Culturally Shifting

From the land of Bolllywood to the land of the kwaito dancing brave.  Eish!

Every time the migratory pattern of the Greatest Hits Tour has come up, people have followed the logic of my movements easily until I mention the last leg:  Delhi, India to Gaborone, Botswana.  Though seemingly impractical financially and geographically, this move could not have made more sense to me.  Firstly, Saudia Arabia Airlines was offering an unreal fare to Johannesburg.  More importantly, I couldn't imagine a more appropriate end to my trip -- finishing in the place where my love affair with overseas life began, making an illogical turn to the place where I learned to rethink the term logical.  And, how cool is this -- I cut off my dreads at my first stop on this trip, and my last stop is the place where I created them.  

Indeed, being back 'this side' is fantastic.  I hitched a ride with a dude from Botswana and three Zimbabaweans to Windhoek from the middle of nowhere near the Bots border.  As the car cruised over the Namibian border, with the driver joking about paying lobola (bride price) of 20 cows to my parents, I felt this beautiful sense of contentment:  "I'm back in Namibia.  All is right in the world."  

Still, it has been about the weirdest transition ever.  Or, perhaps entering or departing India is shocking regardless of the preceeding/following locale.  

When I arrived at the Bangkok airport to catch my flight to Calcutta, I witnessed a cultural shift before I even landed on Indian soil.  I was totally fascinated by the scene at the check-in counter:  87 Indian men gathered around -- with barely any regard for lines -- discussing/arguing loudly and passionately about matters of luggage (I think...) with each other and with the very sweet, classically gentle and quiet Thai female airline staff.  I was still technically in Thailand, but this airport hubbub gave me a clear idea of the intensity into which I was heading.  Indeed, Calcutta was beautifully full-on (that Bangkok ticket counter only just scratched the surface), and it took me at least three days to settle into its fascinating chaos.  

Going from Bangkok's bustling population of 8 million to the intensity of Calcutta is nothing compared to the transition of heading from India's dense population to utter sparseness of Botswana and Namibia.  Rishikesh is not a very big place, but it still has the essence of the Indian bustle -- the congestion of people on foot, on motorbikes, and in overflowing auto-rickshaws mixed with meandering cows, hungry monkeys, street cart sellers, and discombobulated tourists.  In fact, Gaborone, Botswana has a larger population than Rishikesh according to my dear friend, Wikipedia.  But, Gaborone is shrouded in the silence of the Kalahari desert.  The city sprawls over a large area, making it seemingly almost as car dependent as the metro-D.  The roads are very well maintained.  Modern shopping malls are the source of entertainment.  There is not the constant noise of horns beeping and devotional chanting. And, it's flat and brown.  

Indeed, it was quite clear when I completed my very long series of taxi, plane, train, and bus connections that I certainly was not in the Indian foothills of the Himalayas any longer.  

I have so enjoyed observing this stark contrast (sing with me here the Namibian national anthem:  '...contrasting, beautiful Na-mib-i-a...').  I have been amazed at how it is possible to equally love two places that are seemingly so at odds.  I absolutely loved my 100% vegetarian diet in Rishikesh, but I also absolutely love street kapana (barbecued beef strips).  I loved the beautiful saris and the modesty, but I also love the tight tops, plunging cleavage, and short skirts even on Namibia's most unlikely female bodies.  I was fascinated by the firmness of gender roles and the scandal elicited by simply giving a man a hug, and I am equally fascinated by the fact that taxi drivers feel that it is fully appropriate to ask to date me/sleep with me/marry me in the space of three minutes.  I was in a dreamland of yoga practice and spiritual talk, and now I am in a dreamland of Windhoek Lager and kwaito music.  One of my favorite moments in India was slipping into a hall full of people that were chanting an entire holy book over the course of nine days.  One of my favorite moments in Namibia has been singing along with everyone in the bar: "she got that million dollar...million dollar oooh oooh oooh".  

On Saturday morning, I hit the defining moment of the contrast of my Rishikesh experience and my Walvis Bay experience.  I went to sleep (after many, many hours of dancing to Southern African house music) at 5:30am -- my old wake-up time in Rishikesh.  There was no yoga or fruit salad that day.  Instead, when I got out of bed around noon, I had a coke and a bag of Simba chips for breakfast.

So, here I am, still bobbling my head as a form of communication while also naturally re-integrating the "oooooh aye ayes" and "eish-es" of Southern Africa.  And, I feel even more in love with the bigness and wideness and weirdness of this world than ever before.