North Star

Chapter 2: Mountain Meander

“Meg… helloooo, Meg! Come back to earth,” Mom says. “Your head is in the clouds again Meggy. Papa was asking just now if you want a top up.”

I nod and pass over my cup, still lost in thought as Papa pours hot, sweet coffee from the flask then passes it back to me. 

We’re perched on a rocky sandstone outcrop far above the city, halfway up Table Mountain. The views from the very top of the mountain are even more spectacular, but even from here, we can see the whole of Cape Town laid out before us like a green and grey patchwork blanket far below. Distant cars and tourist busses meander along the road to the cable car on the lower slopes, small as a line of marching ants.

I clutch the tin coffee cup in my hands, savoring the warmth and sweetness, so comforting after the strenuous two hour uphill hike. Droolius Caesar,  our one hundred and twenty pound Great Dane, lies down at my feet sunning himself lazily in the late afternoon sunshine, oblivious to my troubled thoughts.

How will I spend my Sunday afternoons in Luxembourg? Will I have anyone to spend them with? What if I can’t make any friends? What if I hate it? What if this is all just a big mistake?

I catch myself in my spiralling thoughts and push away the doubts and fears, trying to bury the lingering anxiety that I’ve been trying so hard to hide from my parents.

“What are you thinking about so intently, Meggie Mouse?” Papa asks, calling me as usual by his ridiculously embarrassing pet name for me. “Is it the trip?”

“I guess,” I say. “I just can’t believe how quickly it’s come. I mean, I leave tomorrow.”

Mom reaches out and gives me a reassuring squeeze on my arm, smiling warmly, betraying none of the worry I’m sure she must be feeling.

“Let’s get moving,” Pappa says, breaking me out of my thoughts. “Still an hour to the top, then we’ve got two hours downhill.”

He and Mom are packing away the coffee flask and the cups while Droolius Caesar buries the dog biscuit they gave him, just like he does on every single hike. He probably thinks he’s been very sensible, saving the snack for later, but I’ve yet to see him actually dig up one of his buried biscuits. I’m sure the whole mountain by now is covered in decomposing snacks. 

Maybe that’s why all the plant-life on the mountain is so lush and beautiful. It must be very well-fertilized.

I stand up and dust myself off, falling into line behind my parents and Droolius as we rejoin the main hiking track. The narrow dirt path takes us up through a valley heavy with fragrant fynbos - mountainous shrubs in a variety of shapes of colours. Giant pale pink King Proteas hold court over crowds of purplish-flowered Ericas and bright yellow pincushion plants, while jewel-coloured sunbirds dart hungrily from bush to bush, gorging on the sweet midsummer feast. We pass through a patch of Leucadendron Argenteum - aka Silver Trees, each of them over ten feet high with pale grey bark and long silky pale green leaves covered in bright silver fuzz, that catches the sunlight as they flicker in the breeze. Each looks like a tiny silver fish, rippling and shivering through the shoal of foliage with iridescent movement. As always, I put out my hand and touch the leaves on either side lightly as we pass, feeling the soft velvety smoothness beneath my fingers.

I’m going to miss this place so much.

True, Cape Town (and the whole of South Africa, really) does have a dark side. Between the pockets of wealth and privilege there is unbelievable poverty, and government corruption, and violent crime. Lots, and lots, of crime. But in my mind that is all overshadowed by the immense beauty of the land and sea, the magic of the mountain, the spirit of the people, and the undeniable soul of Africa that beats through the heart of daily life here like a drum, stirring you up to dance, sing, to really live.

Even though I still feel like an outsider when it comes to social gatherings, there’s something bigger than that which keeps me grounded - daydreams about the vibrant energy of the township musicians, and Cape Point where the two oceans meet and baboons and ostriches chase the surf on shell-covered beaches.

I haven’t even left and I’m homesick already. Dammit.

I’ve never been overseas, and by this time tomorrow, I’ll be in an airplane halfway across the world.

To a country where I know no one and nothing, to study a subject that I’ll probably drop next year in favour of something that can actually some day get me a job.

What the hell am I doing?

Damn. But if my parents think it’ll be fine - with all the obstacles they’ve overcome, I’ve got to believe they’re right. 

When I first found out three months ago that I’d won a semester abroad, I thought my parents would be against me going. In fact, I was certain they’d say no to the whole thing, and I was steeling my resolve to put up a fight. So I was stunned when they reacted in exactly the opposite way. They were overjoyed, and so proud, and immediately phoned Gran and Grampy and Dadi and Dada and the aunties and half the frikkin’ neighbourhood to tell them the wonderful news.

I thought for sure they’d say I’m too young to travel overseas on my own for six months in a foreign country. I’m an only child, and I’ve always been sheltered. Not by my own design - but my parents have reasons for being a bit overprotective.

You see, had I been born just a few years earlier, I would have been born a crime, like so many other South African mixed race children.

It's a sad and strange story, but a real one. It's the story of how and why I came to be. It's not entirely my own story to tell, but I'll do my best.