Part of why I wanted to live in Africa is because it is a place that inspires my imagination and causes me to write out of interest and conviction. But in order that I live here, well, I need a day job. That day job, and night job, and almost every minute of the day, week, and month job is managing a safari camp.
So, like any naughty aspiring author, I faithfully failed to write almost every day because, in short, I was busy. I knew the job would be hectic and demanding, much more so than my 9-5 office job I held in Canada, but I did not know it would be as grueling and challenging as it was, and is, at times. The entire job is about being there for other people’s needs. Hosting guests in the high expectations/high stakes safari industry is what I imagine to be a bit like having a baby. I emphasize the words ‘a bit’ as I can hear mothers around the world gasp and claim nothing, absolutely nothing, is as tough as raising a child. But, anyway, guests do not care if you are tired, if your feet ache, if you miss your friends, if you don’t have time to do your own laundry. If they want their shirts laundered, their agent contacted, if they change their mind and want chicken instead of fish as the fish is being set down in front of them, it was my responsibility to see it all got done. On top of that, I had to have staff meetings, deal with at least one staff member a day that inevitably needed to go out of camp for something, make up schedules, write feedback reports, etc. What I am trying to justify here is that I was often just too exhausted, and too hot (particularly in the summer months) to write. I need time and peace and quiet to write, of which I rarely had. Life was go, go, go, admittedly an odd proximity to the serenity of the bush. Challenges were being thrown at me from every angle – personal and professional and I had little time for perspective. My pen rarely knows joy and pain; more contemplation and remembrance.
Then an opportunity came. As the rains departed and the landscape dried up I was able to hop on a safari one night and drive out to the pans. And suddenly the ink began to flow again and this time contemporaneously and extemporaneously with the trip. So here it is – June 2010:
“As I drive out here after more than a six month absence, after eight months of living in Africa, I still can’t explain this place – there are no words. This killing silence kills your speech, but it enlivens everything else.
It is amazing to me how nothing can look so different and stir so much each time. There is nothing here but space for your imagination. Well that and magnificent colours and a horizon that is 360 degrees around you.
It has been a rough few months since the honeymoon of being new in Africa has worn off. Levels of insanity-inducing stress at work, miscommunications and mishaps at every turn, physical illness and injuries, emotional illness and injuries, strained relationships, broken relationships. But then there have been forged relationships, baby steps of successes, changing African seasons and the pans…again.
The dry season here drives a lot of life out, but for me it has brought back the experience of the pans and with it, the clarity, the sublimity and the peace. I feel here. Here, armed with only my journal and my pen, I can conquer my dream. I could even conquer Africa. Basically, here is a place where you feel everything will be okay.”
It has now been several more months of living in Africa as well as going back to Canada for two month long visits since I wrote this entry. I have kept my resolve to stay in Africa and stay in the safari industry. I have moved on from the camp in the Makgadikgadi, Botswana, and while I will miss the people and the pans I am excited for new challenges in the magical paradise that is the Okavango Delta with elephants every day. Elephants that never cease to amaze me and set my soul alight. Stay tuned…please!
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