There are tent cards in our rooms that boldly proclaim, “High-speed wireless Internet access is available in this room.” Not so much. My colleague wanted to use this service. She obtained a username and password, tried to launch wireless internet, and couldn’t get a signal. I noticed that the bars on the wireless signal indicator on her laptop vacillated between none and almost one. I suggested she take her laptop down to the lobby, where I had seen “hot spot” indicators. She refused, saying she was comfortable in her room and the sign said high-speed wireless Internet access was available in the room, so therefore she was going to work from her room. “But you can’t get a signal,” I protested. She picked up the phone and called the front desk, requesting assistance. I started to leave and it was her turn to protest. “Stay. You will learn.”

Minutes later, I opened the door, very surprised to see four hotel staff standing there. “There’s not room for all of you in here,” I laughed. Two came in, a man and a woman. The tall, lanky man hunched down in front of my colleague’s laptop. He clicked on this and that, opened windows and closed them, typed in passwords and checked settings. I sat in the one chair in the small room and watched, practicing patience. After about half an hour, he turned and looked at his colleague, standing, watching over his shoulder. “The technology, it fails us.” “Yes,” she said, “it fails us badly.”

“Why?” asked my colleague. “Why does the technology fail us?” The whole scene seemed somewhat surreal to me. Just go down to the lobby. The technology will not fail you there.

“I think,” he slowly surmised, “that it is the rain. The rain, it makes the technology fail us.” I thought for a moment. Could rain interfere with a wireless signal? Hm. I had not heard of that before. “Where is the router?” I asked. “The router, it is on the roof. When the rains come, the technology, it fails us.”

Now it was my colleague’s turn to be puzzled. “Why does the rain make the technology fail?” The tall lanky man thought for a moment. “Well, it is not in the books, it is only my observation. When the rains come, the technology, it fails us. Maybe you can work down in the lobby. I think the technology does not fail us there.” “No,” my colleague replied, “I am comfortable here. The card says there is high-speed internet access in the room. I am going to work from here. Unless… does the card lie?” My exercise in practicing patience was completed.

“I’m heading to my room. I’ll see you later.” After reading a couple of chapters on the history of Zambia, I headed downstairs.

There in the lobby was the tall, lanky man and my colleague, working from her laptop. “Come here, Lori! The technology, it works now.” I felt like exclaiming, “Hallelujah! Oh, technology, thank you for not failing us!” but I didn’t. I could only smile.

We checked into our rooms at the Holiday Inn in Lusaka, Zambia. I immediately unpacked my suitcase, placing toiletries in the bathroom, hanging clothes in the closet, and generally making the room appear very lived in. I proceeded to open all drawers, just to make sure I knew what was where. In the top drawer of the nightstand was a Bible placed there by the Gideons (not surprising) and three premium Rough Rider Studded Extra Sensation condoms (surprising). Complements of the Gideons as well?

I spent the day in Soweto. I’m amazed at how many times recently I’ve learned something and thought “How did I not know about this before?” I thought I knew about apartheid; I thought I knew about the struggle; I knew nothing. A couple of hours reading placards and watching videos in the Hector Pieterson Museum left me in tears.
In tears because it amazes me how people have such an enormous capacity for cruelty.
In tears because it amazes me how fear drives people to commit such heinous acts.
In tears because it amazes me that this isn’t history; this is my lifetime.

The one thing I don’t like about South Africa is the hype about crime. Maybe it’s true. Maybe it’s not. I haven’t seen anyone get mugged or car-jacked yet. The guidebooks, colleagues in the US who have visited Jo’burg, colleagues who live in South Africa, the hotel staff, everyone warns me about crime. I’ve been strongly advised not to go out by myself after dark. Do you know how hard that is? I don’t know anyone here and it gets dark early.

Truthfully, I think the chances of me getting hit by a car are much higher than being the victim of a violent crime. I’ve been here a week and still can’t remember which way to look before crossing the street.

I’ve been reviewing CVs for candidates for our Zambia Country Director position. What I’ve noticed:
CVs are freaking long. I don’t think I’ve seen one under 12 pages.
Most of the candidates were born in June. Curious.
Most of the candidates have 6 or more children. Interesting.
Many list the name of the primary school attended. That’s some history.

In the medians of the highways here, no, not really medians, the lines that divide oncoming traffic, stand boys selling things. Newspapers, baseball hats, globes, maps, cell phones – the most random assortment of items. Today a young man approached our car, offering to sell us a sun hat, plastic coat hangers, or a slingshot. Random.

I don’t feel like I’m really in Africa. When I learned I was coming to Africa, I had visions of wild animals, wide open grassy plains, children’s beautiful dark faces learning to read.
The reality of my situation – I’m in a suburb that could be anywhere in the world. I spend my days conducting meetings, going to government agencies, interviewing people for jobs in our local and regional offices. I walk the paved streets, surrounded by massive construction projects, tons of concrete, meeting people of every shade, from blue black to lily white, dressed in Western clothes.

I realize I smile a lot in foreign countries. I smile because I’m seeing things I’ve never seen before. I smile because I don’t understand what’s going on and smiling is a reminder that I’m a very lucky person. I’ve smiled a lot in South Africa because even though everyone is speaking English I don’t understand what they’re saying. I hate having to ask people to repeat themselves (especially multiple times) so I smile to mask my uncomfortableness and embarrassment.

After flying for 22 hours, I looked down to discover I have swollen ankles. AHHHHHHHHHHH! That’s what old ladies who eat too much salt get. I’ve traveled to Australia, South Korea, and Cambodia, all 20+ hour travels, and I’ve never gotten swollen ankles. This had better just be temporary.

We landed to the most beautiful sunrise I’ve ever seen. The light here is magical, bathing everything in a pure goldness. I exited the place and stood on the tarmac, watching the sun drench the airplanes, the runway, the grassy fields nearby.

Zacharia, a taxi driver arranged by my South African colleagues, met me outside of customs. He had such an easy going manner, we began talking right away: my flight, South Africa, San Francisco, sports, families. The 90 minute drive to Pretoria flew by.

The afternoon was spent catching up on email, meeting with colleagues and unpacking. We walked across the street to an outdoor café. As we ordered, flashes of lighting lit the hot, humid sky. I breathed in deeply. The minerally smell was overwhelming. Heavy drops began falling, one by one, faster and faster. I closed my eyes. I like it here already.