My friends and I arrived at the Durban Art Gallery with just 10 minutes to spare before closing time.
“What should we see?” we asked the security guard.
“Actually, you can probably see the whole thing in 10 minutes,” he said. “Go!”
Off we went, tearing through the tiny exhibitions, running from room to room. True, it was small — we did see everything in 10 minutes — but the place was fantastic representation of African art.
The juxtaposition of the work left me smiling.
We decided to hike from South Africa to Lesotho, a small, mountainous country known as Africa’s Switzerland — probably because it gets heaps of snow, not just because they make awesome hot chocolate.
The journey is a steep, 8 kilometer climb on a bumpy, gravel road.
About halfway up, my asthma got the better of me. We flagged down a passing minibus with a tour group inside and asked them for help.
After I explained my health issues, the tour guide reluctantly let me inside the vehicle. Then he frowned.
DRIVER: Where is your husband?
ME: He is at home in California.
DRIVER: What if you got sick and your husband wasn’t around?
ME: Well, I guess I would just try to get better on my own.
DRIVER: It is a good thing I gave you a ride so you don’t get sick.
ME: Yes, it is. Thank you. I appreciate it.
DRIVER: Because if I did not give you a ride and you got sick, your husband would be very angry with me and might kill me.
ME: … uh …