After sleeping for 10 hours, I woke up in time to sneak to breakfast. You see, my goal for the day was to be seen by as few people as possible all day. I have a bad burn on my face from the malaria medication, and I’m exhausted. My plans were foiled by a Global Studies discussion group at 9 a.m., however. I made it there by the skin of my teeth, worked out, then reentered my study hole. Every kid from the classroom I adopted in Boston wrote me a letter. I spent the afternoon reading and responding. I should be doing homework, but this so much better. Here are few of our exchanges (with changed names):

Dear Martha,

Sincerely, Jack

Dear Jack,

Martha

Jane- Hi Martha,

Sincerely, Jane

Dear Jane,

Martha

Dear Martha Groppo

Sincerely, Emily

Hello Emily!

Martha

Jill – Dear Martha A Groppo,

Sincerely, Jill

Dear Jill,

Martha

Tommy – Dear Martha

Sincerely, Tommy

Dear Tommy,

Martha

Rachel – Dear Martha

Sincerely, Rachel

Dear Rachel,

Martha

Allen – Hello Martha

Allen

Hello Allen! It is nice to meet you. Boston sounds like a nice place to live. You should tell me about it. You like video games? Lots of my friends do, too, but I am terrible at them. There are no video games on the ship, but we will visit Japan soon, and there are many people who love video games there. I have not been to China yet, but I will be sure to take a picture of the Great Wall for you when I see it. I’m really excited about going there. I will try to take more pictures of my journey for you to see, too! Videos are hard to get to you because of how slow the internet is, but maybe I can find a way to do that. I can video chat you when I get home, and that will be fun! Yes, I just left Africa. I took pictures of these animals for you: lions, hippos, crocodiles, cheetahs, wildebeest, seals, springbok and ostriches. I also petted a cheetah.

Martha

If you know a kid who wants a pen pal across the globe, let me know! I will write back.

My plans of hiding were again foiled by a muster drill at 1600. We all shuffled out by floor and lined up for a cabin number roll call as we stood in lines in our life vests and looked at the calm water and green coast of South Africa. It was about as fun as it sounds. I kept getting moved around because they want women and children in the front and a guy stood in front of me and totally eclipsed me. After some more studying, I reveled in anther early bedtime.

Today began with tremendous frustration. I woke up at 6 so I could skype home, paid an arm and a leg for internet, then spent most of the time trying to get it to work. I had tea and shortbread while I sat on the hotel’s patio looking at Table Mountain, though, so life couldn’t be too bad. Plus, seeing a face from home made everything worth it.

Soon, I was on my way to the corporate office of the Amy Biehl Foundation (ABF). The Amy Biehl Foundation was started by the parents of Amy Biehl, a young Fulbright scholar who was stoned and stabbed to death by the people she was trying to help in the township during apartheid. Her murderers were pardoned by Desmond Tutu’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission, and two of them now work for the Foundation.

The Foundation provides education, artistic training, and chances to leave the township on field trips. I bought a painting by one of the kids. Next, we drove to one of the schools benefited by the Amy Biehl foundation. The kids were so eager to interact. I was quickly adopted by a group of kids intent on teaching me how to make my stubborn mouth click like the Xhosa. Pretty soon there were 30 kids all clicking in unison. It was so funny sounding!

I didn’t really see the rest of the SAS ship group for the next hour as the kids acted as my tour guides.

They talked about their dreams to be nurses and teachers and had plenty of questions for me. They took me to the back door of the kitchen and asked the cooks to give me some food. It was a plate of beans. They watched me eat with eagerness and a touch of something else. I asked how many times a day they eat. Once, as I thought. After plenty of dramatic “mmmssss” and yummys!” I said I was full and gave it to them. It was precious to see them share.

They showed me all of their classrooms, and then wanted to show me their homes, which were outside of the complex. The guide had told us it was unsafe to leave without him, so I had them point at their houses. Shacks. I said the colors were pretty.

Next I asked to play jump rope. I love jump rope, but I couldn’t make anything happen with the pitiful knotted rope they had–note to self, send them a nice new one. I played a little basketball with the boys before it was time for hugs and goodbyes. Of course, you never really leave a place like that. I’ll always have those kids in my mind, now.

We drove to Mzoli’s, a famous restaurant in the township. It’s pretty hardcore, with dirt floors, feral dogs and open fires. You pick out meat and they barbecue it South African style. So yummy!!! They had some strange bland white stuff to eat with it,too.

We drove by a driving range that was built for the kids by ABF and destroyed by the township youth. Then we drove by the place where Amy was murdered. It gave me chills. What a way (and place) to die alone. On the way back, one of the kids I had hit it off with taught me lots of hand games.

Back on the ship, I got a good seat for our guest lecture by–guess who? Desmond Tutu!

I sat as close as possible to this darling elderly man with a hilarious laugh and great sense of humor. He spoke about the importance of being compassionate and capitalizing on the optimism of our youth to affect change. He was a good counterpoint to some of the faculty on the ship who have been talking about how we can’t solve the world’s problems from our “ignorant, privileged American position”. After dinner, we watched our Cape Town departure, and I went promptly to bed. Can I sleep till Mauritius?

Brian and I were supposed to meet at breakfast to hike–he was late. We are still in Cape Town, one of my favorite places now and one I have wanted to see forever! Unfortunately, taxis are insanely expensive, and we need to go 50 kilometers. I had had a taxi driver named Richard recommended to me by a man I know onboard. So, when Brian and I left the port gate and were accosted, as always by taxi drivers, I asked in a loud voice if Richard was there; one man excitedly stepped forward. I knew Richard had done the same trip for 1500 rand. 800 rands. 1500. 900 rands. 1400. 1000 rands. 1200. Done. I was on my way to Cape Point by 7 a.m.!!

The hike once we got there was gorgeous. We were the only two people there. I felt like I was hiking to the edge of the world and it was wonderful.

I kept thinking of all the explorers who have rounded this point as I looked out at the ocean, and then I spotted whales. We hiked to a remote beach and then the far outpost on the tippy most tip of Cape point.The beach was awesome, huge and empty.

Huge, other-worldly sea plants washed ashore as well as brightly-colored little jellyfish. There were signs warning about rip currents and absolutely fierce waves. I saw some big rocks that the water was crashing upon and wanted to climb them. I was posing for a picture when a massive wave crashed and splashed on the rocks behind and above me. The water was up to my calves sucking me out to the ocean. I looked down and saw lanky Brian juggling my camera over knee-deep water as a huge 6-foot tubular sea plant wrapped around his leg. Miraculously, we both remained standing.

After running around in the deep untouched sand, we hiked to the actual Cape of Good Hope. The trail goes off road and you just climb around on the rocks. The view is incredible when you mentally get past the vertigo and the fact that a misstep would almost certainly kill you. We hiked back down ad walked along the shore. A dead seal had been washed in. That was upsetting.

Back in the taxi, Richard started asking me about gang culture in the United States, if you can imagine that. I gave my best attempts at answers, wondering why, of all things American, he wanted to know about organized crime—-and from me of all people. I soon realized why. Richard used to be a gang leader for the Young Americans (one of cape Town’s many gangs). He left when someone literally stabbed him in the back. I thought maybe he was pulling my leg until he decided to show me what is left of his gang tattoo-—he got the rest of it out with a hot spoon. Needless to say, he had a lot of interesting stories and insights into Cape Town. Oh, did I mention he’s also a drug dealer and was horrified by the idea that we had ridden on the third class train. He had lots of safety tips for me, and was sure to let me know that “black” men would like me and he could sell me in the township pretty easily. He was what many people call “Cape Colored” and had a lot to say about the way the black people are in power and the way both white and black people look down on colored. Talk about convoluted race relations. He also taught me some gang symbols.

We arrived back in time for him to swing us by an ATM and for us to make it back to the ship for a gobbled down lunch and to load up for our 1 o’clock FDP. The trip was a visit to an orphanage called Baphemelele. The brightly colored buildings were surrounded by razor wire to keep riffraff out and kids in—-kids orphaned by AIDS are used to living on their own. These youngsters can become heads of household at age 14 in South Africa.

The HIV/AIDS epidemic made this policy necessary to deal with all the child-run households created by parental deaths. The orphanage offers support services to the child-heads of house living in the community. We saw few kids because it was during school hours. We got to walk through the nursery, though, and also visited the school across the street where all of the kids were miraculously napping simultaneously. Someone should market the teaching trick of making that happen.

The orphanage is divided into a series of houses with “Lion King” names like “Nala” and “Simba” to give them a better sense of community. House mothers rotate through. I would love to be a house mother. It is often difficult for kids already used to being the heads of their households to submit to new authority. The orphanage takes kids all the way through their late teen years so siblings can stay together. In addition to HIV/AIDS, teen pregnancy, tuberculosis, child prostitution, drugs and fetal alcohol syndrome are other serious issues faced by the community. Bread is expensive in the township, so the orphanage runs a bakery across the street, and the clever chef fixes prices based on her knowledge of what customers can afford.

I felt comfortable in the Khayelitsha township. The orphanage has a volunteer program for girls my age, and I am thinking of doing it.

After the orphanage, we met up with an attractive young Xhosa from the township who had started a youth organization. He took us on a tour of the township on bikes. Don’t think bike tour. Think taking off without helmets through the back streets of a city of shacks with crazed taxis coming at you on the wrong side of the road. Then hitting a roundabout. My kind of bike ride!

We stopped off at a tiny shed-like house where men were at work sewing dresses. That is significant since unemployment rates can top 40 percent in the township, and sewing is a traditionally female job. The men proudly showed me the dresses they had made and wanted a female volunteer. I finally broke the awkward silence; they laughed as they pinned me into the dress, which I did not begin to fill out in any direction. They wanted me to pose for pictures and laughed as I acted silly.

Wherever we stopped, kids gathered close and I practiced the South African handshake: grab, shake, lock thumbs, then shake again. We stopped at a food stand. Raw livers and severed sheep heads. Interesting, right? Well then they put the random body parts in boiling water and tried to pressure us into eating them. No thanks. I did the dress. Some guys stepped up.

We biked to a soccer field in the township where the kids have a program and learned that we would be playing a legit game. Refs. Jerseys. Rules…gulp. things went fine until we kicked two different balls into two different kids’ faces. The game got rather intense, and we weren’t doing well until we got horribly embarrassed, finally tying it up for the kids on our team who were probably inwardly seething at us. Then we had to each make a penalty kick. I’ve never played soccer, but it was so much fun.

Back at the ship, we decided to go out for a fancy dinner on our final night. We found a place serving crocodile, ostrich, zebra and all sorts of other bizarre and gross things. I had a biltong salad, because I couldn’t make myself eat springbok. I carefully chose the least-adorable animal.

While we were eating, African singers serenaded us. Fun. After dinner, we tried to join the rest of the students at the pub, but it was packed. After sitting a while watching karaoke, I left for the ship after a guy insisted on buying me a drink. . .

Today I woke up early to walk to an ATM. That probably wasn’t the best idea and the security agents looked intensely uncomfortable, but I was fine.

I hopped on a bus and drove 2 hours through beautiful rocky scenery to the Aquilla Private Game Reserve. They greeted us with drinks; then we loaded into safari vehicles and hit the road…and when I say road, I really mean the reserve. The strange thing about a safari is you feel like you are in a zoo, but you aren’t. We saw springbok, biltong, zebra, elephants, rhinos, ostriches and hippos. The rhinos were crazy with their super long horns. Aquilla recently lost several to some brutal poachers.

After the game drive, we drove through an enclosure where the lions are kept. They were awe-inspiring and huge. And those eyes you don’t forget—-large, piercing, but absent somehow. In a rehab area they also had leopard, crocodile and warthog. All I could think of the entire time was the “Lion King.”

I slept on the way back to Cape Town. I found Kelsey on the ship, she grabbed another girl named Kelsey and we hit the mall. They kept on buying clothes and I felt left out, so I grabbed a zebra shirt off the rack in a fancy boutique. Perfect fit. 5 minute purchase from start to finish. My kind of shopping! While we were out, I bought some toiletries as well. Nice to finally restock. After stopping by everyone’s favorite pub, I headed back to the ship by midnight. Laura came in at some point. I’m glad she’s back. Last night I had a nightmare that there was a gangster in my room and literally had to get up and check every nook and cranny of the room before I could get back to sleep. Must be the malaria medication.

Don’t laugh. This morning I woke up at 4 a.m. to go Great White Shark diving. I was so excited .

I had arranged with another girl to have a guy walk us to the taxi so we could go to the hostel where our group was meeting. My phone rang at 4 a.m., however, and the girl was on the other end, freaking and backing out. In her defense, Cape Town is basically one of the rape capitals of the world (there was recently a special on NPR about it) and shark diving was waiting for her on the other end IF we actually manged to find one of the taxis not outfitted as a kidnapping device. Still, I was pretty upset.

For a long moment, I sat by the phone in my bathrobe considering going solo. It would be a long walk to a street where I could find a taxi…

You should be proud. Instead, I went back to bed and later met up with Samantha, Brian, and Chelsey at 7 a.m. to go exploring. We had minutes to buy a ticket and find the train to Simon’s Town. No biggie. Hosteling through Europe this summer made me feel like a train pro.

Simon’s Town is a naval city littered with British empire remnants–buildings dating from the 1900s, a place called the Lord Nelson Inn, etc. We also visited some adorable boutiques. It was some sort of national holiday in South Africa, so there were kids playing music by the water. We went to a restaurant where we could sit and listen while eating the traditional Cape Malay food.

After lunch, we walked to Boulders Beach for more penguin viewing.

About 4:45, in our rush to return to Cape Town, we opted to buy the cheap third class train tickets for less than a dollar each. Little did we know that we were doing something potentially a lot more dangerous than shark diving.

Racial tension and divisions are still incredibly strong in South Africa. White people don’t ride third class trains. Well today these white people did. The train was empty at first, but soon became packed with rush hour crowds heading to Cape Town–not a single white person in sight. Obviously that doesn’t make riding the third class train dangerous, but we later learned that NO ONE recommends that any tourists ride the third class People were pushing and shoving and frightened kids being crushed were crying, especially because of a metal vendor set up in the middle of the section near the door which kept accidentally jabbing people. A high man was yelling at Brian and smoking marijuana on the train, while a woman with a baby loudly objected; vendors pushed by.

A taxi driver later scolded us for our train ride ignorance saying we were crazy and that his wife was once pushed off a train and mugged. She was 8 months pregnant at the time. A guy from a township who speaks Xhosa (that’s the clicking language) sat next to me and tried to teach us some words. We made it back to Cape Town OK. Then we walked to the taxi pool and took a legit taxi with a meter to Camps Bay and the Twelve Apostles to see the sunset, which was awesome.

Afterward we went to a recommended pizza place in an upstairs room overlooking the beach and split three pizzas. PIZZA! What a treat. We tried a South African trend we’ve been seeing: banana and bacon. It was actually pretty good! Afterward, we got ice cream from a place called Sinful Ice Cream, which was great.

We found one of the many illegal cabs operated by unlicensed drivers from underprivileged African countries trying to make it in South Africa. Then I ran to my Skype date with my family in the business center of the hotel across the street. I COULD SEE THEM! It was so incredibly exciting because it has been over a month since I have seen anyone from home. They look good. Gosh, I wish they were here.

One of the first questions you’ll be asked if you come to Cape Town is, “Have you hiked Table Mountain?” Well, now my answer is, “Yes!”

Our early morning group haggled for a taxi; Gina and I crawled into the back, leaving room for Jeff, Audrey, Jessie and Bailey up front. We chose the basic route to the top, which is actually quite challenging. It’s super steep and involves big vertical steps of rock. More people die on Table Mountain than Mount Everest every year from various accidents and off-trail forays. The hike yields killer views, though (bad pun). I’ve been dying to hike.

Gina and I were singing “The Circle of Life” (don’t laugh), and I had just asked my group, “I wonder what that actually means?” You know, the ahhhhh, savanyaaaaaaaaaa part, when a guy appeared out of nowhere and said, “It means look how the beautiful sun rises above the savanna.” Awesome, right? Instant translation from a random South African man on the side of a mountain.

At the top, the view was pretty amazing. You could see our ship, Robben Island (where Nelson Mandela was imprisoned during apartheid), the expensive World Cup soccer stadium, and miles and miles of sapphire blue water. There was a cafe, so I got a cookie and enjoyed the view before hiking around some more. There were these strange rodent things that looked like oversized guinea pigs but are genetically the closest living relative of the elephant. Seems unlikely, but hey, that’s what the sign said.

We were afraid of running out of time, so we took the rotating funicular on the way down. We haggled for a new taxi and headed to Long Street for lunch. Lots of places were closed and we were about to give up on finding food when we spotted a tiny, sketchy-looking place with African decor. We went upstairs through a maze of traditional crafts, bones, drums, masks, woods and skins–to a tiny Ethiopian eatery on the balcony. While we were waiting for our food, Gina and I went shopping. Shopping when you are traveling is so much more fun than in the U.S. because you never know how much you’ll actually end up paying for something. You can guess at its worth and the rest is a battle of wills and finesse.

It was so much fun picking out presents as the shopkeeper excitedly helped Gina and me, shyly giving us wooden bowls to use as shopping carts. He said his cousin made the stuff, but he didn’t try to convince me the white earrings were ivory. He told me they were made from cow bone, which is just as cool to me. Other pairs were made of simple materials–wood, banana leaves and scrap metal. He kept thanking us quietly, saying this would help his shop for a while. I asked to take his picture and he took it very seriously, sitting down and smiling proudly next to his shop. When our food arrived, we ate it gleefully, using our hands. Most of the kids headed back to the ship, but Jeff, Bailey and I started walking.

We passed a piece of the Berlin Wall, which was strange after being in Berlin this summer. We saw the cathedral where Desmomd Tutu often appears, and we walked around the Company Gardens. I loved this part of Cape Town, because it was filled with remnants of the British empire. I posed in front of the Cecil Rhodes statue and photographed the statue of Victoria. We (and when I say we, I mean I) decided to walk the mile (or two) back to the port rather than sit in a taxi.

I’m glad we did, because we passed a statue of Dias and of my beloved Robert Falcon Scott. First of all, that’s an awesome name, right? I’m going to have to stick Falcon into a kid’s name some day. Scott is the explorer who died in 1912 on his way back from the South Pole. His successor in adventure is an historical character I love, Earnest Shackleton, who safely rescued all his crew on the Endeavor (love that ship’s name, also) after getting trapped in ice. Shackleton and his men made a raft and floated to Elephant Island.

As a child, I saw a replica of the Endeavor in Dundee, Scotland. Nuts, right? Back to Scott. Realizing that he was dying, he wrote in his journal. His words are on the back of his memorial: “Had we lived I should have had a tale to tell of the hardihood, endurance and courage of my companions which would have stirred the heart of every Englishman. These rough notes over dead bodies must tell the tale.” It gave me shivers of excitement. I love history!!!

We passed the shipyard where miserable-looking men were hitting on chains. I smiled and they started to pound like crazy, making all kinds of racket. Hilarious. Seals swam right under the bridge we were on and waved at me.

We got back to the ship at 5:20. There was a trip I wanted to buy a ticket to leaving at 5:45. I pulled on a dress and ran out to the bus in time to buy a ticket to the play “Woza! Cape Town”, which was performed in District 6 in a building constructed to escape the demolitions that occurred during apartheid. We have been learning a lot about the cultural disparities between white, black and colored in classes about South Africa, but it was really powerful to hear it discussed in theater by young actors who lived it. They danced and sang and talked about the problems facing each group while we ate African food. They also had us come up on stage and learn a dance style similar to stepping. The dance developed from slaves who communicated in the mines through tapping and clapping. Great day!

Watching the sun rising over Cape Town makes you feel as though you have arrived at the end of the earth.

I woke up before the sun and sat in the faculty lounge with plenty of bleary-eyed students waiting to see it. Next came passport control and a fancy sticker giving me admission to the port. That’s when the hairy part started.

Late last night, our trip leader asked if I would lead the trip today. All I had was a list of names, so I tried to locate the people I didn’t know up on the “stalker wall,” which is what we call the wall next to the purser’s desk with all of our pictures and names on it.

This is the thing–a ton of the people on board are bald now, some have gained a ton of weight, and half of them have given up on makeup, so the wall has limited use for face/name matching. Our guide was waiting outside, and he first took us to an ATM for some rands. The conversion rate was WONDERFUL today–8 to 1. Our driver, Abdullah, had me hop up front in the 10-person coach. We talked for the rest of the day, which is why riding with the driver has become one of my favorite things to do in a country we visit: I get their inside view on the things we see. Abdullah missed two years of school during apartheid.

We drove through the city of Cape Town, which is surrounded by mountains and punctuated by the iconic Table Mountain and the lesser Lion’s Head Peak. Once you leave downtown, you also see the townships, where the Cape locals live. The largest township, Khayelitsha, is full of shacks. Our guide explained that many migrant workers from poorer countries come to Cape Town for work and set up shacks in the townships because they are free. Constructed and permanent houses cost money, but residents get free water and electricity. Sadly, many people attempt to siphon off electricity for their shacks from the power lines. I could see the renegade wires. They also make fires for cooking, and that can be a problem if the fire gets out of control, because it is almost impossible for fire engines to get into the township. Helicopters have to be used.

Our first stop was the Spier winery and cheetah reserve. We learned that only about 800 cheetahs remain in the S. African wild. We viewed a video that showed us the absolutely crazy length of the cheetah’s stride. Their spines can curve up, and their predatory advantage is in their acceleration. The cheetahs overheat if they run too long, so they can be outrun fairly easily and their prey is often taken away from them. They kill their prey by biting the wind pipe, causing suffocation.

The volunteer asked parents to pick up their kids so they would not be seen as prey. Later, we did witness one child getting lunged at by a hungry cheetah. The highlight of the morning was getting to pet a cheetah. I was expecting a glorified petting zoo with a domesticated cheetah lolling about languidly, but was surprised when I received a plethora of instructions. I had to wait for the cheetah to “settle,” stay close to the trainer, and be prepared to quickly leave if the cheetah stood up. When my cheetah jumped up and started prowling, the trainer made me leave post-haste. The cheetahs are bigger than I expected, standing mid-thigh on me. When I did pet one, it was warm and purring like a giant cat–which I guess is what it is.

On our way to the point, we unexpectedly saw some massive humboldt whales lingering near the shore and quickly stopped so we could run across nearby train tracks and get a closer look–just like the crazy Americans we are. The whales were HUGE. We reloaded into the car just as an equally huge and much more fast moving train roared by. Yikes.

We stopped for lunch at Kalk Bay. They had a soda called Jive that Abdullah said was Coke’s biggest competitor here. Definitely better than Coke to me.

We drove through Fish Hoek and the naval Simon’s Town before reaching our destination–a penguin habitat and Boulder’s Beach. Yup. We are that far south. There are penguins here. They were pretty cute, and the scenery was stunning. A girl in my group ignored the signs warning not to touch and got a nice penguin bite.

We drove along the beautiful coast to Cape Point National Park, and in the park we passed zebras! Two ran across the road with their baby. We are apparently pretty lucky to have seen them. The Ocean View and Cliff’s Bay drives were almost as beautiful to me as the ocean drive along the Amalfi Coast in Italy. Twisting roads and sparkling blue water.

We hit Camps Bay, where the famous 12 Apostles rock formations are, just in time for the 7:00 sunset.

That sun fell faster than I’ve ever seen it go.

Back at the ship, I learned that Laura is leaving at 3:45am and needs me to set my alarm. It’s almost 1 a.m, so I should get about 2 hours of sleep before my own 5 a.m. wakeup call.

‘Cause this is Africa, as Shakira would say–or sing.

Between the idea of landing in Cape Town in 6 hours and the fact that I spoke to my family via cell phone 30 minutes ago, sleep is not really an option at the moment. I’m just so thankful for everything!

Today followed the usual routine of breakfast, workout and drawing in my room on B days. Today my artistic soundtrack consisted of Togo’s “Africa,” and the “Lion King,” “Tarzan” and “Little Mermaid” soundtracks. You know you would listen to the same things if you were living at sea on your way to Africa. In art class we sketched from an arrangement bottles that had to be sticky tacked to the table because the ship was moving so much. My bottles looked all leany-over in the end. I wonder why?

There was a strange drama after our South African dinner (some sort of shepherd’s pie type thing called bobotie– or something like that– and funeral rice). It involved a lot of stick banging, yelling and a pregnant rhino. It was fun and well done, though. The logistical report was not quite as frightening as usual, but we did learn that South Africa is the No. 1 country in the world for rape and AIDS–not the ideal combo.

Today was my sister Sarah’s birthday!!! I splurged on a phone card for 13 minutes and paced around for 2 hours waiting for my family get to their phones at 5pm Eastern Timezone. I’m 6 hours ahead now. You can imagine my wonderful surprise when an automated voice informed that there was an hour and 15 minutes on my card instead of the 13 minutes I thought I was getting! The sales associate had given me the wrong one! Hooray! You can’t, however imagine how happy I was to hear my mom and sisters’ voices and wish my wonderful big sister a happy birthday from across the world.

Today we went back to the life at sea routine. The captain was no longer painted green, and there was no dancing. But there were a lot of new bald kids I had trouble recognizing.

I got up and went to Global Studies, where I learned about the global wine industry and emerging markets in South Africa.

Women’s Reproductive Health was the best class ever. It sounds strange since I’m pretty squeamish, but I am passionate about the issue of fistulas in low-income countries. Fistulas are tears in the bladder or rectal area that occur during prolonged, obstructed labor. The baby’s skull pushes against the woman’s pelvis for too long trying in vain to exit her body. If it presses against the same tissue for long enough, that tissue dies, and usually the baby does too. The dead tissue leaves a hole that makes the woman incontinent and can be extraordinarily painful. Because of the nature of the woman’s injury, she often becomes a social outcast, and, in some regions, she is almost certain to be abandoned by her husband.

The human bladder produces about a teaspoon of urine every five minutes. Try to imagine that amount constantly leaking, and how much worse it would be to have the tear in the rectal area. Young teens and tiny women are especially prone to these problems. Malnourished or underdeveloped moms are more likely to experience prolonged labor. Some women in rural regions have been known to report fistulas after being in labor for FIVE days. Often the fistula becomes so debilitating that the isolated woman lives in a shack, alone with the use of her legs lost due to being in the fetal position for so long. The patients smell so bad that their own friends and family members refuse to be with them, and there is such a social stigma associated with fistulas that many women don’t admit to having the condition. They are seen as failures for not successfully delivering their child, and for not being able to perform their traditional reproductive and social roles in the household. Tragically, most women don’t realize their condition is treatable–preventable by a cesarean section and treatable by a 150 to 400 dollar procedure. I wrote an article for the Kernel last year about a fundraiser for fistula treatments which raised enough to cure four women.

I have no clue why I became so interested in this topic. I’ve never had a baby, I hate bad odors, and I get queasy easy with medical discussions. But I love learning about how fistulas can be fixed. I read success stories and couldn’t quit thinking about them. These girls are often my age or younger and remind me of the girls I met during my time volunteering at the Florence Crittenton Home in Kentucky. Even though a lot of the girls at the Home were underweight, there is no way this would be allowed to happen to them in the U.S. Fistulas are virtually nonexistent in developed countries.

In class, we watched a video called “Walking Back to Happiness” about a fistula clinic in Ethiopia called the Addis Ababa clinic. The clinic treats 1,500 women each year, and is the only one like it in the world, with 45 beds that stay full and a staff of 33. The sheets are changed twice daily, and the staff services the surrounding hostels where girls stay while awaiting treatment. The staff is made up of women who could not return home after their procedures for various reasons (sometimes it takes women years to make the trek there). One woman who stayed at the clinic doesn’t have a medical degree, but she can perform the procedure in a snap. A couple from Australia began the clinic by themselves.

Imagine that. One couple.

If you have an interest in this international reproductive issue, you really should watch the video. It is disturbing but engrossing.

One part at the end is absolutely precious. The Australian woman, who is now quite elderly after years of servicing the region, discharges her patients after their procedure by making it a special occasion. She gives the girls new dresses and tells them they are so beautiful they will find new husbands and have babies within a year. The smiles on the girls’ faces are so beautiful. A great project would be funding dresses for the girls to wear when they are discharged. Each patient receives a dress so she can begin to emotionally recover from the stigma of being abandoned for her unloveliness. What would happen if someone started a fistula clinic in Afghanistan? Fistulas are a huge issue there.

Back on board, I had lunch with my “Extended Family.” That’s a Semester at Sea program where you are placed in a small group with a lifelong learner and some other students to make you feel less homesick. It’s strange seeing kids walking around bald. So far only one girl has been crying in regret over her shorn locks.

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Today I was awakened by the stewards banging on pots and pans, yelling, pounding on my door and marching down the hallway. I opened the door, and they were standing there grinning with painted faces and strange handmade costumes. It was terrifying. I’m pretty sure I scared them, too, though. On our schedule, it said today was a “study day.” It was really a day reserved for a Semester at Sea tradition: Neptune Day.

On the day that you cross the equator for the first time, you celebrate. Neptune Day is adapted from much older—and much more hardcore–hazing that traditionally occurs in the Royal and U.S. navies. The crew banged on our doors until we woke up. After breakfast, the entire shipboard community gathered on the deck around the pool. The captain, dressed in a way—too short skirt and painted green, led a procession of costumed faculty and staff, waving his trident. For today, our terrifying authoritarian was “King Neptune.” Tradition dictates that to transition from being a “pollywog” (someone who has never crossed the equator) to a “shellback,” you must pay a rite of passage to the keeper of the equator, King Neptune. On Semester at Sea, that tradition involves having some unidentifiable slimy blue liquid dumped on you, jumping into the pool, climbing out to kiss a fish held by a faculty member, and then kissing King Neptune’s ring. The ultimate, though optional, rite is shaving your head. If this sounds pagan to you, you should have been there. It definitely was.

I went through the ritual with Gina and Laura. It was fun, though more cold than one would expect at the equator! Laura was pushed back in by King Neptune when she forgot to kiss his ring. Our names were recorded as official shellbacks. Bedlam ensued. A spontaneous dance party went on for the next two hours though it was only 10 a.m. Students also gathered and cheered, and perched on workout equipment to get a better view when about 60 kids buzzed their heads—including about 25 girls. I got some pressure to do it, but there was no way in heck. I would feel so free for about 2 days and then be in utter distress. The rest of the day really was a study day, though I spent most of it writing home. It is difficult leaving Ghana and trying to care about school. Yesterday I was with a dying child, and today my English paper just doesn’t seem as important as it once did.

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