Living in the Now, Now

I don’t carry my phone around very much anymore, much to the frustration of the friend I’m supposed to be meeting for lunch. Finding internet on the move is like trying to catch handfuls of air, and there are only so many times you can see that your messages have failed to send before deciding to give up and see what’s so special about the great outdoors and spending time with loved ones. When I used to walk with my phone in my hand, I would instinctively check for the time at every possible moment, partly because my schedule always seemed so packed, and partly because I was always waiting for a text or a notification from the conversations I was trying to have all at once. Now, I rarely check the time, and in Cape Town, nobody seems to mind.

Here in South Africa, there is “now,” which is meant to mean “possibly in two weeks, but also maybe never.” “Just now” is not immediately but potentially soon, which I use when doing laundry or chores. “Now now” means that the person is playing no games and will likely show up at your house within the hour. Much of South African events and systems operate on a “just now” basis, something that my internal clock took some time to adjust to. Back at USC, in order to stay updated with Trojan Pride meetings, Helenes events, Trojan Scholars Society events and every time they were giving away Sprinkles cupcakes within a mile of campus, I had my life planned out to the minute. I would plan bathroom breaks and lunch dates, schedule alarms to remind me to send an email during my unicycle ride from one class to another, and find myself collapsing in bed, finally home at 11 p.m. after a day full of activities. I’m utilizing moments to take a step back, assessing all that should be done, but mostly focusing on what could be done after a few hours at the beach.

Seeing as how the school is on a mountain, the good amount of us who aren’t Olympians elect to wait for the Jammie bus to make its rounds around the residences and climb us up the mountain for class. It was quickly apparent that the bus schedule was merely a suggestion, or perhaps it was the schedule of a bus system in an entirely different country that was accidentally stapled to the walls here. Sometimes the bus doesn’t come. Sometimes it drives past you for no reason. One time a the driver with a bus labeled with the name of my dorm poked his head out of the window and said he was actually going home instead.

I live in the furthest, highest corner in my building from the Jammie stop, and when I step outside and see the Jammie waiting, like a little blue M&M ready to roll away, I run like a madwoman, my backpack swinging to the same rhythm of my nerdy middle school years. I quickly realized this is how people won at the game, “Spot the American.” Every other South African behind me, I quickly observed, walked slowly to the Jammie, hand sticking straight up, as if to wave a secret bro code to the driver that I wasn’t a part of. Sometimes the driver waits. Most times he doesn’t. Ultimately, it doesn’t matter. Sometimes lectures are mandatory and take attendance. It doesn’t matter. This is not to say people don’t take their education seriously. On the contrary, my peers here work harder and longer on assignments and in studying than any other peers I’ve had. But why jump over hurdles when you can walk around them at a leisurely pace?