The ride to and from Ghanzi does not get any more bearable over time. Indeed, on some days, it seems to have gotten worse. But what has changed is how quickly I forget the pain after I land. Afterall, what's the point on dwelling on your pain and suffering if it's over and you can't do anything to change it?
We drove home today in an open back pick up. I remember as a kid, I would watch movies where people rode in the backs of pick ups (usually with a yellow lab or a golden retriever). I thought it was so cool. I remember my first back of a pick up ride. It was in my dad's big black toyota tacoma. The wind blowing in my hair, the sun on my face, the thrill of using your full body to brace yourself against potential dangers. We made it all of 5 yards down the driveway before my mom freaked out.
Now, I readily and happily pop in the front seat if it's offered to me (and that's rarely). The ride home today, in all aspects but length, was exactly the same as my first truck ride, except after how many times? the experience was so much more different. The wind knotted my hair, the sun burned my lips, and oh, I got the full body experience as my muscles tensed and sweat dripped from every crease in my body... my limbs braced against potential dangers, gravel flying and smacking me in the arm like sharp bee bee's, leaving small white scars that I find days later once my skin has browned to a crisp and think, "where the heck did that come from?!"
But as soon as we landed at the front steps of my house, I leapt out, unpacked and cursed at my squashed bananas, stripped of my day clothes into my work-out clothes, and pumped bottles of sand (my make-shift weights) for half an hour. I'm actually looking forward to my next trip to Ghanzi, I didn't have time this trip to stop at the liquor store. ;)
(Photo: my friend Ntamo grinning at me from the coveted front seat)