TIA Delays

1/24/13 

In a coffeeshop in Johannesburg, Brooke's ZA phone chirps. It's Anthony, our link in South Africa. The farm manager in charge of all the volunteer projects. She reads the text message aloud, voice and shoulders slumping deeper with each word.

Too much flooding. Roads closed. We not coming to Joburg.

Oh shit. No. We flop back in our cafe seats, where we've been browsing the internet, killing time in Johannesburg with nothing to do but spend money and laze about. We've been here for days, visiting the malls to pick up what we need and what we've forgotten. We've hit half a dozen great restaurants that almost remind us of home.

We've been waiting on salvation, waiting for Anthony to sweep us up off our asses and into the bush. Ready for adventure. Delayed yet further.

Not sure how long. Roads all mud.

Doesn't he have a helicopter? Can't we get up to Polokwane and he can pick us up there? Polokwane is about four hours from Joburg and another two from Polokwane to Alldays. Plus 45 minutes from Alldays to the farm, given dry roads and no obstacles.

Helicopter hangar unreachable. Will let you know...

We slump, chins on fists. Dejection. Now what? Can we just fly up to Polokwane and wait there? There must be somewhere we can stay. But why bother? We buy a day pass at a gym in Joburg and burn off some energy. Then we settle ourselves into a few bottles of wine at an Italian joint with a ZA twist. Brooke's phone chirps.

Roads ok. Can get to Pkn now.

We leap out of our seats. We dig out the iPad and rummage up some wifi.

Flights to Polokwane fall within our budget. A 45-minute hop. We check on luggage policies for our huge suitcases full of donated school supplies. We buy the tickets. The wine becomes a celebration. We toast and dance and laugh and cheer. Our waiter joins in. Fellow patrons look at us under raised brows. We pay our bill. We skip back to the hostel.

The next day Ant and Emma pick us up at the Polokwane airport a few hours behind schedule, where we pass the time in the Millionaire's Lounge, a silly lavish cafe of tacky velvet couches and unused fondue sets. We order fondue. It doesn't come. We drag our luggage and wedge it into the truck between jerry cans of helicopter fuel. Finally we make it into camp as the sun goes down bringing our eyelids with it.