Beware of Hippos

After fourteen years and three months (and two very long plane rides) I am finally in my homeland of South Africa again. When we first arrived almost two weeks ago, I found things to be familiar yet foreign if it is possible to be both at the same. Now I am getting quite used to being back, although naturally there are many changes both in myself and in the country after such a long absence. For one thing, I’ve discovered how thoroughly Canadianized I am -- asking for ketchup instead of tomato sauce or fries instead of chips, pronouncing my “R’s” like a North American, and having to get used to driving on the “wrong” side of the road. But it’s been such fun becoming reacquainted with family I haven’t seen for more than half my life (which is a little surreal actually) and we’ve also made sure to have a true African experience.

We spent our first week in Hazy View, which is right near the Kruger National Park. We took one day to visit the park and while driving in our car we spotted all sort of animals including rhinos, giraffes, warthogs, and elephants right up close to our car. But we soon found we didn’t even have to visit the Kruger Park to see some animals. We were very amused at some of the warning signs posted around our resort warning us not to swim in the river due to the presence of hippos and crocodile and warning us that a fed money was a dead monkey. Our chalet backed right onto the river and although we were never fortunate to have any monkey visits, we did have some hippos grazing in our backyard after dark. I’m not even joking -- I watched from our patio while a hippo only a few feet away nibbled on the grass. It was quite remarkable. With that said, I was a little nervous to wander along the banks of the river in the day time because a hippo could easily nibble a person in half.

That was not the end of our adventures with animals. One afternoon we went out to Thorny Bush, a private game reserve, and went on a three and a half our safari ride from 3 - 6:30 p.m. Half the fun was riding in the open air Landrover over bumpy dirt roads and through the bush. I had to dodge all sorts of thorn trees and low hanging branches or I might have been knocked out several times. As it was I got stabbed by several thorns and today while I was hanging some clothes to dry I discovered holes in the shirt I was wearing. But I suppose it was worth it because our guide successfully tracked four of the Big Five, though at first I was sceptical. After fifty minutes we had only seen a handful of buck, a pocketful of monkeys, and a whole lot of very large animal droppings. But eventually we found the animals.

One of the highlights was driving slowly right into the middle of a herd of elephant. The elephants were quite comfortable with us and the one kindly showered us with dust as she was cooling herself off nearby. We even got to see her baby suckling. Then just as the sun was setting we watched a white rhino with her two children -- it doesn’t get more African than that. The last animals we saw were three lionesses who were feeding in shifts on a Kudu that they had evidentally just killed. That was pretty amazing as well -- we were only a few feet away! I could even hear the sound of flesh tearing as she ate from the carcass. I admit I felt a little nervous when she paused and looked straight at me because there was really nothing in between myself and a wild lioness. Anyway, watching her I partly lost my appetite, but at the same time I realized I was very hungry as well. By then it was dark and our safari was almost over. When we got back to our own car, our own animal instincts took over and we quickly devoured the rest of our Biltong (South African dried meat).

We are currently at the coast staying at Umhlanga having our relaxing African seaside experience. I have lots of photos which I will post as soon as possible -- unfortunately internet access is limited.

Please Mr. Postman

Well, the big white envelope finally came, but not without teaching me a little patience. I had calculated approximately how long the mail would take from Salt Lake and I started checking on Monday. I wasn’t too put off when I found nothing there; after all I wasn’t sure exactly what day it had been sent. On Tuesday, I didn’t even bother checking since it was Canada Day and I knew the mailman (or woman) had the day off to engage in patriotic activities. I took Wednesday’s empty mailbox in stride, but by Thursday when there was no sign of the letter I looked for I started to feel, I admit, a little impatient.

In the end, Friday turned out to be a happy Fourth of July, though thoughts of American Independence never crossed my mind. The evening before my dad decided that my mom had better luck and so I should let her check the mailbox. Call it childish, but I wanted to be the one to collect the mail when my call came and so I refused. In the end, my mom secretly checked anyway and then came back to tell me (while jumping up and down) that I should probably check the mail. Whether or not my mom is really good luck, I can’t say, but my call was certainly there waiting for me.

The family quickly assembled (my dad came home from work especially) and I reached my moment of truth. I opened the envelope and found that I have been called to serve as a representative of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in the Utah Salt Lake City Temple Square Mission. Naturally, I will accept.

My assignment, although I had joked about it, was a little unexpected. I lived very close to Temple Square and worked in the Church Office Building in 2006 when I did my internship with the New Era, and so I am surprised to be going back. Surprised, but very excited. Salt Lake City is not an exotic land, but the Temple Square mission is unique in that I will be able to share my testimony of the gospel with visitors from all over the world, and I can’t wait. I’ve posted a link (below) to an Ensign article about the Temple Square mission that my friend Andy wrote in case any one is interested in reading it.

Finally, I’m sure that everyone is as excited that I will be able to use my hair straightener as I am. (See previous post)

"Tours and Testimonies" (July 2007 Ensign)


Could today be the day?!


Yes it could!


Oh the suspense ...


Too afraid to look!


"You are hereby called to the Salt Lake City Temple Square Mission ..."


Salt Lake Temple

Where in the world?!

The most common question I get when I tell people that I’m going on a mission is, “So where would you like to go?” And my typical response (which I’m sure has been slightly frustrating to the inquirer) has been, “I can’t answer that question.” But let me explain:

When I decided to go on a mission, I knew that I had to be prepared to go anywhere. Those who know me understand that this meant being as willing to go to Nebraska, as I would be to hop on a plane bound for the deep jungles of darkest Africa. For others perhaps it is the other way around. A mission in essence is completely unselfish. Therefore I have tried to take my will out of the equation, and I can honestly say I am excited and ready to go wherever the Lord sends me.

With that said, I will answer the question as best as I can. I don’t have ONE particular place in mind, but I love being able to live in foreign places and immerse myself in new cultures (so far I’ve done that in Russia and Israel, besides South Africa, Canada and the USA, of course). Also, I have always wanted a second language and so a foreign speaking mission would be quite convenient. To be more specific, somewhere French or Russian speaking, since I’ve had a start in both languages. But, as I said, I am prepared to go to Nebraska and I believe that God has a sense of humour and so he may well send me there.

I’ve even compiled a list of reasons why I would be happy going Stateside. Here it is:

1. If I open my call and see that I’m going to Nebraska, then I’ll know that’s where the Lord wants me to be.

2. The voltage and plugs will be the same so I will be able to use my Chi hair straightener. (My friend Kristin pointed out that if I went to Russia, I would have poofy hair in all my photographs, which has happened before.)

3. I am quite comfortable using the English language (in fact my career of choice depends upon my ability to communicate in this particular language) and it would be an asset as a missionary to speak in my native tongue.

4. I guess one could argue that for a South African Canadian like myself, the US of A is in fact a foreign country. And depending on where I serve, I may very well have to learn “another language” and celebrate the diversity that is the United States. I have already had one person guess Alabama (though I won’t list his reason since this is a public domain and it wasn’t exactly PC).

5. The mail would be quicker and more reliable. You see, for the most part, snail mail is a missionary’s link to the outside world, and in places like Cambodia or Peru it could very likely take three to four weeks for a letter to arrive. I’ve also heard stories about missionaries arriving at the post office to pick up a package only to find the postal worker wearing their new shirt. (In one case it was a shirt from the missionary’s girlfriend and it had her photo on the front!)

This list is by no means complete. And in fact, if you have any other ideas to add to it, please leave me a comment! As far as a status update goes, according to the Internet my assignment has been made and is probably now in transit.


Example one of poofy hair in Russia.


Example two - proof that I need a hair straightener.


Example three.

Choosing my own adventure ... almost

When I was a kid, I used to love the “Choose Your Own Adventure” books. My mom would read them to my brothers and me before bed, and we took turns “choosing.” If my brother chose poorly and died a gruesome death then it would be my turn to determine my fate through a series of 50/50 choices. The idea of being in control was, I think, very appealing to a kid who had little else to decide besides who to play with during the day and what game we should play (Ninja Turtles or school)?

However, as I grew and had to make decisions of more consequence, that series started to lose it’s appeal and I came to prefer a good old novel, which despite a few troubles along the way, generally ends in happiness for the main character. There lay the real appeal – knowing that after so many life-changing decisions things can turn all right, at least in fiction anyway.

I recently reached a four-way stop of sorts in my life. By returning from Jerusalem and graduating from BYU-Idaho, I had completed my five-year plan and had not yet planned beyond that. The obvious next step was to get a job, but even that presented me with many different options. Did I want to work at a newspaper or a magazine? Did I want to stay in Vancouver or try somewhere else in Canada, the US or Abu Dhabi (where they are apparently in need of journalists)?

And yet somewhere in the back of my mind, another option lingered – I could perhaps serve a mission. A mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints lasts 18 months for women, during which time I would be a full-time representative of the Church. Specific assignments – that is where in the world I would be asked to serve – are made by inspiration.

So I had to decide: missionary or career woman? I thought about it and prayed about it for a while and finally reached the conclusion that I was trying to choose between two good decisions and that I had to choose one and act on it. Unlike a “Choose Your Own Adventure” book, neither would lead to sudden death.

Finally, I have made a decision … come back next week to find out what it is! Just joking. I have chosen to serve a mission, but you really will have to come back later to find out where I’m going. My mission papers are currently in Salt Lake City for processing and when the assignment is made, I will receive a big white envelope in the mail telling me what that assignment is.

I feel very good about my latest “choice” and I am excited to find out where that choice will lead!

An Epilogue to My Jerusalem Tales

I’ve been home from Jerusalem for exactly two weeks and five days now, and I don’t have a job yet. As a result, I have had plenty of time to reflect on my experience in the Holy Land. I have come to the conclusion that Dr. Seely, my Ancient Near Eastern Studies professor said it best. Wearing his Canterbury Tales tie on an Easter day in Jerusalem, he told us that pilgrimage is not so much about the destination as it is about the journey, the relationships you form and the people you meet along the way.

My journey certainly was a wonderful one, although in the end it was not my own, but a journey I shared with about 80 other people. We started out as complete strangers when we arrived at the airport in Salt Lake City, but somehow within our first few jetlagged, sleep deprived days we became bonded. And over the next few months exploring the Old City together, visiting the pyramids together, studying the scriptures on the shores of the Galilee together, and of course living together, we became more like a family than merely travel companions. (And I have a feeling we will be Facebook friends for life!)

But some of my favourite memories happened when other people’s pilgrimages intersected briefly with ours. (You see, in the Holy Land we like to call other visitors pilgrims rather than tourists.) For example, after waking up at 2 a.m. and hiking to the top of Mount Sinai to see the sunrise, we found we were not the only group seeking a mountaintop experience. As we sang the very appropriate hymn, “How Great Thou Art,” Korean pilgrims sang along in Korean and shared our absolutely spectacular view with us. And we had similar experiences with other people from other lands at other places.

Then of course there was Palm Sunday when we joined with Christians from all over the world and carried palm branches together from Bethphage to St. Annes, remembering Christ’s triumphal entry into Jerusalem all those years ago. On that day, for a few hours, our journey ran parallel to theirs. It happened again on Easter morning when I sat with hundreds of other Christians near the Garden Tomb and sang “O Happy Day,” rejoicing with them that the tomb sat empty and sharing in the knowledge that Christ truly had risen from the dead.

Often we brushed shoulders with those of other faiths as well. Jerusalem is after all the Holy City for more than one religion. There were several Friday nights where we sang and danced with the Jews at the Western Wall to welcome in the Sabbath. I watched them bow towards the wall and touch it and kiss it and I could feel their faith. In the same spirit we had the chance to celebrate Passover and participate in a Seder meal, where we remembered the Exodus from Egypt and the covenant that Jehovah made with the ancient Israelites.

But we also listened five times a day to the Muslim call to prayer and walked with reverence on Al Haram Ash Shariff past the Dome of the Rock and the Aqsa Mosque. And we learned about the Ramadan, the Islamic month of fasting, and ate a Ramadan feast.

It was through these experiences with other people that my Jerusalem friends and I were able to better understand what it means to be Christ-like. Jordan put it into words when he said that with Christ it was also more about the journey than the destination. As we walked together in the Holy Land where Jesus walked, we learned together that it was more important to walk as Jesus walked, which in essence was taking the time to stop and show compassion to people along the way.

And so concludes my pilgrimage to Jerusalem. Thank you for indulging me by reading my stories and reflections. I hope that in a small way, you (whoever you are) were able to journey with me. Although, this is by no means the end of "Journeys With Jade."


Sunset by the Sea of Galilee.


Jumping for joy in the Mediterranean Sea.


Real Roman roads! (walking where Jesus walked)

"Special discount for the Mormons"

Before we arrived in the Holy Land, we were given strict instructions not to talk about our church (the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints) or to share our beliefs with those we came in contact with. This restriction is part of the agreement the Church has with the Israeli government – they allow us to have a presence in the Holy Land and to study there and we agree not to proselytize. Sometimes this has been difficult – we are after all encouraged to share our beliefs with people from a very young age – however it has taught me that often actions have power to stand alone.

The people in East Jerusalem certainly know who the Mormons are. I remember how strange it was the first day we walked through the Old City and the merchants greeted us happily with, “Ah, Mormons! Welcome! We give special price for the Mormons.” Granted they knew they could count on our money and so naturally they were happy to have the students back in town, but the fact is they can easily distinguish us from the mass of tourists that walk the streets of Jerusalem daily.

For example, there is Shabaan, a shopkeeper that specially caters to the Mormons by selling leather Jerusalem scripture cases and Hebrew CTR rings among the other general things people look to buy in the Holy Land. Whenever we stop by he quickly passes around plastic cups and pours us each some fruit juice. He told me once this is because he usually offers people tea or coffee, “but for the Mormons we give juice.”

One afternoon a group of us walked into his store and he turned to a customer (from the US) who he was chatting with and said, “These are the Mormons!” She laughed and said, “That’s because you knows them right?” And he said, “No no, we just know.”

After she left the store somewhat confused Shabaan told us about another instance where he surprised someone by being able to point out the Mormons. This person had seen a group of people walking and said, “Ah there are the Mormons.” But Shabaan knowing better had told him they weren’t Mormons. When the group of people approached, the man asked them if they were Mormons, and they said they were not (I wish I could have seen their reaction to such a random question). A few minutes later Shabaan pointed to a group and said those are the Mormons, and by the same test proved he was right. Shabaan then explained to us, “We can tell by your faces.”

On another occasion I had an experience that would make every missionary jealous – a man asked me for a copy of the Book of Mormon. Unfortunately I had to pass up this once in a blue moon moment.

It was a cold and somewhat rainy day in Jerusalem and I stepped into a little coffee shop and ordered some hot chocolate. While waiting for the shopkeeper to prepare it, chatted with a man who was sitting at another table. He asked if we were Mormons and then asked us if he could have a copy of our holy book. With much regret we had to tell him that we weren’t allowed to give him one. He kept pushing though and asked us why not. I tried to explain that we had promised the government that we wouldn’t and therefore we couldn’t share our book with him. People always have a hard time understanding why we are not allowed to talk about our church, and of course it is hard for us to refuse to share our beliefs especially when they try to coax us into disregarding the agreement, but as representatives of the Church we can’t afford to do so.

All we could do was apologize to the man in the coffee shop that day. As we got up to leave though, another man stopped us at the door and looking at the cup I held in my hand, he said, “I thought Mormons don’t drink coffee.” Luckily I was able to assure him it was hot chocolate. Here was proof that even though we couldn’t share a Book of Mormon, we could represent who we were by our actions because we were certainly being watched.

As of Thursday night, I am home in Canada with no more restrictions on what I say to people but already I miss the greetings like the one shopkeeper who sang to us as we walked by, “Hello Mormons, we support you, don’t forget us, I’m the man for you.”


This is Abdul - he owned the corner store down the street and was very nice to us Mormon students.


Shabaan owns the Ali Baba BYU Store in the Christian Quarter of the Old City.

BYU-Jerusalem Students Go to Hell

I can officially say that I have been to hell and back. Ironically I met some of the kindest people in hell and it was a rather pleasant experience. But lest you start to worry about my eternal salvation, I ought to tell you that hell is a very real place in Jerusalem.

Just below Mount Scopus (where I live) lies the Kidron Valley, and if you follow it the Kidron Valley meets with the Hinnom Valley at the base of the City of David. Our English idea of hell corresponds to the word “Gehenna” which is the Greek equivalent of the “valley of Hinnom.” According to the LDS Bible Dictionary, the Hinnom Valley is “a deep glen of Jerusalem where the idolatrous Jews offered their children to Moloch” (a pagan god). Later this glen was used as a place for burning garbage and thus it became symbolical of torment. You probably have never considered where the term hell-fire came from, but now you know!

And so partly out of curiosity and largely to earn the bragging rights, I set out with eight friends on a journey to hell. As a side note, we thought it would be funny if we all wore the soccer jerseys we bought in Egypt and so we all matched and took some team photos along the way.

In the Holy Land, you cannot go anywhere without finding reminders of the past, and so as we walked through the Kidron Valley we stopped to explore some tombs that we found along the way including the tomb of Absolom (son of David). I always feel like Indiana Jones when I’m feeling my way through small dark space though I generally turn back when I start to feel cobwebs. (Don’t worry; these tombs are usually empty of their former inhabitants.) Juxtaposed with the tombs, there was also much to indicate that life goes on in the valley. Herds of goats grazed on the hillside while the goat herders reclined lazily in the shade watching them and further down the path kids played games near a corner store. And to complete the picture, a group of Americans (and two Canadians) wearing matching Egypt jerseys walked by snapping pictures as they went.

When we finally got to hell, which was surprisingly hard to find, we met a very nice Palestinian man named Ahmud. He asked us where we came from and told us a little bit about himself and then invited all nine of us to come to his house, which was across the street – keep in mind that most Palestinian homes are very modest in size. Outside his home, Ahmud introduced us to his grandkids and then showed us around his garden, breaking off shoots from one tree for us to take home, which he gave to us in a potted plant. Unfortunately his wife then came out with little cups of tea for us and we had to refuse and try to explain in broken English why we couldn’t accept it. They both looked a bit upset and he said that for an Arab it is forbidden to turn down something like that when you are at someone’s house. We tried to explain that we don’t drink tea for religious reasons and I hope that he understood.

He soon cheered up again and we sat on chairs outside his house and listened to him tell us about his family. He also told us why he did not like George Bush, which we tend to hear quite often. He also told us that the Arabs are good people and that their hearts are white and not black and asked us to tell people when we go home (and so I am telling you now). He also said the Jews are his brothers and that the conflict was originally because of outsiders interfering in the Middle East. Before we left we sang him a song and thanked him for inviting us to his home.

On our way home, we took a short cut through the Orson Hyde Garden on the Mount of Olives and then through a field above the garden. There under some trees we found a large group of Palestinians sitting on blankets having a picnic. They called us over and invited us to eat some meat as they asked us where we were from. We didn’t stay long but we did share some of their food and a few friendly words in broken English and a few hearty “thank you’s” in Arabic (it’s one of the only words I know).

It amazes me that these families would stop a group of strangers passing by and invite them to share their food. Granted we were wearing matching clothes and probably looked a bit unusual, but at home that would never happen. I have been very impressed at the generosity of the Palestinian people. They don’t have very much – Ahmud in his run down little house and the family with their blankets and old barbeque – but they are willing to give so much. I think that we, who have so much in comparison, have to learn to be more like these Palestinians who have a true sense of who their neighbours are. I hope that through our interactions with them, the people here in Israel will also sense our sincerety.

Overall, I think our PR tour for the Egyptian soccer team turned out to be largely successful.

P.S. I have added the links to my Facebook photo albums so that those without Facebook can view more of my photos. Just click on the album title and it should take you right there. One of them includes photos from my trip to Galilee. Enjoy!


The team next to Absolom's tomb.


Walking through the Kidron Valley.


Our new Palestinian friend Ahmud.