I love Oprah. I’ve never seen the television show, but I’ve read her magazine faithfully since its inception. It’s brilliant. It has everything — book reviews, health articles, money management tips relationship advice, fashion, interviews with interesting people — what more could you ask for, for only $3.95 a month ($2.17 if you’re a subscriber)?

Tomorrow I’ll watch the show for the first time. The founder of the organization where I work, Room to Read, is being interviewed on Oprah. The office has been abuzz with excitement the past few weeks. Her producers have warned us our website will crash. Every organization who has ever been linked to her website has. Being the person who oversees IT, I responded somewhat frantically. “Okay, we’ll go from a shared server to a dedicated server. No, to two dedicated servers. No, make that…. EIGHT dedicated servers.” I’m not sure why eight seemed like the appropriate number, but that’s what we now have. I figure we’re now in a win-win situation. If our website doesn’t crash, well, that’s a good thing. We can be the first organization that weathered the media storm of Oprah. And if it does, well, that’s a good thing, too. That will have meant website traffic increased by about 40-fold. Bring it, Oprah, bring it.

Our team mascot, Bunny, enjoying a brew at the end of the race.

Emily asked me to do the two-person team, 24-hour, scavenger hunt bike race while I was still in Africa. It sounded intriguing; I agreed. Neither of us could have anticipated how much fun it would be.

We began the race at 3 pm on Saturday at South Park. The organizer, Mike, passed out manifests, a book of 138 items to either photograph, obtain a rubbing, collect an item, or write down answers for. Some clues were easy, others obtuse. We started downtown, snapping photos by the water, making rubbings of historical dates and sculptors, collecting business cards from businesses on certain streets, gradually moving to Fisherman’s Wharf where we played skeeball (somewhat successfully), DDR (not at all successfully), and searching for the Bushman (his day was done).

We continued searching for clues and taking photos till about 1 am, when we biked over to Emily’s house to start on the items we had classified as “home.” Find an expired passport, collect a tooth, make a stuffed animal, build a three-story house of cards. We worked until we realized the sun was rising. We looked at each other and started laughing. “Let’s get one hour of sleep then we’ll start again.”

Which we did. There was no way we could have completed all 138 items, but we didn’t realize that. Until the very last moment we were attempting to complete tasks. We didn’t do bad. We collected over 777 points. Much more than most of the teams and a little less than a few. We’re already strategizing about the next race. Bring a laptop, mapquest the route, and pivot table the hell out of the clues. We’re so coming in first next time.

“Hi guys, sorry to make you move, I’m in the window seat,” I said to the two young twenty somethings sitting in 42B and C. They eagerly got up and allowed me in. I settled into my seat, iPod at the ready, watching the stream of passengers behind me file past to find their seats. As soon as I started the music, 42B started talking to me. I pushed pause, took one ear plug out and listened.

“I was here for both – business and holiday,” I explained, “I was in Pretoria and Lusaka, Zambia, for work, then took 5 days to visit Kruger.” His eyes lit up. “We’re from Phalaborwa, right outside of the Kruger gate. How’d you find it?” “Just lovely. I was right outside Orphen gate, on a private game reserve, but went into Kruger for three days.”

We talked of the park, the state of affairs in South Africa, their plans to do a work/holiday in Scotland for 6 months, their jobs in South Africa, and other mundane small talk. 42C tapped the tv monitor in the seatback in front of him. “What’s this for?” I looked at him, somewhat surprised. “Well, once the flight is in progress, there will be in flight entertainment. There are about 50 movies to choose from, tv shows, music, and video games.” 42B piped in, “Are the movies any good? Or all they all old?” “No, they’re recent releases.” 42C added, “But how do we get the sound?” I looked at them with utter surprise. “Have you ever flown before?” They both beamed, “No, this is our first flight.” I explained that the flight attendants would pass out headphones and showed them where to plug them in. They asked a myriad of questions: Could they play their PS2 in the air? Would they be allowed to walk around? What else was on the plan? What kind of food would be served? Was it really true we would be served unlimited alcohol? Could they keep the pillow and blanket? What about the headphones? It was quite endearing.

They marveled the whole flight at things I’ve grown to take for granted: the receding landscape as we climbed higher in the sky, the fact that we were flying above the clouds, the machinations of the wing as we ascended then descended. They complained about the things I’ve grown to take for granted: the lack of leg room (42B insisted he would *never* fly economy again), the quality of the food (“can you believe how watery the eggs were?”), how thirsty one gets while flying (they couldn’t get over my foresight as I shared my bottled water with them), how uncomfortable it is to try to sleep on an overnight flight. Their names were Baul and Jacou. They apologized for their stilted English, explaining Afrikaans was their home language, astonished I didn’t pick up Afrikaans during my trip (“It’s such an easy language…”)

The 11 hour trip passed remarkably quickly. I remembered setting out on my own adventures at 22, first to California, then unexpectedly to Kuwait and Egypt, not knowing what to expect, but knowing I’d find adventure. I laughed almost constantly, each of their questions reminding me of my own bright eyed, bushy tailed 22-year old self.

Once at Heathrow, they followed me to connecting flights, again asking me questions and commenting continuously as we walked through Heathrow. As we prepared to go through security, I mentioned to Baul he needed to take off his jewelry and belt. “My belt? How’s I supposed to keep me pants from falling down then?” I laughed. “It’s only for a few steps.” “Yeah, but there’s thousands of people here. It’d be quite embarr’sin.”

We all needed boarding passes once we made it though security. As we were all flying British Airways to our respective destinations, I motioned for them to follow me to the BA queue. I explained they needed a new boarding pass that would identify their seat assignments on their next flight. We waited in the line until the next available agent signaled she was available. I walked towards her; at the counter I realized the two of them were right on my heels. I laughed once again and explained they needed to wait for the next agent since we weren’t on the same flight. They returned to the queue, waiting eagerly for the next available agent.

Boarding passes in hands, I explained it was time for us to part ways. They were heading to UK departures, I was to go downstairs for international. Jakou enthusiastically and with genuine sincerity said, “Maybe we’ll be on the same flight back from Scotland. We can tell you all about our time there.” I laughed. “That would be quite a coincidence. Good luck and have a great time. It was such a pleasure meeting the both of you.”

After a sunrise bush drive and walk, it was time to say good-bye to Kruger and head back to Jo’burg. An unexpected sadness washed over me. I wasn’t ready to leave this beautiful place. I wanted to stay longer and explore other areas. I wanted to learn more about the animals, about the vegetation that made this such a special place. I wasn’t ready to return to civilization.

Feeding the Vultures

King Charles picked me up after breakfast to take me to Maholoholo, the injured animal conservation site. Derrick, our guide, showed us injured birds and animals, explained how they were injured, what their chances for rehabilitation and being released into the wild were, and how each animal plays a part in a delicate ecosystem that works perfectly when all players are in place.

As an English woman and I cooed over a cute tiny bunny hopping freely around, he laughed and said, “Don’t get too attached to her,” then glanced at the vultures’ cage next to which we were standing. Oh.

We entered the vultures’ cage; they eyed us suspiciously. Derrick explained, first in English, then in Afrikaans, about the different species of vultures. He then asked who would like to feed them. I do, I do! He placed the gauntlet on my arm and instructed me to hold tight to a piece of raw meat. As a watched a slew of massive vultures fight to light upon my arm, he mentioned I shouldn’t look directly at the vultures; they might mistake my dark eyes for food. Holy crap.

We continued on to the lion and leopard areas – what beautiful, massive animals. There were a few Italian tourists in our group who didn’t understand English, especially the verbal and written instructions not to pet the animals. I watched with anticipated horror as one of the women started to reach out through the fence to pet the lion. Holy crap. Did she not realize these were injured wild, WILD, animals? They may look cute, but they eat her body weight equivalent of raw meat each day. That’s just crazy. Fortunately a translator arrived to explain to “KEEP YOUR HANDS AWAY FROM THE ANIMALS!”

As we were leaving, a baby rhino came charging across the yard, playfully bumping into objects in its path. Over went a solid picnic table, over went a chair, a tree budged. He came closer to our group, nothing separating us. Derrick explained that baby rhinos need constant attention and he was lonely. He instructed us to pet him, just not on the face. The Italians went straight for the horn. I got my camera ready, figuring the tabloids would pay good money for the pictures to accompany their headlines, “TASTES GREAT, LESS FILLING – ITALIAN TOURISTS MAULED AT MOHOLOHOLO.”

Big Lion

Remember how I wondered why anyone would choose to experience Kruger in the enclosure of an air-conditioned, dark tinted window bus? I discovered the answer today. Minutes into our drive, dark rainclouds appeared overhead, opening up suddenly and dumping torrents of water wherever we seemed to drive. Much like an umbrella is useless in a raging storm, the limited plastic “windows” that were rolled down to protect us from the elements were useless as rain whipped in between the seams. Even sopping wet, the day was delightful. We saw multitudes of vultures; our driver, Elvis, dramatically stopped the vehicle, slowly explaining that where there were vultures, there were dead animals, and where there were dead animals there were lions.

LIONS!

After six or so repetitions of this mantra, I thought to myself, “yeah, right,” when Peter, the Irishman sitting next to me, pointed and quietly said, “There he is.” And there, not 10 feet from us, was a lion, sitting serenely in the grass. I couldn’t believe it. Elvis drove closer, the lion walked a few steps away and settled next to his lioness. I was ecstatic to see a lion – such a majestic animal! The huge mane, the velvety fur, the sleepy eyes, yet also respectfully fear inspiring.

As I snapped pictures, one after the other, I thought, “Hm. What are you supposed to do if a lion attacks? He’s pretty close. I really can’t run. How can I appear as un-meatlike as possible?” It wasn’t necessary, as he contentedly just stared at us and we stared back for quite a long time.

Zebra

As we drove through Kruger Park in our open air jeep, feeling the sun wash over us in hot waves, I wondered why anyone would ever choose to experience this in the enclosure of an air-conditioned, dark-tinted window tour bus. As we peered out over the open bush, searching for wild animals, I couldn’t imagine anywhere else I would rather be. A balmy wind blew over us steadily, the sun beaming, causing us to squint as we looked for any movement in the distance. Every so often, our driver, King Charles, would stop, reverse, and direct our attention to a tree or bush, sometimes far away, sometimes quite close, under which a giraffe, zebra, impala, warthog, wildebeest, elephant, or hyena stood. The binoculars I threw into my bag at the penultimate last minute brought the animals seemingly close enough to touch. I marveled at the designs in their coats, their long eyelashes, their stately elegance.

Shy Giraffes

Most of the day was spent driving from Jo’burg to Kruger, about 6 hours. I never realized how much difference an iPod could make. Thank you Mac.

After quickly checking into the Tremisana Lodge, we went for a sunset game drive. Within minutes I saw baby giraffes to my right, guinea fowl running across dirt paths, zebra tentatively watching us from a safe distance and herds of wildebeests in fields.

Dinner was served under the velvet night sky, stars twinkling brightly. The German couple and I tried to identify the unfamiliar formations – knowing theoretically we should be able to locate the Southern Cross, in reality we never found it. But loved searching anyway.

My work here is done. Not really, but it’s finished for the time being. This morning I’m off to Kruger National Park on safari. I’m looking forward to seeing stars, quiet nights, and being disconnected.

Africans love bell peppers. I don’t. I’ve been unpleasantly surprised when ordering here. The menu lists out ingredients in a dish. No bell peppers are noted; I think I’m safe. The dish arrives; it’s loaded with bell peppers. Ugh.

I asked the waitress what vegetables were in the spinach salad. With a clipped accent, she replied, “Vegetables? There are no vegetables in the spinach salad.”

Surprised, I responded, “Oh., there aren’t? What’s in it?” She answered, “Spinach, lettuce, cucumbers, tomatoes, carrots, and bacon.”