Kimba's romantic side

Kimba got to go to Prague. He of course could not travel to such a romantic city alone, so he took his girlfriend . . . yes, Kimba has met someone while here in Zambia. Her name is Reginia and she is, as you can see, quite a lovely companion for Kimba. At any rate, in order to celebrate their arrival, the two decided to take a ride on the luggage carousel--perhaps not the most exciting of rides, but it turned out to be a fine way to inaugerate the trip.

home

A week of traveling days has given me a humbling awareness of my reliance upon the people and things that fill my basic human needs. The first portion of my travels was a time of great luxury, excitement, and good companionship--more updates on that will come soon, I promise!
But at the moment it is the second portion of my travels that is prominent in my mind . . . A few days of loneliness, extreme cold, inadequate funds, and missing baggage have given me a renewed gratitude for simple comforts, even those here at the safari lodge that I never would have thought of as "comforts" till now.
I'm growing weary of life being so difficult--and I think I'm ready to come home. When traveling here in Zambia, I am just floored by how hard it is to get by, from transport to supplies to funds. And winter right now is brutal, especially in Lusaka--so lodging in a little cottage with my hot water bottle in my missing bag was quite brutal. It is so humbling to be alone, without means, and without even a way to simply get warm.
But I made it, and a trip to the airport this morning left me giddily relieved with a successful retrieval of my bag. So here I am, "home" again for now--and for perhaps the first time in months truly looking forward to being home.

if i had a hammer

Lately I have taken to loitering around the workshop in my free time, after discovering that one shop artist allows me to "help" occasionally. After watching him at work one day, I asked if I could staple one of the stool cushions together as well. He entrusted me with his tools, and a few minutes later I proudly displayed the finished product. Then I asked if I could mark it on the underside so that I could find "my" stool later on--he again obliged and, sure enough, the next day I went around peering underneath bar stools until I found my initials.
So for my most recent loitering, the project in progress was chairs instead of stools. This time my work involved hammer and nail more than the staple gun but, once again, I was able to proudly claim a finished product. Here is a shot of the underside of "my" chair, not yet out in public view. Note the faint "AGJ" in the bottom right corner.
I must say, I did enjoy surprising various workmen and safari guides as they came to look for Harrison and found me instead [he actually trusted me enough to leave me with the work!], happily hammering away . . .

sentry of the day

So this is no award-winning photo, admittedly--but I believe my choice of safety over photographic brilliance was probably a wise one. This fellow decided to camp out at my place for the afternoon, preventing me from getting back inside for some time, after my work day was done. I figured I was not about to try to battle or berate this guy, and opted instead to capture his rear end for, er, posterity? ;-)

dreaming practically

Having been intrigued by dream psychology for some time now, I have read various dream books over the years. For the most part, they seem to agree on rather complicated explanations. Or, if not complicated, you can at any rate assume that what happens in a dream is not supposed to relate too closely to the real-life correlation.
I think, however, that my dream the other night pretty much means exactly what it seems: I dreamt that I was able to wash my hair, and in my dream I reveled in the extravagance of such a luxury. For several weeks now, I have grown increasingly aggravated by my itchy scalp. Not so aggravatted, mind you, that I was willing to extend my icy shower for the amount of time necessary for more than a quick hopping-in-and-out-while-distracting-myself-by-making-odd-noises. So my hair has persisted in its unwashed state. My dream convinced me, however. So this morning, upon the occasion of:
1. enough firewood for relatively hot water
2. a Saturday morning with extra time
. . . I washed my hair.
And it was glorious!