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.
