The Africa Journals, Ch. 7, The Perils of a Country Girl

The Africa Journals

Chapter 7

The Perils of a country girl

Stop worrying about the potholes in the road and celebrate the journey. – Fitzhugh Mullan

How could I get out of this stairwell?  I left behind the broken glass and the useless handle with chain attached and started climbing stairs.   Up, up, and up even more.  Eventually, I saw a big number “9” painted on the wall.  Could it be?   Was it really nine floors?

I thought I heard voices so I banged on the door and yelled.   Nothing.   No rescue.  I went to another floor and listened.   Nothing.  I stood there considering my fate.

Then I noticed a gray circle on the stairwell door.  It looked like a plug you would use to fill and cover the hole for a door knob.  I looked closely.  It was little more than a quarter inch thick, hardly enough to get a grip on it with your fingertips.

It turned!   It not only turned, it opened the door.   Free at last, free at last!  I can be PUNCTUAL after all.

The glass elevator.

I found the elevator and waited for someone who had a room key card to show up.  A gentleman walked past in the hallway.  I explained my predicament—“I locked my key in my room and need to go to the lobby to get a new one, but I don’t have a key card to operate the elevator…”

“You don’t need one to go down,” he said kindly.   “Just going up.   For security.”

So, entirely on my own, I went to the ground floor, got a new key card, then went to the mezzanine level for breakfast, laughing at my predicament—now that I was free.   I couldn’t wait to tell my new travel companions.

Happy Brian.

The day had just begun but already I'd been trapped in the stairwell about twenty minutes. 

I needed to exchange some US dollars for South African Rands and still be punctual for the bus to Mabula Game Reserve.  I went to my room and got some cash from the safe.   Then I left my room, careful to take one of my key cards but again making a wrong turn away from the elevators, corrected myself, and found the elevator.

I counted the floors down:  8 or 9.   The elevator car was glass and on the exterior of the building, so I could count steel floor girders as I went down.

Looking out over a residential area from the glass elevator.

And off to the bank in the adjoining mall I went, fully confident in my ability to handle this simple transaction.   

Hand over some dollars and get Rands in return.

What possibly could go wrong?