International Strangers

May, 2010, I went to Johannesburg, South Africa. Amazing. My hunger to meet new people was on full tilt prior to departure. A friend of mine sat me down a week before leaving, and in first-grade-teacher-speak, she schooled me on stranger danger. Clasping her hands and talking to me in a 1st grade tone she said, "Shelli, you cannot just go up to people in South Africa and talk to them like you do here. You simply can't. At one time Johannesburg was named the rape and murder capitol of the world. Shelli, you have to practice stranger danger. Do you understand me?" And like the well rehearsed 1st grader I nodded my head yes on the outside  --with a little smile on the inside. Below are some people I met in South Africa.

This man was guarding cars outside our restaurant one night. We talked, and he told of a time of war and his experiences. I asked him if I could take his picture. He said yes. As I focused my camera he JUMPED at me saying WUZZA WUZZZA WUZZA! Perhaps this was a good time to practice this stranger danger my friend mentioned.

A group of young ladies at a local private school. The eyes of the young lady on the right captivate me. What was she thinking when I took her picture? Her friends next to her are being funny and sassy. Her gaze is serious. She is for real. Her eyes are laser-focused. She wants you to know she is it. End of sentence.

I met Natasha in her shop of candles, incense and oils. A plume of fragrance hit you in the face a long time before entering. At first glance everything looked like typical trinkets. Not so. I talked to Natasha for over an hour about Hinduism. She was passionate about every aspect of her religion. She spoke in smooth phrases, massaging her subjects and verbs. She was hypnotic. Had I gone to the continent as an atheist, I was walking out a Hindu as far as she was concerned. She made me question my own passions and drive.

I met my most memorable person in a local market. This young man was dressed nicely and clean cut. He had the look of eagerness easily recognized by a fellow sales person. At first he watched closely every article I touched in his booth. As I walked out I looked in his eyes. Unlike all the other booths before his, he did not ask me to buy anything. He wanted to know about me. He was reading me. Watching me. As he spoke to me, he littered the space between us with questions in his light South African timbre. Are you from the US? How long have you been here? When will you return? How old are you? How many babies do you have? I told him I was 37 and had no babies. His eyes became wide with shock saying, "WHAT? NO BABIES?" I tried explaining my contentment and happiness, but this was simply not a part of his culture to understand. As I walked away he touched my hand. I turned around, and he asked one final question in desperation, "What do I need to do to live in the US?"

I thought about this final encounter for a long time. The longing in this man's eyes. Sobering. Making me thankful for my land of freedom and opportunity.