Saralina

Hey HIP! I'm writing a story in the format of entries. My main character, Rory, is traveling to South Africa, to escape his past. On his trip here he encounters four people who help him find what he is looking for. First he meets Themba, a young boy on the plane. Then he meets Siboniso, a waitress who guides him. Then he meets, Dingane, a man his age who travels the rest of his journey with him. And lastly he meets,Uuka, a teacher who asks him for help. Along his trip as he meets these people he is traveling different places in South Africa. He starts in Cape Town then visits Stellenbosch, and then travels to Grahmstown, and lastly he leaves South Africa with Dingane and goes to Tanzania to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro. Along his travel he is reminded of his past through a series of Flashbacks. He will be in a moment and then something reminds him of a time from his past and he writes about it. It's kind of a weird idea, but in the end I'm trying to make his hike up the moutain be what he was looking for, and through his flashbacks he comes to deal with his problems. I am also incorporating part of a poem into the story, its A person, A paper, A promise. Each flashback will have part of the poem at the end. HELP: character development of Themba. I feel like he needs to be more of an influence then what i have. The meaning of his name is a very important part of his character and how he is going to help Rory, but I still feel like I should have another important aspect of him...any ideas? May 19 1992

I finally landed in Cape Town South Africa, my destination that I left for over sixteen hours ago. I still don't know what my intentions here are, even after that flight where all I did was think. I hadn’t planned my trip out, I just knew I had to get out of the hell hole of Arlington Massachusetts and fast before I got corrupted anymore. Snatching up the first chance I got I fled. Grabbed my passport, booked a flight with the money that was in my savings for my college education, and got the hell out. For sixteen hours all I did was sit in that cramped little seat staring out the window thinking. Thinking of what? I don't even know, everything. Thinking why would I do this? Thinking what am I doing with myself? Thinking why even. Thinking I wonder what the weathers like there.Thinking about everything.It was a sixteen hour flight after all. I finally had to get up to pee after sitting for around eight hours. I asked the boy sitting next to me if he'd mind letting me out. Upon my return back to my seat he befriended me and we chatted. He got me thinking even more. He was around fourteen years old I'd guess. He was very friendly and polite. We introduced ourselves, he said his name was Themba. He told me it meant 'Hope'. We talked the rest of the flight, he was surprised I was traveling to Africa all alone and questioned my intentions here. I told him I wasn't really sure. I explained that I needed to get away, and that this was where my parents had first meet, so I thought there could be something here that I was looking for. He asked what I needed to get away from. I turned my head back to the window. Thinking. He waited patiently for the answer I was looking for. I turned back to him. "Just life." That was as good of an answer as any for him, he shook his head nodding that he got it. He asked me where I was headed and where I'd like to visit. I told him a little defensively that I wasn't exactly sure where I was headed. He was surprised again that I hadn't thought my trip out and had no clue where I was going. Being a foreigner he said is hard enough, so he gave me some advice. Themba recommended visiting the beaches in Cape Town and hiking up the Signal Hill. He told me to also visit the City of Saints, Grahmstown, and if I got a chance I should go climb Mt. Kilimanjaro. I thanked him very much for his advice and input, and told him I'd keep his words in mind. After that I took a nap awaiting my arrival to Cape Town. I slowly driffted into a sleep, but I kept thinking of Thembas words, "It means Hope." I'm still not sure, but I think I know what I'm looking for here; Hope and Trust within people. I mean I still don't know what my intentions are or how I'm planning on finding these 'things', I just know that he made me think, his purity and kindness touched me, making me realize that there is hope out there in the world. So maybe it's here? Awaking to a tap on my shoulder I realized we were landing. Themba moved aside so I could get my bags from above. We departed at the exit of the plane. I waved a sincere goodbye and thanked him again. I grabbed the first cab I could as I made it out of the airports doors and asked to be taken to a bar. The driver said he knew a good one about twenty minutes away. I agreed and we drove there in silence. I took in the scenery around me of the Cape. It was beautiful, just like pictures my parents showed my sister and I of their trip here. The trees lined the streets and the sun was setting so the oceans along the road sparkled with light as the surfers swayed in the breezy waves. As we made it close to the city itself I could see the bright lights of the tall buildings. The bright flashing lights of the city reminded me of my childhood and of downtown Boston. I could already feel my palms getting clammy as I thought about it, so I hurriedly asked the cab driver, “So, what’s the best beer here?” “Well sir,” he started thinking a moment of his favorite, “I’d have to say I personally love Tusker, a Kenyan favorite of mine.” He stated in his heavy accent. We smiled at one another through the rearview mirror. He pulled up along the sidewalk finally and I pushed the door open and grabbed my suitcase and backpack. I threw him eighty rand and he thanked me, “Asante.” I closed the door and he drove down the road. I looked around the crowded city and chills ran up my spine as I saw the crosswalk sign. I shrugged them off and picked up my bag and headed down the street until I came to Mavis Place. I pulled back the door to reveal the stench of beet. I sniffed hard and looked around the pub. It was only four in the afternoon so it was pretty slow. A few old men sat at the bar drinking whisky it looked like and a couple sat in the corner talking. Most of the staff was behind and surrounding the bar watching the Rugby game on the television. I snatched a stool and took a seat a little ways away from them. I looked up at the game catching the South African goal, cheers from the workers filled the pub. One waitress caught my eye as she cheered and walked slowly down to my end. “Jumbo, need anything?” she asked me in her rough English; given my American appearance I assumed she thought I couldn’t speak Swahili. “Yea, I’ll take a Tusker, Asante.” “Sure thing.” She grabbed me a bottle and uncapped it for me. I took a large chug. She watched me with an odd look on her face. I decided to introduce myself. “Jambo, I’m Rory.” “Siboniso.” She looked about my age, probably twenty at most. Her long black hair was curly and pulled back into a low ponytail. Her black apron she wore around her slim hips was sweaty and dusty. She tried brushing it off, but just smoothed it over instead. I held my hand out to shake hers. Her soft dark hands grasped mine in a firm grip. I cracked a smile.