For five days in June the ocean has been my home. Our home. The air was stuffed with seashells smell as I walked the beach streets of Souh Africa’s windy city, Port Elizabeth, the perfect surroundings to indulge myself in and seek for the tranquility I needed after my grandma’s sudden death.
Those five days I promised myself I’ll enjoy every day of my life, I’ll stop complaining and bitching about the “hard times” and embrace the happiness in every moment. The ocean was cold and calm, and although bathing was out of the question in the winter months, sitting on the beach while listening to the sound of waves put my mind to ease. I felt peaceful and ready to show myself to the world.
Every day I used to wake up in the comfort of a holiday beach guest house which makes you think you’ve landed straight into paradise – and have a sumptuous breakfast including the needful African rooibos tea. While my husband was already giving training to a certain engineering company (the downsizes of business trips), I was chilling in the afternoon sun, waiting to go for a walk on the beachfront or visiting the nearest shopping center, The Boardwalk, with spectacular views on the casino.
Then, shortly before my husband returned to the guest house, I was wandering the sandy beach, collecting seashells and reading an exciting novel by Sara Gruen, Water for Elephants (the Romanian edition) – a New York Times best seller published three years ago and awarded with prestigious titles for the most popular book. I strongly recommend it as it enlightened my days on the beach.
While I was busy reading my book a voice interrupted me – that is how I met Edwin, a black guy coming from Zimbabwe. He carried with himself his only priceless possessions – a small suitcase with a warm blanket and some clothes inside and a two liters Coke whom he shared with me. He was asking for directions and, since I wasn’t a local, but I knew the immediate surroundings, we engaged in a pleasant conversation.
He seemed a nice guy with no bad intensions, so we chatted about us, about my hometown, my challenges I face being a white immigrant in South Africa and my hopes for a bright future. He had a lot of faith in life and what awaits him – that’s what I like about blacks, they put their lives in the hands of faith. Edwin left his country after graduation and a nice job just after things got worse in Zimbabwe and he didn’t want to stay with his grandfather in a remote village. Both his parents died when he was little, but thanks to a white Afrikaner who paid for his further studies, Edwin is now a bright and educated young man who claims to like IT stuff and web designing and even tried his luck in Botswana. I myself told him about my writing passion and my life as a journalist in Romania.
Time was passing by at a different pace with Edwin, the conversation was so engaging that I almost forgot my husband’s arrival soon at the guesthouse. Tomorrow was our last day in Port Elizabeth, but I was happy I met Edwin – he gave me a 50 billion dollars money note – the Zimbabwean money that worth nothing now – and he went in searching for a place to stay overnight and looking for a job to start somewhere in South Africa.
Edwin became my Zimbabwean “pen friend” – we exchange emails now in the short time he affords to visit an Internet Café – now he’s also on Facebook, which is easier for me to let him a quick message. Last time he told me he left for Cape Town and made some friends there. He will soon start working again.
Port Elizabeth is a constant memory on my mind. Last day was harder, because I had to leave the beach, the beautiful cozy guesthouse, the conversations with Edwin and the short visits to Wilhelmina, the Cape colored lady behind the decorations shop counter at Boardwalk – she had beautiful seashell necklaces, earrings and bracelets to sell, so I couldn’t resist them. She was also having a rough time, having to live from a low salary and feed her five kids, after her husband’s death. I really felt connected with her and thought of 90% of Africa’s population who feels the same, whether they have a job or not. And then I couldn’t help thinking about my difficulties and my complains and how stupid they look now, when I know the real stories behind these people I met.
One thing I learned from them was to believe in faith and hope. As I’m writing these lines, I already know I got a new job in media, after months of searching for the right opportunity – but that’s another chapter to tell. And my life has changed for the best, as I’ve never been happier and grateful for what I have.
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