Who would have thought?

As the year winds down, I keep thinking about some of the surprising things my co-workers have said recently.

K (from Pakistan) mildly explained that 9/11 was a hoax perpetrated by the US government. He seemed to feel that it was rather unfair propaganda that had caused Americans to believe that Al Qaeda was involved. He claimed that the 'real' pictures of the pentagon proved that the explosion was not caused by a plane. It made me realize how much our world view impacts how we interpret events. To me, what he said was totally absurd, but to him it made sense.

By the way, another co-worker, 'S' is currently in Pakistan, planning to get married. We've heard that she is safe so far, but may need to postpone the wedding. Please pray for her safety during the riots there. It must be especially unsettling since she is from Indonesia, and now she is in a foreign country that is in total upheaval.

Olga (the Jewish Agnostic) continued her confrontational gambits with an astounding punchline.
Don't try to convert me, I don't need religion. Maybe if I had some problem in my life and needed solace, I would want something to turn to. And then I'd probably choose Christianity. And then a couple of days later she repeated it. It totally amazed me that she was even acknowledging the theoretical possibility that she would ever find anything of value in Christianity.

'A' asked my my opinion of Joel Osteen. This was a tricky question, since I don't especially care for him, but I think it's important for Christians to not cut each other down, and I didn't want to appear critical, so I merely said "many people like him very much. For me, he talks a lot about how people can feel good about themselves, but he is a bit light on theology." And 'A' (a Hindu) replied:
I have been watching him. You are right, the first 20 minutes could go with any religion.
Once again I wasn't sure what to say, since the aspect that concerned me was a positive to 'A'. So I merely replied: "I would be very interested to hear about what you learn from him, and hear your opinion." So perhaps there will be some interesting conversations in the future.

And L (of Chinese heritage, but I'm not sure of her religion), asked me how I came to believe. There we were on the subway, pressed together too closely for me to even be able to focus my eyes on her face, since I was wearing bifocals. I started to explain that I went through a phase where I had an intellectual understanding that God existed, but I didn't know for sure in my heart. She immediately jumped in and exclaimed:
"Oh, that's what I'm like. I have an intellectual understanding but I don't really believe in my heart. But you really believe, don't you? " She sounded kind of wistful, but suddenly the train stopped and the conversation was over.

In any event, I have inadvertently come up with a great conversation starter. Every day I listen to a podcast of the Bible on my iPod (I don't always pay good attention to it, but that's a different topic). Anyway, people love to ask what I'm listening to, and they are sometimes a bit taken aback to hear that it is the Bible, but they tend to pop up with comments months later (like the ones from 'A' and 'L' above).

Merry Christmas

Sometimes it's hard to find Christmas in the middle of the political correctness, the materialism, and the Santa industry. Even Christmas carols are getting rare, replaced by seasonal jingles about reindeer, snow and chestnuts. I have to keep reminding myself that we are celebrating the miracle and the mystery of the incarnation.

As usual, I trimmed down my gift list by buying for only a handful of people, and giving the other people the honor of donations in their name to World Vision. This year we gave a pig, a sheep, an orchard, 5 ducks, a couple of chickens, a fishing kit, tools for farmers, and educational support. It's true that some of my friends are disconcerted to get a card rather than a coffee-table ornament that sings 'grandma got run over by a reindeer', but I figure that at least the ultimate recipients are happy!

Things at work get weirder and weirder. The place is so politically correct that it is almost a lampoon of itself. The invitation to our departmental holiday party included the lines:

So whether you celebrate Hanukkah, Diwali or Kwanza,
Come join our holiday extravaganza.

No one seemed to notice or care that something was missing. It is definitely considered insensitive and unprofessional to say Merry Christmas (although you can say anything else). Anyway, I finally figured out guerilla tactics to spread some Christmas cheer. I made Christmas cookies, and brought them in to share with my co-workers. I walked from desk to desk, offering the cookies and saying "would you like some Christmas cookies?" and they all eagerly tried them -- Hindus, Jews and Atheists all found that the word Christmas didn't choke them when it was the title of a cookie. And soon I found myself surrounded by a bunch of happily munching Hindus who politely responded:
"Thank you, Ann. Merry Christmas!"

More from Olga

Sometimes Olga is so perceptive it's scary.

I am studying to learn how to teach English as a foreign language. I have some vague idea that God can use this somehow -- maybe on a short term trip, or maybe working in some remote area for a year or so when I retire. I think about going as support staff for a missionary or something. But when I talk to 'normal' people, (i.e. nonbelievers), I say culturally normal things like "It's time to 'give back'".

The other day I was grumbling about being tired, and Olga asked me how class was going. The previous night we had looked at actual jobs in different countries around the world. I unaccountably found myself a bit disappointed because none of them were excessively remote -- there was one in China, but it was in Shanghai (a modern city). Anyway, Olga immediately picked up on my usage of the word 'remote', and said, "why would you go there?". I gave some vague, neutral answer, and she immediately figured out the sub-text.
Olga: "You have to be very careful in those places"
Me: "Oh, I don't know, I think I'll be fine".
Olga: "No really, those places are very bad for Christians to go to. You are probably planning on being a missionary or something. Let me tell you, that is very dangerous."
Me: (disconcerted that she has figured me out) "I'd be there as an English teacher"
Olga: "but your real purpose is to be a missionary, right? That is very dangerous"
Me: (wondering how in the world she figured this out, when I haven't even admitted it to myself yet) "It's not as if I'm going to be standing on a street-corner preaching -- on the other hand, I am who I am, and I bring that wherever I go".
Olga: "Oh, I get it. You will sneakily befriend them, and gain their confidence, and convert them to Christianity, and cause them to deny their heritage."
Me: (silence...I don't think of it that way, but it's sobering to hear what people think).

A new place for female bonding

I spend Thanksgiving in beautiful Arizona, and had a chance to go to a local health club. Wanting to get the most out of my guest membership, I tried to use all the included amenities. Which brings me to the hot tub.

I felt a little like an anthropologist observing a foreign culture. Apparently, it is the norm to experience instant bonding. Seconds ago, we were strangers, but now we are bosom buddies. First there was the woman who was bemoaning her daughter's eyebrows. Apparently she had an unfortunate waxing experience, leaving her with skinny arcs. The mother was especially miffed, since she herself proudly sported a vigorous healthy pair, which she attributed to her Iranian background. She lives in LA, and constantly encounters people who assume she is hispanic, and try to speak Spanish to her. The last time she stopped someone and explained that she doesn't speak Spanish, the woman drew herself up indignantly and proclaimed "how soon we forget where we are from!" The Iranian woman told this story with delight, and as she exited the hot tup she turned around and proudly quoted herself: "I don't know what you are forgetting, but I have not forgotten Iran!".

Which brings us to the second woman. She kept complaining that the hot tub was not hot enough. She likes it really hot so her artificial hips feel better. She had one replaced 2 years ago, and the other one two months ago. When she finally got bored with complaining, she left, however she also paused at the top of the steps, to show off the scars on her hips. I tried to admire them appropriately. By now I was beginning to catch on to the fact that the top of the steps is sort of like a podium.

A few days later I encountered her again when I was drying my hair. She clearly felt that we were old friends, having bonded in the tub, and that she could ask me to clip her toenails for her, since it is hard for her to reach her feet, due to the artificial hips. I paused a moment, since I found the whole thing rather weird, but decided that the best thing to do was to consider it a modern day version of foot washing. So I knelt on the floor in front of her and clipped her toenails.

My favorite hot tub friend was a woman from Korea. She was thrilled to hear that I'm studying to become an English language teacher, perhaps in an Asian country eventually. Her face became animated, and she threw her arms out dramatically as she predicted: "you are going to be so popular!" I inquired why, and she explained that native language English teachers are in demand, and since she has lived in Korea, China and Japan, she felt she could speak for each of those countries. When I mentioned that I realized that I would need to learn a bit of the culture and language before visiting she was delighted, and wanted to give me some pointers right away. I tried saying hello in Korean, and she praised me effusively. Her next lesson was cultural. She warned me that it is important to bow to people, to show respect. And that people will offer me food, and I must eat it. (Luckily I like trying different foods, although delicacies made from insects and some organs do leave me squeamish.) Finally it was time to leave. As she approached the 'podium' she gracefully turned towards me, placed her palms together, and bowed. I staggered up from my seat in the tub, placed my own palms together, and solemnly bowed back.

Yet another opportunity for humility

I was going to title this blog "another opportunity for humility", but then my computer informed me that I've already used that title. Perhaps someday I will become mature enough for all of these learning opportunities.

The famous heckler at the nursing home hasn't been there for a while, so I've become complacent. Preaching without anyone yelling 'Shut up!' is so much easier.

But whenever I think I'm coping well with the inevitable disturbances, I learn that we've only scratched the surface of the possible distractions.

First there was the week where the old couple in the back kept singing throughout the entire service:
Ann: Today, we're going to talk about Faith.

Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer true
I'm half crazy, all for the love of you

Ann: Let's see what the Bible says

It won't be a stylish marriage
I can't afford a carriage

Ann:"Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen"

But you'll look sweet
On the seat
Of a bicycle built for two.

And so it went. I preached, and they sang. It made it seem kind of like a karaoke competition. The aides tried to shush them, but they were having so much fun I didn't have the heart to squelch them.

More recently, there has been a woman who is offended by the fact that it takes a while to get things started, as we have to wait until they've had a chance to wheel everybody in. Each week, her pre-service comments get bolder, and more pointed.

Woman in wheelchair, Week 1: I can't believe they make us wait. They are so rude.
Week 2: The least they could do is bring us coffee.
Week 3: I'd really prefer REAL church.
This is just makebelieve church.

Meeting a Muslim

A few month's ago, I got a new consultant who is Muslim. I wish there was a manual for this -- it's too easy to be rude or inconsiderate by accident, and some of the cultural differences are not immediately apparent. In order to avoid asking direct questions that might be inadvertently inappropriate, I'd toss a topic into the ring, hoping he would jump in and tell me something, and usually he would oblige. For example, I mentioned that due to the combination of backgrounds on the team, it is a challenge for us to eat together, since everyone has different dietary restrictions. Just as I hoped, 'M' responded, and told me that he should be considered a vegetarian if we planned any team lunches. He does eat meat at home, but won't indulge otherwise, since he cannot be assured that the meat is prepared according to Islamic law.

I mentioned this to my boss, who was surprised that I already knew this, after a week. That was only the tip of the iceberg of what I knew -- 'M' was living in a friend's apartment, sleeping on a futon, and having to schedule with 4 people to use the bathroom in the morning. Even that information pales besides the details about the bedbugs. He showed me his bites each day, although they didn't seem that apparent on his dark skin. But that information wasn't really applicable to the team lunch, so I didn't share it with my boss.

One day "M' asked my about the various people on the team, and their backgrounds. Unfortunately, the denomination he asked follow-up questions about was Anglican. This church wouldn't have been my first choice if I wanted to make Christianity sound appealing. After all, starting a new church because the king wanted to divorce his wife so he could marry his pregnant mistress, is hardly a historic milestone we would want to boast about. But I felt that it was an honest question I should try to answer, so I tried to briefly give the historic context and was surprised to find out that there was only one point that seemed notable to him.

"Do you meant to tell me that Christians don't practice polygamy?"
"No".
"Not at all? Not even if a man can afford to feed both wives?"
"No".
"Oh". (disbelieving).

Of course, the conversation was made even more interesting by the fact that I was trying to speak excessively quietly, considering the fact that just on the other side of the partition was Olga, and I couldn't face defending Christianity against Islam and Atheistic Judaism at the same time.

Life became even more complicated when 'M' asked if he could leave the office for an hour at 1pm every Friday, to go to prayers. I figured that it was a reasonable enough request, and there was no legitimate way for me to restrict what kind of prayers someone could do, so I told him to simply remind me 10 minutes before. Then I suggested that the easiest way to handle it was for him to block out the time on his electronic schedule, and simply list it as an out-of-office meeting. He seemed amazed that I would cooperate with him, and to be perfectly honest, I wasn't comfortable about it, internally, but it seemed the best thing to do, although I'm still not sure.

Polygamy wasn't the only thing that we had instinctively different reactions to. He mentioned that 'a friend of a friend' had trouble flying since 9/11, because of the excess airport security. When I questioned for details, he did admit that it seemed to be due to the fellow's last name, which coincidentally (we hope) happened to be Ben Ladin. Personally, I could understand why a TSA employee might feel he should check up on that.

'M' has now moved on to another assignment. But I hope that during his time here, he learned that it's safe to talk to Christians, and that we're people too.

Mango ministry

I have to admit, that I simply can't figure out the best way to relate to the people aroud me, who are from various countries, and practice various religions.
I want to reach out an be non-threatening, but sometimes I'm not sure if my restraint is due to my wanting to show respect and consideration, or whether I'm caving in to the political correctness of the age (and of the workplace).

The funniest thing is that I've ended up being the 'snack lady' at work. The reason it is funny is that on every possible measurement, I am totally deficient in the gift of hospitality. But food is such a good way to reach out, so I've gotten the habit of bringing treats for the guys at work, and listening to their preferences. I'm the person who doesn't know how to ask questions, so I often don't know even basic things like whether people are married or have kids, but I know what they like to eat.

Most of my co-workers are Hindu. Some are vegetarians, some eat meat (except for beef) and some are 'eggetarians' -- they don't eat meat, but do eat eggs and milk. They are all becoming vicarious fans of Trader Joe's. I alternate between bringing chocolate (which almost everyone likes, although the Indians don't like chocolate-mint), caramel cashew cookies ('K's favorite, but also enjoyed by many others), and the most unusual offering -- chili coated dried mango. This is 'H's favorite, since he doesn't care for sweets. The Americans generally don't like the chili-mango (actually, they won't usually even taste it). The Indians keep asking me where I get it from, which is how I know they really like it. 'S' is Chinese, and doesn't care for sweet snacks either, but his preference is salty rather than sweet, so occasionally I bring pretzels instead.

Sometimes I wonder why I'm doing this, but it seems like such a simple way to connect. And the other day I realized that the mango ministry was really making a mark. After making my rounds, one of the guys announced: "I think maybe you are an angel". I briefly considered whether this was an opportunity to correct some theology, but then realized that it was a better opportunity to simply say 'Thank you'.

A trip to Zurich

While I enjoy going on tours, I normally plan my travel many months in advance, and enjoy spending time anticipating the trip, and learning a bit of the language. So it was a change of pace to suddenly go on a business trip to Switzerland. They mentioned it on Tuesday, I booked my flight on Wednesday, and few on Saturday. I barely had time to pack, much less practice any German. And the next thing I knew, I was in Zurich.

Now that I’ve tried the trams, it is easy to get around, but it’s still unfortunate that the hotel is away from the center of town – it makes it impractical to stop back in the hotel during the day.
I keep being surprised and sometimes a bit amused by the little details that are so different from at home, in spite of the fact that Zurich is a sophisticated, modern city.
• Cleanliness: Everything is clean. Everything!
• Doors: I seem to subconsciously think that handles are for pulling, but in Switzerland they are often for pushing instead. And of course the German word for ‘push’ doesn’t register until I stand there pulling like a fool.
• Cost: Wow! It’s expensive here! I’m not sure if it is just a factor of the exchange rate, but costs are astronomical. One of the hotel guests had his trench coat cleaned, and it cost about $50!
• Wine: This is a great system once you figure it out. If you want less than a bottle, instead of ordering a glass you order by the ‘dec’ (deciliter). 1 dec is a skimpy glass, and 2 decs is a generous glass.
• Rules: In Zurich, people follow the rules. Pedestrians are expected to wait until they have a green light – you don’t cross against the light, and you don’t jay walk. But there are frequent crosswalks, and drivers are expected to stop for pedestrians in a crosswalk, even if they are in the middle of a street with no traffic light. And unbelievably, it all works. As a pedestrian, I feel a lot safer crossing the street in Zurich than I do at home.
• Bathrooms: Zurich takes the prize. I have not encountered one dirty bathroom. They probably prefer to be known as the chocolate capital of the world, but I’m tempted to call it the bathroom capital. (p.s. I finally found one less than pristine facility, but I had to look hard, traveling half-way up a mountainside, to a ski resort, where people clump in and out in ski boots and track in a bit of slush).
• Public Transport: This is incredible. I’m a little odd in that I love the NYC subway, but even I have to admit that the Zurich system is head and shoulders above anything else I’ve ever seen. Clean, quiet, reliable and easy. I can get lost on the streets at home within a mile of my apartment, but so far the tram has been so well marked that I’ve always ended up in the right place.
• Hair: Zurich has a lot less hair dye evident than NYC. Most people over the age of 40 have a mousy brown or pepper and salt effect. I went to a concert and couldn’t figure out why the entire audience seemed old, and then I realized that I was making assumptions based on the hair color. But in general the look is more natural, with less makeup, too. The men often wear their hair somewhat long and unkempt, as if they get a haircut once a year when it hits the shoulder, and don’t trim or even brush it in between.
• Promptness: it’s easy to see how the Swiss get their reputation. Our day trip was scheduled to leave at 9:00, and started at 9:01 exactly (I’m still not sure if they actually left someone behind, because I heard the driver and guide discussing a missing person a few minutes beforehand). The trans run on a schedule, and you know exactly how long a trip will take.
• Streets: I find it a bit confusing that some of the streets don’t have curbs – its hard to tell what is sidewalk and what is street. L And since the tram tracks also run in the street, I’m not sure what keeps people from getting run over. L Yet it seems to work. Even horn blowing is at a minimum – just a discreet little toot once in a while, or a single clang if the tram needs a car to clear the way.
• Honor system: this could be a corollary of following the rules. You purchase a tram ticket before boarding. No one checks to see that you have it, but passengers do not seem to try to get a way with not paying.
• Germs: While Zurich is much cleaner in general than anywhere I’ve lived, there is less of a focus on germs. Hot Buffets, for example, do not keep food properly hot, and I can’t help wondering if it’s been sitting around long enough to incubate food poisoning. And I did, in fact, pick up some sort of stomach bug. The jury is still out on the towels in the restrooms. There is a modern version of those old towel rollers. In the new version, every time you use it, you seem to get a fresh section of towel, which is then automatically retracted after you are done. I’m not sure if its simply unreeling a huge long towel or if it is somehow pressed before it comes around again…but it looks fresh…

She can't figure me out

Olga can't figure me out. She seems fascinated with me in spite of herself. She deplores my lack of fashion sense, but always apologizes if she says something really critical.
The other day she was hanging up the phone as I walked past her cubicle, and she said to me:
"Oh, I was just talking with a friend of mine. He would be perfect for you."
"Really?" I say, thinking how funny it would be if a chance comment from Olga would find my soul mate.
"Yes" she said. He's intellectual and nerdy and not really handsome, so I wouldn't mind someone like you."
I'm speechless, and she realizes that it did not sound like a complement, so she tries to explain:
"I don't mean it like that -- but he's really nice and he would be perfect for you."
"Really?" I say again, not quite so enthusiastically.
"Yes". Then she pauses and adds with dramatic flair, and with the italics clear in her voice, "but I suppose you are looking for someone who 'embraces Christ'."
"Yes, that's true" I reply, wondering how she even knows the terminology. But before I can think about this she continues.
"Of course, he is married, so that would be a problem"
"Yes, that's definitely a problem".
"And, of course, he's sickly".
By this time I'm wondering what she thinks of me. Just as I think I have finally escaped the conversation she says:
"I hate to see you limiting yourself".

Let's talk about Mary

A couple of weeks ago, Olga came up to me with a burning question:
Olga: Do you think Mary had sex?
Me: Do you mean the Virgin Mary?
Olga: Yes, do you think she had sex?
Me: Yes, but not until after Jesus was born.
Olga: Really? You think Mary had sex! Then why is she called the Virgin Mary?
Me: Because she was a virgin when she conceived Jesus, and didn't have sex until after he was born.
Olga: How do you know that? Did Jesus have any brothers and sisters?
Me: Yes, one of his brothers was named James.
Olga: You know his name?
Me: Yes.
Olga: You really know his name!
Me: Yes.
Olga: But Catholics don't believe that Mary had sex, do they?
Me: No, Catholics have a different view of Mary. They don't like to think of her having sex.
Olga: In my religion, it is a bad thing to be a virgin if you are married. It would be a sin to not have sex with your husband.
Me: Well, I think she had sex with Joseph, but not until after the birth of Jesus. After all, she was a good Jewish girl, so of course she had sex with her husband.
Olga: Really? you believe she was Jewish?
Me: Of course.
Olga: Why do Catholics think different things?
Me: Catholics have a number of different beliefs about Mary, and I really cannot speak for them. Catholics pray to Mary, and protestants don't, because Protestants believe that you should only pray to God.

By this point, I had had quite enough of the sex life of Mary, so I tried to steer the conversation down a different path.

Me: After all, Christianity is a monotheistic religion.
Olga: I always wondered about that. How can that be? I don't think it is monotheistic.
Me: The Trinity is still one God.
Olga: I don't understand that.
Me: It is like the Shema in Hebrew.
Olga: What do you mean?
Me: You know, "Sh'ma Yis'ra'eil Adonai Eloheinu Adonai echad." In Hebrew, the word 'echad' doesn't mean 'one' like when you count 'one, two, three'.
Olga: No, it means one like a group.
Me: Exactly. That is the Trinity. One like a group. That is why Christianity is a monotheistic religion, because it is explained in the Shema.
Olga: I never knew that.

From the sex life of Mary, to Monotheism, in one simple step. Of course, any attempt to define the Trinity risks introducing new (or old) heresies, so lets hope that the orthodoxy police aren't reading my blog.

My friend Olga

At work, I sit next to a woman who is about the most opposite personality you can imagine. I'll call her Olga. She is pretty and fashionable, and wears low cut blouses, and high heels. I'm practical and like casual, comfortable clothes, and only wear flats. She is from Russia. I am from the U.S. She is Jewish, I'm Christian. Religion is significant to her merely for it's traditional or cultural elements -- she is just as likely to refer to herself as an Atheist. I'm a born again Christian.And to top it off, of all the Christian churches in the world, she has a particular antagonism to the Vineyard (my church), because a friend of hers was converted to Christianity by a missionary in Siberia. A missionary from the Vineyard. Truth is really stranger than fiction -- even in a soap opera this would seem implausible.

Of course, it took a while for all these differences to reveal themselves, but apparently our co-workers were were waiting with some amusement to see how it would all play out, since they expected the religious difference to cause sparks to fly.

And yet, we seem to be becoming friends. I'm not doing anything special, just allowing her to be herself. I merely make a point of saying 'Good Morning', and I allow her to say confrontational things without jumping down her throat. And most of all, she knows she is allowed to tease me. This amazes her. Sometimes I think she lays in bed at night thinking up things to say to me.

Olga: Religion causes most of the problems in the world!
Me: You think so?
Olga: Oh, now you will think I am terrible. You must be so offended at what I said. This is why people hate me.
Me: I might not agree with you, but you have a right to your opinion.
Olga: Really? you will let me say that?

Now that we are getting to know each other, and she is no longer afraid of me, I'm finding out that she also has quite a sense of humor. She is sometimes like a kid, teasing me just to see what I'll do. The other day she was sitting with someone at her desk, and suddenly spoke a little louder (so I could hear, of course) and said, "Oh, I hope Ann didn't hear that!". So of course I ran over to her desk, and shook my head, and said with exaggerated sadness, "Olga, Olga, have you been saying bad things?" Whereupon she turned to her visitor and explained: "This is Ann. She's very religious, but she's not uptight."

She has been going through the stresses that working mothers experience, and often refers to herself as a terrible mother. And then I protest and say I don't think she is a terrible mother at all. And she is always surprised, because she expects me to reprimand her lack of perfection. I finally said that I thought she was a much better mother than I would be, and she was astounded.

Then there was the day she was sitting at my desk, sharing a story about her daughter. I didn't want to interrupt her, so when my phone rang I briefly answered, and simply said, "Sorry, I'm in a meeting, I'll call you back." She was touched that I had valued her conversation enough to hang up on the other person, but was appalled that I had said I was in a meeting. I asked her:

Me: do you feel that I lied?
Olga: (very primly). That is between you and your Lord and Savior!

Tanzania: Arusha

We meet in the parking lot to get in the land rovers for the last time. Ali, the other driver, gives a very simple but eloquent speech, thanking us for visiting, and reminding us that everything we spend helps the economy, and that most of the staff are supporting families who also benefit from our trip. It is somehow very honest and appealing.

We arrive at the airport. YIKES! I don’t do small planes. That’s why I didn’t choose a trip with flights between camps. And yet here I am. Instead of tarmac, I see a dirt road, which is apparently the runway. What if a zebra wanders across at the wrong time? If a couple of geese can bring down a jet, what would a wildebeest do to a Cessna?

There is actually not room for our trip leader with us on the plane, so he departs on a scheduled flight at 9, and the rest of us take the charter a little later. I need the gap in between to find a restroom, because I’ve finally ended up with a bit of a GI upset, and I’m needing hourly bathroom runs. Our plane arrives, and we wedge ourselves on it. There isn’t even a proper aisle between the seats, just a little slot. I find myself wondering what happens if someone tries to get on whose hips are too wide. Do they have to sit on the duffle bags in the back? I see a zipper above my head, and am momentarily disconcerted to think that the plane zips together, but then I realize it is only the lining. Once we take off, I stare at the instrument panel as if my concentration is somehow keeping the plane aloft. We pass ngorongoro and everyone leans over to look out the window. I try to look without leaning too close, subconsciously afraid I’ll tip the plane over. Luckily the plane and the pilot are oblivious to my silly fears.

We land uneventfully, and find vans and drivers ready to take us to our day room at the Arusha hotel. The hotel has a lovely peaceful garden, but most people are eager to spend every last minute (and dollar) shopping. I prefer to stretch my legs and see a bit of the city, so our trip leader arranges for a hotel staff member to take me on a walk. Emanuel suggests going to the market, which sounds great to me, so we set off. I’m curious about his name, and ask him if it is from the Bible. “Yes”, he says. He is a Lutheran, it turns out.

We stride down the street at a good pace. I’m so glad to have a chance to get my blood moving before the long flights home. When we arrive at the market it is hard to see how big it is, because there are multiple sections, and it is sort of like a maze within a maze. At first I wonder why I’m instantly recognizable as a foreigner, and then I realize that my white skin is immediately eye catching.

Even though most of the vendors don’t really speak any English, they greet me with ‘hello, hello’. The excitement wanes as I murmur a ‘tafadhali’ as I squeeze by, or an ‘asante’ as they move aside. I would love to photograph it all, but I prefer to blend in (as much as I can with my white skin), rather than causing a commotion. Occasionally Emanuel tells me I can take a picture. I’m not sure why he stops at those particular spots, but it gives me a chance to take a few shots. I try to be quick and inconspicuous, and we move on, stepping over people and occasionally crossing ditches that are spanned by uneven wooden slabs.

Some of the people are eagerly desperate. Some are hopelessly apathetic. Both are depressing, and make me feel vaguely guilty, simply for living in a situation with more privileges.

The market has close packed rows, with vendors sitting in the narrow aisles. Boys rush up offering plastic bags to induce me to buy. Vegetables are piled high: tomatoes, carrots, bananas, beans, pineapples, coconuts, cassava. We turn a corner and are in the butcher section, where I see hunks of mysterious meat hanging in the dark, covered with flies. Emanuel identifies hunks of goat for me, and then something dark and shapeless, which is the stomach, which people buy because it is cheaper. I notice a faintly rotten scent and I’m glad when we move on to the next section: rows of plastic jugs of cooking oil; woven baskets in all sizes and shapes, some four or more feet across; containers of cheap colored plastic; huge flat wooden spoons (nothing like the intricate carvings in the curio shops). Then we are back in foodstuffs: grains, some identifiable like rice, some indistinguishable. Some of the grain is piled in huge pyramids – I wonder how you take any without causing a collapse of the structure. One pile is called millet, but it doesn’t look like the millet I’m familiar with – there are lots of little hairy fibrous tendrils. I wonder if that is the source of the awful bitter hot cereal I tried at one of the lodges. I see piles of herbs and spices, which intrigue me, but I don’t quite dare to buy any – it is clear that Western concepts of hygiene are non-existent here, and I don’t really want to bring home a souvenir that keeps giving in the wrong way.

The odors change in each aisle – piles of tiny dried fish are less stinky than I expect, but still make their presence known. The fruit aisles are warmly aromatic, and the baskets and bowls have a clean woody scent.

This is yet another face of Africa. We’ve seen luxury hotels, innumerable curio shops, dusty game reserves, and exotic native villages, but I suspect that the market represents the people who are not supported by the tourism industry. There are way more vendors than there are purchasers, so I wonder who ends up buying the products, or whether they simply sit there day after day.

And finally it is time for a quick dinner, and our trip to the Kilimanjaro Airport. I re-pack, rolling my bottle amarulo in my inflatable seat cushion in the hopes that it will survive the trip in my duffle bag. Our group finds seats together and waits in the heat. Every time there is an announcement, we hope it will be time to board, but it is hard to understand what is being said. I’m amused that the chimes that sound to get people’s attention are tuned to the notes of an old western song, so I teach it to my travel mates:
I’m going to leave old Texas now,
They’ve got no use for the long horned cow.

Finally we embark, and take off for our flight home. My mind keeps recalling miscellaneous thoughts of Africa: the schoolchildren with the brightly colored uniforms – but why do they wear those comical zebra socks? The intersections in Nairobi without stoplights – how does anyone know when it is their turn to go? The incontinent woman in the Maasai village – was this a complication of FGM? Is there any chance she’ll get surgery? Esau (my delightful guide at Gibb’s Farm), teaching me the Jambo song as we hiked; The lame zebra – will it’s leg heal before it turns into someone’s dinner? The lame lion – who has a better chance because apparently the rangers may actually arrange for veterinarian help for him; The crocodile who was so frustrated trying to eat that impala – did he finally manage to dismember it? Esther (my porter at Sweetwaters) saying “African women are STRONG!” And a small boy who was begging alongside the road – his sad face and pleading gesture haunts me still.

Tanzania: Northern Serengeti

Today the plan is to drive north as far as we can, to try to catch the edge of the migration. Normally we would go on a morning and afternoon game drive, but the plan changes so we stay out for the day, to cover more territory, and drive north towards the border.

It is heartbreaking seeing the dry river bed. I know there has been a drought, and that this is the dry season, but somehow the dry river bed brings it home.

A vulture catches Roman’s attention, and we take anther look. And hidden in the grass in the shadowed depths of the dry river lurk the lions, waiting for an unwary visitor to come naively looking for a drink. We can’t decide if we want to see this happen or not, but the situation doesn’t come up, so it’s not up to us anyway. So the vulture is waiting for the lion, and the lion is waiting for the wildebeest, and meanwhile we see the monkeys running away. At the beginning of my trip, I was surprised by how little the various animals seemed to interact with each other, but now I’m learning different things to look for, and there is more interplay than I noticed at first.

We see zebras, wildebeest, Thompson’s gazelles, hartebeest, topi, grants gazelles. Then some male and female lions under a tree, with another male on a rock, all dozing and raising their heads occasionally to look around, and then falling back asleep, with sinking heads and drooping eyelids.

Our boxed lunch today is an improvement from the previous ones. Thank you mbuzi mawe!

After lunch the van ahead stops by a candelabra tree. We can’t figure out why they stopped – we’ve seen those trees before. But we have not seen a lion in a candelabra tree before. I still can’t believe that the guide saw this –Even when I take a picture with the camera zoomed all the way (12x), there is a tiny patch of brown, but that’s it. How in the world he saw this while driving on those rough roads is a mystery.

Finally we reach the edge of the migration, crossing the Grumeti river. We are at a distance, but can see the wildebeest climbing up the bank, and can hear their grunts. In addition, we also see dik dik, bushbucks, cape buffalo, giraffe, elands, warthogs, elephants, steinbuck, klipspringer, ostrich, hartebeest, and guinea fowl.
As we approach the northern border between Kenya and Tanzania, the size and density of the herds increases – massive, endless herds of wildebeest, interrupted by zebras and buffalo herds. We continue until we get to the gate 10k from the border.

As we turn back from the border we are surrounded by wildebeest. There are processions on either side of the road, and another parade up the hill, interspersed with zebra again. In any direction you look, you can see more and more. They seem endless. Earlier in the day they were clustered under the trees or just milling about. Now they are moving purposefully along, near the Golongonja River.

The road here is not nearly as bumpy as the one in the Ngorogoro crater area, but we are traveling faster because of the distance, so the dust is impressive. One of our ladies politely confides that the advantage of having a mastectomy is that you only bounce on one side, and she wishes her sister were here, because as a double mastectomy survivor she wouldn’t bounce at all, so she could sit in the back seat all the time! She definitely wins the ‘when life gives you lemons make lemonade’ award.

When we get back to camp, most people gravitate to showers, naps, drinks (or all three). A few of us eagerly try another sunset walk. This time we end up with a woman whose private guide courteously includes us. I’m not used to having such an entourage, since we also have the camp staff and the guard. The guide (working for Roy’s) is a Maasai, who shares his personal experiences in a vivid and appealing way. We stop by a sodom’s apple bush, and he relates a story from his childhood. The children had to walk 10k to school, and one day one of the girls was complaining of a stomach ache. It got worse and worse until she couldn’t walk. They tried to carry her, but they were too little and it was too far.

“She was crying, and we were crying too, because we didn’t know what to do. Then we encountered a group of warriors. They asked us what was wrong, and suddenly they disappeared. But they weren’t going away, they were looking for this plant--sodom’s apple. They pulled it up and took the outer layer from the root and forced her to eat it. In a little while, maybe 20 minutes, she was better. This I know, because I saw it.”

We are all a little wistful over dinner – it is our last dinner together in Africa. I’m not ready for my trip to be over. In fact, most of us admit that we would enjoy staying on if our schedules (and money) permitted. A couple of people are clearly ready to go home, however. They are the ones who weren’t that interested in the trip themselves, but were accompanying someone else. I keep thinking: our last dinner; Our last night in a tent; Our last lion.

Tanzania: Mbuzi Mawe

We go on a short game drive on the way to pick up the ballooners. Wildebeest, impala, warthogs, thompson’s gazelles, vervet monkey, maribou stork, olive baboons, and lions. A male and female wait under a tree while a second female investigates the vehicles. I can’t help but laugh as I realize that she’s too close to get a good picture. I lean way out of the hatch to try to get a better angle, and don’t realize until later that maybe it wasn’t too smart.

We pick up the ballooners at the wilderness lodge. They are bubbling over with enthusiasm over their experience. I’m glad they had a great time, but I don’t regret not going – it would be too scary for me. At the lodge, the rocks are dramatic, and there is a comical sight because a rock hyrax has positioned himself at the base of a huge rock, and it looks as if he is holding the whole thing up. We also stop at the little museum that has the wildebeest walk – a self-guided tour that explains the migration. There is also an opportunity to stay and watch a movie about the Serengeti, but as one of the guys says “I can watch movies after dark – now I want to see animals!

And then on to another game drive on the way to our next camp. We go back to the Seronera river. The zebras are there again, still running in and out. Now we see hippos at the same time, but they don’t seem to bother the zebras. But a huge herd of buffalo approaches and the zebras run out and wait on the far bank. As we drive through the herd, we revise our estimate upward, from 500 to 1000. We see lots of topi, as well as elephants.

We end up at the wonderful mbuzi mawe tented camp. Dennis asks if we can take a walk and I’m excited to join – I didn’t even know it was an option. The camp arranges it for us. We set out with Ivan and an armed guard. Ivan is actually a physician’s assistant, but does a fine job for us describing the trees and wildlife signs that we pass.
He is deceptively casual when he points out the lion up on the rock. We’ve seen lions much closer, but now we are on foot, with nothing in between us, and it feels totally different. The lion is just a flash of tawny brown against the rock. “Are we ok here?” we ask. Both guard and guide are alert but unconcerned. But then the stakes mount – there are three little cubs! You can barely see them without binoculars. I’m torn between wishing we were much closer, and thinking we should be much farther away. The lion disappears, and I have visions of her circling around us. Ivan tries to be comforting. The last security guard who died was killed by a buffalo, not a lion. I’m not quite as reassured as I’m supposed to be. In actuality, we’re really very far away, but I just don’t have the experience to know what a safe distance is.

In the middle of all this, we are experiencing a glorious sunset. I keep pivoting around to watch the sunset, and then back to see if I can still see the cubs. What an amazing walk!!!

The tents are wonderful. Other than the fact that they have canvas walls, it seems quite a misnomer to call them a tent. Imagine two four poster beds (to hold the mosquito netting), 2 nightstands and lamps by each bed, a ceiling fan, desk, coffee table and 2 chairs. Let’s not forget the bathroom, accessible via a canvas zippered opening in the back: flush toilet, 2 sinks, and a solar heated shower, that was not just warm but truly hot.

The food is very good, and is also nicely served. Luckily they got the baboon out of the dining room before we came to eat.
My bed was comfortable, with a really warm blanket and lots of pillows. But I was roused several times by my roommate loudly snoring. She didn’t do this before. I wonder if she’s sick. It sounds quite odd and uncomfortable. At 6:15 I get my wake-up call – a friendly good morning, with a delivery of hot chocolate. I sti in my 4 poster bed, drinking hot chocolate, and think that I could get used to this.

Day 17 – Oct 26
Over breakfast everyone excitedly comments on the lions that roared all night. I suddenly realize that my poor roommate was innocent of those noises! Good thing I didn’t accuse her! And how amazing that a simple shift in perspective changes the situation from annoying to appealing and exciting. I’m pretty sure there is a philosophical principle to learn here, but I’m eager to get going on our game drive, so I defer philosophy until later.

Today is our last game drive. I don’t feel as if I’m ‘done’ at all. I still have animals to see. I still have skies to appreciate. I’m even ready to breathe more dust and swat more flies, and eat more boxed lunches. Oh, and on the topic of flies, it’s been rather odd. I’ve had a few bites, but I’m basically not getting stung. What’s especially strange is that for my whole life I’m ALWAYS the one who gets stung. Whether it is mosquitoes, or black flies, or no—see-ums, or yellow-jackets, or wasps, they all make a bee-line (no pun intended) to me and bite, even when no one nearby is bothered. And this time it’s reversed. While it is true that I’m taking precautions, I’m still not sure why the bugs suddenly don’t like me. For 30 years I’ve refused to join my family in the Adirondacks because of the bugs and the long car drive, and yet here I am in Africa. This doesn’t make ANY sense to my friends or family, and I can’t really blame them.

As far as the bugs go, I wear neutral (not blue) clothes, and I treated just the collars and cuffs with permethrin before I left home. I’ve been washing with eucalyptus soap, and have been using controlled release deet (but only occasionally). The tse tse flies land on me, give a little nibble (I feel a small prick) and fly off without really biting.

Meanwhile, my roommate is being eaten alive. She has bites on her neck, hands and ankles. The ones on her ankles have turned into huge blistered infected sores. Last night I encouraged her to ask Ivan (the physician’s assistant at the camp) to take a look. He confirms that they are tse tse fly bites, and that the ones with the unbroken skin should be treated with an antihistamine cream, while the open ones need an antibiotic ointment.

Tanzania: Central Serengeti

We weren’t planning on asking for a room change – it is fine as it is (even though it is not the ‘best’), but ‘H’ wants to be helpful, and told us at breakfast that we are being moved, so we have to rush back to our cabin to repack so they can move us while we are on the game drive.

The morning game drive starts slowly. For some reason, there is very little game near the lodge – you have to travel about 45 minutes until it gets interesting. Finally we start seeing a wonderful variety: dik diks, water buck, Maasai giraffe, impala, vervet monkey, warthogs, zebra, white backed vultures. We see a lion with what appears to be a broken leg. About 50 yards away vultures are eating something. We can’t tell if the lion already ate, or if he is hoping for vulture leftovers. We don’t see how in the world he can hunt with that leg.

We see a maribou stork, and then silver-backed jackals chasing vultures off of a different kill. And another maribou stork, this one flying, looking for all the world like a hang glider. A banded mongoose, Topi, rock hyrax.

Every morning, I tell Roman that I want to see a leopard, and every day he says “maybe – we’ll try”. I finally decide that the problem is that I’ve been asking in English, and perhaps the leopards only speak Swahili, so I practice my request until I can say “I’d really like to see a leopard” in Swahili. Half an hour later we come upon a gathering of vehicles, and see a tail dangling from a tree. Then we see a couple of legs also dangling down. Because of the many branches in the tree, it is really hard to see anything, even though it is close. I try looking out the side window, and standing up looking out the top, but a branch is always in the way. Finally I figure out a better angle crawling on the floor, so I can look under the branch instead. My travel companions ask what in the world I’m doing, but when I exclaim that I’m willing to crawl to see a leopard they all want to crawl too! I manage to see a bit of the rump and an ear. I’m wondering at what point it counts as a sighting! As the vehicles jockey for position on the road, sometimes the view is better, and sometimes worse. One of our party is impatient and wants to leave, but now we are hemmed in. I’m glad, because I just want to stay and watch. She fumes, and I keep my eyes trained on that dangling tail. Finally he stands up on the branch.
He is much bigger than I thought. I’m so glad we were ‘stuck’ here and couldn’t move! Suddenly the leopard leaps across to another branch. I try to photo him, but he is too quick – I succeed only in getting the landing shot: a rump and tail flying in the breeze, silhouetted against the sky. It’s amazing to see something that big jump that fast.

Finally we move off, and continue viewing other game. We enjoy a large herd of elephants – 20 in one family. Then a cheetah hiding under a tree, followed by 4 cheetahs sitting under another tree. The tree is a little ways away, with tall grass in front, and we joke that our photo captions would have to be very specific: “This is the grass that is hiding the cheetahs”. Then we see two lions (a male and a female) under a tree. The lion has a rich red-gold mane. He gets up and walks over to another tree, grandly looks around and returns to the first tree, where the female is sprawled in an ungainly heap. Then another herd of elephants, ‘only’ 9 this time, including a 6 month old baby.

We find a watering hole with oodles of zebras – about 30 are in the water, with others continuously walking in and out. At one point the approach and exit are so orderly it looks like people lining up to receive communion. The water is incredibly muddy. The zebras in the water are churning up the water and making lots of noise just by wading back and forth. Meanwhile some of the zebras on land are ‘barking’, and one is sort of hee-hawing, like a donkey.

Then a family of elephants approaches, and the zebras fly in a panic, only to turn right around and go back into the water. The elephants drink at one end and the zebras at the other, as if there is a line drawn, separating them. Then we hear trumpeting and the zebras rush out again, with mad splashing and flailing and excitement. There is a second herd of elephants on the other bank. The zebras don’t want to be caught up in an elephant fight. One of the elephant herds backs off a little, and the zebras return. Every minute or two, one of the zebras panics and starts a stampede, and then they turn right around and come back. They don’t actually seem very smart. Often the ones galloping out pass the others already lined up to go back in. When the 2nd family of elephants finally enters the water, then all the zebras gallop off, in a flurry of muddy splashes.

The second elephant family decides to eat the vegetation on the far side of the pond, and now they won’t let the first family out of the water. There is clearly some one-upsmanship going on. By the way, I’ve been calling this a pond, but apparently it is actually part of the Seronera River. The interplay between the zebras and the two elephant families continues.

Afterwards, we see vervet monkeys, another lion under a tree on the left, and yet another under a tree on the right. I can’t believe that I’ve lost count of how many lions we’ve seen. I’m sleepy, achy, dusty, hungry, and am dealing with a sinus infection and a bit of a sore throat, but I definitely have my happy face on!

We get back to the lodge for lunch. When we get our new key, we find out that our bags have not been moved, so I go back to reception again and ask them to have the bags moved, as well as the laundry hanging in the bathroom, while we’re at lunch. We’ve packed everything else, but I didn’t want to pack the laundry since it was wet. After lunch I ask at the desk if they’ve moved the bags – I’m not even sure which key I need at this point. They aren’t sure which key I need either. I start getting impatient – we still haven’t washed up after the game drive. They finally send a porter with us, and we find that the bags are in one room and the laundry is in the other room. So I collect the laundry and the porter leaves, and I think we are set. But then I find we have no hot water. I don’t mean it is lukewarm, I mean that nothing comes out of the tap at all. So I go back to reception. They explain that it is a generalized problem in the camp, not our room, and it will be fixed by dinner.

The afternoon game drive is not as exciting. We see a yellow throated sandgrouse, Maasai giraffe, dik diks, Thompson’s gazelles, zebras, fiscal shrike, impala, and a hippo pool with a crocodile.

We return from our afternoon game drive, only to find that we still have no hot water. We go to dinner grubby and sweaty and dirty, only to find that everyone else has showered – in hot water. So I guess it wasn’t a camp-wide problem after all. Our leader assures us he’ll speak to the management and have it fixed while we are at dinner. After dinner we are escorted to our cabin. I enter the bathroom and find no hot water still. I figure that my roommate (as patient as she is), will kill me if this isn’t fixed soon, since she has to rise at 4:15 for the balloon ride, and this is sort of my fault, since I commented on the room. Luckily I suddenly realize that the room has a phone (what a novelty!) so I call reception. Finally the guy comes and works on it and fixes it at around 10:30 at night. At last we are ready for our showers, however now we see that we are missing a washcloth, and have no hand towels at all. At home that would not be an issue, but here you really need something to wipe the dirt off with!

I let my roommate shower first, and then I take mine. I’m hot and dusty and dirty and sweaty and smelly and cranky. But while I’m taking my wonderful hot shower I remember what a marvelous day we had. Who cares about these minor glitches when we had an incredible game drive!

4:15 in the morning comes too soon. My roommate is really, really quiet getting up, but I still hear her alarm clock and the wakeup call. But I figure that it all comes out even, since she has treated me to an extra half hour sleep each morning. I fall back asleep, and then I get up at 6:15 to see the sunrise, since this room finally does have a nice view.

This lodge is a bit inconsistent. The staff have the trademark Serena courtesy, but they are not very competent. I know that things can break even in the best run establishments, but it really shouldn’t take 3 separate requests to get something as basic as hot water fixed. Even in the dining room, a request for tea might take ½ hour, or might never happen at all. We did have our best game drive here, but it takes about 40-45 minutes to even get to the good game viewing area. Meanwhile, the huts look appealing, but are also stiflingly hot.

Tanzania: Oldupai Gorge and Serengeti

Leaving Ngorongoro we get a few more views into the crater. It’s really amazing. I can’t imagine that the Maasai walk up and down to graze their cattle. I also can’t imagine the female elephants walking up and down. I’m beginning to see an Africa pattern here: the Maasai women carry the water and build the huts; the lionesses kill the prey; the female elephants lead the herd. Women in Africa seem to work extremely hard, regardless of the species!. On the rim, we see impala, grants gazelles, secretary birds and zebras. The road is extremely bumpy, and we pass broken down trucks frequently – luckily they have managed to pull to the side enough to not obstruct traffic. I wonder what they will do to fix their trucks.

We stop at Oldupai gorge. We all thought that it was Olduvai, but the guide corrects us. It is named after the oldupai plant, a member of the sisal family. We see the different strata in the gorge. The varying colors of the alternating red and gray help pick out the layers. In the first layer the ‘nutcracker man’ was found, with a massive jaw to grind hard seeds. The formal name was something like australopificus boise, but I have no idea how to spell it. That is dated at 1.8 million years ago. It’s hard for me to take these dates seriously – are they sure it wasn’t 1.9 or 1.7 million? They talk us through each layer, and also give us a great piece of trivia. ‘Lucy’ (found elsewhere, I believe), was actually named after the Beatles song ‘Lucy in the sky with diamonds’. The little museum is quite interesting.

The other members of my group are very self-congratulatory about their sophistication compared to the stupid and ignorant Christians who believe in the Bible story of creation. It doesn't seem the time to tell them that they have a spy in their ranks, but later on I actually get a chance to talk to one of the women who is struggling with the different beliefs in her family. I tell her that being a person of faith and being intelligent are not incompatible, and discuss Genesis with her.

Now on to the Serengeti. It truly is an endless plain. The dust is unbelievable. Every time a vehicle passes us we have to close the windows. But this is our hottest day so far, so we really need the air. So we get really good at sliding the windows open and shut again and again. In the wake of another vehicle, the dust is so thick it is actually like a white-out, with severely obscured visibility. In broad daylight, the wise drivers put their headlights on, to make it easier for the other vehicles to see them. My buff kerchief is working great! All my travel companions start asking me about it.

‘H’ had promised us great bathrooms at the entrance to the Serengeti, and I wonder what planet he is coming from; they are Turkish style ‘squatters’ with broken flushers, and are stopped up with an accumulation of toilet paper and bodily waste. After trying in vain to flush by pulling the cord, I notice a water handle on the wall. I hopefully turn it only to find out that it was a SHOWER! Not what I was hoping for. I walk out sprinkled with water, and realize that I now look as if I’ve somehow got driblets of pee all over. This trip is good at getting rid of any false pride.

We are all sick of those Serena boxed lunches – a dry sandwich of mystery meat (ugh), a piece of roast chicken (usually pretty good, but sometimes covered with congealed fat), a slice of pound cake (ok), an orange drink (ok) , a bottle of water (ok), a container of yogurt (suspiciously foaming and bulging), and a little piece of fruit. We are getting really expert at separating what we don’t want so it can be given away (rather than nibbling at everything and then throwing it out). The picnic area features large, colorful lizards. Not my normal eating companions, but they don’t actually approach us, and don’t bother anyone.

Finally we get going again, and have a game drive on the way to the lodge. The highlight was watching a crocodile trying to eat an impala. It was sort of a tease to watch it, since most of the action happened underwater. Occasionally the croc would rear up with a portion of the impala in its jaws, but it wasn’t managing to tear it apart so it could eat it.

I was still anxious to see a leopard so I looked carefully in every shady spot (since it was now the heat of the day). I had one false alarm which was actually a reebuck hiding in some grass under a bush, and another animal which was in deep shadow a distance from the road – too far and dark to tell what it was. Then I saw a head sticking out from behind the trunk of a tree – I had high hopes, but it was actually a hyena. What a letdown! I think it was my third hyena spotting. The crew in my vehicle was split over whether I should get spotting credit, or a demerit. ;)

All of a sudden we see a big male lion, close to the road. He is lined up so his body is exactly aligned with the shade cast by the trunk of the tree. He lies with his head up, but his eyes closed, breathing heavily. Then he flops over like a baby who has decided to sleep. We see his ribs go in and out when he breathes. Then he sits up again and this time he looks around, but his eyes are so heavy that they keep closing. It makes us tired to even look at him! Something about those drooping eyelids is contagious. Meanwhile, a giraffe grazes on the other side of the road. She hasn’t seen him yet. The lion is so tired he can barely be bothered to look. When the giraffe finally notices him, we see her ears flare out immediately. It looks like a cartoon depiction of surprise. She wheels around to walk off briskly – not panicked, but clearly wary.

We finally reach the hotel – Serengeti Serena. We are so glad for those damp washcloths at the entrance. I can’t believe how dirty I am. We are all tired and achy and hot and dusty and cranky. The hotel is an appealing design, with individual huts.