I was never so
happy as to touch solid ground in Swakopmund. I had no urge to look back at the
truck that had carried me across the desert, when it pulled away from me. Good
riddance. The dual drivers had tarnished my sense of security and shortened a
few years off my life. I had battled groping hands and a sense of doubt in
humanity. Despite my fears though, I had made it.
As I settled
into the bar at a new hostel, my first sip of Windhoek beer was like heaven. I
had earned this beer, but somehow felt like I didn’t deserve it. My sense of being
tainted left me feeling dirty. I could not change the past though, so instead
let it go with hope for a new day bringing fresh smiles and happiness.
Tomorrow, I
would see the ocean again. The South Atlantic was just outside my view, but I
could feel the salt air on my skin. It was a new coast for me and I was excited
to see these western waves. For the time being, I looked forward to my first
bed in three nights and a safe roof over my head. I enjoyed the stability of
being stationary, the solitude of being solo and the peace that came with my
pen on paper. A cold beer helped my troubles melt away and my journal reminded
me that lessons can always be learned. The sun would rise again and I was
blessed to be able to witness it.
A toast to Swakopmund.