Cape Town ✈️ New York 

“Is this your first time in Cape Town?”, asked the taxi driver.
“Yes”, I muttered, a bit distracted by the views of the surrounding jagged mountains oddly shaped like a sleeping lion.
“Sister, welcome home!”, he responded warmly, smiling into the rear view mirror.

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Cape Town is a beautiful conundrum, given its recent history seeped in the all too familiar throes of segregation and humiliation. But upon getting off the plane, it’s hard not to feel a forbidden sense of freedom, as though one has returned optimistically to their childhood home, well aware of its cracked foundation.  

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Potentially one of my longest trips spent in one city, I was most looking forward to immersing myself in Cape Town’s way of life. I can’t say I was disappointed.

From the fulfilling day trips spent learning molting penguin lingo and wondering why the mountains held so many variations of beaver-like rodents, to the ridiculous nights spent praying my liver wouldn’t fail me in the morning after crazy attempts to keep up with nonexistent alcoholic limits, I had decided to make myself at home and allow this to be a trip of “yes”.

Trip of yes: It’s simply a chance to break through preconditioned comfort barriers and experience things I otherwise would never do. 

My first form of yes came in our initial host’s recommendation that we experience Long Street: Cape Town’s strip of dive bars that are alive into the early morning, regardless of the day. My second form of yes came in meeting friends of friends, and experiencing new horizons through their eyes. My third form of yes came in the form of temporary love, the kind that you meet while drunk and partying, but can never seem to reconnect with in the light of day.

You meet extraordinarily interesting characters on Long Street, although they fall into all the buckets you find elsewhere: fellow travelers, college students, and lost souls looking for easy hookups. Our first stop was a place called Stones in Observatory, full of cheap drinks, smoky fog, and an eclectic mix of folks happy to invite you to the next party. Our second stop that night was Jo'burg on Long Street - a little spot where it seemed more of the locals hung out. From there we headed over to Cubano, to celebrate a friend of a friend of a friend’s engagement or birthday (we never really figured out which). Around 6 in the morning, we decided that in order to play the part of tourists, we really needed to sleep, otherwise, how would we ever get to the penguins?

I met love at Stones. Met a group of Zimbabweans who were FAR too cool for me, yet decided I was ok enough to befriend. They seemed more fascinated with my hair than with anything else and one decided that love was going to be our story and pursued it. Zimbabwean crew in hand, going out every night became some form of an adventure. Long street was our go to and I quickly fell in with a crew that embodied everything friendship should. Within days, I knew who was fighting, who had the regretted sex tape, Saturday, Sunday, and Monday plans, dreams, aspirations, hopes, fears, sadness, and journeys. I quickly christened them The Too Live Crew, for their confidence and rash boldness I admired.

By the time I left, I had completely forgotten that this crew wouldn’t be part of my identity once we parted ways. The journey of yes gave me a fresh prince era crew that I’m looking forward to reconnecting with at some point in life / or as they phrased it, in the next life.

At some point we conquered the history, mountains and penguins, not necessarily in that order. Connected with old tymers under heavy clouds that seemed close enough to touch. Connected with queens who have birthed new age queens, fighting cape towns status quo one fro at a time. Connected with students who demanded reparations in the form of education a gratis, something I appreciated given the similar struggles faced in the states. Connected with this idea of “coloured” vs “black”, a sad struggle to watch given the dividing nature of the argument. To see those who proudly exclaimed themselves coloured, taking care to shun those who would have been deemed black, a seemingly unforgivable term. To listen to stories of being ignored, even hated, by spouses families because of their blackness, and never trusting in love again if the marriage failed because of it. To see a city’s fabric still woven through segregation in how property was once divided and still remains divided. To see how money flows, but not for those who don’t seem to have any. To watch a different treatment of a person based on accent and even hair. Trivial things that do not define the parts of a person that should matter most. To hear stories that sounds like it would come out of a grandparents mouth, but instead, were being told by my peers. To see that life, although seemingly beautiful, still holds many of the struggles of past lives. Clearly, we aren’t learning from our mistakes, regardless of geographic location.

I’m excited to return to a Cape Town that is coming to terms with it’s not too distant past. To see progress through the mini revolutions of its epic students and workforce. Even selfishly, to return to the views that stole a little piece of my hear, maybe even my soul, granting me that small serenity that only nature seems able to provide.

If you have the opportunity, get on that long ass flight. And let me know, I might join you.

All my love!
T