I was trying to find a CD that has some old photos on it. I was not successful in finding what I was looking for. Instead, I found a forgotten treasure.
I lived in South Africa for about 3 1/2 years. I don't want to say they were the best years of my life, but they are pretty darn close.
In 2001 I went to South Africa to do the School of Biblical Studies; A school with Youth With A Mission's University of the Nations (YWAM). After three-months of intense study, I went on a two week vacation with a friend of mine. We found a place that became a haven for me in the remainder of my time "in country".
It was a restaurant in a little fishing village very close to the most southern part of the African continent. The following was the treasure I found. It was written around Christmas 2001 and I originally wrote it to share with my eldest brother who is serving a long prison term. I don't think I ever sent it to him.
I hope as you read it you are transported to this magical place that still lives in my memories.
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I’m sitting in a small little restaurant in Arniston, South Africa. It is a place with a lot of character and atmosphere, that’s for sure. It reminds me of the place in North Phoenix where they cut men’s ties off and place them on the ceiling, Pinnacle Peak Patio, I think that's the name of that place. It's been so long since I lived in Phoenix that my memory fails me just now.
Instead of cutting off men’s ties, they allow people to write on the walls. It is very interesting to read some of the things people have written. Some people just want to make their names remain behind, others want to try to impart some deep thoughts to enlighten those following behind them: “Viva Mexico” or “Marriage is the reason to live.”
So many people want to leave their words of wisdom or temporary immortality on the walls that some have been lost to a coat of paint to allow others to have their say. The painter was not discerning when he took his paint brush to the wall and some of the sayings only have half the content they did when the original authors penned them. “kson, gia USA” is all the remains of one persons attempted to keep his name alive after he is gone. If an archeologist a thousand years from now were to explore the writings on this wall, he would be at a loss to determine the meaning behind these nonsensical letters scribbles on a wall.
The gentleman who owns and runs this place is probably in his late 60’s and roams around the room, greeting his guests. If you let him, he will tell you his life story.
He talks about when he lived in Zimbabwe and the shame of what is what is happening there now. You can tell he still has a lot of the same separatist ideals. Apartheid is still alive in the hearts of a lot of the older white people.
He also tells of his two previous restaurant adventures. These stories are not told so much in his conversations with his patrons, but on the walls. They are covered with photographs of him in his former establishments. Perhaps some of the people are famous in South Africa or perhaps they are just famous to him, but they live on in his current establishment. Their smiles penetrate into this new building which, in its former life, was a home for milk cows. Funny, there are no reminders of the cows in this restaurant, well, unless you count the ones sitting on the patrons plates.
There is candlelight glittering around the room like the stars on a moonless night. They flicker when the black waitress rushes past. It is this sudden rush of wind that causes the wax to run down the wine bottle candle holder. If I didn’t know where I was, I might think for a quick moment that I was in a French restaurant right in the heart of the Paris.
But I would quickly be snapped back into reality by the cricket match playing on the television. That would never be shown in France. Football yes, but never cricket.
A cat just brushed past my leg looking for a little tidbit from a guest’s plate. Sometimes he’s in luck, other times he gently gets brushed off the chair. After making his rounds he returns to the window under the rouse of cleaning himself, but I think he is keeping his eye out for the next, new potential benefactor who might provide him with that long, sought after tidbit.
Or perhaps he is just looking for one of the two dogs that also make the dining room their evening lounge area.
The cat seems to miss the hunt that awaits him on the walls. Plastic 3-D fish swim over the walls making the fish swimming in the fish tank feel as though they were in the great ocean and not their small aquarium. Reminds me of how we place mirrors on our walls to give a small room that “spacious” feeling. I wonder if the fish are fooled.
A woman heard me give my order and turned to ask where I’m from. It always delights South Africans when I tell them that I feel more at home in their country than I do in my own. I’m not sure I would have the same reaction to someone who said that about America. Perhaps that is my self-centered American culture coming out.
Our conversation stops abruptly when she asks what I do for a living. When she hears that I volunteer for the University of the Nations' School of Biblical Studies, the sparkle that came to life when I flattered her and her country suddenly died. She abruptly turned to resume her conversation with her friends. It’s an event that I am getting used to. You would be amazed how the friendliness turns to terror when they begin to fear being hit over the head with the Word of God.
The “hostess” is quite an intriguing person. She is colored and not black. Thanks to apartheid, South Africans have different ways to classify skin colors here. You kind of get a feeling she is trying to break out of that classification system with her bright orange hair that is almost like the sun making a brief appearance during the twinkling of the “star-candles”.
Her personality is just as bright. When she comes to see to your needs she smiles like you are the only person in the restaurant. I wonder how many times she has received a smile like that when she is served in a restaurant.
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