Above: My legs and my buddy in Stone Town, on the nearby promenade.
Boredom seems like far less an issue. I am crazy, I realize, not to enjoy the absence of winter and the bright light of 6 degrees south latitude. Today I awoke to the diminishment of my souvenir bites and I am reading a great book—"The Africa House," by Christina Lamb. My ambition for the day is to never allow sunlight in me except when in the pool, to wear no socks or shoes so that my feet sores can heal (a minor irritation) and to avoid going outside the compound into Tout-ville.
One long block from the hotel is the bookstore where I got this book (and another). Virtually everything in it is by someone from Africa or about Africa—plus Michael Crichton. I came here (thank you Bruce, Marsha, Leslie) because of a childhood dream that came from a passion for animals. But as this blog proves, the landscape, so incredibly visible here, goes into your soul and so do the people. The subject persona of Africa House, Stanley Gore-Browne, writes beautifully about what has happened inside me here. It is a terribly satisfying read (and I am bringing it home for you, Edwin).
I've had a lovely day, here in the compound; all concerns about boredom are gone. I just needed to learn to slow down to my usual pace and self after the over-stimulation of 15 days on safari. Plus, although there are signs of Christmas here or the muzumgu, this is a Muslim island and I am happy to be away from the calories, carols and cold.
As I write this, it is Christmas eve and 32 humid degrees. I wish you all, dear readers and friends, a happy happy holiday.
And Merry Christmas to you too!
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