So here I am. My name is Erika Hill and I am a twenty seven year old animal trainer living in Durban, South Africa. I moved here from sunny southern California for adventure, love and the great unknown over a month ago. Up until recently I have never lived more then two hours from home and never lived outside of California. I may have traveled a great deal in my short life visiting Costa Rica, Mexico, Canada, Dominican Republic, Germany, Spain, Argentina and Uruguay (Chili and London if you count airport layovers), but nothing has prepared me for this. And now here I am in Africa, my home away from home. Only those of you who have been to Africa know what I mean by this. How did I get here on might ask? Well its a long story, but lets just say it took a three week internship, the opportunity of a lifetime and the man of dreams to get me here.
It was just last May that I graduated from the Exotic Training and Management Program in Moorpark California and my story took a turn toward the East. I highly recomend the EATM program to anyone who truly loves working with animals and has a deep wish to find yourself along with some life-long friends. Well, no sooner had I graduated the program then I was off on a plane back to South Africa and my new life. I feel a little more settled in now then I did when I first arrived, less like I am on a long vacation and coming closer and closer to the realization that this situation is permanent. It's not that I, being the rational part of my brain, don't realize this fact. It is that my subconscious, on some level, thinks that any day now we will be back on thirty hour plane ride to free room and board and all the mexican food I can eat. This however, is not the case. After four weeks in Africa it seems my brain has finally come to terms with my very real departure from my old life and is making the needed adjustments.
So, the next question on your mind I am sure is: Does this crazy woman at least have a job lined up? Well, in answer to your question, no. When I came here the second time all I had was the promise of a job and not a solid 'job' as most would call it. I was told that there would be a position for me as a bird trainer at the Umgeni River Bird Park in Durban. This seemed simple enough, but as is everything is SA it was not. This 'job' that was available, to make a long story short, was hypothetical and very tentative. And to say the least, depended on my ability to turn a blind eye to some questionable and possibly unethical practices. So through some long days and sleepless nights I came to the realization that this particular position was not going to be for me. I told myself not to lose heart and that surely something would present itself in a timely manner. Or at least this is what I had hoped, my alternative (and I mean this in all honesty) was to marry my love about two years earlier then originally planned so that I could stay in the country legally. Well fortunatlly, as luck would have it, a position did become available at the world famous uShaka Marine World starting there new macaw education and interaction program. After a some phone tag and some interviews it became clear that they were interested in me, however as happens with everything in South Africa, things are slow going. There is quite a bit more to this story, that involves a reality TV show, marine mammals and needing an 'American Voice', that I won't even begin to delve into here. Mostly because I really don't understand it all that much myself.
So to bring you all up to date as it were, I am currently waiting on baited breath to find out when I will sign my contract, when I can start work and what I will be getting paid. All I know is that when all this comes to fruition I will get to train eight baby macaws hand picked by yours truly. As well as be in charge of every aspect of there husbandry and care. This is why I am currently putting up with a great deal of insanity that a lot of other people might walk out on. So you may all feel free to wish me luck, I will need as much as I can get.
Another question you might be asking yourself is 'Where are you living?' Well, I am very fortunate to be living in modified servants quarters across from love's parents home in Durban. He and his Bali have put quite a large amount of effort into turning in what was once a humble servant's flat (every home in Durban build before 1960 has one of these by the way) into a stylish and homey little flat. We have a bathroom, a bed, a television and a small kitchen.
So here it is, the last day of the world cup and I am nestled comfortably down in my new home listening to the cacophony of the over eighty-three animals with whom I share the main house. Some might think that sharing a home with all these creatures would be madding or unsettling, but I actually find they have quite the opposite effect on me. All of these animals are feathered, scaled and furred refugees saved from certain death due to injury or abnormality. Most are birds, dropped off as unwanted pets or damaged wildlife at the Umgeni Bird parks gates and taken under wing. Others are an assortment of small mammals and reptiles with an assortment of adopted cats and two estranged border collies tossed in. No animal, it seems, is to little or to broken to be taken in at the Bristow house. The patriarch of this home-made zoo is my Craig's bali (father), a spit fired stout gentleman who plays the organ for there local church and his mother a warm portly wife who sings in the church choir is its matriarch . The home seems old as Durban itself, and is filled to brim with all sorts of nick-nacks and random African paraphernalia. It is not only animals that the home seems to collect, nothing it seems, ever leaves the Bristow house. Everything that was ever thought to be of any importance can be found hidden somewhere in the bowls of this home. Nothing is thrown away and nothing is ever wasted. It is as if the house it self is as alive as all the creatures that it harbors. Nearing it’s ninetieth birthday the home wears her age well, only revealing the passage of time in the peeling paint and weavel-worn beams along the edges of the rooftop.
As I sit here in the pink room room (recently resolved of all its clutter by yours truly) looking out one of the house's many iron laden windows, I cannot help but wonder how I got here. I am content as I sit and listen to the birds outside as well as in, and hear the cars pass by on the street. I do not know what life in Durban has in store for me, but I do know I will meet it with open arms and an open heart....

can·dled; can·dling \ˈkan(d)-liŋ, ˈkan-dəl-iŋ\

: to examine by holding between the eye and a light; especially : to test in this way for staleness, fertility, and growth