This is my final blog. I hope this summation of my Capetown experience does itself justice, as I am stupidly suffering from heat stroke today. Yes, I know I am 23 and yet still find myself like a lizard basking in the sun as often and as long as possible. Let's just hope my sentences don't warp into some diluted train of though that escapes reality. Maybe I'll get another bottle of water for the duration of this writing.

Destination CapeTown. In my book my to do list included going to restaurants to hear drumming and live jazz, heading to Robben Island to see where Mandela was imprisoned, and climb Table Mountain, etc. etc. Although I did some of these things, I found that the heart of Greenmarket square was where I belonged for this first and definitely not last visit to Capetown.

Day one, gung ho after settling into my hostel, I found myself wandering down Long St. the main business and nightlife district to orient myself. After 6 blocks, I was drawn down a street cordoned off by red and white striped 50 gallon drums, numerous people walking in all directions, music coming from a bar nearby, and of course, the canopies of the hundreds of vendors selling their wares. Now, as you all know I'm a planner, days 4, 5 and 6 were set up as shopping days. Day 1-3 were supposed to involve sightseeing of mass importance. As I learned with traveling though, there is always another day and no need to stick to that schedule when you are by yourself and something draws you in.

Overwhelmed with the options of beautiful things to purchase and cherish, I started with linen paintings. I bought 6, so much for saving the shopping till later. I can't even explain how many beautiful canvases lay stretched out in front of my watering eyes, as I tried to convince myself to walk more than 20 feet in the market before purchasing a painting. I knew I'd have a ton of options and could always come back. So I continued walking and fell upon Seyni and his amazing artwork. About 5'8", slender, dark skinned, huge lips, beautiful smile, and amazing English, he sucked me in. As we talked and he showed me his work, I became more curious about this life and he seemed eager to share it with me. From there on out, I was involved in my own documentary about the heart of Greenmarket Square. Seyni and I met for dinner, and we interviewed each other about our lives, more of my documentary you see. :) Originally from Senegal, he and his family have stalls in the market and do quite well for themselves. Soon after, we went to the home he shares with his brother, Saliou, his wife Aisha, and their beautiful, rambunctious son Moustapha. Moustapha, age 4, pulls heart strings as you can only imagine. He sat next to me on the bed and played with my digital camera for what seemed like forever. He has some self portraits that really do speak a thousand words that I will share when I get home. When I left that night, he was crying because he wanted to come with. I just knew I'd be seeing him again so I wasn't worried.

Day 2 I attempted to do some touristy things but they were booked, so I found myself drawn again to the market and the people there. As I sat in Seyni's dilapidated green camping chair, held together with wire at the seams, I felt like the queen of the market. Seyni, being super social and having many family members in the market, was a central figure in many people's daily routines, including mine. I watched him talk to customers about his paintings, watched him converse with the man n the next stall, selling millions of wire beaded sculptures. That day I met a friend of his family, another Moustapha, and some of the young boys that help him set up and take down his stall each day. At the end of day 2 , Seyni took me to his cousin's house, and I sat with Mame Cheikh, another, different Moustapha, and watched Senegalese news and tv. They left to go to a Muslim prayer group at Seyni's house, at which point, I joined Khadija, the sole woman of the household, and her husband Mactar, to talk about life in South Africa. We covered everything from her life married to a Senegalese man, to her job and how we both knew all the brand names of major power tool companies (yes!) and back to the crime rate here and their belief that drugs are a major contribution to the problem. I found so many similarities in their views that I could have been sitting in my neighbors house chatting about the same things.

Day 3, Sunday, I spent all day in the green camping chair. Some would find this dull, but I was amazed at how much I experienced in those few hours. Seyni explained the politics of the market, how the old private owner had been booted out by the city council, but the foreign group who operated in the market, supported the private owner more than the city. The politics run deep and I read numerous printouts by the city explaining to the market patrons what the supposed outcome and payments would be with their continued involvement in the market. I saw a hundred people crowd around the old private owner and cheer him on and thereafter, even more people line up next door for the free coffee he promised everyone. And yes, the newspaper cameraman was there for all of it. The smile of these people's faces, the way they talked about it with their neighbors, in a number of languages, was rewarding in itself. I was even handed a cup of coffee to share with Mame Cheikh as he and Seyni discussed the latest implications in the life of the market.

Day 4, I made another friend at the market, Justine, from Cameroon. Lively, and energetic, with a great attitude, she sold me 4 pairs of linen pants. Well, to be honest, I kept telling her I'd buy the whole stall out if I could, so I was an easy customer. We chatted about the clothing, my stay in Capetown, her being from Cameroon, etc. She's about 4 stalls down from Seyni so I told her where I'd most likely be sitting everyday and after my purchases, told her I'd come back to visit. Which I did on day 5, when I realized one of the pants didn't fit so I wanted to exchange them. Yup, I actually exchanged clothing at an outdoor, cash only market. I love having friends. :) Justine introduced me to her husband and we chatted again and she told me I had to say goodbye before I left t the end of the week. As I walked back to my green chair post, Seyni told me that Justine and her husband live down the block from Mame Cheikh and company, where I had just been the nights before. Small world sounds cliche, but it's appropriate here.

Yesterday, Tuesday, day 5, I sat at my post, waiting for Seyni and company to dismantle the stall. Next to me, a ragged looking young girl sat twirling a blue ballpoint pen around a newspaper advertisement pamphlet. Another young and tired looking boy sat on the crate next to her. Because of being around Seyni a few days, I knew his policy on helping the street kids earn money by allowing them to assist in setting up and taking down his paintings. In the meantime, I had bought way too much pesto pasta, so I offered it to the kids behind me. I couldn't believe how fast that food was gone- two hungry mouths make quick work of my late lunch. The girl, Simone, is 18. She lives on the street, her boyfriend the young man who sat on the crate next to her. Her older sister, 21, lives on the street as well. She looked pregnant to me, but that was a question that demanded too much of a young girl trying to make a few rand by helping at the market. The mentality Seyni has is that he would rather have these kids work and help out to earn money, rather than just giving it to them when they beg for it. For example, one evening as we were driving down long street, a young man approached Seyni's truck and they recognized each other. The street man asked for money and Seyni simply said, I'll see you at the market tomorrow. The young boy understood his opportunity and left without further discussion. Seyni jokes about how his wife, whomever she is, will cry because of the money he earns but then gives to street kids who help him at work. For me though, it was just another component that made up the beating heart of a market.

After all was said and done at the market, we headed to Seyni's cousin's house to introduce me to Senegalese dancing and have dinner. I laughed when I got my own plate of food and fork because I felt left out of the communal tray of food and using the bread as a utensil. I had to smile appreciatively though because everyone in the family always took care to think one step ahead to make me comfortable. The hospitality need I say was amazing and unparalleled by anyone else on this trip. Not all people would take kindly to a young white woman from the US sitting in their home every night.

After dinner, Seyni and I went to the other home an Aisha, Seyni's sister in law, was very excited to show me photo album after photo album of her and her family. Little Moustapha was right there next to us, flipping pages and running around stomping on the scale and telling us how many kilos he weighed.

Tonight is my last night and I imagine it will be similar to the last few days. I find that similarity does not equal boredom because it provides a window into another world with each day showing new components of family dynamics, relationships and cultural history. I am so thankful to these people for letting me into their home and allowing me to become a part of the documentary, not just a bystander.

As a note, because I became part of the experience, my photography has dwindled. My apologies.

Capetown is beautiful, and harbors many of the same ups and downs of other major cities. It'll be on another itinerary for me, as will Senegal, now that I have so many friends to guide my travels.

Can't wait to come home and see everyone for the holidays! Thanks for being so supportive and having such great responses to my travels along the way. Couldn't have done it without you!