aglow

I've met an angel of understanding 

that lights my path with love,

peace and 

pieces of me

gently given back

all aglow

~

The Night Ride

The happiness I felt at rolling along again was sadly short lived. While I received the luxury of sitting in the front seat, I quickly found that my driver was not nearly as courteous as the last driver. He had a certain tone to his voice that made my smile fade a little. I tried to focus on the road ahead gamely, but could not ignore the noises that soon began to filter forward from the back bunk.  

Things seemed to be going from bad to worse.

As the sun set, we drove along in darkness. Few other vehicles passed us by. We were in the desert, driving towards the coast and it seemed even more isolated now that the sun was gone. The only thing that illuminated the night sky was the truck’s headlights carving a path through the inky gloom. What was worse, was that with two drivers, one could sleep while the other drove, keeping the truck moving 24-7. There was always a set of watchful eyes. It did not escape me either, that it didn’t sound like the man in the back was getting any sleep. There was much rustling of bodies and muffled grunts. While I could not understand the actual words that were being said, I got the feeling that the young woman in the back was not interested in the advances that were being foisted upon her. I stared out the windshield, trying to figure out how I could best help the poor girl.

Then a hand materialized on my leg.

I instantly pushed it away, but my hackles were now up and raised high. “Oh lord, how the hell was I going to get out of this truck?” my brain desperately demanded. The lascivious smile of the driver made me recoil and pull tighter into myself. This was not good. Not good at all. The girl in the back seemed to be doing an adequate job of keeping the second driver away from herself, but things were getting decidedly dangerous. It was dark out. We were literally miles from nowhere and our apparent saviours had turned into fiends that were attempting to extract their fare for passage in flesh.

Then the drivers switched places. And so did myself and my other hapless companion. Now she was in the front seat and I was on the bunk, but sleep was the farthest thing from my mind. I was young, white and vulnerable as a female traveler at the mercy of these strange men. As fingers began to crawl up my leg, I kicked and began to pray. My words felt hollow and useless in a foreign tongue, but I used them none the less.

“No!” I said. “Stop it!”

And yet they still kept coming. I kept insisting on being left alone, trying to make myself as small and inaccessible as possible. My brain found the image of God, and despite not having had much use for his omnipotent powers in the past, I now began to beg favours at a rapid pace. I beseeched his sense of fairness, good and integrity. My body was taut and tense with the strain of resistance and my willing of a positive energy to intervene. My tone became more strident, as I pleaded with higher powers to please release me from this state of strife. As one side of my brain grappled with images of worst case scenarios, I distinctly heard my mother warning me against talking to strangers and the bad things that could happen. “Please, please”, I begged. Let this not be the time when she would be right!

Gradually, my molester began to lose interest in the chase. Perhaps sleep got the better of him, or perhaps his soul realized that what he was attempting to do was the wrong thing. Whatever it was, that night my Guardian Angels earned their places in the Heavens for eternity. I wanted to cry, sob or scream, but my fight or flight response had me wired into a ball ready to attack if necessary. I occasionally felt a hand explore to see if perhaps I was asleep or had changed my mind, but a swift shove let him know that I was not up for a night of ‘fun’. Long after he turned over and curled up to go to sleep, I lay tightly in the corner of the bunk, my breath ragged in my chest. I no longer considered hitch-hiking to be the free and easy ride I once thought of it as. I somehow felt like I used up one of my lives that night. In the end, I never wanted it back. 

On The Road

After driving through Rundu and Grootfontein, we ended up in Tsumeb, where I spent another night on the ground under chilly cloudless skies. My travelling companions were headed to Etosha to take in some game viewing, but I had had enough. While I would have loved to see Namibia’s premiere game reserve, I could not afford to continue with my new friends. My pennies were feeling pinched and the date on my airline ticket had me counting the days. So I bid adieu to my rag-taggle group, was charged for gas and rental fees while in their car, and departed from them N$122.50 lighter. At that rate, if I had continued with them, I would have been left in the middle of the game park to bunker down with the lions again! Egad!

So I struck out on my own again, this time with my thumb as my only travelling companion. It was a brand new day and my third in Namibia. It was about to get a little more exciting, but NOT in a way that I would have liked. In fact, it shaped up to be one of the scariest days that I endured throughout my whole  stay in Africa.

So after my rented ride roared off, with high spirits I plunked my backpack on the side of the road and stuck my thumb in the direction of passing vehicles. It didn’t take long before one of those motorists stopped. In hindsight, I wish he had not, but things happen for a reason and on that day, I climbed in with a gracious smile. For my efforts, a crooked smile was returned, before the driver aimed his car back onto the road. The word “aim” was the best description for what he was attempting. I quickly discovered that my driver was three sheets, or more, to the wind. He reeked of booze and swerved all over the road. Every time he talked to me, the car veered in the direction that his head was facing in. I was terrified. My smile turned from gratitude to horror, as I clutched at the door, bracing for impact with oncoming vehicles. I knew it was a miracle that the driver did not flip the car every time he grazed onto the gravel shoulders and manically thanked my guardian angels for every near miss. Their wings were fluttering like mad that day.

How I got out of the car, I have blocked from my memory, but suffice it to say that I did. I felt like I was down a life or two, but still had miles to go before I could call anyplace home. With a little more trepidation, I clung to the side of the road again, praying that my angels would forgive me my transgressions from months gone by. Cars zoomed by and I remained where I was. I was only half discouraged, as my last ride remained fresh in my mind.

The arrival of a young woman broke me from my train of thought. She appeared to be about my age, perhaps a little younger, maybe a little older. It was hard to tell and no common language could rectify that. She was obviously a local woman and travelled with a large bag, minus the live chickens that I had become accustomed to.  I remembered that I was in Namibia though, and life here was a little more progressive. While both of us were still hitchhiking, it was on a good paved road and lines even ran down the middle of it to define left from right. As it was obvious that we were going in the same direction, we both gravitated towards each other, despite our lack of verbal communication. A shy smile passed between us and that was enough to let us know that we were on the same path. So when a big rig applied his brakes and rolled to a stop, we both ran together to jump in for the next leg of our journeys. I prayed that this ride would prove to be less eventful.

I Remember...

Memories:

 *Splashing in huge puddles at the side of the road as we walked home from school in spring/summer. We would yell to the passing cars to "speed up" and "splash us! splash us!" laughing madly every time we got soaked to the skin. Truly a dirty little experience and dirty little memory, but a smile drifts in...

*The smell of fresh bread baking in Grandma's kitchen was enough to make any soul salivate, with little hands and faces plastered to the oven door to watch the golden goodness rise to its full glory. Any leftover dough (and Grandma always made sure there was a little left over for her googly-eyed Grandkids) was transformed into fried treats sprinkled with sugar. We thought we had died and gone to heaven...

*Staring up into my Mother's spent face as she explained that my Father had died. Our vigil was over. This was my time to say goodbye, before life moved on. Standing at the side of the bed I stared. My five year-old brain did not have the words to say a thing. I stared and stared. Life moved on...

*Sitting in the back of a speeding big rig in nowhere Namibia wondering what had possessed me to think that hitch-hiking was okay, and safe, and a good idea? Screaming to my guardian angels to please, please, PLEASE help me out of this one. "One day I would grow up and realize that I wasn't indestructible and if I could just get this little favour and end up outside of this truck in one piece mentally and physically, I would Learn!" One scary lesson to learn from those said angels. Thank you

*Having wave after wave of the worst pain I had ever experienced slam into me. Looking up into my husband's eyes knowing that just his presence alone was enough for me to keep going. Wanting release, but not wanting to give up for me and for the baby inside of me. The blessed bundle ratcheting my pelvis into a position it felt appropriate regardless of my physiology. Knowing that I could do it, despite everything my body tried to connive me into. And doing it. Breathing with wide-open eyes as the miracle of life was bestowed upon me. A shared moment of love with this man. This man that I had walked with, talked with and now created with. We made life eternal in the form of a tiny human girl. My touch with perfection and the pristine pool of pure love.

*Opening up the newspaper and seeing my face and my name perched beside an article written by my hand. Knowing that I had received my five minutes of fame by reaching out to touch the world with a picture that I could share of me to whomever was willing to read. And knowing that people read, cared and liked what I had to offer, even going so far as a brief TV time slot. Pride and fame are mine...

*Taking my two girls by hand and walking with them into the future. Approaching the building that represents their start of tomorrow, their independence. Breathing smiles into me and my progeny. We have been one. Love binds us together. Trust must let me walk beside them for a distance

    and then wave goodbye...

School starts September.

Change comes eternal for me and you

Never stand in way

Monday wanes philosophic

Bed ways is right ways, but a comment to the world at large before sleep steals my soul.
   We all live in our own world. We have control over our world and no one else's. We may touch and influence those around us, but ultimately they are in control of their own destinies. Our children make their own minds up even as infants. We can offer and help shape, but no one can make up all the decisions. Even in acquiescing we make that decision. In that way we come at the world as individuals. No one has lived your life and you cannot live anyone else's. Your burdens are your own. If we reach out and ask for help and get nothing, that is all we can expect. If someone reaches out and offers a hand when we are fallen and dirty, this is a joy we can cherish. We might fall at something big or something little. Who is to say that my big is not really little or your little is truly huge. It is all relative. We can only view it through our own filter. Ultimately we can only live our own life, so what does it matter what the next person's burden is. We all have our burdens and they are own own to carry. Mine is mine and not anyone else's. It is as much as I can and need to carry. I do not need to worry that someone else's burden looks different than mine. We can help and offer to share. That is a beautiful thing, but it does not always happen. At times it should not happen either, as we only live one life and it is ours. It is yours alone. You walk side by side, not in each other's footsteps. If you are lucky enough to have someone to walk beside. Some days you may see no one, but you would be surprised that some days when it feels like you will never see a soul again an army of angels is there helping to carry the load. I can look at my darkest hours and see the angels. Some days they were subtle. Some days it was overwhelming. I share, but this is my experience. Mine alone that I cannot replicate or do over. I control me. Myself alone. That is enough. Enough for me. Enough for one night. Enough for anyone.