Soweto: South West Township

The clean, bright, sanity of a large house-converted-backpacker’s-hostel in the suburbs of Johannesburg seemed a welcome change after months living on a Big 5 game reserve.  I lusted the plentiful hot water, spaciousness, ability to walk to a store, and quiet night’s sleep.  As it turned out, many other features accompanied these bounties, mostly less desirable traits such as extremely high crime and lack of personal safety.

"Welcome to Soweto"
Rebecca & I with our tour guide's 2 cousins

The majority of houses in South Africa have nearly insurmountable large concrete fences around the property and bars on all windows.  In my backpacker’s hostel I was installed in an empty 5-bed room in one corner of the house; on my last night I was the only person in the entire backpacker’s.  With lots of time during the day, as well as some much-needed downtime, I discovered all of the (public) nooks and crannies of the house and the large backyard complete with sprawling bar.  As I fell asleep each night, I replayed the house’s layout in my mind.  Virtually, I walked through the corridors and surveyed each window and door. If there was a fire in the kitchen, where would I run?  What if a fire was blazing the corridor to my room?  This was the first location I had laid my head down after leaving C.A.R.E., and I hadn't realized all of the pain that followed me.  My haunting thoughts took in the bars on all of the windows, I could not escape through them unless my body shrank to the size of a toy doll.  How would I get to the front or back doors?  Nightly I terrorized myself with burning house potentials as C.A.R.E. experiences continued to follow me.  Finally by my last night in Joburg my mind reached a suitable, peaceful option of running through a potential inferno with all of the blankets on top of me for protection.  My mind finally quieted for sleep.

On "Leaving C.A.R.E."

Rebecca & I on our last night

After taking in the babies to their indoor sleeping enclosure just before sunset each night, we normally rush back to the Mountain Lodge for showers, dinner, and relaxing.  Instead, for my last night, as well another volunteer’s, Rebecca aka The Vet, we all walked down to the Olifants River beach with wine and snacks to wind down in peaceful nature.  After 10 minutes or so of happy sipping and chatting, we realized we were not alone.  Just down the beach and in some bushes, we were also joined by 2 male elephants.  Our excitement grew as we judged the distance between us.  Even remote close proximity to elephants is not safe, but thankfully we were a safe distance if we remained quiet (and the wind direction did not change).  We peered into the eyes of other creatures that call this area home, admitting the subtle wonder in which we are all connected.

It is customary that a volunteer is not on the schedule their last full day at C.A.R.E.  The day flew by as I ticked off small projects, took pictures, visited baboons I wanted to talk to, and areas I wanted to sit at and reflect.  I felt weird leaving C.A.R.E., mostly overwhelming and confusing.

Life as a C.A.R.E. Volunteer

Not everyone wants to do volunteer work, and volunteering to work with animals (and paying to do so!) is a special class of its own.  While it may seem alluring at first glance, the reality is long days, lots of cleaning, food preparation, and more cleaning.  The animals do not know weekends, nor does your work schedule; work persists 7 days per week.  The very rewarding job is spending time with the animals, being embraced by one of them, and realizing how one can make a difference.  At C.A.R.E. all volunteers are part of a daily schedule of 1-hour shifts; the workday begins at 6:50 and ends around 6:00 pm.

Sitting in my bed with Adam as he woke up/recovered from surgery

AN AVERAGE DAY

6:25 am Wake up!  If you are (un)lucky enough to have an upstairs room, then an earlier wake-up call is courtesy of the wild troop that uses the roof as a playground.  From my quieter downstairs room, I watched dawn from my room every morning in awe.  The sun breaking the horizon is the same miracle that repeats itself day after day, every day the same yet different.  Prepare and feed the dogs, bundle in warm clothes (it is winter here), and quickly head out the door for a brisk commute down the hill.

Walking with arms full of baby baboons

6:50 am The daily volunteer schedule commences at 7:00 am, but everyone must first gather to carry out the two youngest troops of baboons (35 baboons total, all under the age of 1.5 years) to their outdoor enclosures.  Babies, like human children, preferentially choose to whom they gravitate and wish to be embraced.  The first few days or weeks, no babies may jump into your arms, but as they know you (and like you) better, your arms may be replete with 2, 3, or 4 baby baboons!  Safely, volunteers attempt to carry no more than 2 babies at a time, each one riding side-saddle.

Wanted: Intrepid Dog Walker

Wanted

Need four times daily dog walks for Molly & Moya.  Dogs must be walked independently otherwise, they fight with each other.  Walks occur in wild game reserve.  Dog walker must be fearless and prepared.  Regularly sightings include elephants, buffalo, giraffes, lions, and leopards.  Must not let dogs be attacked or eaten by any predators.

Sign me up?

At C.A.R.E. we have 2 dogs, Moya and Molly.  Moya lives in the Mountain Lodge with the volunteers, regularly snuggling up with someone each night, while Molly lives with Rita down in the Milk Kitchen.  In the days following Piet’s attack, I had A LOT of dog-walking shifts and consequently got to know Moya & Molly very well.  My arm hurt too much to be down at my side for long though, and especially hurt to swing so this translated to holding the dog lead in my left hand while my right either rested on top of my head or grasped my shirt collar, both positions uncomfortable and/or annoying. 

Moya with the 5.5 week old orphaned "Tank"

I had been scorned one time during these walks for wandering too far out of the C.A.R.E. gates (i.e. the end of the long driveway and down the road).  In fact, the day I had been “caught” I was at a much shorter distance than I had frequently traversed…  My motivation had been body movement and exercise to replace some of my injury-induced sedentary behavior.  I was getting really restless and yearned for long mind-clearing walks.  About 1 week after my many long dog walks, I was rewarded with quite a frightening, yet extraordinary, sight: 3 male elephants foraging about 600 ft from me.  Amazing!  

The night the sky turned orange

On Friday night, July 27, 2012, C.A.R.E. sustained a horrible fire that destroyed 1 of our 2 main buildings.  There were 15 volunteers and staff members here that night.  We ran into the burning building full of fear and trepidation to save 35 baby baboons in sleeping cages, 5 clinic patients, and in the upstairs small apartment the founder, 81-year old Rita Miljo and 3 baboons in cages in her indoor/outdoor living quarters.  Tragically Rita, and her 3 baboons, Bobby, Foot, and Sexy, perished in the blaze.  It has been nearly 3 weeks since the fire occurred, and I am just now putting it all into words.  I do wish I would have written down my thoughts prior to this, but the raw emotion was difficult to touch.  The “FULL LENGTH” version complete with a lot of emotion is below, if you are inclined to read it.

The story was all over the world.

Here’s one sample from the New York Times: Rita Miljo, ‘the Mother Teresa of Baboons,’ Dies at 81

Late in the fire

FULL LENGTH

At C.A.R.E. we cook dinners communally each night, while breakfast and lunch are on-your-own.  Once the “Dinner!” call is shouted by the chef du nuit, we all trickle into the kitchen to serve ourselves buffet-style.  Melissa, a friend and fellow volunteer from Buffalo, NY, embarked upon the attempt to cook everyone a sit-down meal one Friday night: appetizers, salad, pasta with homemade spaghetti sauce simmered all afternoon, garlic bread, wine, and tiramisu for dessert.  We pushed our 3 big tables together for one grand family table for all 15 of us.  Everyone was in good spirits.  Some of us even put on nicer clothes in lieu of the standard ripped t-shirts and dirt-stained pants.  Dinner tasted great, but all of us together sharing, laughing and breaking bread was even better.  After dessert no one rushed off to bed, for smokes outside, or solitary to their room.  Melissa’s idea was a warm overwhelming success.

Piet, but no Repeat

Continuation from Enter. Do not Enter.
After a swift yet blurry walk down the hill to the Clinic on-site, my bloody arm was carefully cleaned and wrapped by the Vet Tech on staff.  It was noted that the bite had torn through the epidermal fat layer and just grazed the muscle tissue.  OWW!  Of course, Murphy’s Law would apply next… The truck to town would not start.  It was over 45 minute drive to town to the doctor… walking was not an option.  The battery, the water pump, who knows what was broken…

My arm and knee continued to pulse.  Badly.  I sat in a state of bewilderment for what seemed like hours and what seemed like only fleeting moments.

Finally an hour later, the truck powered up the hill and we were off 15 miles to town (45 minutes!) to a doctor whose name we didn’t know how to spell, a number that we didn’t know, and an office location that was partially known.  After a brief moment of bad news that the doctor’s schedule was too full to see me, 15 minutes later he had me on the surgery table injecting local anesthesia, cleaning the wound (moving around so much flesh that I tried not to look due to nausea, but couldn’t resist!), and eventually suturing me together again.  I walked out stitched, bandaged, and calm.

Enter. Do not enter.

Only 2 times in my life have I freely let out blood-curdling screams representative of horrific fear for life and limb.  Screams that action and horror movies are made of, extreme scenes like Psycho and the opening of Spiderman II to engage the audience.  The first time I screamed like this was in middle school.  I was walking home from school, only 3 houses away from my own, when a big dog jumped the fence and lunged after me.  The dog did not attack me, by some wonder, but the barks and teeth exposure had me fooled.  I was sure he wanted to tear me into shreds, and my scream mimicked my fear of impending attack.  It was spontaneous, uncontrollable, and emphatic.  Shaking and scared, I ran home as soon as the dog retreated.  I was unscathed physically, but mentally quite shaken.  We had dogs at home, and I never translated this near attack to any other canine.

The second time I screamed this same blood-curdling scream and genuinely feared for my life occurred a few weeks ago.  For less than 10 seconds I was trapped in a cage with an adult male baboon, Piet ( pronounced “Pete”).  

I entered his cage under the auspices of scrubbing the water dam, but apparently he did his own housekeeping.