Day 21 - Sterkfontein

Sunday, October 27

Goedverwacht to Sterkfontein

No Walking

Rainy and Windy

 

 

I awoke, well rested and cozy, to the sound of rain covering the house in waves accompanied by a strong wind. I slipped out into the kitchen to make my coffee and took it back to bed to journal. Now three weeks into the walk, my morning journaling was much deeper and more reflective. The Facebook urge wasn’t gone, but neither was it primary. Something about this morning, the comfort of being warm and dry in the midst of a storm, brought some new clarity. 

 

From the morning’s journal: “Without the buffer of the missing two, Clare’s dislike of me is harder to ignore. It seems as though they’ve decided things about me and filter all I do and say through that. I woke up remembering this quote, ‘Be strong (brave?) enough to let others be wrong about you.’ I don’t have to, most likely can’t, change her mind. I can continue to be friendly and curious. Clare is familiar to me – could be me if I hadn’t done all my work with Pat. 

 

A. is another story. She says she’s coming back Monday night. I really don’t like her and really struggle with the three feeling sorry for her. I’m grateful that Cynthia has shared her own discomfort. Cynthia who is unfailingly polite and kind to everyone. I can only appreciate this time without A. and pray that I have the strength (courage?) to be present for whatever happens next. 

 

I got a small insight yesterday sitting in George’s car waiting for the others. After all the time in my room, and the long wait for 5:00 and the walk up the Slave Graveyard, and George insisting on driving so I didn’t even get to walk and then sitting in his car at the other end waiting for everyone to walk up, I got that I needed to be present in that, too. To accept the slow. Yesterday was all about slow – the walk, the afternoon, the waiting, and even then the stroll to the graveyard. It as unbelievably hard. So I breathed and calmed, got curious.”

 

I knew this would be another day all about slow. There would be no walking at all. We had done all of today’s activities yesterday, and the heavy rain meant not even recreational walking once we arrived at our new place. This was the first pilgrimage day of all my walks that was a true rest day. One I didn’t need or want. But I leaned into the curiosity and my commitment to acceptance, and stepped into the day. 

 

The morning was relaxing and really pleasant. It was just the four of us, and Carol had relaxed quite a bit, so we all chatted easily during a wonderful sit-down breakfast. George was in full story-telling mode. He and Carol used to be serious hikers and outdoor people. He talked about annual camping trips to Fish River Canyon in a way that made me want to be there. It was hard to reconcile the fit and eager hikers he was describing with the softened edges of the two older people sharing the story. It reminded me that every older person was a younger person once who lived in a much different body. It’s so easy to see an older person (myself included) and assume they’ve always looked that way and had those limitations. 

 

Even though Cynthia and I would have been happy to stay in their warm and comfortable home much longer, George wanted to get going. He was going to drive us first, and then come back and get the others, so had a good reason to end the party. Although our itinerary said we were going to a farm called Sterkfontein, George insisted we were staying at Kapteinskloof instead. That was exciting news to me.

 

Two years before, we’d stayed with Melanie at Kapteinskloof. It is an absolutely magical place, a haven and sanctuary that heals just by being there. We had been honored guests, with every need and want accommodated cheerfully. Melanie and I had made a strong connection, and she was one of the people I most wanted to see on this second trip. I had been disappointed to see Sterkfontein on the final itinerary. Kapteinskloof had been on the original one I received. 

 

 

We rode in comfortable silence as George drove through sheets of rain that made it hard to see the road. I recognized the blueberry fields we drove through just before the entrance to Kapteinskloof. The stunning green of the yard contrasting with the fairy tale houses and the bright flowers made me feel as though I’d come home. No one came out to greet us, so Cynthia got out of the car and went in search of help.

 

 

When she came back with Melanie a few minutes later, the gray morning brightened considerably. We hugged and laughed, but then Melanie explained she was confused to see us because we were not in fact staying there. However, she was determined we’d have a good catch-up visit and invited us for coffee, promising to deliver us to Sterkfontein, which we’d driven by to get to Kapteinskloof, afterwards. Cynthia and I were thrilled, and George was happy to leave us there and to head back and collect the others. 

 

 

Melanie led us into one of the guest rooms and brought coffee and cheesecake. We had the kind of visit old friends experience who have been away from each other for a long time, but feel like no time has passed. One of the things I love about Melanie is how honest and open she is about herself and her life, so talking with her means something. Finally, the coffee was done, the cheesecake was nothing but crumbs on the plates, and Melanie had work to do. We all three reluctantly got in her car and were very quickly driving up to an older much less appealing building where we were meant to spend the rest of that day and the night. 

 

Izaak, a colored farm worker who would be our chaperone the next day, greeted us and showed us the space. His English was good, and I knew from Melanie that our host, Wickus, did not speak English, so I was grateful for Izaak. 

 

 

The other three were already there, set up in the main part of the house with the living room and the kitchen.  Whatever the space had been before, it was now the repository for the family’s castoffs. The art was strange and without anything tying it together. The furniture was threadbare. The kitchen was furnished more in camping style than home style. Cynthia and I were in a room across a covered breezeway from the main house. It was comfortable and roomy, despite clearly being used for storing old appliances and furniture. We each had our own room, but I had to go through Cynthia’s to get to the front door. The entire place was tired and barely clean, but warm and dry and perfectly fine.

 

 

We discovered fairly quickly our shower didn’t work. Someone came to try to fix it. They were unsuccessful and told us we’d have to use the shower next door. Since we hadn’t walked that day, and I didn’t want to haul my stuff outside and across the breezeway space and deal with intruding on the space of the friends, I decided to skip the shower for the day. We got settled and then went next door for food. A snack tray had been delivered.

 

The five of us sat in the living room enjoying the treats and the coziness, and even each other’s company. We agreed that while none of us would have chosen this day off, it was nice to be still and give our feet time to breathe and rest. Cynthia headed back to our space to work. She’d been really happy to have an entire day to catch up with her whistleblower commitments, both for the pilgrimage and for her actual job. Clare suggested a game of Skip-Bo, and invited me to join. 

 

 

If there had been any other viable option beyond sitting alone in my room all day, I might have said no. It was raining too hard to go exploring. Even when the rain let up, the mud and wind made being outside unappealing. Cynthia was unavailable. So, I agreed. As the four of us sat around the kitchen table, playing round after round, I found myself relaxing and having a lot of fun. Anna-marie had found a radio and turned it to a station that played American oldies. I had found ice, and Coke, so enjoyed that while we played. Clare had her always present metal cup in which I assumed she had poured whiskey. Anna-marie had a beer. I never seemed to know what Wendy was drinking, except that it wasn’t alcohol. 

 

 

Clare, clearly in charge, was a cutthroat player, and was gleeful every time she won. She did allow me a couple of re-dos as I was very rusty at the game. We played for hours, the day sliding away pleasantly. Cynthia came over and joined for a round. Eventually we needed to get up and move around. Cynthia went back to work. Wendy and Anna-marie went to look for a signal to make phone calls. Clare and I ended up in the living room having a nice long visit. We talked about travel, choosing ourselves, making changes in later life, and her boyfriend. This was the Clare who might have been my friend.

 

 

Wickus and his young daughter came over a little after 6:00 with our dinner. He set a beautifully crusted chicken pie on the table along with a very small plate of beef strips. That was it. No salad or anything green. No bread. No dessert. (I donated the one remaining chocolate bar from my stash for dessert.) The main dish was very good, and substantial, so we weren’t hungry. Just confused. He told us tomorrow’s lunch was in the fridge. All we found were six slices of bread, some old looking fake cheese, some mystery lunch meat, and bananas. There was no separate breakfast as we’d grown accustomed to. We found ourselves wishing we’d saved something from the snack tray we devoured earlier in the day. It was going to be a hungry walk tomorrow. 

 

After dinner the five of us sat around the table chatting easily. The subject of Cape Camino was central. Cynthia talked about her own company and their commitment to uplifting, a word that at the time was included in Cape Camino’s literature. Our experience of the last couple of days made us wonder about the seriousness of their commitment to that concept. Clare, of course, was at the far end of the “they are failing” spectrum. I was farther along toward the “they have a vision” end. Still, my discomfort with the differences I was seeing between two years ago and this time was slowing growing. 

 

I went to bed feeling rested and content with the day. The rain and wind continued their concert outside, and they were accompanied by some critter scratching in the walls of my room. I was warm and dry and satisfied, full in all the best ways. I’d had a sweet and uplifting text from Shawn earlier when the signal pulsed strong enough to grab messages (standing outside, pointed in a specific direction). The anticipation of his impending visit added to my happiness as I slid into sleep. 

 

Posted by Anna-marie on the group site earlier in the day. 

Day 20 - Goedverwacht

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. “

 

 

Day 19 - Wittewater

Friday, October 25

Die Ark to Wittewater

20k/12mi

Sunny, Warm, Comfortable

 

 

This was the best day of the entire pilgrimage; one I recall often with great pleasure and no small amount of awe.

 

From my journal that morning: “I’m unsettled. Feeling like I’ve lost my focus. Food is part of that, but figuring out how to be in this chaotic group is hard and I’m not sure I’m managing it well at all. It was a huge gift to have this room to myself. I should thank A. I think part of what’s going on is I don’t have as much quiet time to reflect here. I feel some pressure in the morning to get going. But I don’t have to be first today. I can go at any time. I’m a little afraid to try alone again after two days ago, but I need to give it a shot.”

 

When I was in the bathroom getting ready, I realized that the two little birds who had been stuck there yesterday were still there. They were sitting up on the transom, occasionally flying against the window, and despite the door being left open and our attempts to shoo them out, they had managed to stay imprisoned. The obvious and very rich metaphor of their situation walked with me into the day.  

 

There was a strange energy in the group that morning. The departures were a part of that. I took my time getting ready, not really seeing anyone or having conversations. I did find N. to say goodbye and to give her a gift. Even though she was going to be with us until we arrived in Wittewater, I wanted to make sure I had a quiet moment alone with her. I wandered into the kitchen to find food, and munched while I packed my lunch. 

 

It was 6:00 and I realized I was ready and no one else was. All I had to do was start walking. I told Anna-marie I was going – she was the first person I found when I realized I should probably tell someone. 

 

 

I set out into the morning, down the long driveway up to the gate to Die Ark. The gate was closed, locked, and I didn’t have a code for the keypad. I stood and studied it for a minute, unsure how to proceed. Then I realized the centers of both gates were wide open, and I could just walk through. So I did. And continued into the morning feeling a little like an escaped prisoner.

 

I came to the highway and turned left, as we’d been directed, got to the next turn that held the tricky choice Bregda had been warning us about, and stayed to the left over a gate as told. I had an entire field in front of me, with trees to the side. Shortly after I climbed over the gate, I saw my first Cape Camino sign, so I knew for certain I was on the right track. 

 

For once, I worked to slow my pace, to savor the air and the sights and the delicious freedom. One farm gate threatened to stop me. It was locked and tall with no easy way to find a foothold and no way to go around. After studying it for a few minutes, I found an approach that worked surprisingly easily. The pride I felt at getting over that gate was way out of proportion to the challenge of the task. I checked behind me from time to time, but did not see any of my fellow pilgrims until the end of the walk. The morning unfurled ahead on the farm road like a magical ribbon, offering enchantments that would not have been out of place in a fairy tale. 

 

 

My first sighting was a dead bird lying in the road. It was newly dead, still whole and soft. It was beautiful in the morning light, its browns blending into the road as its body would soon. The textures of its feathers were an art display, and I felt so privileged to be able to stand and study it alone, without interruption. It looked like a young bird, and I wondered at its story, ended all too soon, but that would just as soon provide sustenance for other creatures’ stories. 

 

 

I followed the road around a bend and saw directly ahead a blue crane standing in the middle of the road. We studied each other for a bit until he scurried away and finally took flight over the field. This was my third significant crane sighting on this pilgrimage, and by far the closest. Birds have always been magical to me. The Bald Eagle, America’s national bird, never fails to take my breath away, or to appear at times when I need to be reminded of both my own strength and inspirational strength available from a being with wings. The Blue Crane, South Africa’s national bird, was serving the same role on this pilgrimage. When I looked up the symbolic meaning later, one word stood out: bravery. 

 

 

I was still marveling at that encounter when I noticed a body of water up ahead, and then a creature standing in the road next to the water. At first I thought dog, and then jackal, until I saw the ears. I was seeing a bat-eared fox. We studied each other for a very long time. He stood his ground in the middle of the road. I crept forward, stopping after each step, but never taking my eyes from him. Neither of us seemed in a hurry to end the visual conversation, but he eventually slipped into the grasses around the pond when I moved forward a little more quickly. 

 

I looked for him when I got to the pond, but saw no sign at all. However, just a bit farther up the road I saw what I thought was him scurrying across the road into the field. I couldn’t quite figure out how he’d gotten there so fast, until I realized I was seeing a much smaller fox, probably his mate. 

 

 

Deeply moved by the entire encounter, I needed to share it with someone. I sent a long voice message to Caroline, standing in the road, describing my time with the foxes in a hushed and reverent voice, not wanting to break the spell of the morning. Later, when she responded, she suggested it had appeared as a spirit animal for me, which made complete sense given the fairy tale air of the morning. A little research revealed this sentence, “Foxes can be good spirit animals for people who are creative, going through complicated situations, or need to make choices.” Fearlessness and adaptability were also traits associated with a fox sighting. 

 

My head and heart were full to overflowing as I proceeded forward, so when a motor bike pulled up next to me, I was a little startled. It was Bregda’s husband coming to do work at one of the houses directly ahead, and I think, to check on me. We chatted for a bit and I was surprised to learn that they owned all of the land I’d been walking on so far, including all of the houses up ahead. He reminded me that the first of the two bathroom stops Bregda had arranged for us was in one of those houses. He drove off, but then stopped and opened a gate and waited for me to walk through, and closed it behind me. Then he was off with cheerful good wishes for a good walk and I was left feeling like I’d encountered a knight on the road. 

 

When I came to the home that was our first bathroom stop, I remembered it from two years before. Megan and her eleven-year-old daughter Anushka and their ginger kitten greeted me in the yard. I admired the kitten as Anushka escorted me into the house to direct me to the bathroom. She warned me about the quirky door, and waited in the hall for me. When I came out, she put the kitten into my arms, where it immediately started purring. I cuddled the kitten, asking Anushka questions about it and about her. She told me she got to stay home from school to help with pilgrims when they came through. She also told me I could come visit the kitten any time I wanted. I asked if I could take the kitten with me. She got the joke, laughed, and told me her mom would kill her. 

 

 

 

Anushka walked me to the yard gate, and then to the first farm gate on the road, closing it after I walked through. She told me to turn left at the next gate, and then I’d be fine going forward. I thanked her and walked away, and then startled when I heard her running up behind me – in bare feet. She said she wanted to make sure I didn’t miss the turn, so we walked together, chatting companionably, until the next gate. By that time, I was wishing I could keep her with me forever. She was everything I’d loved about teaching fifth graders, and everything I loved about my own younger self. I asked if we could do a selfie together. She readily agreed, and took over the process like a pro. I was really sorry to watch her walk back, but so lifted by our encounter. 

 

I walked on, supremely happy, feeling completely well, determined not to stop until the three-hour mark. That took me to the second home that Bregda had arranged as a rest stop. I recognized that one as well. Set off the road a bit, it was very lush, and very loud. The front porch was full of small yappy dogs who began warning the world of my presence the minute they saw me. There was a sprinkler going in the front yard, so there was no way to get to the front door without getting soaked. I waited a bit, hoping the by now hysterical yapping would bring someone, and when it didn’t, I continued on. 

 

I ate an orange and some dröewors as I walked. I meant to stop but I was now walking through active farm land where people were working on both sides of the road. There were tractors going here and there, and workers tending plants under huge white shelters. I was the only white person there for most of that stretch, and likely a very odd sight walking on the side of the road carrying a pack. People were friendly, though, waving as I walked past, occasionally offering an Afrikaans good morning, which I returned gladly.

 

 

I made the next turn past railroad tracks, relieved to find the Cape Camino sign, and found myself in countryside again. Shortly after, just before a bridge crossing the Berg River, Bregda pulled up next to me on her motor bike, wearing a polka-dotted helmet, with her dog perched behind, pulling a trailer that held our luggage. She offered kombucha and her famous date balls and friendly conversation. She told me A. had been collected, and that everyone else was very far behind. I was able to tell her how much I appreciated her hospitality and I got brave enough to ask for the date ball recipe. She offered it gladly, giving it to me there verbally and sending it to me later as well. Sometime during that conversation, one of us called them date bulbs, and that’s what they are now in my mind, and on the recipe card. 

 

 

She drove ahead, telling me I didn’t have that much farther to go. She was going to wait at Wittewater for N. to arrive so she could drive her back to Die Ark where someone would take N. to the starting place of the next leg of her walk. That meant I’d get to see Bregda one more time, and I was glad for that. 

 

As always seems to be the case, the end of a walk is never as much fun as the beginning. But the end of this day was more fun than the mornings of most of my other days. Probably because I was spinning with all the morning’s magic. I had seen Wittewater in the distance, tucked up against some hills for the entire walk. When I arrived at the town sign, it seemed like no time had passed. There is a very steep hill up into town, which I remembered as daunting and exhausting, but found surprisingly easy this time.

 

 

I walked down the main street of the town straight into the gates of the community center where we’d be spending the night. It was 10:30. Bregda was sitting on a chair outside the front door talking with a couple of the women who were our hosts. The approach to the community center is not inviting at all. The building is surrounded by a very high fence and the grounds are dry and scrubby with only one large tree providing shade in the front. The building itself was squat and in desperate need of paint and a bigger porch and some flowers. 

 

 

Bregda introduced me to the two women, and showed me the inside. This stay was one of the hardest of my last visit. No hot water, no electricity for a large part of the time, no heat, toilets that didn’t flush without water added to the tank, no shower, no wifi, and eight people crammed into a very tiny sleeping space. Some improvements had been made, and the women were clearly proud of their work. The matching frilly bedspreads and ruffly curtains were testament to their energies. There was also a shower head (still no hot water), and the toilets worked. They had set up a snack and drinks table in the sleeping area, clearly intending for us to stay out of the kitchen while they finished getting our dinner ready.  

 

As the first to arrive, I had first choice of bed. Very aware of my feelings about A. always choosing the best for herself, I made a considered choice. There was a room right in front of the bathrooms that held two beds. The larger room held five beds and the snack station. There was little space for our luggage. I left the two-bed room for Clare and Anna-marie. I took the first bed in the larger room, the one closest to the bathroom. I found a place on the floor for my bag, so that Wendy and Cynthia would have the extra beds for their stuff. It felt like the right combination of considerate and self-care, and I was pleased with my choice. 

 

While we waited for the others to come, Bregda and I had a nice long conversation about everything and nothing. We were both glad to see the three friends coming up the road toward us. I was ready for a shower and a rest, and I knew she wanted to get home to get on with her day. While they got settled in, we stayed outside waiting for N. and Cynthia. Bregda couldn’t leave without N. 

 

Eventually we spotted them, but they turned off before they got to our gates. We thought they might have taken a wrong turn, so I walked down to find them and bring them back. They had in fact turned into a tuck shop for a drink, and invited me to join them. The three of us sat outside enjoying our ice-cold Cokes out of bottles for a long time. I felt a little guilty about Bregda, but was not going to end this time any sooner than I had to. A woman approached us as we sat talking, and asked questions about our pilgrimage. She was quite chatty, told us she was there for a church thing in the next town over the next day, where we were headed next.  She suggested we might join her there. 

 

 

It was finally time to finish the walk, and we made our way to the community center. Bregda was not upset, but eager to get going. We all said our goodbyes to N. and waved as she waved back from the back of the wagon with the dog tucked up right next to her. 

 

 

Once they were gone, the five of us remaining went inside. It was a relaxed, peaceful and mostly pleasant time. Everyone took a shower, the warmth of the day making the water bearable, although the lack of drainage made the experience a little icky. We snacked and visited with the center ladies. When they left, we ate dinner and sat to visit and to later watch the sunset. Clare brought up American politics, again, but the conversation stayed low-keyed until I could change the subject. Wendy brought out candy from her stash for our dessert, as she was leaving in two days and wouldn’t be needing it. Anna-marie told us A. wouldn’t be coming back until at least Monday.

 

As we sat outside, with the gates locked so we couldn’t leave and no one could get in, we felt a little like animals in a cage at a zoo. People would walk by, some greeting us, some simply staring, some ignoring us completely. The community center is in the colored part of town, so all of our visitors and hosts were of color. At one point a group of children stopped at the fence, and Clare found treats to share with them. I commented on the caged-in feeling and both Clare and Anna-marie said it would still be safe if the gates were left open because we had the support of the community. However, when I suggested the possibility of getting on the other side of the gates to stroll the community, they said that wouldn’t be safe.

 

We all headed in when the sun was down, and settled into our beds. The feeling in the room was friendly and easy. Clare and Anna-marie seemed happily nested in their shared space, and to not mind people trekking through to get to the bathroom. I liked sharing space with Wendy and Cynthia. No drama. No conflict. And for the first time on the walk, the teetotalers outnumbered the drinkers. Both Jane and Caroline, my soul sisters from the first pilgrimage, had been messaging with me, a bonus on top of an already rich day.  I went to sleep feeling strong and happy and loved, knowing this was a day to be treasured. It was a day I’d return to later when the numbers swung back in favor of the drinkers and the chaos returned. 

 

Posted by Cynthia on the group WhatsApp site.