Mean Girls

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UPDATE #3:  I’m in Atlanta. It’s December 21. I got back August 13. It’s been a while, eh? So I started this entry a loooong, looong time ago, and just thought I should finish before I move on to new topics and adventures.

UPDATE # 2:  (August 12, 2017) Ahhhhhhh … wiFi!! 

Jambo from Kenya! Im actually at the airport in Nairobi, ready to come home.  

What a long, strange trip it’s been! 

After RhinoLand*, I joined the G Adventures/NatGeo group to tour Kruger National Park and Karongwe Private Reservein South Africa. As a group, we flew to Zimbabwe to visit Victoria Falls. Nine days later, after much fun and frivolity, I said “goodbye” to those folks and headed alone to Hwange National Park (also in Zimbabwe). From there, I returned to to the Vic Falls Airport (which was surprisingly nice, especially compared to other airports in Africa) and flew to Nairobi, Kenya. There, I met the ladies (and Dan) for the yoga retreat. The ten of us rode in two separate vans to the Laikipia region of Kenya. Once the retreat ended, I flew alone (literally) to theMasai Mara, which I understood to be the second largest National Park in Africa, but after a little research, I don’t believe that to be the case. And now I’m at the Nairobi airport, ready to come home. I took detailed notes for about 60% of my stay in Africa, so maybe I’ll update the blog in the upcoming weeks. Maybe I’ll just post pics. You know me … It could go either way (or no way at all.) 

*Honestly, I don’t remember if I stated the actual name of the Rhino Sanctuary, but we’ll just call it RhinoLand to protect the innocent, i.e., the rhinos and people that I’m 99.97% sure will never read this but I may or may not have liked, k?

UPDATE # 1:  This entry was started long before the Malarone Meltdown, so … back to it: 

Hey there, party people. I’m back. Frankly, I was too physically exhausted and emotionally overwhelmed the last few days in RhinoLand to even attempt to tell y’all what’s going on down here in the Southern Hemisphere. I may or may not be sleep deprived, and wouldn’t admit to it anyway. 

So, lets round up the last few days on the job at RhinoLand:

Day Four:

06:00 

Wake up, no shower (This is NOT the way I prefer to start my day. I’m a two–shower–a–day kind of gal.)

Try to remember bug spray and deodorant, but always remember lipgloss and mascara. Don’t judge. It’s who I am.

06:30 

Meeting

Clean boma and night pens

07:30

Mix milk for the 4 rhino toddlers with Winona.

The milk is individually prepared and the blend varies at different times of the day. Because a rhinos digestive system is similar to that of a horse, a milk product called Denkavit is mixed with glucose powder (basically powdered icing sugar), Proteinex (a probiotic), and liquid Game-Min (a multivitamin). We funnel this blend into the 2 liter soda bottles, each with specific rhino’s name, and place the giant teet. Let me tell you about that damn teet! I made the newbie mistake of assuming it would be easy, like rolling on a condom catheter (for you Shepherd peeps). Not so much. The first attempt to secure the teet ended with rhino milk all over my face, my shirt, my pants. So did the second. Winona took over, and all teets were secured successfully. My arms are strong, but my hands are weak. We offer 2 of the 4 bottles to other volunteers, because isn’t that why we are all here? To feed the babies?

08:00 
Feed the babies!
Clean the bottles and “mixing bowls”
08:15 
Walk down to the Big Group night pasture and shovel poo, rake hay, throw all of it into trailer.
Rake more sand.
09:00
Breakfast. More bread.
But let me tell you about theserusk biscuits!Oh. Em. Gee! Simply overcooked buttermilk biscuits made for dunking in tea or coffee, similar to biscotti, but heavier (and probably just as bad, if not worse, for you). By the end of my stay, I was sneaking into the cupboard and stuffing my pockets, so I could get a “fix” when I needed a carbohydrate boost in the field. Did I just say that?
10:00 
Quick meeting.
Find out that volunteers run the show over the weekend… meaning we run the kitchen. I signed up with Lucy (UK) and Stew (New Zealand), a couple heretofore known as Stucy, to make lunch Saturday. They know I can’t cook and I don’t even eat meat, right??Hahahha… joke’s on them! 
Load superhay bales onto trailer, and all I could hear in my head was Nicki Minaj singing, “Boom, badoom, boom, boom, badoom, boom, hay. Yeah, that’s the superhay.” All day earworm. You know me, and you KNOW it was all day. 
After we loaded the boom-badoom-boom-superhay, the owner looks toward me.
“I hear you are working your ass off, Tiffany.”
A family from Dubai was staying with her and occasionally worked with the volunteers. I appreciated their work ethic and worked alongside Mom and her teenage son and daughter, who, interestingly enough, were the most industrious (and friendliest) of the younger folks at the camp, even though they weren’t “official” volunteers. I suppose word had gotten back to the house that I wasn’t just piddling. Piddling?
I responded, “Well, that’s what I came here to do. I came to work.” 
Eventually, that caught up with me (more on that later.)
10:30 
Rhino “observation“.
Exactly what it sounds like. Every 5 minutes. 
“What is Rhino doing now?
“Zac is eating hay.”
“Grey is eating hay.”
“Spirit is eating hay and peeing.”
“Jamu is eating hay.”
“No wait, it’s Grey that’s peeing.”
“I can’t tell which one is which.”
“Can you?”
“I think so.”
“Oh look, Zac is pooping. Now he’s eating hay.”
“Spirit is eating hay.”
“Grey is eating hay.”
And you know what? It’s absolutely incredible, especially knowing that these gentle giants are critically endangered, and that we have this rare opportunity to spend time in their presence, up close and personal. Someday, I will be able to tell my children … hahahhahaaaaaa. You KNOW better than that.
Rhino observation
12:30 
Lunch (salad).
After lunch, I was trying to get away from everyone and went around the corner to breathe. I see a staff member sneaking a cigarette. She tells me that it’s a secret and no one knows. I assure her, “I don’t judge,” but of course I do. Next thing I know, we are playing a game of Truth or Dare. Well, at least she is playing a game of truth. She opens up to me, telling me about her recent hospitalization… not just the broken arm (from a fall off a horse). “I really don’t care,” she says. “I just got out of the hospital for a nervous breakdown, really. Right after I got out of the hospital for my arm, I had to go back in to the psych ward.”  Now this is some shit! Tell me more, please. “I mean, everyone knew about it, but nobody is really talking,” she says in her thick Afrikaans accent. “Basically, I just got overwhelmed with it all. I had anxiety and stuff and they put me on medications so I could handle it.” When I again assure her that I don’t judge, I mean it. I’ve been there.
Later, I asked her about the mental health care system in South Africa, and how her family handled her breakdown. Her father, a tall, ice-blue-eyed, goateed man works at RhinoLand, and quite frankly, he frightened me. Or maybe I was oddly attracted to him. I couldn’t be sure. Maybe both. He was stern, serious, focused, and seemed to lack a sense of humor. Later, I realized that he did have a sense of humor, it was just very, very dry, and that he was very supportive of his daughter during her mental health crisis. This was good to hear, but I doubt that the mental health stigma is any different in South Africa than it is in America. Understandably, I’m not sure she grasped some of my questions, so I couldn’t really get a lot of straight answers. 
14:00 
Take Viewer (open Land Cruiser) to open field to rake hay for bedding.
We turn a corner…When what to my wondering eyes did appear, but a miniature sleigh … Naaahhhh… it was a freakin’ GIRAFFE!  Isn’t that nice? They place a statue of a giraffe out here for the visitors! (Because they would spend money on a statue, right?)

Giraffe

“Oh MY GOD IS THIS REALLY HAPPENING?! It’s a REAL GIRAFFE!” I think I said it out loud. An older male, a bull giraffe, darker than the giraffe that we are familiar with, as their hide darkens with age. I imagine the darkening helps the older and slower of the species to blend in to the trees. A very curious guy, his gaze followed us as we made our way to the field. I later found out that the giraffe is the “hippie” of the African animals, the “stoner,” with their sleepy eyes, mellow mood, and lack of social structure. We arrive at the field and start a-rakin’.

I’m not sure when it started, but I was already agitated with the younger volunteers, specifically the gaggle of twenty-something girls. Preferring to work alone, I grabbed a bag, gathered piles of hay, and stuffed the bag. It may be winter, but the African sun is no joke, and my shirt was soaked with perspiration. To the right, Rosie and Caroline are gently raking hay, casually grabbing a handful here and there, while chatting it up with David. I had to keep reminding myself, “They are young! They don’t know how to work!” I was becoming not-so-secretly bitter. When asked how to do something or “what exactly are we doing?” the response was to shrug, look away, and mumble some nonsense about “Uhhh, I don’t and not sure and what and ask so and so.”  UGH! 

On the way back to camp, we spent some time with Emma and Molly, the resident hippos.

Molly and Emma (I think Molly is the

18:00 

Dinner and casual conversation with Jenna, (who I decided was named “Natalie” and she was going to remain “Natalie” throughout my stay), and fellow nurse from the UK, Lucy. I showed everyone how fabulous my nails looked. I mean, they did look fabulous! “My nails have never looked so good!” Especially considering that we were working in dirt and hay. 
Suddenly from the darkness, we hear the steady beating of a drum. I ask, “Did someone die in the village?” Idiot.
New Zealand Stu rounds the corner, pounding the drums in what should have been a joyous, playful sound, but instead in a ominous, tribal rhythm. The staff sings, “Happy Birthday to you!”, and Rachel comes around the corner with “cake”. It’s Lucy’s birthday, and to celebrate, we enjoy banofee pie. It was deeeeee-lish! Banofee Pie Recipe
19:30 
Tepid shower.
20:00 
Finally starting to feel like things were coming together, I went to bed with a serious case of giggles. What terrible, dark drumming for a birthday celebration! Maybe it was just my mood starting to turn. For the worse?
Day Five:
05:00 
Wake up. Put on coat and hat. Stay in pajamas. I’m still not a morning person. 
Walk with Winona down to barn to meet Rachel, who would drive us to the bomas. 
Make milk for the toddlers. With a 2 liter bottle in each hand, we fed the four of them. 
Clean equipment and bottles.
Go back to bed for 10 minutes.
Get out of bed.
Don dirty clothes from day before. (This is sooooo unlike me, a two-shower-a-day gal… minimum.)
06:25 
Gulp down powdered coffee with too much sugar. (We are not to have food or drink at morning meeting.)
06:30 
Meeting. 
This will be a “lighter” work day. I’ve signed up with Stucy to make lunch for the team.
06:45 
Shovel poo. 
Rake bomas. 
Stuff hay. 
I’m watching the millennials again, and getting more and more frustrated. Bitter, party of one? Your table is ready in the smoking section. I want to see less talky-talk and more rakey-rake. Somehow, “Natalie” and I are shoveling the poo AND running the poo/dirt/wet hay-filled wheelbarrows to the trailer, up the “ramp” into the bed of the truck, and dumping the contents. Ooooooh, I am just letting it GET to me! 
09:00 
Breakfast “made” by volunteers… Basically, they just moved cereal boxes and bread from the cabinet to the table. 
10:00 
Back to the bomas.Not sure how (maybe I was filling my water bottle), but I missed my ride. I watched as almost everyone waved to me from the Viewer, but the driver didn’t stop. By this point, I was pretty convinced that Rachel didn’t like me, and I’m almost positive it had something to do with KERATIN. (I didn’t read that entire article. I just put it in here to make myself look good.)
Anyway… the night before, we (the women) were complaining about the lack of warm water and the ungodly amount of time since our last shampoos. Both Rachel and I had recently had blowouts, since we have natural curls… and you KNOW that one naturally curly girl ALWAYS has curlier hair than the other, especially when there are no curls to prove it.
“My hair is, like, so curly.”
“Yeah, mine too. Like, remember that show ‘Felicity?’ Yeah, my hair is like hers.”
“Oh, yeah. Mine is like that, but curlier and thicker”
“I totally understand. One time, I broke a hairbrush trying to get through my hair.”
“Uh-huh. So my hairdresser told me that maybe I should go to a hairdresser that does African American hair.”
And that’s when I said, “I got a keratin treatment before I came, so I could deal with my hair more easily.”
Keratin. Right. And what are rhino horns, Tiffany? Why are rhinos being poached? For their horns made of keratin. Ugh. I. Am. Such. An IDIOT.
Anyways, they left me, so I started walking. The owner’s husband drove by and offered me a ride, and as I start get in the bed of the truck (because I’m the help) but he opened the door. I was properly driven and delivered to the bomas. 
11:00
 I’m done. Just done. My feet huuuurt. So, Stu-cy and I head up to the Stonehouse to make lunch. Dirty dishes from breakfast were lingering in the sink. Fucking lazy millennials.We didn’t see the lunchmeat, so we took our “menu” of sandwiches and decided to go with it. We raided the cupboards and refrigerators for anything that looked familiar and edible. Using my Top Chef level knife skills was quite a feat with dull knives, but the peppers were manageable, and I created what I assume was a magnificent tuna salad. I wouldn’t know. I don’t eat tuna, and when I did, I only ate Bumble Bee Solid White Albacore in Spring Water.
The couscous Peppers in the colors of Africa The tuna salad
Lucy made a lovely couscous, also with green, yellow, and red peppers. My god, it makes the colors of Africa. As we are setting the “buffet”, a young woman (a camp employee?) enters the kitchen and pulls a styrofoam tray of sliced lunchmeat out of the fridge. Apparently, at least one kitchen staff member comes to help on weekends. She looks at us like we are clowns and adds tomato and onions to the tuna salad.
14:00 
Back to the bomas to clean and rake. Still not 100 on the schedule, I was lost. I asked for direction to no avail. “Uh… well, we are doing something and then rhinos and poo and hay and ask so-and-so and why are you making that noise with your mouth? Are you talking to me?” Fucking millennials. Finally, someone seemed to have a handle on the program for the afternoon. We laid out hay for the rhinos and sprinkled it with crunchy desert pellets and P8, a vitamin supplement. Something flew/crawled down the front of my pants and bit my stomach. My arms are covered with red scratches and itch by the time we finished.
That afternoon, we sat and watched Lofo’s group and Zac’s group do rhino things. 
16:00
Yay! One of the staff members is going to do a game drive! I think his name is John. About 7 or 8 of us hop into the Viewer and start into the bush. The reserve is massive, about 28,000 hectares massive. That’s 69,189.5 acres, or 108.1 square miles to us folk here in the U.S.
We see:
  • A baboon (crossing back and forth on the road. May have been Sasquatch. I’ll never know.)
  • Zebra
  • Impala 
  • Kudu
  • Wildebeest 
  • Giraffes (a mom and her calf)
    • This guy drives like a maniac. Thorny branches are slapping our faces and arms. Is my face bleeding?Seriously, IS MY FACE BLEEDING?
    He exclaims in his thick South African accent, “I don’t know where we are going, but I can promise you we’ll get there!.” He laughs like a crazy person. He IS a crazy person. 
    18:00
    Dinner. (Guess what? If you think I’m going to say anything other than bread, you’re wrong.)Table was quiet. Crazy driver comes in talking, per usual. He has verbal incontinence. I was actually glad he was around… added some life to the group. In fact, I told him I was glad he showed up to add some life to this dull party. 
    Now THIS is where I just let someone have it. Shelby. That is her real name. Shelby is awful. She was bitten by the evil meerkat about a week before I arrived at RhinoLand. Apparently, the little f’r clamped down on that meaty part of her hand, right between the thumb and forefinger… and WOULDNT. LET. GO. Took two people to pry him from her. Now what he found appealing about her is beyond me, but hey, meerkats, right?
    I met her shortly after the little guy bit me, but she wasn’t sympathetic or interested in my story… no need to commiserate. So she bled quite a bit and was undergoing rabies treatment (which, according to CDC and WHO Guidelines, she could have ceased treatment.) This girl was not nice. I had heard her say it before, but on this particular  night as we were discussing which volunteers were coming and going, I heard her say to Kayla **, “No new friends.” As the “oldest” (meaning she had been there the longest) volunteer, she didn’t want to “lose” any more friends. Kayla agreed. “We should get t-shirts made: NO NEW FRIENDS”“Yeah. We don’t need anymore new people.”
    I was so done with these bitches. I also realized that I’m their mother’s age … I can say anything and they won’t talk back to me.I placed my hands calmly but firmly on the table, turned to them and said (without crying, no less), “Stop it. Stop being mean girls. It’s not okay to behave like that. People come here to do something good, but it’s a strange country, where everyone is speaking a strange language. They are alone, and it’s scary. You need to be nice. Your behavior, the way you treat people, is NOT okay.” 
    Silence. 
    I could feeeeel the tension in the air as the two exchanged haughty glances. They picked at their food. I picked at my food. I grabbed my plate and called it a night. 
    Shelby and Kayla had hardly spoken to Winona, who was closer to their age than they were to mine. Maybe it’s because she was my roomie. Maybe it’s because they had their clique and didn’t want to let anyone in. Either way, I felt a little protective of her, and was disappointed that they had not made any effort to get to know her or include her in any of the reindeer games. 
    ** Lets talk about Kayla. She was cute. Probably still is. Maybe 20, 21, with the bouncy, sorority-girl, blonde ponytail that makes the Dockers feel a little too snug on 57 year-old men. While i was wearing neutral-toned, Goodwill-bought, safari-style clothes with big, clunky hiking shoes, and a baseball cap, Kayla was wearing tiny little tank tops and even tinier short shorts. You know, the kind of shorts with just a liiiitle bit of ass cheek hanging out? And I’m not going to lie, she had a nice ass. And nice legs. Aaaaand she had horses. Kayla made sure to learn everyone within earshot on horses, since she and her family raised them. Is that what people do with horses? Raise them? Keep them? Maybe some of her input was useful and valuable to the ranch hands and rhino keepers, but it just seemed like braggadocio to me. Aaaand she made sure to let everyone know that, in addition to their house/ranch in Montana and their main home in Florida, her family was buying a ranch in South Africa. Now look, I’m not saying I’m jealous, but c’mon. She seemed to have it all, except a decent personality.
     
     

    The Road to Hell

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    The road to hell is paved with good intentions, right? Well, I intended to keep up with this blog on a daily or every other day basis. Long story short, this vacation hasn’t exactly been smooth sailing. I’m tired. I worked too hard at RhinoLand, because my competitive drive tells me I have to keep up with the guys.
    I’m in a strange land with strange people. I have limited connection to family and friends and am without my creature comforts. I’ve been on the move constantly and am getting little sleep.
    But on top of everything, I’ve been suffering the “less common side effects” of the anti-malarial medication.
    I came to Africa with a broken heart, which isn’t a great way to start a vacation that’s been a year in the making, but I thought I could work my way out of the sadness. Not so much. One of the “less common side effects” is depression, to which I’m already prone. It started spiraling, and I’ve had a hard time enjoying myself, even though I repeatedly tell myself, “YOU’RE IN AFRICA, DUMMY! THIS IS YOUR BUCKET LIST, YOUR DREAM!”
    I rode to the airport with tears streaming down my face yesterday.

    Worse, two nights ago, I was alone in my rather nice cabin (with hot water), and I thought I lost something that I swear I placed in my luggage. An hour or more later, after tearing through my luggage several times, I found what I was looking for, only to realize I lost something else. This vicious cycle went on for over 2 hours. I felt like I was losing my mind, and was afraid that I would be sent home for psychosis. It’s a terrible and horrifying feeling. There were no hallucinations, but I felt like I had to remind myself not to hallucinate. The taxidermied animals on the wall are NOT going to talk to you. Full disclosure, a little paranoia was creeping in. Everyone at the airport was putting marks on me. (That could very well be real, however. Jo’Burg Airport is sketchy as hell.)

    After speaking with several people about the season and the effects of this particular drug, I made the decision to stop taking it. Today is better. My eyes aren’t welling up with tears with every thought. I’m with a new group of people … some very funny people. We are laughing and enjoying ourselves.

    So, I may come home with rabies.
    I may come home with malaria. But it looks like I won’t be coming home early and in restraints.

    Green Acres

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    I’m not a morning person. This getting up Every. Single. Morning. is for the birds. Actually, it’s for the rhinos.
    I’ve failed myself when it comes to keeping a detailed account of day to day activities, at least on the blog. I’ve kept simple notes, such as:

    Wake up
    Drink powdered coffee
    Shovel rhino poo in bomas
    Clean night pens
    Scrub rhino mats
    Rake sand
    Breakfast (I’m not a breakfast person either, but the work is hard and I have been eating the hell out of some breakfast food, so, more bread)
    Meeting
    Shovel more rhino poo for the Big Group
    Eat more salad
    Bag hay
    Shovel more rhino poo
    Stare at finger and hope to G.O.D. that the meerkat doesn’t have rabies
    Clean fence lines for leaves and branches
    Rake dirt
    Sweep dirt
    Eat salad
    Sleep

    Repeat
    Repeat
    Repeat

    Day Two:
    Of course, there are variations and modifications each day, depending on the number of volunteers, camp needs for the day, and behavior of the animals. On Day Two, during our 10:00 meeting, we (the volunteers) were given a stern and somewhat dramatic lecture about the dangers of posting our experience on social media, especially photos with camp employees and guards. As you can imagine, organized crime and the threat of rhino poaching is very real. Volunteers are NOT to make friends with the guards. When I tell you that the security…. armed guards, electric fences, massive metal doors, and barbed wire … is straight out of a scene from Jurassic Park, I’m not kidding. And then, unnecessarily in my opinion, we were shown a video of a rhino after he had been taken down alive, robbed of his horn, and left to suffer and die a slow and painful death. I was pretty put out. I’ve seen it. I know it exists. It’s disgusting and beyond sad. I don’t need to see the video, thankyouverymuch.

    We did “clean fences” on Day Two which means pulling/taking leaves and twigs from the fence line. High fences and barbed wire above my head, there were times i mentally convinced myself that I was working in a prison camp. I literally had to stop and tell myself that “I’m here for the rhinos.”

    One of the nicer volunteers (more on that later) got a little surprise from the electric fence, because somebody neglected to tell us it was being turned on. That was the perfect time to feed mango leaves to the more tame of the nyala (see previous entry).
    By the end of the day, my feet were KILLING ME from all of the walking. I mentioned it to someone who asked if I was okay, and they replied, “You’re a nurse. You should be used to it.” NO. It’s NOT the same. I’m a nurse on a flat surface in a temperature controlled environment.

    The highlight of Day Two (YES, there was a highlight!) was joining the Rhino Walk. Someone dropped out and I raised my hand before anyone else had a chance, because I’m an entitled princess. Each day the guards walk the Big Group from the pasture/bush to the camp, and 3 or 4 volunteers follow. Living dinosaurs, relics from beyond the Ice Age, standing, quietly grazing, moving so slowly and almost robotically that at any minute, I’m expecting Ace Ventura to emerge from the backend. But they keep grazing. One of the new guards is frustrated because the rhinos pay him no mind. He shouts, “I’m not any good at this!” I can imagine it takes practice. Did I say the term “stubborn as a mule” should be changed to “stubborn as a rhino”? I stand by that. They know their way “home” and they also know their favorite shortcuts, and will ignore the guards and take off in whatever direction they choose. But they are never alone. Never.

    After dinner (salad), I managed to get a tepid shower and I think I washed my hair that night. I was “chosen” (because it’s “only fair that we all take turns”) to do the 9 pm feed that night. It was cold and I went in my PJs. Winona and I made four individual 2 liter bottles and fed them to the rhino toddlers, one 2 liter bottle on each hand. They are technically babies, but are weaning from the milk. It’s heartbreaking to hear their little dolphin noises, and even though it’s just their “sound”, I want to give them a big ol’ hug … IF I could get my arms around them. Honestly, the feeding, lasting all of 15 seconds, makes the cold showers and backbreaking work worthwhile.

    Day Three:
    Up at 6:30, per usual. Did I mention I’m not a morning person? In case I didn’t, I’m not.
    The day was business as usual in rhino world. Today the volunteers were herded down to shovel poo on the route the Big Group walks twice a day.
    IMG_0925.JPG
    Thursday (I think… I’m so NOT oriented to day/date/time) is Rhino Weigh In, so each baby is encouraged onto the scale. They respond to a gentle “come come” which sounds like “coo coo” when the folks around here say it. A film crew came through and we were prompted to “look busy”, but no problem there.
    I know on this day we walked UP the mountain at least 2, if not 3, times. My legs and butt are exhausted. I’m probably not the fastest person around here, but the one time the group was able to hitch a ride down to the bomas, I was left behind. They waved and drove away. Fortunately, a kind ranch-hand picked me up along the way and saved the day.
    We also collected mud this day. I don’t even know what that means.

    Cold shower.
    Bed at 7 pm.

    This is life on the ranch. I don’t know if farm living is the life for me. I am getting allergic smelling hay.

    Hay reaction

    Haaaaay, girl, haaay!

    I’d rather not stay on New York either. But that’s why I’m here, right? To determine which road I’ll take next.

    Until next time, goodnight party people.

    Hello from the Motherland!

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    What? Did you think you weren’t going to hear from me so soon? Or were you disappointed that you haven’t yet heard about my exciting adventures? Well, I didn’t want to overwhelm you straight away, but didn’t want to leave you hanging, so let’s pretend I came to the party, but showed up 15 minutes late, ok?

    I arrived at the sanctuary mid-afternoon on Monday, and was given a tour by the sweet and beautiful gal that I’d been in contact with over the last several months. That is when I stuck my finger in the meerkat enclosure. She also introduced me to the lions, owls, and bushbabies (OH MY GOD SO FREAKIN ‘ CUTE!!!) No, sillies, I didn’t go in the lion camp, but we DID go into the bushbaby house. (DID I MENTION HOW CUTE??) One of the little guys was pretty shy, but would watch my every move, turning his head and twisting his ears to hear every little sound. The other one took a second to warm up, but eventually licked my hand and crawled right up my arm. So fluffy and soft…and CUTE! Oh, I forgot to mention meeting the baby rhinos. THE BABY RHINOS! They are too much! The sweetest little noises…they sound like dolphins, believe it or not. They are both under 6 months old and have a very regulated diet of about 5 or 6 2 liter bottles a day.

    Afterward, I had dinner with a bunch of young strangers from all over Europe and the US. How was the food? Let’s just say I’ve been eating a lot of salad. I mean, a lot of salad.

    To make things easy (for me, because the truth is, I’ve been working my ass off and haven’t felt like writing), I’ll give you the schedule of each day so far.
    Don’t get me wrong. It’s been a blast, but it’s not easy.

    So, First Official Full Day:

      05:45 Wake up, no time for showers, but who would want one with no hot water?

      06:30 Morning meeting, break into teams (Thor, Quarantine, Cats). Since much of Thor (named after a rhino that didn’t survive), went into Kruger for the day, I was assigned to Thor.    

      07:00 Clean the stalls…by cleaning, I mean shoveling rhino poo and shoveling hay covered in rhino poo. Clean the mats covered in rhino poo. Scrub the stalls covered in rhino poo. Sweep and rake everything… literally everything. We sweep dirt. I’m going to come home and say, “You know, the yard is looking a little unkept. We need to sweep the yard.”

    For Melissa, the bathroom at the barn.

      09:00 Walk up the mountain for breakfast. I’ve eaten a lot of bread. Bread and salad. Let’s talk about the coffee. Powdered coffee with boiled water. And you know what? It wasn’t terrible. No Nespresso, but not terrible either.

      10:00   Volunteer meeting where we learned that one of the animals was attacked by a jackal the night before and didn’t survive.

    10:30 Bag hay. Hay itches. It really, really itches. More raking and sweeping. I think I may have been handed a couple of cans of cornflower blue spray paint to paint the tops of the rakes and brooms. You know I was in heaven. I told them, “Give me some paint and glue and I’m happy.” I had to clarify that I am NOT a huffer, I’m just crafty.

      13:00 Lunch. More salad.

      14:00 Bag more hay. Sneak pictures of rhinos. Fill water buckets. (I’m pretty good at that… just standing there.) Then the Thor leader grabs 4 of us to walk the nyala camp. IMG_0679Me feeding a nyala. 

    Mind you, the other three that walked the camp were all about 16-20 years old. We met up with one of the men that runs the camp and helped unload a huge (and heavy) metal trap. Four of us carried up it the hill, until we came upon the carcass of the nyala that was killed over the night. I never would have guessed what type of animal she was, as the jackals ran off with the front legs. We set the trap and walked the camp looking for the front legs and shoulders (which I found). We walked the fence around the entire nyala camp looking for holes where the jackals and caracals sneak in to attack the animals. The “walk” ended up being a hike, as our leader started up a steeeeeep mountain. The kids said they would take the easy way around, but because I’m a total show off, I said, “I need the workout,” and followed up the mountain. Needless to say, I’m freaking exhausted by the time we reached the rhino camp. It may be winter here, but it’s HOT.

    16:00  I fed the baby rhinos. I FED THE BABY RHINOS!!! I can’t get pictures. They finish off a 2 liter bottle in about 15 seconds. By the time someone gets their camera, it’s over. Afterward while cleaning up, leader came in the barn kitchen and closed the doors, telling us not to move. Two of the rhinos escaped their boma and were casually walking around in the larger enclosure. They were herded back in, but when I tell you that herding rhinos is like herding turtles, I’m not kidding.
    Some other stuff happened before dinner, but I have no recollection of any of it.

     18:00 Dinner. More salad.

     19:00 Lukewarm shower

    20:00 Bed (bottom of bunkbed to he exact.) Did I sleep like a baby? Not at all.

    IMG_0597My cabin… with the wild dogs (of course) 

    My roomie is Wynonna, a 17 year-old high school student from Johannesburg, whose mother is sending her to participate in various animal experiences before she decides on a career working with animals. She’s sweet, quiet, reserved, and I’m older than both of her parents, but we get along quite well, and kind of stick together. Most of the folks here already knew each other and, to be honest, are quite cliquey, but they’re young, and I’m really not that interested in them any more than they are interested in me. Of course, no one is being rude, just not inclusive or overly friendly. But me? I go from trying too hard because Everyone. Must. Like. Me! to really not having time or energy to give a damn.

    Anyhoo, that’s enough of Day One.
    I’ll post Day Two later tonight (or tomorrow). To be honest, it’s all running together and I’m afraid I am going to forget everything! I know it’s a LOT, but truth be told, I’m keeping this more as a journal for myself than anything. To write all of this out on paper would destroy my delicate man-hands. (Surprisingly, my nails have never looked this good!)
    So, I’ll keep posting and you can keep reading. Honestly though, Day Two was pretty exciting. I saw some things. I did some things. Just hold your horses party people, and I’ll tell you allllll about it. Later.

     

     

     

    Meerkat: 1, Tiffany: 0

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    IMG_0611.JPGDay one at the rhino sanctuary: I was bitten by a meerkat. Cute, but mean little f’ers. Have to go into town to get rabies vaccination tomorrow. Not too excited about that, but all of this makes for a good story, right?

    I’d love to tell you about the trip to the sanctuary, but I have other things on my mind right now…. like, how in the hell did I let this happen on MY FIRST DAY?! I haven’t even done any work! I JUST GOT HERE!

    I also hear the malaria pills might cause hallucinations and psychosis. So I’m going to be psychotic and foaming at the mouth.

    Stay tuned.

    The Goingest Person has Gone

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    IMG_0567.JPGi have arrived! After almost 16 looooooong hours in the air, our 777 touched down at dusk at OR Tambo International Airport in Johannesburg, South Africa. (The ATL – JNB is currently the 5th longest direct flight in the world, by the way.) The flight really wasn’t terrible. I had fun and interesting row partners that chatted just enough to be entertaining, but were aware enough to know when it was time to watch the in-flight movie or sleep. And sleep I did, thanks to the lovely nurses at Peachtree Travel Clinic. I swear I slept about 11 hours!  Oh, this is fun…  Deciding to mix it up a little with my in-flight meals, I checked “Hindu” on the menu options.  I ate a lot of bread today.IMG_0564.JPG

    Ok, there was something pretty terrible about some of the people on the flight. While I was in line for the lavatory,  A man in a camouflage jacket and hunting gear started talking to me. Right next to him was another man in similar gear, wearing an NRA hat.  Now don’t get me wrong. I believe in our Second Amendment rights. But what I don’t believe in, is coming here to hunt Big Game.  The first man started to talk to me, telling me that he’s from California, but he didn’t so much care for it as it is “too blue “.  That’s when I shut down. Not the time or place to start a political conversation. The only thing I wish I would have said was, “I don’t eat meat.” Because THAT would’ve changed his world view, right?.  Later I realized that Camouflage California  was not with Mr. NRA,  but I still decided not to like him or the group that Mr. NRA was with.  There were several big game hunters on the flight. In fact, the man that I was speaking to in the customs line was here to visit his sister who does indeed hunt big game. Ugh.

    Things you won’t see in Atlanta Hartsfield-Latoya Jackson International Wig Shop and Nail Emporium:  IMG_0570I thought this was the handicapped stall. It was not. I did not go here.

    Muslim Prayer Facilites:IMG_0571The last time I tried to go to prayer in a Muslim prayer facility was in Morocco during Ramadan. That didn’t really work out for me, so I just went up the escalators today.

    We landed at 17:35 (that’s about 5:30 PM for you civilians out there) and the sun was already disappearing. By the time  I found my way out of the airport, it was already dark. It IS winter here, you know. I made my way to the hotel and found that I could get a 60 minute hot stone massage with an Indian head scalp massage AND facial for about $85 US.  Considering the stressful week that I’ve been through, you know that I absolutely deserved it, and I treated myself accordingly.  The next 20 days at least are going to be busy and not as plush,  but I did treat myself to the Intercontinental Hotel and the massage tonight because the hotel is located directly across the street from the airport, and I didn’t want to deal with taxis, panhandlers, and pickpockets.  Read this article about Africa’s busiest airport and you’ll understand Insider Airport Crimes

    And guess who spilled coffee straight away on the fluffiest, clean, white comforter?! Yeah, that didn’t take long did it?  (See previous posts.)

    My bougie first night in Africa:IMG_0572.JPGThe purple neon reminds me of the old days, back in the *cough cough* old country of Orlando.

    Tomorrow starts the real journey. Wake up 07:00, eat hearty breakfast of bread and coffee, and meet the Care For Wild/Save the Rhino folks at 10:45. For now, sleep is necessary to get on the time zone. More to come, my party people!

    (Oh, I think something I’m going to add to the blog is the wide variation in restroom facilities that I encounter in Africa. Stay tuned.

    Here is the Intercontinental restroom:IMG_0573.JPG

    … Goes to Bed

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    … with dreams of Africa all through her head.  Acccording to the @delta app, I’m 32 days, 22 hours, and 1 minute from departure.

    It’s all happening so fast, and for the first time in my LIFE, I’ve managed to have everything arranged and mapped out in ADVANCE! This is a new thing happening here. Passport? Check. Vaccinations? Check. Visas? Check. Travel insurance? Check. Five extremely detailed binders with color-coded maps outlying the entire trip down to the smallest detail? Check x 5. Soooo much planning involved, down to making sure Scylla has her vaccinations and medications, I have 36 days worth of MY medications (*see below), bills are paid, transportation is coordinated between multiple legs of the trip, payments are processed… do I really need to go on? The only thing left to do now is pack… oh, and buy a water bottle with a filter.

    * Here is the “below” part that I suggested in the above paragraph you see.  If you’ve ever been on any sort of anti-depressant, especially SNRIs, you are already well aware that one day of missed medication can make you feel, well, “puddin’-headed.” Some folks get the “brain zaps.” The only way I’ve been able to describe either of those sensations is like this: you know the sound the light saber makes? That electric “wonh wwoonnh” sound? It’s as if the sound had a physical manifestion that warped its way through the body and back, and when you turn to see where it came from, your eyes don’t have the ability to keep up with your head or the question. Got it?  And that’s just from missing one dose. Two missed doses, and ya might as well stay home. No sense in driving. Three or more missed doses? Let’s just not even get out of bed, because you’ll have to walk with your torso leaning forward at a 45 degree angle, or the whole world starts spinning in exactly the wrong direction. My point is this: I need to make sure I have my meds. And don’t think for one sec that I’m forgetting about migraine medications. Those bad boys are miracle workers that, while they literally make me want to peel my skin off, have saved my life and the lives of many others. And I’m not about to ruin my dream vacation with f’n migraines. Hell, maybe I won’t even have them, #nostress, but I’m not taking any chances. Thanks for letting me share. 

    Let’s discuss the packing, shall we? According to G Adventures, I’m limited to 15 kg of luggage plus a day pack, However, the flight from the yoga retreat to the Masai Mara is on a puddle-jumper, and I’m limited to 15 kg TOTAL. Do y’all KNOW me? My hair products alone weigh at least 5 kg. BTW, 15 kg is approximately 33 lbs, and that’s counting the weight of the luggage itself. I think what I’m learning is a lesson in minimalism. I do think that so many of us non-nomadic types have this in common: we overpack and tend to wear the same damn thing over and over. So, I’m trying to narrow it down while taking into consideration that it’s Winter in South Africa, and I’ll practically be on the Equator in AFRICA for the last 2 weeks. Thanks to my dear friend, Erica Garafolo, and her brilliant ideas, I went Goodwill hunting, focused on the green and brown sections, and bought an entire trips worth of clothes for less than a safari jacket at REI. As I start to get a sense of clothing consistency, I can give away clothes I’m not using. Full circle, my friends.  Aaaannnnd, today I found out that The Safari Cottages in Ol Pejeta will be supplying our yoga mats! How incredibly sweet and awesome is that? Literally saves a a pound or two of space! This is why I can’t sleep at night… the details, the details. So thank you for reading what has allowed me a distraction from my details and my countdown, which is now 32 days, 20 hours, and 42 minutes. Just sayin’…

    The Goingest Person goes to Birmingham

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    Back in November 2016 when I took the holiday-discount Motorcycle Safety Foundation course, I had ZERO intention of even getting a license.  When the instructors asked each of us why we were taking the course, I answered with what seemed like a perfectly sincere and honest answer for the only woman in the class. “I’m taking the course because I’m tired of being scared.” Wha!?!? What kind of on-the-spot BS is that? First of all, that is so NOT why I was there. Second of all, I’m still scared, and I hope I stay a little scared.. My motives shall remain a mystery to you, dear reader, but I think about that answer every now and then, and wish I wouldn’t have tried to be so damn profound.

    Anyhoo, here is my motorcycle progression, minus an actual timeline. The quotes are real.

    “I’m going to take the course, but I’m not going to get my license. No interest. Just want to see if I can pass.”

    “I dropped the bike while stopped. Just fell over. There’s no way I’m going to pass.” (Passes.)

    “I passed. But I’m still not getting a license.” (Gets license.)

    “I’m only getting my license because it will look cool to have “M”class on it,  but I’m not going to get a motorcycle.” (Gets motorcycle.)

    “I’m going to ride in a straight line forever.” (In tears… a complete meltdown because I was/am the most incapable human EVER.)

    “I’m never leaving the Value Village parking lot.” Fact: the parking lot at Value Village on Moreland used to be home to a driver’s license office/test course. I honestly believed I would be perfectly happy riding around in a parking lot. I could tell folks, “Yeah, I ride,” and they wouldn’t have to know my DLS. (Exited parking lot.)

    “I’m never going on Moreland.” (Drove down Moreland.)

    “I’m never going to go over 30 mph.” (Not going to tell you WHAT I’ve done.)

    “I’m never going to get on the freeway… on 400… on the connector… in the mountains… definitely not 285… get a bike bigger than a 500… ride alone… ” (Done. Done. Done. Done. Done.)

    Welp… TODAY, I took my Ducati 696 to Birmingham for a test run… with a license, out of the Value Village parking lot, around corners, off Moreland, on freeways. I’m still scared, and at times downright terrified.

    But here’s the best part: While sitting at Fast Food Restaurant, Guy sits down a few chairs away and says to me, “Who rides the Ducati?”

    “Ummm… That would be me.”