(11.10.2023, Nadine Gaerdes)
No one understood her, no one wanted to or could make sense of what drove her to take this step, least of all Steve. But she had to do it. And she had done it. And now she no longer saw the town in the rearview mirror. The little Opel Corsa took her steadily further and further inland, away from the city, away from all the hustle and bustle that crowds bring. Tears ran down her cheeks, partly of the still deep-seated despair, partly of the slowly dawning relief.
In the back seat was her sanctuary: a Tacoma guitar in a shiny black instrument case. Next to her on the passenger seat was a pile of paper, littered with lyrics and sheet music, some thickly and garishly marked, others crossed out. In the trunk was a backpack, packed with the few clothes she needed in this hot African country in November.
Years ago, Shelley had been here once. Her father had a job to do in Windhoek and her parents had dragged her to this wasteland. At 14, she had other plans for her young life. Her parents’ lives, however, came to an end just a few months later in a serious train accident outside London. At 16, Shelley had her first steady boyfriend. After a night of drinking in one of London’s biggest discos, he got into a fight and has been confined to a wheelchair ever since. The second boyfriend had chosen to join the army and after being posted to a crisis area, Shelley had never heard from him again. Now Shelley had thought she had found the man for life in Steve. He was rich, handsome, a man of the world, and status-conscious.
Shelley put on her blinker and turned off. She drove on the gravel road for a while, then brought the Corsa to a halt on a hill. She got out, wiped the last tears from her face with the back of her hand, and leaned against the hood of the car, taking a deep breath. The horizon seemed endlessly far away. A vastness covered with acacias, nothing else. Nothing. And nothing again for a long time. It was incomprehensible. She let her eyes rest in this nothingness. When she had the feeling that her head was free again, she reached for her guitar. Into the silence the first soft notes sounded; Shelley lowered her head, closed her eyes and played – only for herself.
Steve had actually taken her to the airport, although she had not expected it. He had looked at her with an ironic smile when she had told him about her plan. She had to come to rest and gain distance from the modern fast-moving world; time period uncertain. Steve had continued to look at her in disbelief and with little understanding. Do what you can’t help doing, he had then said with a short shrug of his shoulders and continued to work on his stock market reports on his laptop.
Shelley lifted her head and spotted a bull kudu with majestic horns. Elegantly, he leaped over the fence that separated the road from the adjacent farm property. Was the leap to the other side as easy as this animal made it look, or would Shelley have to struggle? She sighed and rose, putting her guitar back in the back seat and getting behind the wheel. A glance at her road map told her that she still had 52 km to go, then she should have reached her destination after a long exhausting day.
The purpose in her life so far had been parties and visiting shopping centres. Partying extensively, smoking, and regularly indulging in alcohol on the weekends. She had spent almost every Saturday morning in the best and most expensive shopping centres in London, stocking up on things beyond her financial means. In addition, Shelley had a bag tic and owned at least 300 in a wide variety of sizes, shapes and colors. She needed a suitable one for every occasion; many of them, she just packed with all the others in her oversized walk-in closet after buying it.
Her self-composed guitar music had been Shelley’s only refuge, her escape from this consumerist world. It was her guitar that had whispered to her on that gloomy January day in her attic apartment in London. Yes, that’s what it had felt like. The notes Shelley played took on a life of their own and seemed to be playing her an African song. All at once Shelley knew she was supposed to go back to Namibia, to where she had once so reluctantly landed with her parents.
Shelley saw the sign. She followed the trail of the farm road until she reached the small house. As she turned the key in the ignition and the engine died, an almost audible silence enveloped her. She got out, walked slowly around the house and stopped, rooted to the spot. The savannah stretched out before her, and on the horizon, the full moon slid into the sky, round as a ball and almost blood red. Shelley took a deep breath of the fresh evening air and knew she had arrived.
@Maia Gaerdes
Savanna or savannah; noun
1.) a plain characterized by coarse grasses and scattered tree growth, especially on the margins of the tropics where the rainfall is seasonal, as in eastern Africa.
2.) grassland region with scattered trees, grading into either open plain or woodland, usually in subtropical or tropical regions.
Source: Dictionary.com
For more information: www.britannica.com
