Serendipity in Worcester

My guide in Worcester, performance artist, Collin "The Bushman."

“How do you know this man who is meeting you in Worcester?” asked a concerned friend in Cape Town when I told him I had arranged for a local to show me around the “other” side of my next stop on the Shosholoza Meyl.

“I saw a performance art piece, that I didn’t entirely understand since much of it was in Afrikaans, at the train station in Cape Town. The performers incorporated music, dance and poetry to tell stories as the audience followed the artists and we snaked our way from the refurbished new station and through the derelict and abandoned corners of the old station. One of the performers is a man named Collin who lives in Worcester. Since that is my next stop on the Shosholoza, I took this as a sign and introduced myself to Collin and asked if he would show me around Worcester. He said yes and gave me his details. It’s as easy as that.” Explaining the connection out loud, I realized that there was nothing reassuring in my story and that my protective friend would not be happy.

“No, man, you just can’t meet a stranger at the train station in Worcester and walk off happy-go-lightly with him all by yourself. This is Africa, man. Worcester isn’t Sea Point. There are gangs there. Would you do this in your country? What do you know about this guy?”

The truth was I knew absolutely nothing about this guy, but I had to come up with a reassuring response to prevent my friend from becoming apoplectic. I had seen it before and I didn’t need one more lecture – coming from whatever place of concern and love – about my “little African adventure.” Reason wouldn’t work with this argument, so I had to try something else.

“Don’t you think it’s strange that I’m in South Africa taking the train to all of these little towns, exploring life along both sides of the tracks. And then, on a day I’m in Cape Town, there is a performance at the train station that touches on the very same themes I’m investigating on my anthropological journey. (It isn’t anthropological, really, but I thought that sounded reassuring.) And, I’ve been trying to make connections in Worcester and coming up short until, right in front of me at a train station, there is someone from Worcester. It’s serendipity. It’s like finding a four-leafed clover. It’s a sign, don’t you think?”

“No, it is not a sign. You could pick a name out of the phone book in Worcester and be no more safe than you would be with this guy. But, OK, you are going to get on the Shosholoza and meet this guy. Fine. You better be texting me so I know where you are and what you are doing in Worcester. Why do you want to go there anyway? You should take the Garden Route to Hermanus. They have guesthouses and art there. They have whales. Americans love whales. Worcester is kak.”

I just shrugged. I didn’t have the energy to explain, one more time, why I was following the train tracks between Cape Town and Johannesburg. I love the ocean-side town of Hermanus,, but the Shosholoza Meyl I’m taking doesn’t pass through there. No, I was off to Worcester with a stranger named Collin as my guide and with fingers crossed that my meeting him really was some kind of a sign.