One year of freedom [on hold]

Chapter Three

The morning of my departure to Cape Town for registration looks like a child's painting of a rainy day. There are grey lumpy blobs against a white sky and from these grey lumpy blobs comes slanted water. It is one of those weird Durban days where it could be raining and yet you would be sweating like a roasted chicken because of the heat.

I decided to dress simply and most importantly comfortably in a blue vest and dark blue long jeans with my slightly over used black pumps. I know Nadia will give me one of her looks because she hates my "mommy jeans" but I am the one who is going to be on a bus for 20 or so hours and I need to be comfortable. My hair is somewhat co-operative today which I hope is a sign of good fortune; well that is what I tell myself to squash the anxiety.

I will only be staying in Cape Town from Saturday morning to Monday morning so I only have small suitcase and my backpack which will carry all my necessities such as documents, money, toiletries (yes, I count toiletries as a necessity), cell phone and charger, book to read, my jacket and a blanket. Then of course there is the trusty food bag (a bag typical South African mothers fill to bursting point with an assortment of food items when their children take a trip without them. This bag may contain anything from sandwiches, chips, sweets, curries, rice, 1 litre of cool drink and or juice, spoons, forks, possibly a plate and a polystyrene or plastic cup. This bag is usually smaller than the clothing bag but bigger than hand luggage and is probably the heaviest one). I swear there is enough food in here to last a month. The only bag I have with me that does not look like it will explode is the clothing bag.

Three bags stuffed in a car boot and an aggravating traffic sated drive later we were at Durban Station waiting for my bus. My mom looks so anxious I think she might try buy a last minute bus ticket and come with me while my dad is acting brave but knowing my dad he will start calling to check up on me before my mom does. As buses come and go I check my ticket, Greyhound, departure: Durban, Friday 11:00, arrival: Cape Town, 09:00, route: via Kimberly, bus number: A22415, seat number: G 13. I memorised all the details and hoped that seat G 13 was on the top of the double decker bus, I loved sitting on top when we took bus trips.

I remember when I was a child I would look down at all the cars from the second deck of the bus. I felt like a giant then. That was my favourite, well actually the only part I enjoyed about taking cross country bus trips, I felt invincible look down at the other cars. I also remember my first plane trip, I was fourteen and on my way to Johannesburg for a family holiday. Most people are afraid of their first flight, my parents certainly were, but I was elated. I could not wait to be in the clouds, to look down and see nothing but clouds or maybe if the sky was clear see the land below me with all its contours on display. I think I have always loved high places because higher up you could see more and hear less, higher up all your problems just seemed so small. Of course you could never stay in the skies forever but that is what makes it more special; it is a brief taste of freedom.

A crackling voice over the speakers and a gentle nudge from my mother pull me from my cloudy memories, the bus is here. I sigh as if wanting to expel all the fear from myself. Everyone else who is boarding the A22415 is getting their luggage together and passing out the goodbye hugs and kisses to their loved ones. My father helps with my clothing bag, my mother takes the food bag after briefly checking that she packed everything I need, and I take my hand luggage and we make our way silently to where the bags are loaded onto the bus. My father's wall of strength looks as if it might crumble any second on the other hand my mother has been sniffling into her handkerchief since we parked the car. I am their one and only and I was going away from them for the first time in my entire life. I may have been going off to a top university on scholarship but the mood was more melancholy than joyful.

I wonder if they were having second thoughts about me going so far away, What if they might halted the whole process and just told me to study at the local university instead. What would I do if they did that? I know somewhere inside I would be relieved to stay at home with the familiar but this is a great opportunity and messing it up because of something as simple as fear of the unfamiliar would be foolish, no it would be a complete waste. Thousands of people would gladly drop everything to take my place, it would be ungrateful for me not to take this opportunity. Why am I even thinking of not taking this? My future is shining like polished silver and yet here I am looking at the silver as I it were part of the bars of a prison.