We spend the morning as planned, packing up,getting laundry (I could easily live with someone else doing and folding my laundry), heading for the airport. Our flight isn't until 12:30. Daniel is arriving at 1:30 about the same time we will be landing in Durban.
We have our last breakfast at Wimpey's with Shelley. Because we had so much time, Gila is able to call Jeff and call the bank about the difficulty she is having using the American debit card. There has been some tension between the two of us and while Shelley takes a bathroom break, Gila acknowledges some of the difficulties, but we decide to talk later.
Our flight is only an hour long and security is pretty cursory. I have a full water bottle and although I beep going through the metal detector, I am barely patted down. However, Gila has left her penknife in her purse. It is caught by the x-ray and Gila is given the choice of having it confiscated or leaving the security area to include it in her checked bag. Shelley is still near the security area and she gets the penknife as a souvenir of our visit.
The one area of our trip that I am consistently nervous about is making the proper connections. There was no problem in getting to Durban, but once at the meeting place for our shuttle, I begin to fret. I have no idea who to look for or what kind of vehicle we will be traveling in. I make a quick call to Mondli who tells me that a driver is on his way. I am so busy fretting and then relieved that a car is on the way, I forget to ask how to identify the driver and the car. At least fifteen minutes pass and no one has approached us as yet. I call Mondli once more.His driver has arrived,but again instead of asking for identifying features, I describe what we are wearing. Still no one approaches. Now I am really getting stressed and call yet again. This time I get a description of the car and driver. I have no difficulty finding the car, but there is no driver in sight. Finally after yet another call, I spy the driver approaching. He has looking for us inside the terminal, although we have been asked to wait outside.
Relieved, we settle into the car and begin the three hour drive to Sani Lodge. This is Friday and apparently, here too Friday traffic is heavy. Getting out of Durban is slow but soon we are on the highway watching mall after mall whiz by and making good time. Gila tries to engage the driver in conversation but it doesn't take long to realize that his English is very limited. When asked about crops we are passing, he replies with the name of the area. Other questions also have inappropriate answers so we ask that the music be turned up. He is listening to some type of Christian programming with childrens' songs like J-E-S-U-S to the tune of BINGO, not really an improvement. We are speeding along but it already feels like it is going to be a long ride when few queries are answered.
Once we pass Pietermarizburg the city after Durban, we leave the multi laned highway for secondary roads. It is still daylight but it seems that we may reach our destination by nightfall despite the initial heavy traffic. Just as I am feeling relief that my fears about poor connections have passed, the car loses power on an uphill climb. The driver pulls to the shoulder, stops and tries to restart the car a number of times to no avail. Now he uses his entire English vocabulary which consists of 17 swear words. He makes several phone calls, checks under the hood and says something about a rotor. Is it the fan belt I ask. It is.
The relief is short lived. The driver puts the car in neutral and allows the car to coast back down the hill gaining velocity as it rolls, on the narrow shoulder of the highway while traffic is quickly zipping past us. We stop on a wider shoulder, the driver opens the hood again and takes some tools out of the trunk. At this point, all the warnings I had heard about hijacking, mugging and assaulting came flooding into my brain. What if this driver is going to take our wallets, force us out of the car and leave us stranded? What if the car can't be fixed and we are stranded at the side of the road indefinitely? What if the driver doesn't notify his boss to explain we are stranded. What if we miss the Roof of Africa tour and are stranded? Stranded, as you can understand is the operative word. My hands are clammy. My mouth is dry. My heart is thumping in my chest.
Fortunately, one fear is soon dispelled. Our driver hands me the phone. It is Mondli. He apologizes for the delay and promises that another car will be there for us in twenty minutes. Well, at least someone knows we are stranded and a little of the anxiety dissipates.
Night falls very quickly in Africa. It was late afternoon when the car failed and there still was some sunshine, but by the time I learn the car is on its way, the grey of dusk has surrounded us. Soon the moon is visible. The stars start to sparkle. The southern cross and Orion's belt appear. Twenty minutes passes, forty minutes, still no car. The queasy unease floods back. I look around for any sign of civilization, no lights, no houses. What if the car can't find us and a dozen other what ifs clutter my brain. Finally, a car headed toward us flashes its lights and makes a u turn to park beside us. It only takes minutes for our baggage to be transferred into the rescue car and in no time we are off again.
I begin to relax, but within only seconds, my heart is thumping once more. The road is dark and winding with a speed limit of 80 kilometers an hour. I'm not very good at estimation, but the speed at which the landscape is flying by is a sure indicator that we were well beyond the speed limit. I glance over to the dashboard and the indicator is hovering between 100 and 120. I am not happy.
Our driver now catches up with slower traffic on the two lane highway and is determined to maintain his quick pace. He pulls out to pass and bearing down on us is a transport truck with its cab outlined in bright lights. I close my eyes and hold my breath. The driver returns to tail the slower car but at the very next straight part of the road, he pulses out again and passes one, two, three or more cars, swerving back into his own lane to avoid a head on collision.
Now we have left the highway and are on a winding, uphill country road. The speed limit here varies from 60 to 80 kilometers an hour. Rather than staying within the posted speed and hugging the curves, our driver begins in the curve, drives straight across the middle line and directly into the oncoming traffic lane time and time again. We are content to reach our destination safely regardless of the time. The driver, however, is determined to make up for lost time. We silently pray and are thankful that our children know where our final wills are.
In a very short time, we arrive at Sani Lodge, our destination. I shake as I climb out of the car, thankful that my feet are on solid ground moving at the speed to which humans were designed. Gila is thanking God for our safe arrival. We have made record time. The uninterrupted trip should have been about three hours. With our lapsed time including the congested roads at the beginning and the breakdown wait at only four hours, we have made the trip in less than three hours!
We had been looking forward to the adventure of touring mountainous Lesotho in a four by four. The way we arrived was an added adventure that we did not anticipate.
We spend the evening getting settled into our rondavel, finding dinner, recharging all our electronic devices and repacking only what we think we needed so we can travel light, leaving behind our heavy suitcases. I go to spray my clothing with the supersized pesticide recommended by the doctor I saw about travelling in a more exotic location than North America. To my chagrin, I realize that the Nozzle for spraying has been left on the bed in East London. Gila is quick to solve the problem. She plans to cut her only face cloth in two so I can use that to spread the liquid on my jacket and pants, but realizes that she had given her pocket knife to Shelley rather than letting it be confiscated by Security. She tears it with her teeth. we can't help but laugh every time she brings out this little frayed rag to wash her face. I tic-proof her clothes in the morning.
The anticipated adventure begins at 9:00 a.m.
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