Friday, 12 Jan 2001

PAULSHOEK, South Africa

I am awake by 6. It’s my schedule, these days. But I do take time to enjoy my breakfast, then pack up the contents of my matjies hut. I will miss the hut until next month.

We pack everything away into the bakkie and camper, bit by bit. There are many little components of this and that to keep track of: mattresses, sleeping bags, lanterns, crockery, tools, data books, GPS. But we get it all sorted out, and by 8:30 we are ready to roll. Roll through the village one last time with Timm holding his arm out the window and waving continuously. “I feel like a beauty queen when I’m here,” he chuckles.

The view out the bakkie window.

Photo: Corinna Riginos.

And then we are gone, on the road again for the long return drive. More road, more greasy roadside cafes, more hitchhikers begging for a lift to the next major town.

The long road stretches in front of us in a straight, unending line. We chat.

“If you could travel to anywhere in the world, where would you go?” I ask.

“Nowhere,” replies Timm. “I am really content with where I am. And I’m still growing here in so many ways. Take this Paulshoek project. I’ve been coming to Paulshoek for three years now, and every time I come up I learn something new. It’s a lovely existence. But there is so much more to be done.”

I admire these words, this spirit, this desire to do what you can do in your own little corner of the world. Still, I am young, grappling with the bigger issues, not content to settle in any one place. I want to know what sustainable development truly means and if it is possible. I want to know if there is any way to conserve the planet’s diversity other than the tragically useless appeal to conscience. I want to know what I can do that will have meaning.

Being out at Paulshoek gives you so much time and space to think. Somehow, when I am there, everything seems unanswered and yet crystal clear. It has something to do with simplicity.

At last, after a seemingly interminable drive, we pull into the outskirts of Stellenbosch. It is Friday afternoon, and the students are getting ready to celebrate week’s end. Everything seems surreal — too many cars and people, obstructed skylines, too many walls of brick and concrete.

I’m back.