Keeping Busy.

“Oh, I’m keeping busy,” I respond when asked how I fill my days. Busy with work, busy with cooking, tea making, errand running. Busy with anything that will fill my time so I don’t have even one second to sit and breath. So I don’t have time to let my mind wander, my thoughts trace back. But every so often, my mind quiets itself and just for a moment I breathe a solid, full breath. Mind you, this happens maybe once a week (if I’m lucky). But somehow it occurred to me only a few days ago what a soul lifting feeling this quieting of the mind brings. After 23 years of living, of thinking, dreaming, worrying, and keeping busy, I am now just realizing how much I yearn for these moments of reflection.

So why don’t I give myself this simple gift of stillness everyday? Why do I constantly fill my life with things, tasks, people, jobs that keep me so busy I can hardly catch my breath? I suppose a better question might be, why is it that when people ask us what we’re up to, we feel the need to explain all the things we do everyday that make us look ‘productive’ as if it’s not enough just to be. We must be doing. Doing something, anything to pass the time. I want to speak to the concept of productivity as I see it here in my L’Arche life. The phrase ‘productive members of society’ comes to mind; and for a long, long time that phrase held a lot of weight in how much a person’s life mattered-and if I’m being honest, I think it still shapes how we view people whether we realize it or not.

For the better part of my life, being productive, having something to show for the work I put in each and everyday has been a pillar of what I view as accomplishment. I’ve been taught to measure my worth in how I much do, how hard I work, how many boxes I tick, how many t’s I cross. And this leaves me always wanting more, wanting to achieve more to feel good about all I’ve accomplished. But when does it stop? Does this need to achieve, to be productive, to make more money, to make a name for myself ever stop? Is there room to breath? To stop the cycle of always needing to be doing something all the time?

If there was ever a place with room for stillness, I think I’ve found a space in L’Arche. I was warned going in as a high achieving U.S. native that the pace of life would be different. Understatement of the century. Yes, things get done here in due time, and it always seems to work out. But never before have I been forced into slowing my life down to such a peaceful pace. I use the word peaceful liberally, because I can barely contain myself in a chair if sitting for longer than 15 minutes-a side effect of my ‘productive’ upbringing… I didn’t realize how hard a time I would have slowing down my life, strolling through the park instead of scurrying along because I’m late for a meeting, stopping for a cup of tea every 20 minutes because we deserve it, simply sitting with someone without uttering a word. Now I’m forced to literally smell the roses along the paths of the castle gardens I walk with John, or smell the fresh breeze as I walk along with Paddy, kicking the soccer ball between us. And for those moments of peace, of stillness, of grace. I am grateful.

A split second decision

“Your problem is how you are going to spend this one and precious life you have been issued. Whether you’re going to spend it trying to look good and creating the illusion that you have power over circumstances, or whether you are going to taste it, enjoy it and find out the truth about who you are.” -Anne Lamott

I’ve re-written this entry countless times in my head, starting just to stall; an embarrassingly similar comparison to my manual driving skills at the current moment. But never the less, here I am 4,500 miles from all things known and comfortable. It wasn’t until a few weeks ago that I felt in the right headspace to comprehend the magnitude of my recent decisions leading me to L’Arche.

On a crisp Autumn evening as I sat in the second row of the open mic night held on the top floor of Cafe L’Arche (one of 5 restaurants in this small town of 2,300), I listened to the stories, songs, and poetry of the L’Arche and greater Callan community. Something moved within me as another house assistant spoke about split second decisions, and my mind went a million different directions. How is it that a small choice can change so much? And how might a fleeting thought catapult you across the world?

I sent the email after a conversation with my JVC NW housemate earlier last year. I sat in the trendy PNW coffee shop on a bone chilling winter day sipping my $4 soy chai tea (aka my weekly date with wifi #jvcsimpleliving) as I toggled between the L’Arche International website and my favorite feminist blogs. The thought caught me off guard, “Does L’Arche Ireland even exist?” I asked my housemate casually while swirling around my artfully decorated foam in my cup. She looked up at me with bright eyes, knowing my tea wasn’t the only thing being stirred. My mind took off, and next thing I knew I was emailing the general information contact for the Ireland communities.

The email was a long, rambling note written furiously and sent off without a second thought. Just a simple inquiry really, I didn’t even know if that was the right email, or if anyone would respond. A week went by, and my mind had moved on…until I received a response back. Something within me awakened, or rather something awakened my heart. Weeks went by like this, the possibility always in the back of my mind, but out of sight-a pipe dream I called it if anyone asked what was next for me. I always had a plan. And moving across the world to join another hippie dippie intentional living community was not part of said plans. Far from it. Actually the opposite. The practical person I am I thought maybe I would move back home for a while and find work, maybe I would stay up in Seattle if I really wanted to spread my wings. HA-well jokes on me because again here I am thousands of miles from my known reality. No matter how crazy, or unrealistic, or completely insane the idea of L’Arche international seemed, I just couldn’t shake the desire to explore the opportunity.

One thing led to another and I found myself interviewing, then being offered, then accepting the position in a matter of days. Let me repeat. I am a planner. Nowhere was moving to a foreign country indefinitely part of the plan. How did this happen?!? As my saint of a mother put it, the heart has a mind of its own. And man is the Holy Spirit good at speaking through the heart. I can only believe my pull to diverge from the known and familiar was the work of a greater calling, a calling I couldn’t keep from hearing anymore. I am grateful this powerful spirit was as stubborn as I am because I wasn’t giving up my plans without a fight. I convinced myself every time the feeling came up that it was just the travel bug, wanderlust for something different. Then the vivid life like dreams started happening, the wild thoughts crept in weekly, then daily as I continued to tell myself it was simply out of the question. Until one day, in an exhausted state of confusion, I let go just for a moment the expectations I had for my life after JVC. In those moments my eyes were opened to the possibilities of a life I could have never imagined just months before. There was no turning back-a sureness spread over me, and after months of trying to convince myself otherwise I felt at peace. At peace with the decision to move across the world and make life a whole lot more complicated.

And that brings us to where I sit today, almost 6 weeks into my time here. And it’s been a wild ride of a 6 weeks, and there will be more to come on that when the time is right, but for now I’ll leave the introduction as so. Seemingly untidy and unfinished, but well-intended.

*Bye now, bye, bye bye, bye

*direct quote from any Irish person ending a phone call. Every time. Cheers!

If words could express…

I know, I know. It’s been a while. A long while. Not for lack of trying, or thinking, or wanting… But this weekend, I had the privilege of giving the JV reflection at the JVC NW Fundraiser. That was the first time in a LONG time I’d openly expressed how I’ve really been doing these past 9 months. And I thought it could be worth sharing. So, if you’re curious…read the following and pretend like you’re in a room full of Former Jesuit Volunteers drinking copious amounts of beer and wine. In fact, maybe crack open a bottle before reading, that might help…

“Hello, my name is Maddie Regan, and I am a member of the Cherry Abbey, or “Chabbey” community, as we affectionately call it. I’ve spent these past 9 months as the mainstream services liaison at the Urban Rest Stop, an organization that helps people experiencing homelessness take care of their basic hygiene needs by providing free laundry, showers, and restrooms, as well as referral services. To get a feel for the space I serve in, I want you to picture a Laundromat, with a hallway of showers in the back, and my desk smack dab in the middle of it all. I am constantly surrounded by our patrons and staff, whom I have come to love and cherish in a way that I find hard to truly express. And if I’m being honest and vulnerable (a concept strongly encouraged since Day 1 of orientation…) I think that’s why this reflection was so hard to write. How do I put into words the incredible gratitude I feel to serve at an organization like the Urban Rest Stop, a place centered around creating human dignity through direct service, in such an intimate way? How do I express to friends and family that this year I have experienced the transformation of my heart and mind in ways I couldn’t have ever imagined? I want to take this opportunity to share what I’ve learned since becoming a JV about the privilege I have, and what it means to create a more just world. Big plans, I know. But bear with me!

I suppose I should start with why I willingly signed up to live in a house with 7 strangers, work countless hours, and get paid far less than the soon-to-be 15 dollar minimum wage. In making the choice to pursue JVC Northwest, I was yearning to be changed, to have my white, privileged world flipped upside down. I suppose my story leading me to this program was unique, as all of them are. You see, I’ve wanted to be a JV since I was 16… I know what you’re thinking-every 16 year old thinks they know what’s best for them, and how does JVC NorthWest brainwash them so young?? The summer of my sophomore year of high school, I went on the Portland Plunge, a week long immersion into simple living while serving folks experiencing homelessness. That immersion was, and still is, coordinated by a JV. I fell in love with the idea that a program like this existed, that I could be a part of something with pillars based around community, social justice, spirituality, and simple living. A program where I could live out my faith while cultivating my growing passion for service and justice. Needless to say, at 16 years old I had my rose colored glasses on, but here I am 6 years later, fulfilling that desire to be a catalyst for change, in ways far different than I could have ever expected.

I say this because being a JV is hard sometimes. Well, most times. In fact, this year has been one of the hardest of my life, but in the best way. Let’s start with community. 8 strangers under one roof can be the best thing, or the worst thing, usually a combination of both. Never did I think I could get so impassioned talking about my peanut butter preference (chunky salted, if you were wondering…), or that I could have a 4 hour long conversation about to the thermostat temperature. But what I think is unique to  JVC Northwest is that I’ve gotten to know my community so well that just months later, I feel comfortable enough to fight for my right to eat that chunky, salted peanut butter! Or when I’ve had a long, hard day at the Rest Stop, I know I am coming home to people that get it. Friends that get what it means to serve wholeheartedly, to have their hearts broken wide open weekly, if not daily. An intentional community where we can talk about our role in the gentrification of our Central District neighborhood, where we can motivate and encourage each other to be catalysts of change amid the growing disparity of wealth and privilege in the booming Seattle economy.

And it’s not just community; the value of simple living has allowed me to step back and realize the incredible place of wealth I come from. I think it’s important to acknowledge the privilege I have in serving as a JV this year. I recognize that as a white, middle class, college graduated millennial, I have an infinite amount of opportunity. And to be quite honest, I needed to be humbled in a way that made me realize this. I came into my JV year with the frame of mind that I “knew” what to do; I had gone to school, I had 8 years of Jesuit education under my belt, I’d volunteered all over the world. I could do this! But really, I came into this year ignorant of the privilege I had been born into. I remember my first day at the Rest Stop, bright eyed and eager to put my classroom skills into practice, and I quickly realized that was NOT going to work. Turns out I didn’t have all, or really any, of the answers, and if I truly wanted to help, I needed to listen. I needed to be present to the very people I was sent here to serve. I still have no clue what it’s like to experience homelessness, or to encounter institutional racism, issues patrons I meet at the URS deal with daily. But I can sit, and I can listen to people living that reality.

Leading up to this year, I wrote often, using it as a way to process. But something changed when I started to hear the stories of the folks I spend my days alongside. I had a realization, for better or worse, that words could not do what I was hearing justice. That it would be a vast simplification of something incredibly raw and human, because homelessness is a complex and messy issue. I would argue that’s why so many people walk straight by the person panhandling on the corner without acknowledging their existence. Homelessness can happen to anyone, at any time, for any number of reasons, and that’s scary. But the beautiful thing about the Rest Stop, and the organizations JVC North West partners with, is the opportunity for humanity and compassion. I say that and you might be tempted to think I’m the one showing compassion, doing this great humanitarian work, when in reality, I am learning far more from my patrons each and every day than I ever learned putting pen to paper in school. From my messy desk in the middle of the URS I see people treating others with a compassion that only comes from shared, raw experience, a compassion that rocks me to my core, and inspires me to love deeper, listen more intently, and be a better person. It fills me with gratitude to be a part of something like JVC NorthWest. What an opportunity I have, to come into an organization for a year, and to learn from people who’ve made this their life’s work. To have mentors who will be serving people on the margins after I leave, after the next JV leaves, and 10 years after that. How lucky am I that I get to be a part of something bigger than me? 60 years bigger, to be exact.

I want you all to know the gratitude I feel for JVC NorthWest and the Urban Rest Stop. I am humbled to share my days with folks who have experienced pain, and loss, and immense amounts of grief, but who embody the gratitude so often missing from middle class America today. Yeah, I could work at a non-profit, live in a crappy apartment (rent is CRAZY here!) and get along just fine. But there’s just something about sharing this experience with people who are exploring the world’s injustices alongside you. You can grieve together, and out of this, hope can grow. Former JVs joke about being ‘ruined for life’ but I cannot stress how TRUE that is. As one of my favorite authors, Anne Lamott writes, “I do not understand the mystery of grace—only that it meets us where we are and does not leave us where it found us.” I feel grateful to have experienced an awakening of mind and heart this year, and what a grace it has been.”

my very own story people.

**Disclaimer: the names in my stories have been changed for privacy sake of the people I serve, and everything I write and mention are my own thoughts and musings! No reflection of any organization here!**

“Is that okay?” I ask tentatively, seeking Kate’s approval. With a playful grin on her face, the woman sitting in the red plastic chair surrounded by everything she owns looks up at me and answers, “Well it has to be, doesn’t it?”

We were running behind on Kate’s laundry thanks to a washing machine that loved the 6 minute mark so much it stayed there for 30 minutes. I was apologetic, nervous about being approached by a patron asking for their laundry when sweet, sweet Kate plopped down next to me and asked the hot-button question. Her answer “It has to be okay” speaks volumes about the patience and grace I have received this past month and a half. I sat down with Kate for those 22 minutes her laundry had left in the dryer, and she met my anxiety with patience and gratitude, a combination that knocked me off my feet. In that short time, I met Kate with an openness and curiosity about her story, and armed with listening ears I took it all in.

I’ve heard people say the phrase “meeting people where they’re at” in the social service world to refer almost exclusively to meeting clients, or patrons where they’re at in their life journey. But I’d like to stretch that concept to the grace I, as a social service provider, have received by the hundreds of patrons that walk in the Urban Rest Stop’s doors each and every day. The folks that I have the privilege to see everyday are meeting me with a sense of gratitude I can hardly fathom, knowledge beyond my years, experiences I will never have. And these wonderful, authentically beautiful people are meeting me where I’m at grabbing onto my curiosity and sending their stories soaring into the depths of my soul.

There’s a quote from StoryPeople that describes this feeling better than I can, and it says: “Now & then, I try to listen without knowing anything. It’s a nice break from all the other days where I just talk without knowing anything.” I have become resolute with the idea that I, as a white, college educated, middle class, privileged person can never know just exactly how the people I am serving feel, or the pain they have experienced. But the beautiful thing about the human condition is this; though people suffer in different, individual ways, this suffering is part of what makes us human. So let us instead of running away or hiding from it, lean in to this suffering and pain. Let us embrace it, and name it, and let the pain pass.

By embracing the truth that I know nothing, I am opening myself up to growth in a way I never before could dream of. In these past 6 weeks, I have heard stories that tear at my heart strings, I have sat with people who have no home, who’s family consists of their friends and loved ones living outside among them. I have learned from people who had to grow up far too fast. I have laughed until I cried tears of authentic joy. And I have listened. And I don’t know much, but that right now, this exactly where I am supposed to be.

bugs in my bed.

I should start this post with a disclaimer: anything I write is my own opinion and doesn’t reflect JVC NW in anyway. And just to disconfirm any rumors: I do not in fact have bed bugs, no need to send me cedar spray or a new mattress. A bed frame couldn’t hurt though…

After 18 hours back in the U.S. after having the wonderful opportunity to travel through the UK with my grandma, I departed for the next year of my life, starting the journey in Molalla, OR at Camp Adams. It was there that I met the rest of the 150 NW Jesuit Volunteers who I would be serving alongside for this next year, some on Native American Reservations in rural Montana, others in Juneau and Anchorage, and myself in Capitol Hill, Seattle. Now I know what you’re thinking, and I thought the same thing. How did I end up in the swanky Cap Hill, Central District when my brothers and sisters in service are elsewhere? I certainly cannot complain about my house, the building itself along with my 7 housemates. (example of such in my Christmas Light extravaganza of a living room below)

our living room complete with Christmas lights and couches older than me

But just two weeks in, and I have already begun to conceptualize the great need of the population I am working with in the city. During orientation, we were told that many Jesuit Volunteers feel lonely throughout the year, even though they are living with 3, 4, 8 other people in a house. How could it be that one could feel so lonely among so many? I would argue, probably similar to how one could feel so incredibly invisible among so many. Such are the feelings of many who walk, skate, roll through the doors at the Urban Rest Stop. I am the first to admit that I don’t think I will ever fully understand what it is like to experience homelessness, that my thoughts and views come solely from the lives and experiences of the folks I work with. But I have found a strain of common humanity among those I am serving, and that in fact the men, women, and children (and everyone in between) that come through the Urban Rest Stop’s doors are teaching me much more than I could ever learn in the cushy office of a non-profit. That one cannot truly serve others without walking with them through this journey. The Recovery Café, a service placement of one of my housemates, has a motto that “everyone is in recovery from something.” Now that’s something I can get behind. It taps into the idea that through a sense of common humanity, compassion is born.

And these thoughts aren’t new thoughts, I am sure I am not the first person who thought this might be a good way to live, but in these past two weeks, I have lived this way more than ever before. And you know what? It feels damn good. And it hurts like hell. Because each and every day the people who walk through the door at my placement have a million different reasons why they’re there, just like I do. And some of these reasons are different from mine, but some are so intrinsically bound up with each other one cannot help but see the commonalities.

The Urban Rest Stop is a low barrier service provider, which means that anyone in any state of mind can use our facilities, our restrooms, laundry, and showers as long as they do so safely. For many this is a radical idea. People gasp at the thought that someone suffering from mental illness, or who is strung out on heroine might have the right to basic necessities like hygiene. Sure, sometimes life isn’t pretty. But for those who have a place to call home, those “un” pretty moments can happen behind closed doors. For the people I get to see everyday, they simply don’t have that luxury.

When I had a bug in my bed the first few days I lived in Cherry Abbey, I was pained by the bites on my hands, but I had the means to deal with unwelcome guests in my bed. I had a washer and drier to clean my sheets, another place to sleep for the night. My first thought was “poor me, my itchy hand.” I threw a big giant pity party for myself. I am here to admit that I was ungrateful for the basic necessities I have. I work in a hygiene center, watching people come in everyday covered in bites, and all I could think about was “boo hoo me.” Then I remind myself, this is an avenue for growth. Growth to change my thinking to a way that starts with gratitude. How lucky am I to have a washing machine and drier to keep away those bugs, to live indoors, to have a bed. The Urban Rest Stop gives everyone the opportunity to feel that grateful “clean out of the shower” feeling each and every day. I am blessed to walk the 40 minutes uphill back to my house, to my community to take care of myself. And I am blessed with the opportunity to give people the chance to do the same.

What a year it will be, won’t you follow me on this journey as we walk together? Let me leave you with a poem read to us at orientation. Let it serve as a reminder in how one may live.

“Wild Geese” by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

Joyent.

First off, a big huge shout out to my friend and housemate Madeline Owen for showing me this word, and living out its meaning each and everyday.

Last week, after another wonderfully delicious family dinner that our K-House family shares every Sunday, a group of us had a private yoga class led by the one and only Madeline Owen. Though Madeline is kind enough to lead us in yoga on a regular basis, something about this class was different. It could have been the setting under the moonlit sky, the breeze resounding through the avocado tree behind us. It might have been the friends I was surrounded by, the people I have come to know and love more and more with each passing day, or it could have just been a really really great night. I like to think it was a combination of all these things tossed in with some divine intervention that made this evening particularly impactful.

The word joyent was introduced at the beginning of yoga-a combination of joy and content. Something about the combination of these two words struck me. In fact it hit me so hard that I couldn’t get the word out of my head all through yoga, the next day, into the next week. I began to realize just how apt this word is in describing my experience in Cape Town. It is one thing to be content in a moment, to feel fully present and happy with where you are, who you are with. But it’s a whole other thing to be content AND joyful about the present moment. To feel so present, and so joyful that you can hardly contain your excitement and fervor for life. I experience an incredible amount of joyent people every single day here. I see it on the faces of the people I pass on the way to the store, the woman who sits across the street from my favorite sushi place, who, no matter what time of day it is always hollers “Good morning!” to you when you walk by. I see it in the eyes of the amazingly generous women who work at my service site when I pronounce an Afrikaans word wrong as they teach me their home language. It’s in the children I’ve met here who are more than happy to just sit and play with your hair, or earrings, or really anything else they can get their hands on. And I see glimpses of it in each and every one of the K-House members. Day in day out I am in complete awe of the people I am surrounded by who, by God’s amazing grace have come together in a country thousands of miles away from their homes, are following their passions, from cultivating the seeds of future NGOs, making a difference in the schools they teach at, to surfing/running/hiking/kayaking their way through life with lit up faces in a bright smile. To see so much joy in the people I surround myself with makes my heart swell with happiness and oh so so so many joyent feelings.

Stepping away from the busy life I had created at Santa Clara was something I struggled with more than I care to admit, as I felt like I constantly needed to move, explore, seize the day. If I was sitting with no future plans on my agenda I was doing it wrong. But when I wiped away the persona I had built up at Santa Clara, when I stepped outside of my comfort zone of an always busy lifestyle, I came to realize the power of day to day living. That is to say, the conversation I am having right now is probably more important and life giving than worrying about the plans for tomorrow. In fact I am sure that the conversations I have poured myself into, I mean really poured my thoughts, my attention, my time into have created some of the most life giving moments so far in my travels. It’s in these moments, these conversations (with others, myself, and with God especially) that I feel most joyent. It’s no wonder the people I have met here are so happy, as their lifestyles reflect this day to day living. The term “no worries” is meant in earnest, it’s hard to worry in place as beautiful as Cape Town. My worries are met with a knowing smile and that phrase, and with that my anxiety is put at ease.

So here’s to another month of joyent living abroad, and a lifetime of it when I get back!

Thanks for reading.

Home.

The concept of what “home” means has been in the forefront of my mind recently, as more and more, I am thinking of Cape Town as just that. As the plane flew in from Joburg to the Cape after my week of travelling, I let out an audible sigh of relief and whispered to myself, “It’s good to be home.” To be back in my bed at 2 Kimberely Road, a place I had embraced hesitantly at first, I now pined for. How I love the unique houses I pass on my way to Qwik Spar, the grocery store down the street. How beautiful and cozy are the coffee shops and cafes I pass on my daily run through the neighborhood. Until just yesterday, I had always run with headphones in, drowning out the sound of minibus taxis honking all the way down the main road, the laughter and yelling of school age children waiting to go home. But yesterday, I ran unplugged, unrestrained by the upbeat music I kept pace to. And I had the best run of my time here so far. I’m not sure if it was the route I ran, dodging traffic, zigzagging my way through the neighborhood streets. But something about it felt comfortable. I have become ‘comfortable’ in a foreign country, so comfortable that I fear for the day I must leave the place I lovingly refer to as home. I am constantly finding more things to love about this city, from the number of markets to the colorful houses that scream “Rainbow Country” just 10 minutes away. I am continually reminded by God’s presence here through the beauty of both the landscape and people.

After weeks of indecision, I recently moved service sites to an NGO called FCW. It stands for Western Cape Foundation for community work. I have done more in the past 2 weeks than I have in the previous 2 months. The organization works with early child development, empowering members of townships to teach friends and neighbors to prepare young children for primary school. From day one, I have felt at home at FCW, and have been taken under the wing of the women in the organization. The ‘aunties’ I call them, teach me Afrikaans, treat me like a daughter, and push me to succeed and think in way I have yet to do here in Cape Town. I have the amazing opportunity to be a part of the research team responsible for creating assessment tools to track a child’s progress, and have been fortunate enough to visit the communities in which the organization works. I come from service everyday with a smile on my face, excited to come back.

I believe it’s been a combination of things that have made Cape Town feel like home, from the people I’ve met, to my housemates themselves. But I consider myself incredibly blessed to grow and learn from every conversation, interaction, and experience abroad. Though I only have 2 months left, I am confident my experience will only continue to render me speechless.

The day an elephant stole my heart and other musings from my travels.

A few weeks ago, I was fortunate enough to spend 10 days traveling around the county I’ve called home for the past couple of months. And it only took me 3 weeks to sit down and write about it…

Our first day started off early with a group of 17 of us boarding the “bus” at 5:00am. Bus is a loose term, as what we travelled in what a giant off roading caravan that made other cars and people look like ants from below. Jimmy, our guide and driver for the week introduced himself, and we were off. After driving for most of the day we made it to Knysna and were informed that instead of bungee jumping the next day like we had all mentally prepared for, they could fit us in that afternoon. I practically choked on my gum, and nervously smiled as we drove toward the bridge we were to jump off.

After signing in and getting harnessed up, we were led under the bridge to the jump platform. I gazed out over the canyon taking in a view of the ocean to my left, and a forest to my right. And the ground a thousand feet under me. We stepped onto the platform and into a party, as the music blared and we danced with energy mixed with fear and anticipation. That’s when I was informed I was going to be the first to jump. I suppose I should have been nervous, the thought of jumping off the tallest bungee jump in the world (700ft) should be nerve wracking. Instead, I was lit with excitement and gladly followed the guide up to the jump zone. I was strapped in, and was told to jump out off the platform on 1. I wiggled my way to the edge, and was so excited that on the count of 2 I jumped. And I flew. It was the most exhilarating experience to fly through the air and to bounce back up before settling upside down until I was fetched. It’s hard to explain, the feeling of weightlessness. All I’ll say is that the next time I’m jumping, I’m going backwards!

Right before the jump

The group! All 17 of us

So how do you top that right? Other highlights of the trip include…

Swimming in the ways of the Indian Ocean outside of East London (some of us more clothed than others) at a backpackers right on the water…and the view from my room continues to leave my speechless.

view from my porch at the backpackers

Next we stopped in Coffee Bay, an amazing community on the edge of the sea surrounding by foothills and local villages. I met some of the happiest people here as I wandered around the small town. We had the opportunity to hike through hills where cows were our only competition for space. We hiked along the coast, led by a local guide from the village across the way. Coffee Bay and its residents will always hold a special place in my heart. I will never forget the beautiful sunset I saw the first night there from the top of the hill overlooking the ocean.

Hole in the wall rock

Coastal hike

We headed to a quick stop in Durban next, spending the night there and half of the next day where we enjoyed Durban Marine World. A short excursion on our trip! We drove most of that day to Johannesburg, the largest city in South Africa. After spending hours in the bus looking out at the vast grasslands and small villages, I was taken aback by the mirage of lights as we entered into Jo-burg. It’s no wonder they say Jo-burg is the place where people make their money, and Cape Town is where they spend it. Cars whizzed past us, and people crowded the sidewalks like sardines.

Our night in Jo-burg took an unexpected turn with a miscommunication between our group and cab driver, and we ended up at a wonderful restaurant complete with wood fire pizzas and yummy wine. Though it wasn’t the intended spot, if gave us a small taste of the big city. My time in Jo-burg however, reminded me just how much I loved Cape Town and its easy going way of life. I fear for my sanity when I go back to the big city in the states!

Finally, after much anticipation, we wound our way up to Kruger park, my favorite part of the trip. We stayed at a lodge complete with big beds and a pool, a far cry for the dorm style backpackers we had stayed in for the first part of the week. That afternoon, we embarked on a sundown game drive filled with laughter and 4x4s. We wove our way through the private game reserve, first seeing a giraffe just 20 feet from our car.

I didn’t think it would get better than this, and man was I wrong. Not 10 minutes later did we stumble upon a Lion’s den complete with mom, dad, and lion cub all laying in the sun. We weren’t but 10 feet away from the pride as they seemed completely unfazed by our presence. It was one of the most breath taking moments of my life, as the young cub walked toward our car and layed down in the road.

Next, we saw rhinos,

followed by a stop for a sundowner on the reserve complete with drinks, snacks, and the most beautiful sunset I’ve seen abroad yet. After almost losing my phone in the African bush, we hoped back inside the 4x4s to do some night watching, where we found hippos in the watering hole and sleeping giraffes.

The next day, we took a tour inside the actual Kruger Park, and this my friends is where I had my breath taken away by the one and only African Elephant. Upon the first siting I almost fainted. Not 20 feet away from our bus was a creature more beautiful than words could express, followed by 10 more elephants including mothers with their babies. As they crossed the road, I stood in awe of the beauty and majesty they carried themselves with

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I simply couldn’t believe my eyes. Our tour rounded out with a hippo and crocodile sighting, along with more buffalo, rhinos, and giraffes

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After having way too much of our food stolen by monkeys at lunch, we headed back to the lodge for the night where we celebrated the Max’s birthday, a cherished member of our program. The night was filled with a wonderful dinner, drinks, and stories. A perfect ending to an amazing trip.

Sorry for the extended post, but that was my week in a nutshell, bungee jumping, elephants and all!
Thanks for reading if you made it this far. More to come soon.

Enkosi,

Maddie

Beyoncé around the world

Disclaimer: This post will mention Beyonce, but sadly no, she is not the focal point. False advertising I know…

I can vividly remember the first time driving down the N2 here in Cape Town, my eyes set in a gaze out the window. I was taken aback by the visible poverty that consumed the edges of the highway for miles. How, just 10 minutes away from my comfortable home in Observatory could people be living in such desolate conditions? How did they find themselves, there, and is there any chance of them getting out of these townships? I immediately jumped to the conclusion that the towns I saw lining the highway were places of unrest, of unhappiness. 2 months later, and I have realized my vast overgeneralization and need to rationalize what I saw.

Growing up in the States, I think we (I specifically) put a general face to poverty, what it looks like, smells like, acts like. As much as I would like to say I have participated in breaking down these stereotypes in the familiar context of my home town, I found myself applying these same over generalizations to the people here. Just trying to make sense of it all. Yesterday, as I wove my way through the township of Mitchell Plains, I heard the sound of a child’s laughter, the engine of cars zipping through the streets, “good mora” exchanges between neighbors. But above all that, as I walked down the dirt streets of this township, I heard music coming from every which way. John Legend blaring from a local store, Drake playing on a teenager’s speakers as he walked down the street, and of course, the famed Beyoncé belting out “Love on Top” from a pale pink house with lace curtains. 

These weren’t the faces, the houses of poverty I had expected. This place wasn’t desolate, but alive with music and neighborly chit chat. This township, as all townships are, was a home. Many times, it is the only home that people will live in, as generational poverty is a continued battle in this country. The issues of poverty, unemployment, and substance abuse are talked about often in the news here in South Africa, and rightly so as this country is still developing. But something that isn’t talked about as frequently is the idea of relative poverty. I can come in as an American who lives a very comfortable life back in the States and wonder how people can be happy in this situation, but they live in these circumstances. They make these communities their homes, places to be proud of, to raise families in. A township is not a transient place, but a home rich with history, family, and community. Yes, all communities have struggles, and many places in these townships would not be up to par with the United States building codes, but what is lacked in material is made up for in strong relationships. I’m beginning to realize that in fact, there is much to be learned from simplistic living. Happiness is all relative. 

Until next time, 

Have a happy day!

There’s a first time for everything.

After weeks of putting off blogging, I have finally had time to sit down and let my thoughts run onto the page…well blog. Tomorrow morning at a lazy 5am, a group of us will be off on the adventure of a lifetime down and up the coast of South Africa stopping along the way to Bungee Jump from the world’s highest Bungee, to visit beautiful coastal cities like Coffee Bay, and to spend time in Kruger National Park, one of the largest nature and animal reserves in the world. All in 10 days. So before I go, I thought I would take a look back at some of the “firsts” I’ve accomplished so far in my month and a half abroad. And what better way to do so than a list!

1. The first time I ran up and down a mountain in South Africa. I developed a love for trail running before my time abroad, but this past weekend while on retreat in Hermanus, I had the opportunity for some solo runs up the mountains on the retreat center property. The thrilling rush of coming down the mountain is something that’s hard to put into words, but with every step down the mountain, I am present in the here and now of my life. This very presence is something I’ve been longing for since going abroad.

The view from my first run of the weekend.

From halfway up the mountain, a panorama of the valley and rolling hills below in Hermanus, SA at Volmoed Retreat Center

2. My first time whale watching in the Southern Hemisphere. This past weekend while on retreat, we also had the opportunity to go into the coastal town of Hermanus. And who knew that Hermanus was the whale capital of the world? As I sat down for lunch at a restaurant precariously perched on the rocks above the ocean, I looked in amazement at whales breaching in the water just a few hundred feet away. The sheer size of their tail fin was enough to take my breath away, let alone the whole left side of one.

On the coast of Hermanus

3. My first time ocean kayaking. One of my housemates, Abbie has a passion for all things involving kayaking, so when she found out it was possible to do down here on the coast, she excitedly got all but 2 in our house on board. Our group spent a Sunday afternoon travelling to Simone’s Town by train and kayaking the coast of Boulder Beach. The very beach where there are penguins. YES. Penguins in South Africa? I didn’t believe it either. But as we approached the beach, there they were just hanging out on the shore, along with the seals that swam next to us. Never did I think I would kayak in open water, or see penguins in South Africa. To experience this in one fellow swoop? Unheard of.

4. My first braai. It’s okay, I had no idea what that was either before coming here. It’s South Africa’s version of a BBQ but better and with meat I’m unsure how to pronounce. A couple of Sundays ago, Kimberley House put on a braai for our university friends and service learning sites. All day, the house was filled with excitement, cooking, and lots of embarrassing dance moves. We made ‘salads’ or side dishes for the meat consisting of fruit salad, penne pasta salad, avo caprese salad, and LOTS of Mac and Cheese. The braai was a success, complete with a variety of guests, one who happened to be a DJ, who so conveniently brought his speakers and music with him. This only added to the electric atmosphere of the party! The night ended with a group of us saying ‘yes’ to the invitation of karaoke by a woman and her boyfriend who worked at a service site in the area. Before we knew it, we were swept away by our two new friends listening to a karaoke competition late into the afternoon. By the end the four of us were singing Beyoncé on stage.

Two of my favorite women I have had the opportunity to meet here. On the left is our RA, Kholeka. On the right is Bhuli, the wife of our program director.

5. My first time sitting on the beach enjoying the sunset in this country. With good company, and some wine, we sat on the rocks at Camps Bay and watched one of the most beautiful sunsets I’ve ever seen. This started off one of the most fun nights of the trip, with our whole group ending up at the Hout Bay Market for dinner and live music. 

6. Our first birthday celebration here in Cape Town. What a coincidence that two of my beautiful have the same birthday! Sarah (20) and Leyla (22) celebrated their birthday with our group over dinner and drinks with Sarah’s parents who flew in for the week to see this beautiful country. As time goes on, I am continuing to fall in love with our house and the willingness to do whatever, and go wherever for each other.

7. My first time completing the three peaks here in Cape Town. This past Monday, I finally had the chance to climb the last of the 3 mountains, Lion’s Head. With clear skies driving there, the weather took a turn for the worst and the mountain was surrounded by thick fog the whole way up. But that didn’t stop my new friends and me from climbing to the top, and trail running down. By far one of the most fun mountain hikes I’ve done!

8. And finally….my first tattoo. I wasn’t going to mention it, but I thought hey, whoever reads this blog I’ve probably already told about it. A couple weeks back, my friend from school and I decided we were finally going to act on our idea, and made an appointment at Cape Electric Tattoo. After 2 years of consideration and deliberation, I walked out with a small anchor on the inside of both my feet, a constant reminder to anchor myself in my faith. Sure it’s cliché, but from the moment the tattoo artist started, I haven’t regretted my decision one bit. I never thought I would get a tattoo. Let alone get a tattoo in a foreign country, but it’s a decision I am completely sound with. Whenever I took down at my feet I won’t just remember the meaning of the tattoo, but the place where I got it. 

 

And with that, I’m off to explore more, and to write another post! 

 

Blessings to all.