We're really in Africa ... finally!!!

Well, Allison and I have been preparing for this move to Swaziland for about 6 months, and now, as we are horribly jet-lagged in the wee hours of the morning in a pleasant and comfortable hotel room just a few kilometers from the Johannesburg airport, we are on the brink.  I was telling people in the States that it hadn’t hit me yet that we were really moving to Swaziland, probably because there was just so much to do that I didn’t have time think about it.  But it finally hit me, of all times, when we were waiting – waiting, it turns out, in the wrong place for the shuttle bus that would take us to our hotel [LOL -- I’ve traveled enough cross-culturally to expect these kinds of things].   

The 18-hour flight had been largely uneventful (thanks be to God!).  William had charmed our entire side of the plane and only cried a few times in the early morning hours when he was trying to go to sleep but having trouble.  I didn’t even watch one movie the entire flight, as is my usual habit on trans-Atlantic flights.  I was so tired that I slept whenever I could in between tending to William.  After landing in Johannesburg, jovially being moved to the front of the customs line on account of the baby with us, having a disagreement over the tip with a porter who was pushing our luggage cart, we waited in the wrong place for well over an hour for our hotel shuttle.  Well, actually we were in the right place, but the shuttle driver could not get his airport badge to work, so he was picking up passengers in a different place that was outside the airport bus terminal.  That was when it hit me, standing outside the bus terminal in the Johannesburg airport, that we were not in the US any more and would not be going back anytime soon.

Of course, in America, the solution to the problem I described would be to print out signs, even ones crudely made if necessary, that briefly described the problem and pointed to where the pickup would occur.  Of course, this is a perfectly reasonable solution if the over-riding objective is for people to be able to find their way by themselves without having to ask anyone for help.  I’ve learned in my travels that in other parts of the world, people do not even remotely think this way.  Rather, the assumption is that people will talk to one another and figure things out collectively – which is precisely what happened.  It simply took a lot of time.  Here’s what happened: after we had waited about an hour (and a collection of others were starting to congregate who were waiting for the same shuttle), one of the porters who was buzzing around helping people with their luggage noticed that we had been standing there for an awfully long time without being taken away by one of the many shuttle busses going to and from the terminal.  He asked us where we wanted to go, I said, “The Life Hotel,” and he said, “OK, it is coming.”   

After about ten minutes, he noticed that we still weren’t gone, so he asked us again where we were going.  I responded the same way, and he said, “I will go find out.”  He disappeared and came back a few minutes later describing the problem with the driver’s security badge.  He didn’t know exactly where the driver would come, but he said that he would find out.  It took about ten more minutes, but he was true to his word.  He found out where the bus would come, alerted us when it arrived, and helped us get around the corner to the correct area to get the bus.  And of course, in return for his help, I gave him a tip.  It’s what makes the wheels of African society (and others around the world as well) go round; but it is most definitely not the American way.  I suppose folks could debate about which way is better, but that would probably be a fruitless exercise.  Hence my “culture adaptation” mantra, learned through a good many cultural mis-haps in life: It’s not good or bad, it’s just different. (Funny enough, I heard this saying first from an African, talking about adjusting to American culture!)

We got to our hotel and checked into our room, which was lovely, then sauntered down to the restaurant to eat our dinner, which was delicious.   We passed a fitful night of sleep – well, Allison less than me – then made the rather uneventful final leg of our trip to Swaziland.  Ten years (to the month!) after hearing God’s call to the continent of Africa, I (or I should say, "we") have finally arrived.