Sorry for yet another break in intermission. I wrote this on Wednesday, and we are now at Kapani Lodge just outside the Luangwa National Park, and there is internet connection. Apparently. It might be very slow, and it may not work at al, but here is hoping. There may be two or three posts in a flurry, but there again, there may not. Certainly no photos which are too demanding….
So far we seem to have had more days with no internet connection than I ever suspected, so what with that and the problem with photographs we have certainly promised more than we can deliver.
I have been writing posts, but have to wait until we next have wifi before I cam try to send then.
Meanwhile, as I sit in the sun, pondering happily over our visit to Africa, I realise the enormous significance it has had for me. Not for John, except at second hand, but so far we have met such interesting people and done so much that I think/hope he is getting as much interest and enjoyment, albeit different.
I don’t want to suddenly come over all wafty and new agey, and that certainly is. It my style, but for me it has been deeply moving.
Firstly, it was reconnecting with my sister, Ruth. I have visited her three time since her stroke and for the first time have we been able to chat, really, reminisce, remind each other of funny incidents in our shared childhood, which is unique to us. We are close in age, have always got on well and, shared a bedroom, went to boarding school together. Looking at our identical twin great nieces the other day, I felt that, although Ruth and I are not twins and in many ways are very different but we always felt two halves of one whole.
Chatting together in their house in Nordhoek it was suddenly as if we had shed all those years and responsibilities of our lives which since childhood have been very different. So the whole visit to me was wonderfully ‘healing’
The next real link with my past was revealed when we reached Kasama, and not because that was where I was born but because the landscape, the thronging African with their colourful clothes, the women with pots on the heads and babies on their backs was just how I remember the real Africa of my childhood.
Finally, coming to Shiwa which was so much part of my very early childhood, seeing familiar but long since forgotten names ,in the Visitors’ Books and hearing talk of local places that were also part of our lives and my parents’ reminiscences over the years.
