Home Sweet Home

Exactly a week ago, I sat restless on a speedy jet, heading for Johannesburg, in the fourth hour of what would be a 32-hour trek back up and across the world to get back to my favorite place on Earth—home.

Was my 32-hour odyssey all fun and games? OF COURSE NOT. There was the dressing disaster, in which South Africa’s TSA agents made me pour my tiny plastic container of balsamic all over my steak salad because, ya know, no liquids. There was the TV terror, reminiscent of the flight to South Africa, in which my TV and the TV of the fellow next to me (did I just use the word fellow…?) completely broke one hour in to our sixteen hour flight. It got fixed, but I was frightened for a good half hour. And finally, the crying calamity, in which I sobbed openly at the JetBlue check-in counter at JFK airport, changing my flight to three hours EARLIER in order to surprise my family.

Yes, I flew into LAX at 2 PM instead of Long Beach at 5 PM so that my grandmother could pick me up and shuttle me to my parents and sisters in order to shock and please them. While there weren’t any immediate tears (direct quote from Sierra: “what are you doing here?”), emotions began to flow a little later after the reality of my presence sunk in.

It’s been a week of dogs, family time, unbelievable food, and relaxation. The normalcy of being home makes me feel as though these past four months were a blurry, hard-to-grasp dream. Was I really in India? Did I actually see Iguassu? It seems absolutely unbelievable, and my ease in settling back in to my old routine sometimes eclipses the emotional, physical, mental journey I’ve undertaken.

But there are moments that remind me of my transformation and of my new world outlook and experience. My ability to have a frank and educated conversation about my best friend’s grandmother’s homeland (India), and the differences between Delhi, Mumbai, and Ahmedabad. My impassioned defenses of a black township a few miles outside of Cape Town, and my own observations of systemic racism in South Africa. My flashbacks to Sao Paulo, and the gorgeous sunsets and sunrises, as well as the stunning physical beauty of Brazil.

Adults and peers look at me differently; I’m a little more respected, and they’re a little more attentive. It’s exciting, as I love that I can speak about issues, circumstances, locales, and ideas that are important to me, and people will really listen. But it’s also stressful—do I actually even know that much? Am I a fraud? I find myself picking and choosing my battles, attempting to discern which statements I should defend, in which instances I should remain silent, because maybe I’m wrong. I need to work on engaging in conversations and accepting that I may have a long debate and either fail to convince my listener or fail to make my argument effectively—and that’s okay. It’s about learning and trying and, yeah, failing every once in a while. I’ll figure it out soon.

Honestly, though, I’m just enjoying being back with the people whom I love the most, in the place I love most. I am using every moment to appreciate the blessings that I have, especially those which I have recently realized are utter blessings (i.e. flushing toilet paper). I haven’t quite figured out yet how I’m going to utilize everything I’ve seen and heard and learned, but I know I won’t forget it. And I think (I hope) that it’s already made me a better daughter, friend, world citizen, individual. I think that I can say with confidence that I must be the luckiest person in the world.

But hey—that’s about enough for now. Depending on how exciting my summer is, I may be posting more about my adventures over the next few months in a rather surprising place: Montana! I’ll be interning with a judge in Billings for all of June and July, and I’m hoping to take a few road trips through the mountain states with my favorite companion--Socks, the sassy but sweet ten-year-old daschund-chihuahua mix.

Thank you so, so much for reading over the last four months, and thank you for laughing with (at) me, crying with me, and living my journey with me. I’ll be back soon!

With all of the love in my wanderlusting heart,

Aubrey Stoddard

Well, Hell.

(From April 30)

Well. What to even say about these past few days… As I wrote previously, I was expecting a relaxing bonding experience with my close friends on this program. Boy was I wrong.

I don’t want to go into details, partly to protect the privacy of those on my program, and partly because I don’t think I can handle reliving all of the events of the last sixty or so hours, but it was, to be blunt, the retreat from hell. The literal plague hit; there was fighting, there was debauchery, there was betrayal… It was an episode out of some apocalyptic horror drama movie. I thought it’d be rejuvenating, but I’m just more exhausted and homesick and ready to be away from the majority of these individuals than ever before.

On the bright side, I solidified the friendships that I knew were true and really found out who my dearest friends are. I have deep admiration for so many people on this program (not all, but many), and that’s a dear gift.

I leave tomorrow on a plane, heading back to the States and to home and to those whom I love most in the world. The WiFi at the hostel of course doesn’t work (duh), so I’ll be chatting with friends and sleeping all night with few distractions.

I can’t wait to be home.

Aubrey

Sinking In, Staying Afloat

(From April 27)

It’s really beginning to sink in. That I’m leaving. That this experience is ending. That I’m about to become an alumna of a program that has shaped, transformed, shocked, overwhelmed me. These past few days have provided ample free time to chill and giggle with friends, to process my past four months and to begin an attempt to understand what I’ve seen. So I’ll give you a little rundown.

Monday lacked any scheduled programming, as we were given the entire day to work on our final papers. I headed into Observatory, the nearby neighborhood, around 10 AM with three of my core five, and one of the others joined around 11. We procrastinated heavily for a few hours, laughing over brunch and savoring the delicious French toast along with the sweet company. I honestly fritted my time away on YouTube, and Facebook, and Twitter until, like, 3 PM, which I think I totally deserve, given my (forced) abstinence from social media sites during this WiFi drought. But more than anything, I enjoyed an entire free day with the people whom I adore. They’re funny, headstrong, humorous, compassionate, and loyal—these women are by far some of the best friends that I’ve ever had, and ever will have. I’m so lucky to have met them on this journey.

I finished my CA on Monday, but more importantly, I finished producing an unbelievable music video of my safari to the song “Africa” by Toto. I literally watch it five times a day, it’s beautiful.

Tuesday was technically my last day of spring semester. We turned in our final assignment at 9 AM and academically became seniors in college. WOW. How emotional to finish my second to last year of college in a foreign country, away from my university and school friends and normal environment. It was, funnily enough, one of the most meaningful moments that I shared with my peers on IHP. That made me happy.

What did not make me happy was the next four hours of class following the turning in of this final assignment. I’m totally not used to just sitting around in a classroom (or sitting around in general) following the finale of my academics. I’m usually on a flight within five hours of my last final or paper. Last semester, I was on a plane five days before my last take-home final!!! So, I was extremely restless in the classroom, wistfully contemplating the fact that it’s technically my summer and I’m still adhering to pretty rigorous programming. But finally, class sessions had finished, and I shared a congratulatory lunch with good friends. (See above for descriptions of such friends).

Dorothy, Cait, and I headed into the City Center a few hours later to shop for books (wahoo!!!) at the Book Lounge. We had an incredibly intriguing experience. First of all, we walked through the entrance to discover that an author was present, about to give a talk on her book. The first floor was absolutely packed with people, so we retreated to the basement for some space to search for novels. We found below free appetizers and wine. Now that’s my kind of book store. As I hovered by the hors d’oeuvres, distracted from literature by cream cheese and strawberries (separately), the introductory speaker began the talk, which we could hear over the intercom. Only a few seconds in, what sounded like a heckler began chirping in the background. Cait and I glanced at each other quizzically. Surely there was not a heckler at a book signing.

But indeed there was. Oh, there was. The introductory talker kept chuckling awkwardly as the heckler denounced, yes DENOUNCED (his word, not mine), the speaker. The speaker explained, nervously laughing, that this man was a “stalker” whom he’d convicted in court presiding as judge. Caitlin hurried up the stairs to catch sight of the confrontation, I stuck by the food table, taking advantage of the distraction to grab a handful of crackers and spread.

The man was eventually escorted out by security, and with the excitement dying down, the three of us checked out and made our way out of the Book Lounge. We headed to Long Street, the main road in town, for quick celebration of the end of the semester, then called an Uber to go home.

We ended up having an extremely frustrating and rather saddening experience. Now, we have been taking Uber incessantly over the past two and a half weeks, and drivers never fail to be surprised that they are picking up random white girls from Langa. Langa, yes, is historically black—indeed, was created specifically for the segregation of blacks from the whites in the City Center—so surprise isn’t that, well, surprising. However, last night, a driver refused—yes, refused—to take us back to Langa, because it was, in his opinion, “unsafe.”

Um okay what? I was angry for multiple reasons. First of all, how insulting to the individuals that live there (less even to the three of us customers) to refuse service simply because of a stereotype of a place you’ve probably never been. Second of all, helloooo, we are three twenty-something girls going to the place that we live. We’ve been residing there for weeks, and nothing has happened. And now you, a middle-aged man, are too nervous to drive in and out of a residential neighborhood on a Tuesday because of safety? Give me a break. FINALLY—what place is not unsafe??? As a woman, or as a man, when are you ever able to completely let down your guard and just live with abandon? Show me one city in the world (besides Singapore, apparently, which hasn’t had a murder in two decades) that is “safe.” Refuse to drive me to Boston, refuse to drive me to LA or Manhattan or Tel Aviv, because those are all “unsafe.” Pathetic. Lose me business, and enjoy your one-star rating. Rant over.

I woke up multiple times throughout the night, because I was simply so excited for the dawn of a day closer to the day I go home. But first—retreat.

My entire program, professors, students, and faculty, are on an apple orchard/vineyard about an hour out of Cape Town. For miles all around is only gorgeous rolling hills and farmland. We moved into our dorms (replete with eleven beds per room) and settled in for three days of decompressing, synthesis, and preparation for reentry into our home countries after four months abroad.

Wow. Tall order.

Today actually was really great, though. I read my book, napped, went on a jog for the first time in months, ate food, watched movies, and chatted with dear friends. But as I relax, I begin to feel melancholy and anxiety and loneliness set in. It’s kind of like I’ve only been able to store the past four months in my short-term memory; I’ve been living day to day, attempting to just stay afloat. Now, I have the time to actually breathe and think and reflect, and I’m beginning to put all of these memories into the hard drive of my brain (sorry, mixing metaphors here). And, as I do so, I’m forced to confront the discomfort of my failures over the past four months, as well as the dejection of leaving behind all of the wonderful things I’ve encountered and done. I’m quite tired, and I’m unable to lay out details about those two categories, but I definitely feel quite lonely in thinking about how I’m going to deal with all of the upcoming emotions and stages of memory/regret/sadness/etc. in the coming weeks and months. Hopefully, though, I can shed some of this instinctual introversion over the next few days in order to live fully in the moment and appreciate those around me.

But now… It’s time for sleep.

All my love,

Aubrey