I've been hit with lots of random South Africa thoughts lately. It's not at all languishing, but I keep having dreams that I'm back in Cape Town, in the newsroom or loitering with other intern types at our favorite haunts. Or weird flashes of memory in the middle of conversations or interviews or drives.

I also started reading through my paper journal from that time period again, realized I didn't record anywhere near enough while I was there, except for about a week in March when I hopped on a bus and explored beyond and dutifully filled pages and pages and pages.

E.g.

March 1, 2009: Morning in Lesotho is lovely. Contrasting light. That one tongue of green extending out into nowhere...in Lesotho, it looks always like it will rain, but then does not. "It is raining that side," they say, nodding toward the next valley over. Wealth is kept in animals. Flies on the door. Scrawny pups. Aranda blankets, the fashion name in blankets.

Sick again, sniffly nose and flush. Downing rooibos. J says, "Your accent is total good." Dumela. "You are total young." And I walk through villages in a way that makes me NOT followed by dozens of kids looking for handouts. Like I know where I am going. Galloped on horse through fields and plains. Fast! Fear, and breathing heavily. But I see how it could be easy. Tea with no sugar/milk is "like medicine," he says. Dinner is peas and full-fat milk. Lunch is porridge and milk. Of course I am hungry now. Shooting star in the lonely sky left of the Milky Way and its dust cloud. Bad sputtering candles from China. Alexandre will be Prime Minister of Lesotho and fix hunger by asking the World Food Project for more food. Or a priest. Why do men in the United States always get new wives? he asks.

March 2, 2009: J & I chat in the kitchen while candles sputter and fizz last night. I like the sound. Earlier, A asks why Bush fights Iraq. And are Saddam's wife and small ones death? I do not know, I reply, surprised at my ignorance. And what are the exports of my country? The kids are in school today, others lie in the grass talking slowly. No hurry. Lots of time. Horses neigh in the background. The cat follows me. I read men's magazines. Orange and black fuzzy birds, and one black with a tail draping like coattails.

Pap and beans for lunch. Then a walk? If I eat pap long enough, any other food will seem like a treat...It is unusually nice for March. Male donkeys braying and braying. The maps here still say, "Orange Free State."

But mostly:

March 8, 2009: The Southeaster makes a rare March appearance to say goodbye to me. Grit in my eyes, not daring to wear a dress, almost falling into traffic - this is my Cape Town.

July 10, 2009: Memories that hit you. The newsroom. Tony's gawky tall shamble, often seeming to be looking down. Craig, hands in pockets. He could almost be kicking a can. Tash always with a mug of something. How much more attention could be paid just to people walking?