Invisible.

The Dad and I go off in search of a car.  He's been doing meticulous research (which is his way) for a month to find something that has all the trimmings and what-whats I desire and has lined up two cars for us to go and look at.  Since I've been unemployed for 6 months no one is SA is going to offer me a loan and he's taken one out on my behalf.  For the first time in my life I will be paying off a car, or as my friend Sean says, I will be renting a car from the bank.  It really isn't mine at all.

I haven't seen much since I landed so this is really my first venture out into the world.  I've watched some tv though which was a culture shock all in itself, Kyknet mostly with my parents.  It's an Afrikaans station that promotes our culture and having been away for so long it felt like I was an alien watching a strange parody of my heritage.  It's the weirdest feeling.  I spent alot of time laughing my head off. 

My mom introduced me to a show called "Die Glammer Guru" (which she recorded) in which this extremely gay boy called Hannon with the thickest Pretoria accent you could possibly imagine does mini-makeovers on ladies from Paternoster and Bloemfontein.  At the end of the show the woman are revealed to themselves instead of a live studio audience, and inevitably they do a "Oe Hannon, ek kan my oe nie glo nie!  Oe!  Dis 'n wonderwerk!  Jy's 'n miracle worker!" and then they burst into tears and he gets the same look on his face men get after they've had a little orgasm. 

I have the same feeling I had when I arrived in the US: I am an outsider looking into a glass box in which there's a pre-recorded show that I am now a part of. 

The Dad-man and I drive through Darling and head to Malmesbury in his big four wheeler, complete with aircon, airbags and heated seats.  We are listening to some classical music as we drive past my first township in 6 months.  People living in shacks, metal sheets stacked together.  A couple of faces follow us as we drive by and the music plays on.  We stop at at an intersection.  There's a woman who's been trying to hitch a ride but when she sees us she puts her thumb down.  I'm finding it hard to look at her.  I think back on riding the bus in New Orleans, the readiness of everyone to engage me, a stranger, and me engaging back and here I am back in SA unable to look a normal bystander in the eye.

I am ashamed you see.  Here we are, in our big-ass car.  My ancestors oppressed, raped and pilaged this land to make space for me and because of it this woman is standing on the side of the road unable to get where she's going and we are driving this car.  She knows we won't give her a lift because we're too afraid of being attacked, robbed or having our car stolen.  And so there is a quiet understanding that our lives are completely different, and we all look away.

And it feels like my heart is breaking into a million little pieces.