Rachel on being her competitive self

We have done so many things since my last blog entry that have been absolutely incredible.  We have been to Kruger National Park (which I honestly think was a vivid dream that I had as a kid) we have been to soccer city stadium (where the finals for the world cup are going to be held, I felt like I was apart of history) we have been to a human rights conference (and actually got the chance to hang out with people from all over Africa).  But, to be honest, I feel a lack of inspiration.  I don’t know quite what to talk about in this blog because I feel as though my words cannot even touch upon how I have felt in any of these moments.  On top of that, I do feel quite a bit on pain in my foot, which was broken in three places in an unfortunate game of three sticks, a traditional game of township South Africans.

This game is simple.  You take three sticks and lay them on the ground some short distance from one another.  Once you take a step over the first stick, you may only take two steps before getting over the third stick.  The sticks move further and further apart as the game goes on thus making it more difficult to attempt getting over that third stick.  Each round, more and more people become eliminated, for they have failed to get over the third sticks with only two steps.  Me, being my competitive self, refused to lose at such a game.  At this point it is only Sizwe and I left in the game.  I have beaten everyone else, including Brett (not exactly sure how tall) about six foot three.  No offense Brett, but I thought it pretty impressive myself.  Sizwe, whom I am pretty sure has wings on his feet is impatiently waiting for me to jump, hoping for my failure so that he can win the game.  Did I mention that this is during a twenty-minute break at a human rights conference and I am wearing jeans a decently nice shirt and had to remove my shoes because they were inadequate for this type of game? I jump one, two, eyeing the third stick, unsure of myself.  I just land past the third stick but at a price.   I hear a crack.  I feel immense pain shoot through what feels like my whole body. My eyes shut tightly and I feel water rushing to them.  Shit.  I pretend nothing is wrong. I pretend to walk it off. For is it not completely embarrassing to have hurt yourself in a game as simple as three sticks? Now let me throw a bunch of numbers your way.  3 sticks, 3 hours at the hospital, 3 broken bones, 4-6 weeks to heal, 5 weeks left in Cape Town.  What’s a girl to do?

To make myself feel better, I told my friend I broke my foot because an elephant stepped on it.

He believed me.