these paths we choose

I shared breakfast with a Russian geologist who has split her time between here and Moscow for eight years: three months here, then three in Moscow, and so on. She is staying this time at the guesthouse. She said she used to stay at friends' places, but after getting robbed during the night when she was staying there alone, she decided this arrangement with other people always around was better. She is self contained, I had a feeling I was intruding a bit on her solitude with my questions.

At any rate, the consensus is that it is safe to walk to the nearby shopping centre during daylight, so I set off after breakfast. The sun was trying to shine, so I left Christina's proffered umbrella behind, not wanting responsibility for it. I took my time shopping, and when I looked outside before leaving, it was pouring buckets. So I bought an umbrella, rolled up my pant legs, and waded home in my flip flops. It was a warm rain, unlike those we get in northern CA, reminding me of playing in the rain in Alaska with Cheryl and David, many years ago now.

Christina drove me to the airport, and traffic was bad. To pass the time, she told me a bit of her history. Her family lived in Soweto when she was born, but at a very young age, she and her siblings went to live with their grandparents in Botswana, until time for boarding school. At holidays from school, she would go to her parents. But she got very sick at 15, and had to go home. After getting well, her parents put her in school in Soweto, but it was very bad, she said the boys were raping girls, etc, so she left school.

 A friend of her mother told her mother that if she told the authorities that she had lost Christina's papers, and said she was 18, she could get a permit to work. At 16 she began working at the same factory where her mother worked, until it closed about 8 years later. She has never corrected the records, so she is officially two years older than her actual age. 

She still lives at her mother's place in Soweto, although she and her 15 year old son stay at the guesthouse most of the time.

I asked about her plans for after her son is grown and it was hard to make myself understood. She is content where she is. She has never been to Cape Town and this does not appear to represent a lack in her life. Indeed it must not be, although I find it hard to fathom. I daresay Christina would find my choices perplexing too.