I recently met up with another PCV in Vryburg for the day. Transportation from my village to Vryburg is shady, I waited for a taxi to take me across the village to the official-unofficial bakkie rank. A bakkie is a small pick-up truck with a camper top over the bed, and benches along the sides for people to sit. If you sit in the back, you can't sit up straight and your knees hit you in the chest at the big bumps. In the front and back of my bakkie we squeezed 15 adults and 2 toddlers. Then we're flying down dirt roads at bone-jarring speeds for the first half of the trip. The second half is on paved roads, at faster speeds. The woman next to me starts breastfeeding her kid, with no concerns at all about the man driving or any show of modesty. The kid was feeding and stroking whatever part of me she could reach, the mom didn't care, I couldn't move and I didn't want to say anything to rock the boat. But it was awkward.
Arriving in Vryburg, the grannies (gogos) in the bakkie all ask me if I'm okay, where I'm going and who I'm meeting. So I call Oratile to see where she is. (By the way, she has a 3 1/2 hour trip to Vryburg and beat me there!) The gogos walk me to the grocery store to meet her, because "Vryburg is dangerous, it is not good for you." Apparently there are still terrible race relations there and troublesome gangs.
It was the first time I'd seen Oratile in 2 months, and we were thrilled to be hanging out. I was starting to come down with a cold, my brain was a little fuzzy so I lost track of my stories a lot and had a delayed reaction to any question put to me. So I'm sure I wasn't the best of company, but Oratile never let on. We got some groceries, I made a lot of impulse purchases like cheese and raman noodles, then we checked the heaviest stuff at the baggage counter, and walked up the street to a sea food restaurant. I've bragged about the sushi before but it was even better this time! We both loved the meal. Dessert was milkshakes from KFC. I was wearing a University of Kentucky shirt and the guys working there teased me that UK means United Kingdom, then they realized Kentucky meant Colonel Sanders and had all the employees looking at me. (Aside, KFC is incredibly popular here, the line was out the door at that store all day. And getting food was surprisingly efficient, I think faster than in the US.) I saw a fan in a store window and had to buy one. For only R120 (about $15) I got a 16 inch (English units?) standing fan, a huge necessity because it's literally been about 95 degrees Farenhiet all week, and supposed to be this way until March.
At the taxi rank, I checked my bags at the bakkie and went with Oratile to her taxi to meet her host sister. We only just arrived when two guys started to hit on us, the sister and a co-worker ran them off for us. Oratile says it's a slow day when she gets no marriage proposals, I laughed because I've received very little unwanted attention, and only 9th graders ask for my number. All too soon she was off and I was waiting at my bakkie.
Waiting with some grandfathers and a very pregnant woman. Some drunk, petite old man comes up to me, grasps my shoulders and tries to take me to the bar with him. I said, "no, I'm waiting here for my transport." Then he tries to pull me along with him, says he'll give me his number and we'll get married. (Remember that 10 minutes ago I was laughing about the lack of unwanted attention? Joke's on me.) I finally manage to disconnect his hands from my arms, and immediately some of the grandfathers step in between us and tell the drunk off. He tries to hand me a CD but the men stand firm and he leaves.
I always assumed the gogos would take care of me, but these men are even friendlier. They get me a chair and keep me company, on the ride back they keep me talking so the miles fly by. The gogos have to give the bakkie driver directions to my house, it's amazing how everyone knows where I live and how to get me there. This is at least the second time complete strangers to me have taken me straight home. I only had two bug shoulder bags and a small box to carry, but Resego (the 3-year-old) ran out to help me. He carried in my fan (the box) and tried to look through all my purchases. He got mad when I wouldn't share my coke with him.
So I ran him out and he took my finger (he's cute when he wants something) to lead me into the house. Mom was gone somewhere and the boys were alone, we watched Terminator and played like we had the same weapons and fighting ability until they accidentally kicked each other hard enough to bruise. Then we played outside until mom came home at dark. When I finally put my groceries away, it was 9 hours after I'd bought the cheese, it was all misshapen from the heat. I tossed it in the fridge and am incredibly excited to have cheese and crackers for the next several days.
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