Tuesday, October 29
Aurora to Redelinghuys
10k/6mi
Sunny with Clouds/Comfortable but Heating Up
From my journal at the start of the day: “If I could go home today, I would. Mostly the struggle with A., but also feeling lost, unanchored, ungrounded. I ate way too much yesterday. I’m hungry a lot, sometimes eat in case there’s nothing ahead, sometimes for entertainment, sometimes to fill space. Perhaps I’ve come up against the emptiness I’ve always tried to fill with (There is no word to complete this sentence in the journal. Looking at it now, I could insert food, Facebook, any number of addictive distractions.) If this is that, I want to find a new way to be with it if I can at all. I have two weeks left to expore that here, to face myself without flinching.”
Facebook wasn’t tugging at me quite so strongly at this point. I hardly considered it during my down times. But my fraught relationship with food seemed to be taking a larger role as I grew more uncertain about why I was continuing and more unsettled about everything. I would later understand that I was still in the detox phase of addiction withdrawal, that so many of my raw feelings were the result of a system starving for the fleeting comfort of the dopamine hits of my former Facebook use.
As was the case with increasing frequency, my reading of Anam Cara in the morning helped give me the strength and courage to face a new day. I would actually go back and reread this passage at the end of the day, one of the most upsetting of the entire pilgrimage.
“We need to be mindful of where we are damaged, then invite our deeper soul in its night-world to heal this wounded tissue, renew us and bring us back into unity. If we approach our hurt indirectly and kindly, it will heal. Creative expectation brings you to healing and renewal. If you could trust your soul, you would receive every blessing you require. Life itself is the great sacrament through which we are wounded and healed. If we live everything, life will be faithful to us.”
The start of the day was lovely and easy. Jan made amazing coffee for us, served with heated milk, well worth waiting for. Hester had filled the table with an abundance of food, both to eat then and to pack for the day. Marinda arrived, there were the usual pictures and goodbyes, and we set out. She knew she’d be staying back with A., so told me I could go ahead since I’d walked the route previously. She didn’t seem to think my lack of memory of the route was a problem.
Cynthia and I walked together, as did Clare and Anna-marie. We leap-frogged each other frequently, an unacknowledged competition playing out subtly. The walk was easy, but the day grew hot quickly so we were glad to see the sign for Rus Roes, Gezie’s place, up ahead. There was a major turn just before that Clare and Anna-marie thought was where we were meant to go. They looked back for confirmation, and when I indicated we needed to go just a bit farther, they seemed reluctant to believe me. However, they continued on, and arrived ahead of us.
This would be the last of our farm stays, the last of the farm wives to host us, the last of the farmers to entertain us. It was the wives who made their way into my heart and soul, who made me feel cared for and part of a family, if just for a few hours. Christine, Isobel, Marina, Karin, Bregda, and now Gezie. Women of stoic strength and practical love, and great good humor. They were the hearts of the huge farms their husbands and sons ran. As I write this, five months later, remembering these women whom I admire so deeply, I would return to Cape Camino just to spend time with them again. By the end of this particular day, however, no amount of farm wife goodness could have persuaded me I’d ever return for any reason.
Gezie greeted us all warmly, her mother hen energy surrounding us and drawing us in. I got a huge hug and a reminder of my last visit when her cat took over my backpack while we rested in her gorgeous green yard. We had not spent the night that time, only had lunch, and I was looking forward to spending a longer time in Gezie’s homey embrace.
The five of us moved to chairs in the shade of the trees lining her yard to wait for A., Marinda, and Jan with our luggage. Cynthia and Anna-marie and I were in the chairs. Gezie and Clare were standing. Gezie brought up the room situation, a little uncertainly. She had contacted Anna-marie a week or so before, mentioning that someone would need to sleep in their caravan (trailer) because there weren’t enough beds in the house for all five pilgrims. At that time, I was the only one reluctant to take the caravan, not wanting to spend a night without a bathroom. By the time we arrived at Gezie’s, I think most of us had forgotten about the caravan option.
Gezie started by saying as an honored guest who had returned to Cape Camino a second time, I would get one of the single rooms inside the house.
Clare erupted, her voice strong and angry.
I heard: No one is more special than anyone else here. If anyone deserves to have their own room it’s Anna-marie who has never gotten to be on her own. It’s not fair to choose one person over others.
I’m pretty sure there was more. It felt like Clare went on for a very long time. When she finished there was a weird silence as we all struggled to absorb and respond. Cynthia said she’d sleep in the caravan, and I added that I would be willing also. Anna-marie stayed quiet. Gezie, clearly rattled, said she’d get things figured out, but did not assign rooms right then. She eventually offered a solution that had her husband in the caravan, her on the couch in the lounge, and Anna-marie in their bedroom. Clare and A. would share a bedroom, while Cynthia and I each got a single room.
Before the shock of what had just happened wore off, Marinda and A. arrived, and right after, Jan with our luggage. We hadn’t had a chance to register that he was on his own when Clare ordered us all up to help unload the luggage so Jan didn’t have to. It wasn’t a thoughtful request, or a suggestion. It was a self-righteous shaming order that only compounded the damage done by her earlier outburst.
After the luggage got sorted and we said goodbye to sweet Jan one last time, Gezie provided snacks, a feast of muffins and fruit and tea and cool drinks. Clare and Anna-marie and A. took the chairs in the shade of the trees. Cynthia and I found a shady spot on the ground far enough away that we could pretend they weren’t there. Gezie came out and sat with the three under the trees, offering beer. They visited like old friends, laughing and clearly enjoying themselves. They all drifted back inside, the three to their showers and Gezie to start the food for our dinner.
Cynthia, for the first time since we met, was angry. The rudeness toward our host was incomprehensible to her. We were both still in shock and uncertain how to proceed. We were also confused by Gezie’s appearing to take their side, but it seemed like she had no other choice as the host but to do what she could to smooth things over. Perhaps she felt responsible because she had singled me out, and was trying to make up for that.
Cynthia said she needed to walk and headed out onto the farm. I went inside to discover the bathroom was free. I took my shower, did some laundry and hung it out on the line in the front yard. I spent some time organizing my bag, and setting myself up for the next day.
All my chores done, I went back outside with my journal and a cool drink, and sat in one of the chairs under the trees. Clare and A. were sitting there when I came out, but got up and went inside shortly after. I could hear Anna-marie and A. chatting inside a little later. I wondered if they were avoiding coming outside because I was there. It felt like a huge gift to have that cool, breezy, shady spot to myself for a bit, with only the company of a couple of grazing geese, regardless of how it came to be.
Cynthia joined me when she returned from her walk. We talked a long time about what had happened and what we might do about it going forward. She cried, deeply hurt by the situation. I was more confused, my anger having quieted by then. Her big question was how could anyone treat a host that way. My big question was how could Clare attack me in that way after I’d worked so hard to build bridges with her. We were equally puzzled about Anna-marie wanting a solo room. The entire walk, the three friends had wanted to room together, and there had never been a request from any of them to have a room to themselves.
We eventually agreed that confronting Clare would not serve anything positive, but would only add to the drama and make things worse. Cynthia had talked to Gezie again about sleeping in the caravan, and had been told no. At that point, it seemed to make the most sense to continue onward, avoiding the others as much as possible, being civil when we couldn’t avoid them, walking our walk, choosing our pilgrimage.
We did later talk to Anna-marie and apologized for not understanding her need for a solo night. She seemed embarrassed about the situation and wasn’t really open to talking further about why Clare was speaking for her. I really liked Anna-marie. I enjoyed her humor and light-heartedness and her toughness. She was always friendly and easy to talk to. It wasn’t until later that I realized she was taking bits from her conversations with people and sharing that information with other people. In what was now a clearly divided camp, she was the spy going both ways, but mostly for the Clare and A. camp.
When the sun chased the shade out of the yard, we went back inside. Cynthia to work. Me to occupy myself in my room. I struggled with these down times, stuck inside with no good distraction, at the best of times. On this day, still rattled by Clare’s outburst and my feelings, the room felt like a prison. I could have gone out to the lounge, or to the sitting room by the back door, but neither felt like a safe option. I didn’t want to intrude on Gezie’s family time, and the enemy was ensconced in the sitting room. I settled for legs up the wall and a short nap and journaling.
I finally left the room around 6:00 p.m. and headed outside in search of dinner. I found Cynthia watching Gezie’s husband Alfie start the fire for the braii. It was fascinating and somehow soothing to stand and watch him tend the fire that would become the coals over which the meat for our dinner would be cooked. He was funny and full of stories, clearly enjoying having a rapt audience. The others eventually joined us, so we were all together for the first time since Clare’s outburst.
It was a little awkward, but Gezie and Alfie kept the conversation going, and the process of the braii gave us something to focus on. They continued their amazing hosting as we went back in the house and seated ourselves around their table. Clare sat directly across from me, but it was surprisingly easy to not look at her. A. was quieter and less obnoxious than usual, even offering me a napkin and asking me how long my flight from America was. It was the first time she’d ever addressed me first, or showed any interest in me at all. Given the events of the day, I was more confused than ever.
Alfie, at the head of the table, continued his story-telling. He’d been to America before and took great pleasure in showing off his knowledge and experience and comparing our two countries. Gezie told him he was being rude, but he was so tickled with himself, it was impossible to be offended.
The dinner itself was a feast. Three kinds of meat from the braii (including my favorite lamb), au gratin potatoes, pea salad, and a deconstructed green salad. Gezie and Alfie made sure we took seconds and thirds, and kept the conversation flowing.
During the dinner conversation, Cape Camino came up as the sleeping situation was addressed again. Apparently Gezie had not wanted to host a group as large as ours, especially since she was originally expecting six. She didn’t have enough beds and didn’t want to be put in a position where she couldn’t host the way she thought appropriate. Gabrielle had suggested the caravan as a solution, which Gezie reluctantly agreed to. As she always did, Clare got her teeth into the topic, and asked about payment. It didn’t sound like Cape Camino was paying enough for the food and effort the hosts were expected to provide.
In a later conversation with Gabrielle, she explained that Cape Camino did provide generous payment, but that the hosts insisted on providing more food and drink than necessary. That the overage was on them. Gezie was struggling with feeling underpaid, underappreciated and taken advantage of. It’s a huge disconnect, and, I think, a huge flaw in the Cape Camino system. The hosts are the heart of Cape Camino. They agree to host pilgrims because they enjoy meeting new people, want to support what they see as an important endeavor, and because hospitality is really important to them. I think that is especially true for the farm stays. It’s unreasonable, I think, to expect people to stint a hospitality that is central to their being. That dinner conversation added weight to my growing concern that Cape Camino was in financial straits, and the things they were doing to solve that were hurting both hosts and pilgrims.
We had been at the table a long time, when Alfie suggested it was time for all of us to go to bed. He wanted to watch television, NCIS specifically. We all laughed and told him to go ahead. No one left the table except Alfie, who moved to his chair in the lounge and turned on the television. It was a little weird to be chatting at a dinner table in South Africa surrounded by the musical accents of that country, with the very American voice of Leroy Jethro Gibbs in the background.
And so one of the longest and most challenging days of the pilgrimage ended. I was aware that when events felt this big and out of my control, it always meant spirit was hard at work. I wasn’t quite there yet, but I knew when I was able to get curious rather than hurt or angry I could begin to find the shiny bits of growth and gift. I reread the morning’s Anam Cara passage, grateful for its wisdom. Cynthia had posted on the group WhatsApp site an affirmation that I also held closely as I released the day to the relief of sleep.
“I have no energy to hate anyone. I honestly have no space in my heart to carry that mess around. I either love you, wish you well, or I hope you heal.”
