South Africa 2010? Done.

Seeing the photo above, I originally feared that the inevitable xenophobic wars had begun downtown. Turns out it’s something called “fireworks”. Whew.

I hate year end retrospectives. Firstly, they inevitably end up being reminders of horrible things that have happened. For every Chilean miner there is an unpronounceably named Icelandic volcano or horrific Gulf oil spill. In South Africa’s case, for every successfully hosted World Cup, there is a violent labor strike or widespread rhino poaching. I’m sure one of these years there’ll be 100% global employment and worldwide peace, but I’m not holding my breath.

Secondly, the really horrible stories tend to stick around. 2009 wasn’t exactly stellar for the global economy, but that didn’t keep this year from sucking, did it? Likewise, Mugabe rigging elections and refusing to rescind power the previous year hasn’t prevented the same thing happening in Cote D’Ivoire in 2010. The beat just rolls on and on.

So it is with reluctance that I attempt to summarize our year in Africa. In the course of backing up our laptop, I’ve recently been reviewing footage of the amazing trips we’ve been on. We both agree that the Rwanda/Tanzania trip was one of the greatest of our lives, with our trek to see the gorillas in particular deserving of a second go around. Having known very little about it before venturing there, Namibia startled me with its stark beauty and user-friendliness. For Africa newbies, you could do worse than the weird intersection of rolling sand dunes, oceanic water sports and German culture that is Sossusvlei on the Namib coast. And I finally crossed Great White sharks off my bucket list in Mossel Bay. So, you know, a slightly above average year travel wise.

On the down side were those stressful few days involving that aforementioned volcano, and the relative disappointment of our trips to the seaside. But, as Marnie pointed out to me, we’ve experienced more fantastical voyages than most people experience in a lifetime. And even during our most desperate hours trying to escape the isle of Britain, the way strangers came together in adversity boded well for mankind. The tasty ale at the pubs probably didn’t hurt either.

On the “domestic” front, things were pretty ho-hum. Marnie went to Mayfair six days a week, and not having the car, I mostly explored the neighborhood on foot or read and wrote in the apartment. Much like at home, we settled into our little routines, with gym in the mornings, coffee and an episode of “Come Dine With Me” in the evenings, and pizza from Espresso on Friday.

The major exception to this monotony was, of course the World Cup. I’ll never forget the way the country adopted Ghana as its team after Bafana was knocked out, or how surreal it was hearing a whole stadium singing the Star Spangled Banner in our little African corner of the world. The overwhelming feeling of goodwill, the shared desire to show the world that it was wrong to doubt South Africa, was intoxicating. Too bad it didn’t last. As many have commented, South Africa would benefit from hosting the World Cup every year.

I honestly figured we’d be mugged at least once during our time here (knock on wood), but the police proved to be much more of a nuisance than the criminals. I have a hard time feeling sorry for people here, apart from children and immigrants. Whites living in palatial mansions behind electric fences and driving Ferraris have the audacity to wonder why the black help, whom gets paid little and respected even less, might want to rob him. Blacks who are woefully unqualified for their jobs violently strike for increased benefits despite diminishing returns on their part (decreasing school pass rates, stagnant crime rates, horrible hospital conditions). And above all, a government accountable to no one but itself, seemingly intent on looting as much as possible for their friends and families before moving on to the next corrupt scam. But then again, there is the oasis of sanity that is Cape Town.

I wish I could tell you what South Africans do on New Year’s Eve, but Marnie and I stayed in as usual, recreating a lacklustre version of our traditional Christmas Eve dinner. The fact that most of the city is still off somewhere on holiday should theoretically make going out safer, but in my mind that just gives the drunk guy in the Land Rover more room to get up a head of steam before he plows into you. At midnight, we spied a few fizzling fireworks from our apartment window, through a curtain of rainfall.

With two weeks left here, Marnie is nearly done with interviews, and I’m just winding down the hours. It seems there’s nothing left to see or do or buy, at least not within a two mile radius. I’ve consoled myself with college football, and tonight, for the first time in a year, I will get to see my beloved Buckeyes play. You can take the boy out of Ohio…