i have seen people lying in the ward beds, blankets up to their chin, eyes glassed over with pain, unable to produce more than feeble movements. when the clinical officer asks them how they are feeling, they very often respond with a small smile: “i’m just a bit okay.”

Friday morning, a flock of vice grips descended upon my stomach with their tightening and painful screws. thankfully it seemed to just be a stomach bug and only lasted a few hours, but there was a point when i could have mumbled my own version of: “i’m just a bit okay, doctor.”

i decided to forge ahead with the “weekend of R&R” anyway. and, so far, i’m sort of sad and glad i did.

as i climbed onto the huge overlander truck that was to take us across the border, there were 14 other girls aboard. four of the girls taking up the two long bench seats in the front were wearing blue t-shirts with bright yellow lettering that read: ONE HOT MUZUNGU with three short vertical lines underneath. this was the self-named Awesome Foursome: three Americans from various backgrounds and an Irish girl who had just passed her med board exams. they all had matching burn tattoos of three lines, similar to the island initiation on the movie The Beach, but on their wrists instead of upper arms. they were embarassingly loud. i sort of regretted deciding to spend money to be with these people, but then again, who am i to judge? of course it turned out that each and every person was lovely and funny, even if they could be frighteningly loud, obnoxious, and intimidating in a group.*

the trip was rocky (as the overlander truck always is) and mostly uneventful. every time we stopped, hawkers flaunted their copper bracelets, carvings, bowls, and necklace charms at us. the border was busy and completely disorganized. without a line to indicate order, we all just stood in a group and pushed forward to get our passports stamped. i purchased my Canadian visa for $65US and headed back to the truck to wait for the others.

upon reaching Zimbabwe, our first stop was the booking office where our lion walk and horse safari are organized. it was there that we learned there is absolutely no fuel** in town and, more surprisingly, no cash. it is apparently impossible to get local currency anywhere. we were all armed with American dollars which, thankfully, are accepted at most touristy locations, but would not be viable at local shops. plus, you pay a lot more for things if you buy with US dollars instead of Zim dollars. the current exchange rate is around 120,000 Zim to $1US. insane. we later found small amounts of Zim dollars to change ($20US or so at a time) to cover most small local purchases.

feeling a bit uneasy at the obnoxiousness of my weekend mates, i nevertheless was determined to have a good time. i joined everyone at the infamous Shoestrings bar for pizza and $1 drinks. the pizza was amazing, even though it took nearly 2 hours for our order to arrive. and the cheap beer (Lion Lager was recommended to me by the barman because they were out of local Zambezi brew) hit the spot. in turn, i hit the sack earlier than everyone else: home around 930pm. most of the rest of my room stumbled in closer to 1am. throughout the evening, Jonathan and i carried on a text message conversation with lots of holes as half the messages didn’t seem to get through.

i am typing this at 8am Saturday morning, as i wait for the other 5 people who are coming on the horse safari at 9am. i’m sitting by the pool at Villa d’Afrique and my fingers are freezing. i have two sweaters on and am hoping the sun will get hot quickly.

i woke up this morning thinking about the last time i was on a horse. it was in Squamish as a surprise birthday present for an ex-boyfriend, probably 4 years ago. we clopped through the Brackendale area that is filled with bald eagles during the salmon migration. i was in awe of the animals carrying us. and consistently on the edge of fear. i guess that’s the definition of “adventure”, eh? doing something you both respect and fear at the same time.

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*upon re-reading i almost deleted that entire paragraph… i really have enjoyed the company of most everyone i have met here at African Impact and was afraid it painted an overly negative or judgmental picture of some of the volunteers. i have decided to leave my initial impression intact for posterity. i only hope that if any of the girls read this, i will already be several thousand miles away from them because i know they could physically kick my ass. : ))

**i later learned from a taxi driver that they get their petrol for $4US/litre on the black market. there is occasionally petrol (as opposed to diesel) available at the regular gas stations, but not often. and it has been that way for ~5 years.

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