Excerpt from Danas' first book; "Domestic Departures - A Midlife Crisis Safari"

I was gaining more and more confidence with my abilities to drive on the left side of the road, but still found it difficult adjusting to getting into what I had always known as the passenger side of the car to drive.  Over and over again I would go to the left side of the car to get in, only to realize there was no steering wheel or pedals, so I would shut the door and laugh at myself as I went to the right side to drive.  When I would start the engine, I would close my eyes and repeat to myself, “Stay left… stay left.”

            One afternoon I parked on Main Street just down from the café and headed in for a late lunch.  Many times people offered to watch your car to keep it safe from crime for a tip.  A really worn-down black gentleman approached me to offer this service like I had been approached many times before, but I knew immediately he was different.

            The old man wore tattered clothing.  His shoes had the toes cut out of them to make them fit.  He was tall and very thin with the skin on his face hanging loosely from his bones.  He appeared to be about seventy-five years of age, but in reality he could have only been thirty or so, worn down from a hard life.  He stopped directly in front of me, looked me straight in the eyes and introduced himself as James.  He said he was traveling through town on his way to Zimbabwe.  To earn some money for the trip he wanted to watch my car.  I knew it was not a line.  I saw his pain and his desire to get to Zimbabwe in his sorrowful eyes.  He was a desperate man, not just a street bum.

            After hiring him to watch my car, I went into the café and ate my meal while watching him sit on the grass four feet from the Toyota.  A horrible feeling of guilt and sorrow overcame me.  When I finished my meal, I asked my waiter to fix me an additional meal and a drink to go.  I paid my tab, took and extra one hundred rands and put it in the package of the boxed food.  As I walked out of the restaurant and towards James, he stood up.  I felt his emotion.  He did not want to get too excited about the possibility of eating the food I was carrying because it may just be my leftovers.  His eyes were weary with hope.

            As I got close to him, I extended my hands holding out the box that contained his next meal, wondering when the poor man had last eaten.  He took it so graciously it made my heart melt.  He didn’t rush to open it.  Instead, he began to talk to me while holding the warm meal, telling me he had gotten word his son, who lived in Zimbabwe, was dying and he was trying to get home to be with him.  We talked for a couple of minutes and then I had to leave before I busted out crying from an overwhelming feeling of sadness.

            As I drove away, I looked into the rear view mirror to see him waving at me still holding his warm meal.  Not far down the road I had to pull off because I could not see the road for the tears.  I told myself then that if I ever got excess money I would help these people.  There were so many beautiful people in Africa that had nothing but their pride, spirit, and the beautiful smiles on their faces.  South Africa is a land where the majority of the citizens are struggling to survive and yet they are the most beautiful people I have ever met in every sense of the word.

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