...For The Belief Of Alchemists

The following is a topic addressing "Why I Write". I submitted this, along with five others, for one of my classes. I chose to frame each idea around a story, or stories. This one concerns my 2000 trip to South Africa.

I got off the plane, in the uniform of the Salvation Army and proceed to lie to the alchemists at customs who, either ignorant or full of hope for us, granted us entry. Our lie, or story or narrative was that we were tourists only – dressed in black polyester with white shirts, shoes, back packs and jet lag under our eyes. The Bibles were packed away. The cameras were out. The first story or warning I heard was on the trip to the house we would dine at that night: “Don’t stop if you see anyone on the side of the road, especially when it looks like a dead or wounded person. You’ll be killed if you do.” So much for being able to look at this trip with that sense of ignorant bliss and sheltered existence I had secretly prayed for. My life may be at risk if I do something stupid. I did plenty of stupid things, only one that put my life at risk. We were told never to walk out of the church compound in Charlize Theron’s hometown after dark. We did one night. Myself, a ten-year-old girl and a fellow, black, “tourist” who I had come to know marvelously well over the summer of “touring”. When the militia came crawling out of the abandoned gas station, sawed-off uzi’s at eye level, dressed in black jackets, pants and boots, we simply froze against the wall. It was less a “Halt, who goes there?” and more a “Get the f*** against the wall.” I complied aloud. My accent lowered the guns itself. But only a little. “We were walking the girl home from a church function at the Salvation Army down the street.” “She lives just around the corner.” “I have a copy of my passport on me.” They needed to see it. I did all the talking. They were uniformed and armed, even when the guns lowered. They let us pass. I never once was worried, concerned, nervous or scared. I almost laughed out of sheer paradoxical peace. Like the alchemists at the airport, I knew what was going on, there was no hiding it. The alchemists relinquishes control at some point because the reality is something greater is at work, greater than magic but much like it. Either at airport terminals or at gun point, I share in that belief.