The Hidden Beauty of Being 'In Transit'

My ukulele and & I during an 8 hour layover in Washington DC.

Call it what you want. ‘In transit’. A layover. A stopover. Or time spent briskly walking (or running) to a connecting flight. But, regardless of the decided upon term, these are additional and unnecessary hours tacked onto one’s journey, undeniably the least anticipated portion of the trip. In the span of five short weeks, from the last week in August to the first in October, I spent nearly 24 hours in transit. Yes, that's an entire day's worth of travel twiddling my thumbs in an unfamiliar airport.

At the end of August I closed out my one-year stint with the South African Supplier Diversity Council and spent 36 hours traveling from Johannesburg to Hawaii, by way of London, San Francisco, and Los Angeles. Over the next five weeks I made my way slowly back to Johannesburg by way of San Francisco, New York, Washington DC and Dakar (Senegal).  

Now, relative to the entire duration of my vacation, my mere one day in transit may not sound like much in retrospect, but when you’re sitting in an uncomfortable lame excuse of a chair for 8 hours, or being herded like cattle through Disneyland-like queues for hours, (except there’s no fanatical ride at the end), a total of 24 hours spent as only a means to arriving at your ultimate destination - is a fucking long time. 

Pardon my ranting, because as the blog’s title suggests - there is some light at the end of the tunnel, and it’s not a bright white light. 

Rather, the beauty of being in transit is the notion of finding peace and tranquility whilst caught in an alternate universe. You find yourself in a world that is between here and there, departure and arrival, starting point and destination. You’re stuck in limbo, forced to sit and simply ‘be’ in a space that is a trivial chapter when compared to the entire journey. 

In most cases, you don’t leave the airport at all, which makes this alternate universe even more real. You could spend more than 5 hours ‘in’ Frankfurt, Hong Kong, or Tokyo without ever actually exploring the city (all of which I’ve done). In the end, you depart from a city without ever actually becoming acquainted with it. 

Particularly when you travel solo like me, you may learn to realize beauty in the anonymity of it all. Where else can I sit and play my ukulele for hours without fear of being judged by those around me? While I’m not one to care what others think of me in the first place, this trait becomes elevated when I know I’ll never see these surrounding faces again. I can debark from a 15 hour flight feeling confident whilst appearing hideously crazy - no makeup, no contacts, and bed head for days. But again, who cares right? I don't know anyone here, and no one knows me. It’s in these very moments that you learn how to enjoy the company of thyself, because let’s be honest - if you don’t enjoy your own company then who the hell else will? In times of solo travels, I become my own best friend. 

I find beauty in the juxtaposition of reveling in my own bubble, while being surrounded by thousands of people at the same time. In the middle of it, there's endless time and space to reflect and process - necessary exercises for one's sanity when the only constant in your quick-moving life, is change.  

Jozi Love Affair

Views of the Johannesburg skyline from the Living Room in the Maboneng Precinct, CBD

Guess I should go pack my bags now.

Sleepless, anxious nights leading into exhausting, draining days. Emotionally overwhelmed.

Five flights over the next five weeks, passing through four places I've once called home.

An ending that came too soon, while unknown beginnings await. Unexpectedly saddened by the thought of walking away from a closing chapter, while piqued by the new chapter that's about to unfold.

For the lack of a better word, the overused phrase comes to mind: Bittersweet.

Guess I really should go pack my bags now.

----

If Jozi was a stage, I guess you could say I left my heart on the dance floor. And you thought I was going to write an entry about a love affair with a boy? Oh no no no. Seriously, who do you think I am? I'm referring to a love affair with Jozi. I can honestly say I didn't anticipate enjoying my stay here over the past year as much as I have. My lack of blogging entries speaks to the lack of spare time I've had to write (because I've been having too much fun!) So much has happened since my last entry in February. I have tons of catching up to do.

My last day at work is this Friday, August 22nd. I'm headed to Kruger National Park for one last hurrah with a group of friends, and then I fly directly to Hawaii on Monday. And by directly I'm referring to a 36 hour flight with three layovers in London, San Francisco, and Los Angeles before finally reaching Honolulu for my Daddy's wedding on August 31st. I expect to catch up on my blogging during that 'forever and a day' span of time spent on a plane... or four planes actually.

For now, I'm procrastinating on my packing. In the meantime, follow me on social media because I'm too lazy to organize and upload photos - IG: shalanemaile and Twitter @ShalalaMaile. 

I am not a New Yorker.

I am not a New Yorker. But…

Thank you for pushing me, for making me realize my full potential.

The two years I lived in New York as a graduate student were undoubtedly the most difficult, yet most accomplished years of my life thus far. In those two years I earned my MPA, held 2 unpaid internships in the international development sector, volunteered in refugee resettlement, waited tables at an Italian-Japanese restaurant in Tribeca, held a Board position for a student org, spent 4 months abroad in three African countries and still found time to build life-long friendships with some of the most inspiring people I’ve ever met. There were nights where I came home at 4am after a 16 hour day of nonstop intellectual, physical and emotional stimulation where I lied in my bed absolutely exhausted. Yet, I found a smirk on my face – a gesture of overwhelming content of the day’s productivity. In some sick way, getting up in the morning with a sore body from a normal day’s routine was some sort of accomplishment, the same feeling you get when your body is sore the day after an extensive session at the gym. Like I’ve told many, in the last two years I feel like I've physically and mentally aged 10.

I respect the New York hustle, the passion and the drive that attracts like-minded individuals from all over the world in the spirit that “anything is possible”. Every person you meet has an individually unique story about what passion brought them to New York with nothing but “a dollar and a dream”.

Not too far long after I arrived in Johannesburg did I notice the strong impact New York had on me. I’m more aggressive, honest and have adopted a GSD [Get Shit Done] attitude. I recognize efficiency as the key to success and am passionate about every project I invest a minute of my time into. I no longer have a tolerance for bullshit, am more direct and instantly see through the [San Francisco] tendency to sugar coat the truth. I’m realistic versus idealistic. While I’ve always been my biggest critic, criticism no longer hurts and I’m not ashamed to recognize my flaws. Each person met is an extended ‘network’ and I’m always trying to make a connection if it helps the society at large. I’m an extroverted introvert, less terrified to speak in front of crowds and can confidently navigate any one-on-one conversation, no matter the individual.

So again, I am not a New Yorker. But I thank my Empire State of Mind for adding a much-needed layer of dimension to my Hawaiian-style inner core, driven by my Bay Area sense of humor and light-hearted kindness.

Despite how much I love New York, I’m not 100% positive I will be returning after my stint here in South Africa. While working in the name of international development, it doesn’t make sense to work so far removed from the beneficiaries of your effort. Will I feel as fulfilled about the impact I’m having sitting behind a computer screen thousands of miles away from the community where I’m trying to ‘make a difference’? Probably not. Okay, no – definitely not. As with any human interaction, I value the dimension of a face-to-face conversation. Call it basic principles of relationship building, but even as much as our world is connected by technology, necessary elements of a relationship such as trust, cannot be gauged via a Skype call or Google Hangout. 

Much like a travel bug, I thought the willingness to relocate anywhere for my next professional stint was a virus that would leave my system with enough nourishment. However, a year after grad school and the ‘career’ travel bug is still invading my soul – and I can’t shake it. I have a mental list of locations where I’d like to live and work for 1-2 years. Bali, Nairobi and France top the list, unless I got a Fellowship with the World Economic Forum, then I’d drop everything and go to Geneva in a heartbeat. I’d say, “A girl can dream, can’t she?” but these aren’t dreams – the question is, “in what chapter of my life will they occur?” Sorry if I sound aggressive, but you can blame the New Yorker in me – she knows how to get what she wants. #SorryNotSorry

Merry Durban Christmas and Happy Ghanaian New Years!

And to YOU, a Happy New Year - 

I began 2013 with a heartfelt adventure in Rwanda I'll never forget and had the opportunity to commence 2014 with a Ghanaian wedding, all while making the move from New York to South Africa somewhere in between. A bit late, but here's to another year filled with uncertainty, risks and unexpected turns, which I welcome with both arms knowing I've got the support of an open mind and an open heart to soak it all in. 

Cheers,

Shalane

Durban shores

Pretending to watch cricket with Vukani and Gerry. 

At the bottom of the Valley of a Thousand Hills

Christmas this year was my first away from home and it was, bizarre. It was neither the best nor the worst, but I made the most of it. I escaped the Joburg city and headed to Durban, the southern coast of South Africa. I called Tekweni Backpackers my home for five days and spent them surrounded by a gang of locals and other expats from all over the world who similar to myself, also didn't go home for the holidays who for various reasons. For me, my reason was that the flight was too expensive and I had recently been in home in September. Instead of spending $2200 on a RT flight from Johannesburg to San Francisco, I opted for a Durban Christmas by the beach and a Ghanaian wedding to ring in the New Year.

I always forget how unique the backpacker environment is – usually a spot where locals and nomads like me float through and coexist, each with a unique story as the next. For example, on the second day at Tekweni Backpackers I jumped in a van with some local Durban kids, a Zulu, a German, an Irish a Colombian and myself, an American, and drove about 40 minutes outside of Durban to the Valley of a Thousand Hills. Had I ever heard of this place? No, but I was in for an adventure, as always. Well the decision was a great one because we spent all day visiting a local Zulu village in an area on the outskirts of Durban with so many green rolling hills that it reminded me of Rwanda, also framed for its thousand hills. We drank, hiked, swam in a dam and ate a home-cooked meal with the family of Wati, a Tekweni employee, in the Zulu Isuthumba village where he grew up. Although I had known all of them for at most 24 hours, there’s some unwritten rule at backpackers where you don’t judge each other, rather instantly build bridges across each other’s differences and connect through stories of cultural background, travel, passions and life in general. 

Isuthumba Village

Valley of a Thousand Hills from the top.

Sitting on a sand couch with Mandela

Durban beach promendade

I've entertained the idea of opening a backpackers before because to be honest, it looks like fun. At most places I've stayed, the owner always comes around and hangs out with the guests. When I was living in New York, my roommate at the time, Renee and I would occasionally rent out a room or the couch on AirBnB for extra cash. Through hosting I've meet some of the most interesting people from all over the world. Since they stay for such a short period of time, they come and leave before you ever get annoyed by them! For an introvert like me, I can get annoyed by clingy people because I need my alone time, but typically backpackers know the drill and are low maintenance. 

So how did I find Durban, or “Durbs” as the locals call it? Upon arrival, I had no expectations as I normally do when I travel. All I had heard was that Durbs had a different “vibe” from Joburg and Cape Town, and that is exactly how I found it. To be honest, I found Durban to be a bit gritty, but I enjoyed it. Durban is where most South Africans flee to during the holidays, while I’d say Cape Town attracts more international travellers. However, I enjoyed Durban because it did in fact have more of a ‘local’ vibe. The beach was beautiful, the water was warm, and from the backpackers it was only about a 25 minute walk or less than 10 minute drive. Needless to say I walked, biked and ran the promenade or sunbathed on the sand almost every single day. By the time I left Durban I was absolutely burnt.

Outside of India, Durbs has the highest Indian population per square meter. Having been to India back in 2012, I’m quite familiar with the Indian culture and food. But there is one Indian dish worth noting that I've never tried until coming to SA, which uniquely originated in Durban - Bunny Chow. A few friends of mine introduced me to bunny chow in Johannesburg, friends which I now realize grew up in Durban, and it’s unlike any other Indian dish I've tried before. Basically bunny chow is an Indian mutton, veggie or chicken curry that is placed in a hollowed out piece of bread. It’s eaten with your hands, using the bread to pick up and soak in the curry. YUMM. While in Durban I ordered bunny chow twice, and the one from House of Curries on Florida Street was the best in my opinion.

Running errands: picking up bridesmaids dresses from
Marjorie, my go-to seamstress in Accra

Two days after Christmas I left the Durban hostel and took a morning flight back to OR Tambo airport in Johannesburg.  I found sand hiding in the nooks and crannies of my suitcase, which I was quite proud of because it was indicative of how much time I spent at the beach. From there I headed directly onto a 6 hour flight to Ghana. The last time I was in Ghana was during the summer of 2012, so I was excited beyond explainable feelings to be back after a year and a half. Of all the countries I've had the opportunity of travelling to, this trip to Ghana is the first time I would be returning to a country.

NYU kids reunion

I flew South African Airways from Johannesburg to Accra, and I will say I was pretty impressed with the airline. As soon as I landed in Ghana a sense of ease instantly rushed over me and I felt comfortable in an environment that felt oh-too-familiar. I walked off the plane with a smile on my face, feeling confident in knowing my surroundings and how to get around. Had Priscilla not been able to pick me up from the airport I probably would have been able to take a cab relying on my faint memory to guide me to her Grandmothers house, which I’ve been to all of once during the summer of 2012.

When my friends in South Africa ask me what Ghana is like (because to them Ghana is as foreign as it is to any of my American friends, despite being located on the same continent) I always refer to the vibrancy of the culture. From the bright colored Western African clothes to the catchy hip life music that spills onto the streets to the warmth of the people, what's not to enjoy about Ghanaian culture? As my seamstress Marjorie tells me, Westerners tend to always say they’re OK when they’re not, but Ghanaians always speak from the heart – and she’s absolutely correct. Perhaps this is the trait that I admire about them the most. Not only are they welcoming, but genuinely candid with no reservations. As an American who grew up in a culture of ‘saving face’ it’s refreshing to be surrounded by people who say what they mean, and mean what they say.

Back of the dress

The first few days in Ghana were spent running errands which Priscilla, which I didn't mind at all. Having travelled around the country and visited most of the touristy areas the last time I was there, it was relaxing to sit back and simply be on vacation as an adopted Addison child. I had no real agenda except for taking it easy, meeting new people who had flown in for the wedding, hanging out with a few old friends and lending a helping hand in preparation for the wedding when necessary. I woke up, hung out in the front garden, played Mancala or locally known as Oware with the neighbourhood cousins, and just… chilled out. I stayed with the Addison family in their newly completed house in East Legon, near the University of Ghana – and such a beautiful house it was. Prior to our arrival Priscilla had just finished furnishing the house, so it still had that ‘new house’ smell.

Bride's family on the right, Groom's on the left

So I should probably mention that the reason why I went back to Ghana was for a wedding, and before you ask – no, it wasn't my wedding. My friend Priscilla, with whom I graduated from NYU with, is from Ghana and the wedding was for her eldest sister Diane. Her family, who now lives in Geneva, is originally from Ghana and decided to have both a traditional and Western ‘white’ wedding as they call it, in their home country. I guess it also makes sense that the husband-to-be is also a Ghanaian. 

Janel and I taking selfies

There was a week of wedding activities set up, so I was pretty exhausted the majority of the time I was there, despite my intended plans of taking it easy. We got dressed up and spent New Years Eve at a bar/lounge called Bella Roma's in Osu, knowing we had to wake up in the morning for the traditional wedding the next day. New Years in Ghana is typically celebrated much differently than in the States. Most people attend a church service until midnight, and then proceed to hang out with friends if they wish. In fact, across from Priscilla’s house there was a New Testament Church, which converted an empty lot into an outdoor church service, equipped with a large screen TV and what must have been at least 500 chairs. From Priscilla’s house you could feel the bass bumping, see portable field lights illuminating the entire block and hear swarms of people beginning to file in for the 10pm service. We walked across the street a few times just be a part of the commotion and listen to the music while we were getting ready to go out to Osu.

Traditional Ashanti dancer

By the time the first wedding rolled around I was exhausted, but I guess there’s no better way to start off a brand new year by getting married. This is the second ‘traditional’ wedding I’ve attended, with the first being an Indian wedding in New Delhi, and has become such a great excuse to travel. Through weddings you get a deeper understanding of family traditions, values and the role a family unit plays in the makeup of a country’s social fabric. While I didn’t understand 95% of what was being said at the wedding because it was spoken in deep Ga, a tribal dialect, I grasped the main gist. The bride’s family sat on the right, and the grooms on the left, and prior to the bride and groom even arriving at the ceremony was an exchanging of gifts between the families. Ashanti drummers graced the floor as an Ashanti dancer performed throughout the audience.

Traditional Ashanti drummers

Kiddos in their traditional wear

Perhaps most enjoyable aspect of any traditional wedding is getting to dress the part! I’m a fan of Ghanaian weddings, although probably similar to other Western African cultures, because of the eccentric and colourful attire! I had my dress made for the occasion, and designed it as well. Marjorie, who we met as the NYU seamstress, made my dress in one day and charged me about $20 for the material and labor. Rather than designing a one-time-wear dress, I wanted a dress that I could also wear to work. Therefore I opted for a simple just-above-the-knee length dress that I could wear with a blazer. I got many compliments on the back of the dress, which is similar to another one-piece jumper Marjorie’s made for me in the past. Looking around, the colors are visually stimulating from not only the colors and patterns of the fabric, but the intricacy in which dresses were designed, cut and embellished. Even the bride and bridesmaids all wore the same fabric, but each dress boasted a different design, achieving a look that is modern and fun.

By the night after the “white” wedding on Jan 3rd I was absolutely exhausted, and I could only imagine how the actual bridal party felt. With back to back to back events for a week straight, it was nice to paint the town red and go out on my last night in Ghana. Priscilla and I found ourselves at Twist, which is a bar/club in the Labone area, also our old stomping grounds when we stayed at the NYU Accra campus. I was a tad sad to leave Ghana, but hopefully I’ll be back soon. Thanks again to the Addison family – I love you! Congrats Diane & Nii Koney!

The fabulous wedding party