The Wedding Gift
Adapted from my book The Africa Diaries: A Love Affair (published February 2019, under the pseudonym James G. Duncan, available on Amazon) A central problem remained and that was this: after the better part of a half hour of hard slogging in the “curio” (gift) shops of Victoria Falls, I still had no gift for my sister Margie’s upcoming wedding in Canada. With more deep breathing in the pure air, and with typical determination, I formulated a bold plan. First, of all the 30 women’s elegant homespun creations – 15 to a side in a long, narrow building – one item in particular had impressed me most, a striking, circular white tablecloth I’d noticed halfway down the left hand side of the corridor, er, gauntlet. Second, it had come to me that this was exactly what I wanted to do: purchase a fine present for my sister while directly benefiting African women. Thoughts of the more traditional “curio” shops vanished. I was bravely resolved. In the cool shade of the edifice, I meditated again to calm the nerves, and mulled over the bald facts of the situation I’d gotten myself into. To avoid further misery, I decided to put an end to the trial, before abandoning it altogether, and scurried furtively to the end of the building where the ordeal had first begun. Throwing caution to the wind with my last reserves of energy, I stepped smartly up the stairs, and with as much decorum as I could muster, made a mad, single-minded gallop down the hall to buy that damned tablecloth. I proffered the cash – about P20 I think – the vendor handed it to me, and with a swift “thank you,” sprinted with cheetah-like speed (the cheetah can accelerate to 75 km/hr in just 2 seconds) directly to the far door with the present clutched under my arm. I fairly catapulted out the exit after what can be described as a close brush with reality. It was over. I’d bought the present. Catching my breath, kneeling and crossing myself, I fixed closed eyes on azure skies, giving thanks to the Almighty for my salvation. _____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Broken Down Excerpt from my book The Africa Diaries: A Love Affair (published February 2019, under the pseudonym James G. Duncan, available on Amazon) I took stock and concluded I had three options. Suicide was not one of them. I could wait until my pursuers or others found me. I could die of thirst once my water ran out. Or I could walk north to the Ngoma road, taking the water I had left, including from the windshield washer reservoir, along with my Swiss Army knife and the tire iron to make a go of it should I run into hungry predators. I chose the latter course, and with a brave heart walked off up the road with the sparse jungle, the azure sky, and the already blazing sun keeping me company. The thin veneer of optimism that carried me along for 2 or 3 kilometres was rewarded. As I reached the crest of a slight rise in the roadway, I saw a vehicle stopped not fifty metres ahead. People in the truck noticed me at almost the same time, for it suddenly lurched ahead, coming to a halt within 3 metres of me. It was a game-viewing lorry, with a canvas top and openings at the sides, driven by a guide with 7 or 8 tourists in tow. I must have been a sorry sight, disheveled and dirty, with unkempt hair and blue ink stains on my hands and clothing. The guide was ill prepared for a rescue mission on what was supposed to be a pleasant morning of game viewing, but he was also in no position to leave a bedraggled man all alone in the wilds of Chobe District. “On the other side of the truck,” he observed tersely, “a pride of lions is feeding on the carcass of an elephant. You’re lucky we happened to come along when we did.” Likely saved from a gruesome death in the jaws of the lions, brave heart, stoicism, knife, and tire iron notwithstanding, I would not have been able to defend myself against one lion, much less a pride. My life had been saved by the miraculous appearance of the tourist vehicle. Surely, my Higher Power had once again intervened to save me from harm. Though I was far from sure these strangers could be trusted, I now had a complete absence of options. At the driver’s invitation, I stepped aboard. The tourists, mostly men, sat in seats with openings in the canvas top. There were no empty seats so I took a space in the middle of the floor. All eyed me with curiosity – warily too – and I felt I had to explain: “I’m a District Officer here in Chobe. My truck broke down a few kilometres back.” My wild swings of mood alarmed the occupants. One moment I cried at the release of pent-up emotion. I had just been saved from danger and probably even death. The next moment, I added to the guide’s commentary on Chobe and its wild animals. The driver/tour guide attempted to impress the tourists with an observation about the fierceness of Chobe’s lions, saying, “Only they could have taken down an elephant.” I interjected, “It was likely old and weakened by a lack of water in this dry season.” We passed by groups of animals patiently waiting their turns at a tiny water hole. A lone oryx with magnificent scimitar horns stood by. We spotted the lions heading toward cover in the growing heat, satisfied after they had fed and watered. The guide drew my attention to the big, black-maned male, pointedly saying, “That lion would have taken you out.” I had no doubt he was right on that score. ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Mogobane Adapted from my book The Africa Diaries: A Love Affair (published February 2019, under the pseudonym James G. Duncan, available on Amazon) As part of our orientation, we were sent to Mogobane, a village south of Gaborone. I was taken in by the tangible charms of this small community – the scent of flowers from the Earth’s light breathing, the muffled sounds of villagers, the orange-red sunrises/sunsets, the crescent moons, Southern Cross stars making their appearance, and the Milky Way far overhead. Overwhelmed by the beauty of the land and its people, soft tears came to me as I lay awake that night, unable to sleep and thinking about solutions for development. Just a few droplets of rain, like my tears, had sprinkled upon the dry sand overnight. By morning, the air smelled so, so earthy, with tiny soil particles tossed up into the air. The fragrance was carried on a gentle wind, making memorable my first Botswana pula, rain. So precious is rain in the arid nation that pula is also the Setswana word for its currency.
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