Departure time came. The weekend before I saw my favorite band SOJA perform at The State Theater, then I said goodbye and see you in a couple years to my friends and family. Miss you all.
In Atlanta, I said hello to a dashing flock of individuals henceforth known as Group 8. Our nerves were ripe with anticipation for our journey as we spent our last night in America with newfound friends, a limosine and the southern comfort of Georgia's bar music scene. Georgia was on our minds.
Until Johannasburg. After a 17 hour flight, we arrived just in time to see the US lose against Ghana. Being in Africa, we were almost hesitant who to route for, but most of us held onto our roots and cursed the television. While others took a more diplomatic approach and said if we had to lose, glad it was a team from Africa.
Argentina was playing Uruguay just down the street in Jo'burg that night but we had to stay up in the airport hotel. Fortunately, it was a fancy hotel, which just added a mountain of contrast to what we were all in for.
The next day, we boarded a small plane for Swaziland. As we landed, we were greeted by soldiers with rifles. At this point, I was just pleased that my tenor saxophone arrived safe from Atlanta after hearing that Jo'burg airport is notorious for stealing luggage.
We arrived for preservice training (PST) at Ngonini, where I shared a room with Andrew, a cool guy from Colorado who has since been dating one of our group's attractive single ladies Steph. Props to them both and our group's other PST-brewed relationship, Meric. Our group has 3 older married couples, one younger married couple and the rest of the 32 of us are single with a couple having boyfriends or girlfriends back home, props. Everyone brings their own unique personalities yet there is a certain commonality that binds us.
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