hope and eager energy. I should have been still illuminated by the magic of the previous day, but what I felt mostly was in a deep fog. The partying neighbors could have been a factor, but we’d slept through parties before on the walk. Someone suggested later that day, as we were trudging and slightly grumpy, that the lack of air in the room the night before might have been a factor. We were sealed in, with no open windows (no windows to open), so it was a plausible theory.
The ladies arrived around 6:00 to clean up from our dinner and to get our lunches ready. They set out Weetabix Cereal and hot milk for breakfast – an acquired taste I have not acquired, and cheese sandwiches, bananas and energy bars and energy drink for our lunch. I had a banana and energy bar and packed my lunch, and then got out of the way. They were eager to see us gone, the leader very politely telling us that we wanted to get an early start.
Cynthia and I gave money to the center. They feed members of the community, especially the elderly, every day, and rely on donations. I wished I could have done more. Cynthia talked to them about her paying at least to have the shower drain fixed and to upgrade the bathroom. It was another example of her amazing service orientation, and her willingness to make things happen.
The group had talked the night before about why we were even staying at the community center. There was apparently a good guest house not that far away. I understood that Gabrielle wanted us to have the experience of being in this colored community, and that our staying there benefitted the community financially. But the center wasn’t in much better shape than it had been the last time I stayed there, so it wasn’t clear just how much we were really benefitting them. We wondered why Cape Camino wasn’t doing more to lift them up, so that they could offer more service with dignity and pride, and pilgrims could feel better about staying there.
That led to wondering why no one from Cape Camino had ever walked the pilgrimage beyond a handful of legs. It’s one thing to be considered a pilgrim and as a pilgrim be expected to accept whatever is offered. That was my commitment for this walk. However, it was seeming that decisions about where we stayed, the condition of our accommodations, and even the routes themselves were being made to save money at the expense of even basic pilgrim comforts. And it seemed that no one from Cape Camino had a real grasp of what it was like to experience the results of their decisions.
Until Wittewater, I had no complaints about our accommodations or the food or the hosts. And I’ve certainly slept in worse conditions in my life, including that very same community center two years before. So that wasn’t what was really bothering me. It was the route itself, the shortening of legs that were once challenging and fun, more pavement walking than before, and I was still unhappy about not getting 40 days. There was a niggling feeling that the Cape Camino I had trusted so implicitly before to take good care of me had become an organization that only cared about the money and possible publicity I could bring. And perhaps because I wasn’t bringing the publicity of the previous walk, I was less valued.
I was conflicted in these conversations. Clare took every inconvenience or flaw in the system as an opportunity to attack Cape Camino. It’s hard to argue when you’re standing ankle deep in water that won’t drain in a shower and sleeping in a room that has no air circulation, locked behind gates to protect you from the community you’re there to help. I felt a deep sense of loyalty to Cape Camino, and a deeper sense of gratitude for the gift of the trail, but my experience this second time was revealing frays in the fabric that I found deeply concerning. I was looking forward to being able to offer feedback at the end, as I had before, in hopes of contributing to the healing and growth of an entity I considered, and still do, to be a miracle.
I was also very aware of my guest status in South Africa, and becoming increasingly aware of the differences in culture between our two countries. The differences were subtle enough that it would be easy to miss them, but N. had helped me with her frequent comments about things being the South African way. I was walking a fine line between judgement and concern; a line I really have no clear idea how to negotiate cleanly. On one hand, I had Clare, who hated Cape Camino (and, it felt, me) actively and vocally, and who just as passionately loved other parts of her country. On the other hand, I had Cynthia, who recognized the faults and flaws, and looked for ways to fix them outside of the current system. Clare, white, coming from a place of extreme privilege, doing little but complaining. Cynthia, colored, coming from a place of huge disadvantage, doing everything she could to enact change.
I didn’t know Gabrielle well, but enough to understand that she has a very strong ego. I’m not sure Cape Camino could have been created and flourished without that. But that ego also kept her from really hearing and receiving feedback that challenged her views. As I was, on this walk in particular, challenging my own ego’s voice and power, it was interesting to observe hers in action. It’s very hard when removing something from your life to observe others enjoying or entrenched in that very thing. That applied to watching Cape Camino make choices that were making pilgrims mad and making me wobbly in my loyalty, as it did to watching people indulge in their alcohol addictions as I was in withdrawal from my Facebook addiction.
I found myself, every morning in particular, still looking at my phone longingly, seeking distraction and comfort. I was resisting Facebook successfully, but shakily. In the evenings when people would share something from the Cape Camino Forum, I would want to get on it myself and plunge down that rabbit hole. At nearly three weeks without, and still feeling the pull, I knew I’d have to come up with a plan for after the pilgrimage if I was going to permanently change my relationship with social media, and not slip back into addiction. The previous day’s deeply spiritual experience helped me to see why I wanted to continue without Facebook for the duration of the pilgrimage. At that point in the walk, however, I was still thinking I could have Facebook a little bit, and was excited to do a quick visit on my upcoming birthday to read all the greetings, and maybe then do a quick check-in at the Forum.
The leader of the community center ladies finally shooed us all outside. It was a little like herding cats, because someone always needed to go back for one more thing. It wasn’t really like us to be so scattered as a group in the morning at that point, especially without A. But it was a short walk day, and no one saw a need to hurry. And there was the whole possible oxygen deprivation that had us off kilter. Someone suggested a group picture, our first in this new configuration, and we had fun with that. We finally gathered in a circle for a blessing prayer, our two chaperones joining us. Godfrey and his nephew were a little shy, and were much more comfortable with Afrikaans. With Godfrey in the lead and the nephew at back, I put myself in the middle, wanting some solitude and ease to spend reflecting on the previous day.
I had loved this walk two years ago. With a different chaperone, we had set off across a field at the center of town and almost immediately had begun climbing a hill. The climb was rigorous, exhilarating, beautiful and really fun. A previous host had mentioned we wouldn’t be doing the climb this time because other pilgrims complained that it was too hard. Godfrey confirmed the route change when we set off through town on the street. He said he would not do the hill this time of year because of snakes. I was disappointed, and upset with Cape Camino whichever reason was true. Road walking, which they’d said they were trying to do less of, is hard on feet and hard mentally. And that was a majority of our walk that day.
From this point forward, snakes would be more of a topic and a concern. As the temperatures warmed, the snakes were coming out of their winter hiding places in search of the sun. I understood on an intellectual level that there were many very deadly snakes in South Africa. We had seen the Cape Cobra in Hout Bay, so I knew they were real. But it was hard, living in an area where the only snake I ever see is a garter snake, and the only poisonous snake I might find in hotter places is the rattlesnake, to fully grasp the danger. Plus, while people talked frequently about snake encounters, no one seemed particularly worried, in part because most snakes were not aggressive. I was calling bullshit on snakes being the reason we didn’t get to do the hill.
We walked through town, past the place I’d seen the fire earlier. There was no sign of it then. Some homes were well-kept and attractive. Some looked barely habitable. The farther we walked, the more garbage we found lining the sides of the path. We walked through a scrubby forest, along a fence, along a road, and finally to a vineyard. That was beautiful and soothing and much too short. Before long we were back on a paved road. Godfrey could tell the group was not having fun, and promised a coffee shop just before we arrived in Goedverwacht. For some reason he decided we’d stop just before that shop for a rest and snacks in a dry and unappealing spot.
In the middle of the walk, Godfrey attached himself to me in a friendly way. We tried to converse, but his lack of English and mine of Afrikaans made talking a challenge. In an effort to be friendly, I asked if he wanted to visit America. Most of the chaperones I’d asked that question of really wanted to go, so it was usually a good topic. I got to hear what they knew about my country, and they got to ask questions. Godfrey took my question as an invitation and scolded me, telling me he was a married man with a family and I was an older married white lady. I laughed, trying to let him know that wasn’t my intention, but he was not smiling. That pretty much ended the conversation.
The best thing about that stretch of the walk on the highway was our sighting of a puff adder crossing the road in front of us. We were so startled and then awed by the sight that none of us thought to take a picture of it. It did lend a little more credence to Godfrey’s reason for not doing the hill.
When we finally got to the promised coffee shop, it was closed. It was part of what was intended to be a road side attraction, with camping. We weren’t clear about why it wasn’t open, but we went in and sat in the shade for a while anyway. There were bathrooms, so that was a bonus.
Just before we got to the town, a car pulled up next to us and a very energetic white kid hopped out. He introduced himself as Dylan and told us he was going to be our guide to the cave and might even be sharing accommodations with some of us that night. He walked with us into town, talking nonstop, exuding labrador retriever energy the whole way.
I saw George, who’d been my host before, drive by, and was excited to see that fondly remembered face. Dylan greeted a woman standing by the side of the road and she started talking to us like she knew us. There was a mix of languages, and she didn’t wait until we were all gathered, so there was a lot of confusion. We did figure out she was our host in Goedverwacht. Danelle asked us if we were ready to keep walking. In one voice and a rare moment of unity, the group said no. We were supposed to be done for the day. No one knew what she was talking about, and it was a while before I understood what had happened.
Rain was forecast for the next day. Serious rain. Our itinerary had us exploring the town the next day, including a hike up to a cave with indigenous art on the walls. Because there is no way to walk from Goedverwacht to the next stop, the plan was to spend the morning exploring the town sights, and then we would be transported to our next place.
Because of the coming rain, Danelle had decided we could do all of those activities that afternoon. It was a good plan since we were in early and the weather was still fine and the afternoons got long anyway. Once we understood the intentions and our options, we went along. Although I don’t think she would have taken the no as a final answer regardless. Full of energy, much like Dylan, and endlessly cheerful, she was determined to lead us on her path.
We ended up stopping at George and Carol’s house before hiking up to the cave because Wendy needed to refill her water. I was thrilled to see the couple again. I had stayed at their house with Ina and Frikkie and we had been treated as honored guests. George and Carol are retired educators, so we all had that in common, too (Ina is a retired teacher). They greeted us all this time politely. However, they did not remember me at all, but tried their best to cover that. They did remember Ina and Frikkie well and fondly.
Danelle led us through town to a trail toward the cave. It was overgrown and clear no one had hiked it for quite a while. By then we were all engaged and happy to be walking again, especially since it wasn’t on a paved road. As we got closer to the mountain, we noticed movement off to our left. It was a single male baboon, absolutely gorgeous. Muscular with a shiny coat, he was a wonder to watch. Danelle suggested he might be a young male in search of females to start his own troop. He sent warning barks our way and followed us almost to the turnoff for the cave. He crossed over the trail far ahead of us and left us over a hill on the other side. Danelle apparently had fireworks in her pack just in case he got too close or too aggressive.
The climb up to the cave is steep and scrambly. We used hands, feet, and branches to pull ourselves to the top. There was laughter, heavy breathing, and an occasional shriek when someone slipped, but not one single complaint. It was commented on that A. might not have been able to make the climb. Once at the top, there was a huge sense of accomplishment. Dylan and Danelle told us stories about the cave, and Dylan splashed water on the walls to reveal the indigenous drawings underneath. It was hard to find a space that wasn’t covered in graffiti to find the ancient work. The town had been working for a very long time to create a way to protect the cave, but was so far unsuccessful.
Going down was even harder than up, requiring a fair amount of butt scooting to make it down safely. At the bottom was a cairn of rocks that was considered holy. We each left a rock on it with a blessing and wish. Back in town, it was decided we’d go to our homes for the night, get cleaned up and rest and then go to the other important site in Goedverwacht, the Slave Graveyard, just beyond the Moravian church that is the center of everything there.
I asked to stay with George and Carol, and Cynthia joined me. The three friends went with Danelle to stay with her at her house, where Dylan was also staying. As we discussed when to meet up later, I asked if we’d all be eating dinner together, as that’s what had happened two years before. Clare said that we didn’t always need to eat together and Danelle confirmed they would be eating at her house.
George took everyone but Cynthia and me to Danelle’s house, and to bring our luggage back from there. Cynthia and I sat and visited with Carol while waiting for him to return. Carol seemed so uncomfortable that we told her we’d be fine if she needed to go do other things. I commented to Cynthia on the awkwardness, and she suggested it was because Carol is not comfortable with English. The language thing again. That likely explained why they remembered Ina and Frikkie and not me. Their conversations were mostly in Afrikaans, and Ina translated for me without being asked, so I never felt truly left out. I know that discomfort and the need to avoid can influence people’s focus. As always, time chatting with Cynthia was enjoyable and enlightening.
When George finally returned with our luggage, he mentioned (his English was much stronger than Carol’s) that Goedverwacht was having water issues and that they were conserving. To the point that they turned the water off at night and the water heater off if they were not using it. That meant no laundry, and as it turned out, very cold showers because the water wasn’t heating.
We were grateful for a real shower, however, and did not say anything about the cold water. We each had our own very comfortable room, mine just across from the bathroom. George and Carol disappeared into their room, leaving us to clean up and organize and rest. I was done with all of that long before they emerged again, and went outside to journal. Cynthia was there also, but neither of us lasted long because there was no shade and it had grown very hot. So, it was back to our rooms. I lay down and read, bored and restless.
When I finally heard voices in the kitchen, I went out to join the conversation. Cynthia was already there, and the three of them seemed to be having a good time in Afrikaans. The switch to English on my arrival didn’t seem to dampen things much as George and Carol continued their dinner preparations. It turned out we would all be eating together after all. I allowed myself a tiny smug inner “ha!” at Clare.
We were all to walk up to the Slave Graveyard in the late afternoon, the second of the activities usually reserved for the next day. I was looking forward to walking, to stretching out. I’m not sure what happened, but the three friends went ahead with Danelle and Dylan, and George didn’t want Cynthia and me walking alone. He insisted on driving us despite both of us insisting we wanted to walk and would be fine. George won. Then when we got to the church where we were to meet the others, the three of us sat in George’s car and chatted amiably. George seemed happy for the company, and he’s a lovely man, so the time passed pleasantly. We sat there even after they arrived (they had walked) and stopped a distance from the car, not approaching us. I finally suggested we get out and go to them, at which point George seemed satisfied it was safe to let us go.
The walk to the graveyard was longer than I was expecting, so at least I got to stretch my legs, and enjoy the shift in the air as clouds began to move in. There was general chatter as we approached, Cynthia and Dylan connecting over their mutual focus on being of service to their country. The friends and Danelle were in full Afrikaans mode, so I was mostly alone, and happy for it. The community is very proud of the Slave Graveyard and its history. I had not gotten to see it before, so was eager for it this time.
We turned off the main road onto a gravel street where we approached a rustic arch made of timbers. Beyond lay scrubby unloved land dotted with wooden crosses and small headstones. There were also two very large stone monuments. Between Danelle’s stories in Afrikaans, and Dylan’s academic additions in English, and the misleading name of the place, I had to do my own research to figure out what we were actually seeing.
The land that is Goedverwacht initially belonged to a widowed farmer. When the emancipation of slaves was imminent, he asked his slave and her children to stay on the farm and care for him until his death. In return he would leave the land to them. They were to live on the land until the last child died and then sell it and disperse the profits among the slave’s descendants. The farmer’s children contested the will, but it was upheld twice in the courts. When the last child died, the descendants sold the land to the Moravian church. One of the huge memorial stones is for the slave, the other for the farmer. The last child to die is also buried there.
Graveyards have always been a favorite place of mine to visit. There is something in wondering about the stories behind all those markers, and always a hushed holy energy. This one was particularly interesting because it was so uncared for and so many of the markers were lying on the ground. None of the wooden ones bore names, so those were all stories without even a hint of the life that came before. The changing sky above with a magnificent cloud formation added to the mystery and feeling of existing in the in between.
Once we’d had a good long wander in the graveyard, we walked back toward George’s house. The others were walking slowly, but Wendy and I were eager to go faster. We sped up and quickly left the group behind. However, we hadn’t gone far when George drove past us, did a quick u-turn, and stopped right next to us. The expectation was clear that we were to get in. Wendy and I looked at each other, and I told her there was no way he’d take no for an answer, so we got in the car.
He apologetically told us he needed to make a stop on the way home. He was pet sitting his daughter’s dog and cat while she was on vacation with her family. We drove up to the house and found both animals outside in the yard. I was surprised, maybe even shocked, at the thought of leaving pets outside in town when you leave for several days. I didn’t say anything, because George clearly thought nothing of it. He got out of the car and went up to the house, but came back right away, clearly distressed. The key wasn’t where he thought it was and he was afraid he’d lost it. He decided to head back home and come back after dinner and try to find the key then.
The entire group arrived at George’s house at the same time. Dinner was happy and celebratory and delicious. Danelle brought the main dish, a bean stew that was one of the best things I ate the entire walk. There was also rice, two kinds of sweet potato, beet root salad, green salad, with an incredible milk tart for dessert. I sat next to Dylan and particularly enjoyed listening to him talk to Cynthia on the other side. He was smart and funny and dedicated to helping the community. The absence of A. meant that everyone at the table got to talk and be heard. George and Carol are consummate hosts and seemed really happy to have their table full. Danelle was entertaining, telling stories that had us all laughing.
When Danelle’s crew left, George got in the car to go find the key and feed the animals. He told us to leave the dishes until he got back. Carol started working in the kitchen, putting things away and beginning the dishes, telling us to go rest. Instead, Cynthia stood next to Carol to rinse and I found a towel for drying. The three of us stood side by side and worked and chatted happily until all the dishes were done, put away, and the kitchen was spotless. George arrived home just as we finished. He started to ask why we didn’t wait, but didn’t, I think because he could feel the lighthearted and happy energy in the kitchen. Also, I don’t think he minded getting out of dishes duty for the night.
The four of us sat in the living room afterwards for a bit while Cynthia and I had tea. The conversation was light but very comfortable. I felt like the earlier discomforts and awkwardness were completely gone, and was so grateful to end the day in this way.
From the morning’s Anam Cara reading: “We need to revalue what we consider to be negative. Rilke used to say that difficulty is one of the greatest friends of the soul. Our lives would be immeasurably enriched if we could but bring the same hospitality in meeting the negative as we bring to the joyful and pleasurable. In avoiding the negative we only encourage it to return. . . . The negative is one of the closest friends of your destiny. “
