Almost nine years have passed since I left Cape Town. This was the moment. I was finally coming home, at last, I could see Cape Town in the distance. Memories started to flood back. After I completed my degree I made the decision to leave Cape Town because I needed to make some progress career-wise and at the time I struggled to find work of any sort. I packed my old rusty car and drove to Johannesburg with my cat in her basket mewing the whole way. Every time I thought of what I was leaving behind, tears poured down my cheeks. I arrived in Springs utterly worn out from having driven for twenty-four hours non-stop and all the crying. The cat was traumatised and I was at an all-time emotional low. All I managed to find was a job doing secretarial work and which made me decide to take my chances in London. I knew that the grass would not actually be greener on the other side, but I needed a break and a promising job.
I left with so much emotion and loved Cape Town so much. All the years I’d been away, I called Cape Town home and here I was: Home. Just the funny thing was that it didn’t feel like home any more. It was a massive anticlimax. Arriving in Springs was warm and special but Cape Town just felt empty. The feeling of being estranged was made worse by the job situation or more specifically the lack of a job and the fact that I’d run out of money. We didn’t have a home yet either. I started to feel a bit stressed and doubted myself. As I prepared for interviews I was thankful to have a full CV with lots of experience and qualifications that I’d gained while I’d been away. Life was quickly becoming normal again and I had to make the transition from travelling biker chick to a normal career woman with responsibilities and bills to pay.
I was in the full swing of job interviews when Martin and Rickard called to say they were in Cape Town and had taken a long leisurely drive down the country. They’d made it! The brothers had accomplished their mission and I’m sure all their friends back in Sweden were astounded. What started off as a crazy idea over one too many beers turned out to be entirely possible, achievable and a lesson to us all: do it!
I wondered what it would be like seeing them again after a few months and after parting in Zanzibar, when we seemed relieved to no longer be travelling together. I saw them from a distance and as soon as they saw us they jumped up with their arms waving madly and we all embraced warmly. There could not possibly be any hard feelings. We’d shared some of the most magic times of our lives and made it together. We had a very long night of telling stories that now were simply hilarious. I felt sorry for the waitress as she brought out another round of beers and Rickard was enacting the time Paul had picked up a tortoise and it promptly peed on him. We all collapsed with laughter and the poor girl gave up trying to take our food order. Then we laughed at the time Rickard chased the youyous with his baseball bat after they threw stones at me. We recounted the antics of Black Sausage and found them even more side splitting than when they happened. By the end of the night the guys were legless and I had stomach ache and sore cheeks from all the mirth.
When we parted ways, I realised I’d miss these guys a lot. A lot more than I thought I would. They felt like family by now: people who were part of my life and I no longer had a choice over the matter.
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