Now that we have been here for roughly a month and a half, I’ve started to appreciate some of the sharper, more interesting contrasts between South Africa and the U.S.  All of them, though quite unsettling at first, have made our experience here far more enlightening and ultimately wonderful.

For starters, the locals engage frequently - if not religiously - in what I first thought was just another kind of barbecue, called a brai.  When I first expressed this touchy misconception at a neighborhood “brai party,” however, it was as though I had called rugby a game of wimps.  My otherwise friendly host, Charles, after a seemingly stretched and awkward silence, rebutted haughtily, “a brai is SO much more than just a barbecue.”  And for the next several hours, I came to understand why.  Everything starts from a shallow hole in the ground; in this case a deliberately-sculpted basin in the center of Charles’s newly renovated wooden porch.  After filling the pit with coal and starting the fire early in the morning, guests arrive later in the day, closer to lunch, occasionally gathering around the pit on crafty oak stumps.  Once the fire reaches “peak heat,” the “fire starter,” which Charles proudly dubbed himself, begins to cook more meat than I thought existed, slab after slab, round after round.  First goes lamb, then pork, then biltong, then ribs, etc.  All said and done, the chef is hard at work for several hours, never betraying his post and only eating his own meal once everyone else is fed and happy.  Another cool fact about the brai: there can be no flames from the fire; they risk burning the food and suggest a shameful lack of cooking skills.  To keep things under control, therefore, the “brai master” always has a cracked beer can at the ready with which to spray and quell all unruly flames, like a vigilant fireman.  Very funny to watch!  Equally entertaining is the way the brai master repeatedly slices large chunks of meat and offers them, sizzling between tongs, to everyone gathered nearby.  The food is delicious, and everyone eats, hungry or not.  Actually, now that I think more about it, a brai is just another form of barbecue (though I will likely keep that argument to myself), just more ceremonious and primal, with large groups of people eating a ton of meat continuously and directly off of the grill.  Our ancestors would be proud.  By the end of the party, I thanked Charles for returning me to my roots.  With a wry smile, he said that I finally understood what a brai was truly about.

Unlike the endless abundance of meat products, on the other hand, there is a profoundly inspiring respect for uncertain natural resources here.  The water scare several months ago, which has played out numerous times to lesser degrees over the years, clearly amplified South Africa’s appreciation for earth’s most precious commodity.  It only took a few conversations with the locals to understand how terrifying life becomes when one’s faucet is only days away from running dry, which came to be known ominously as Day Zero.  And after hearing this collective warning tale, the Dangels have almost subconsciously adjusted our own behavior around water, washing dishes in a half-filled bowl, flushing only when necessary - “if it’s yellow, keep it mellow,” and using a bucket of collected water in the shower with which to flush the toilet manually.  These changes, from what I’m told, make a massive difference, as practical as psychological. 

Perhaps most noteworthy, there is absolutely no such thing as liability here - no verbal warnings, no disclaimers, no signs.  Nada!  If one chooses to climb a deadly cliff without help or professional advice, then that’s one’s choice.  But should one fall while climbing, there are no lawyers to be called or compensation to be sought; accountability falls inevitably and squarely on the climber.  Choices bear consequences - what a refreshing reality!  From personal experience, the Dangels all rushed to the Cango Cave site a few days ago, a vast 6,000-meter underground labyrinth that demands crawling, climbing, snaking, scooching, and perilous sliding down/ through hundreds of chest-wide tunnels.  Only a quarter of the way through, Carolyn (my wife) turns to me and utters, “we could all die…you know that.” And though we didn’t, thankfully, there were a few VERY hairy points at which I thought we would certainly get stuck (as one heavier-set person did a few weeks ago!) or my son would lose his mind.  The fact that my two kids gutted out this harrowing obstacle course is awesome!  And when our 12-person group finally finished the “death course,” most looked noticeably shaken.  One woman, with sweat pouring down her face, said that she thought she was a goner many times.  To which our phlegmatic, Bob-Marley-look-alike guide remarked, “you’re standing and breathing, so you’re good,” as he sauntered back to the building to usher another helpless clan to emotional ruin.  And to think that such a tremendous experience existed without the omnipresent pall of litigation in the air; and yet there we all were, exhausted, scared, even mildly scarred, but so exhilarated and accomplished.  We had won Survivor!

            Being asked to 1.  consume a boat load of unrecognizable beef, 2. to flush the toilet mainly with leftover water from a small bucket, and 3. to live in a land without legal assurances would likely shock most Americans.  For us, it has made our experience all the richer.  My kids are especially in tune with these differences, further aware of the precarious nature of resources and the fact that safety is never guaranteed.  Above all, as I have discussed with both Luke and Charlotte, no one owes us anything.  We are blessed to live the way we do, and we can only give back in ways that help us to better appreciate what we do have, both here and at home.  My daughter put it best the other day: “Even though change freaks me out at times, I know it makes me a better person in the end.”  My thoughts exactly.