tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-73788136530761012962024-03-06T03:44:23.151+00:00Sunshine's African KidsThis is the on-going story of my attempting to give something back to the world for all the gifts I have received throughout my life. There is Tweet button at the end of the Blog.Sunshine's African Kidshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15625511184269581478noreply@blogger.comBlogger34125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7378813653076101296.post-63024495207495126352012-06-19T20:31:00.000+01:002012-06-20T21:23:24.166+01:00The Missing link!<div style="text-align: justify;">
I had the lovely chance to meet two of the people who read my Blog and they asked me what had happened between the visits to the orphanages, and where the other mentions of these places came from. So, let me turn the clock back, metaphorically at least, and fill in those missing details.</div>
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When I was in Francistown, on my first visit, I was invited to spend a week speaking at the wonderful Clifton School. One of the group of ladies who had been responsible for inviting me, knew that I was also interested to find out about the Aids orphans, and she took me to a wonderful Orphanage in Francistown for Blind Aids orphans. It was a very moving experience. I had a mother who had been blind when I was born, and I had also acted as a guide for a couple of St Dunstan's people (For those who don't know, St Dunstan's is a fantastic charity devoted to the care and support of blind ex-servicemen). My mother, before going blind, had been matron of an Orphanage, so I had grown up knowing about them and how important they are in certain societies. I had an affinity with them because my mother had taken me to visit 'her' orphanage when I was about 13, and I found it a very sobering experience, coming as I did from a home that never went short of anything, and love being in abundance from my parents.</div>
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To watch these children playing football with a ball containing a bell was beautiful. They ran about, barefoot, but as happy as any sighted children would be, kicking a football. I found it very moving. As I did seeing them sitting rapt in wonder 'watching' a large TV showing a Disney cartoon. They were laughing at just the same places we would have been, and quite how they did that left me staggered.</div>
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I had decided to try to help them, and left a substantial amount of money (to them, but not to me!) </div>
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for their disposal whilst I was there, and they were overwhelmed to receive it from a total stranger - although my dear friend who took me there was someone they knew well for her own work with disadvantaged people.</div>
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She had also taken me to visit a Women's Co-operative, which I found utterly fascinating. The women wove, dyed and printed fabrics, and I was able to buy a lovely table cloth from them which I use on special occasions. </div>
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When I returned to Gaborone (flying by tiny plane from Francistown airfield to Gaborone which was a great adventure in itself!) I told Vic and his business partner Geoff and his wife Di about the orphanage I had seen for the blind. Di asked if I would like to go and see the project that she was involved in. It is called the I AM SPECIAL School. It is really very special, as it is, or was at that time, the only school for special needs children in Botswana. I did not have time on that visit to go and see it but since I knew that I would be returning if I could raise the money for the Gaborone orphanage, I knew I would make enough time on my next visit to take that school in, as come what may, I would be back within a few months.</div>
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<br />I came home at the end of October, and was on a flight back in the middle of January. Between times I had fitted in a trip to stay with the wonderful German couple I had met on my first visit to Kasane. (Yes, another story of chance encounters leading to wonderful friendships).</div>
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<br />I had, as you will know from an earlier posting, overheard a conversation about the lack of money for the St Peter's Day Orphanage to get on with being built. At that stage there was just two small block built structures, but big plans. I came home determined that I would attempt to raise some awareness of the plight of these children, and also see, if it could be at all possible, to raise the 10,000 Pula (£1,000) that was their shortfall at that time.</div>
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I bought myself a digital projector, as I discovered the first time I needed to borrow one that the cost of hiring such a piece of equipment was very high. It cost me £75 to hire the thing for one 1 hour talk, after which people donated craft items and pens and pencils for me to take back the next time I was going. I charged a minimal fee for the talk, to go into my 'Orphan Pot' but of course, I paid my own expenses. </div>
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Now I was better equipped, I was invited to speak to various groups of people - some more generous than others. I was asked to speak at the Monthly U3A meeting in Carlisle. The Speakers organiser was a friend of mine and she suggested that I ask for £50 fee, because many ask for much more than that. I was rather annoyed when I was handed a cheque for £35, afterwards, but of course, that was better than nothing. Many of those who did hear me, though, were very generous in their donations of pens and pencils for the children. Most of the places I went to speak at, and some were as far as 150 miles away, were very generous and I would come back with a car loaded with things to take to the children. Some gave lots of wool, so I got a very willing group of my friends together, and they knitted most of the wool up into hats for the children.</div>
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Winters in Botswana, as anywhere else are relatively cold. Even in hot weather though, the Motswana (as the Botswana people are called) they still wear their woolly hats.</div>
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<br />This time, I had a suitcase packed with pens, pencils, embroidery silks, makeup for the stage donated by lots of my friends, in fact, you name it and you would find it in my suitcase. I had learned from experience that Nostar, Vic's maid, would wash and iron my clothes for me, so I didn't need to take so many for this 6 week trip - I didn't have room for them anyway! </div>
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<br />Lufthansa were wonderful, and even though my baggage was way over the limit, I opened it up, showed them all the stuff I was taking and they waived the excess baggage fee! What a gift that was to me. I had expected to pay a couple of hundred pounds excess, so it was with a very happy heart that I boarded my flight from Birmingham to Frankfurt, then to Jo'burg and finally to Gaborone.</div>
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<br />I had told Di that I would love to see the I AM SPECIAL school so she arranged to take me. I took with me a supply of my Sunshine yellow caps (bought in Gaborone from a very generous Chinese importer who let me have them - and everything else I bought - at cost price because they were for the orphans!) </div>
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Working and having fun at the same time</div>
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I was very impressed with what I saw there. The age group is vast! Ranging from 6 or 7 to 30+ and simply because there has never been a facility like this before. I had asked what happened to these children before the founding of this school and was shocked to hear that any child with any form of disability would be sent to the cattle ranches way over on the west side of the Kalahari, literally miles from anywhere - hundred of miles not just a dozen or so - and basically, forgotten about and ignored. No education, no care, no hope. This wonderful school is showing that a lot can be achieved with the right care and tuition. The little boy in green is severely autistic. With the help of a wonderful piece of equipment provided for the school by SwissAir, he is now smiling and just starting to communicate - and that is after only 5 or 6 months. The staff are hugely dedicated, as indeed are the staff in any school of this nature anywhere in the world. I take my hat off to them.<br />
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Class Room at I AM SPECIAL School</div>
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They have been loaned this range of buildings by a local organisation which was no longer using them, but ultimately, their dream is to have their own buildings. The Government has donated land for the building of such a school but of course, the work to raise the money for the actual construction is a long hard slog - particularly in the global climate as it is at present.<br />
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Using the equipment to help Autism and this young man is benefiting greatly from it.</div>
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The exercise classes are never a problem in the Botswana sunshine - indeed, the search for a shady tree often takes a greater effort than anything else.</div>
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<br />Exercise Class at I AM SPECIAL School</div>
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Another way in which they try very hard to be self-sufficient is in growing their own vegetables for their mid-day meal. The children all love the chance to help in the garden, and it is hoped that some of them will one day be able to work for people as gardeners.</div>
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Tending the cabbage patch.</div>
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<br />Of course, some of these young people are no longer children, but are young vulnerable adults, but the care and consideration and education they receive is second to none and they all consider themselves very fortunate to have a place at the school.</div>
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<br />When I left the I AM SPECIAL School, I gave a large amount of money (again, by there standards it was enormous - some 4,000 Pula) which I hoped would help them with their wonderful work.</div>
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I was soon on my way back up to Kasane, again in a borrowed car that dear Terry had provided for me. If it were not for the unrivalled kindness of Vic and Terry, the people they have introduced me to, and the hospitality Vic has given me, I would never have been able to do half the things I have been able to do. </div>
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This time, I was able to find the Orphanage at Mahalapye. It was indeed a case of taking the last turning after the village (no sign posts, of course, just a dust track!) and with fingers crossed, I drove on, until I came to a magnificent building adorned all over with Disney characters. There, on the front of it, was painted the internationally recognised badge of the Mother's Union. So, my friend in Elgin would be happy - at last, I had found her orphanage that had set me on the path of finding the one in Gaborone by chance. I had a huge haul of goodies to deliver to them too. As Mahalapye is a very small town (little more than a village by our British standards) it was an enormous shock to find that they had 109 orphans being cared for. The place is beautiful.</div>
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The Mother's Union Orphanage, Mahalapye</div>
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<br />I left a large amount of goods for the children, and each one had to be entered carefully, by hand, into a large ledger. This took an age, because it was painstakingly accurate. Every pencil, crayon, eraser, cap, toy all was entered, and my name written beside it! It ran to pages of things, but apparently it is to make sure that nothing is taken by any helper that belongs rightfully to the children. I was impressed, even if a little delayed in my departure. The children had all sung a lovely thank you song to me, which I found very moving and had to pretend that I had dust in my eyes once again. I am always emotional at these outpourings of thanks for something so tiny and insignificant as a set of coloured crayons!</div>
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Soon, however, I was on my way north and heading for Francistown and my lovely friends again. This time I was staying with the lady who had shown me the orphanage for the blind children. She is married to a lovely man who originates from Preston. She herself is a descendant of one of the first settler families. I asked how long her family had been in Africa and she said, very matter of factly, 'Oh, they arrived in 1620 with the first settlers'. My head was spinning after that. This is a photo of their lovely house. Originally built on stilts, the ground level has been 'filled in' with walls and french windows, effectively doubling the size of the property. She and her husband are both geologists, he in geo-physics and she a geologist. Both fascinating people to talk to and lovely warm people I am very proud to call friends. They have been to see me here in Scotland, which was so special.</div>
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Martie & Jerry's lovely house </div>
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<br />I had a lovely few days with Martie and Jerry and Josh, their son, who I had met before at Clifton School, but now it was time to take to the high road again, for what, to me, was always the best part of the journey because once I left the confines of Francistown, it is very common to see Elephants browsing by the side of the road.</div>
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However, this time, I met something else browsing by the side of the road. Traffic Cops!! Yes, I had been 'gunned' speeding. My heart sank. I was very nice to the cops, and said that being a total idiot, I had not seen the speed limit sign. They heard my British accent (now, Yorkshire means nothing to them, just being British was exotic enough for them). They were going to fine me on the spot, 600 Pula (£60). I said of course I would pay, but it would mean that the children in the orphanages would get less. This worked the oracle. I opened the boot and they could see dozens of sunshine yellow caps, lots of coloured pencils sets and various other children's toys. 'Are you really going to give those to the orphans?' they demanded of me. 'Of course, I bought them for the children in the orphanage in Kasane'. 'Well, if you will give me a cap for my little boy, and some coloured pencils for my little girl, you can go on your way' I am all for a bit of bribery in situations like that - so I gave both policemen their treasures and off they went as happy as could be - and I was back on the road north. </div>
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I love the way the name of the lodge is carved into the Thatch at Nata Lodge.</div>
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I stopped for a bite to eat at Nata Lodge - the magnificent hotel/Lodge Vic and Terry had taken me too on my first trip north with them.</div>
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Soon I was on the really interesting leg, because there is little mobile phone cover for about 200 miles and not a lot of traffic, but I love every yard of that drive. There are animals galore, from elephants to giraffes to zebra and of course, the ever present baboons and warthogs. Magic does not begin to describe this leg of the journey. However, it is imperative that I get to Kasane before dark, and I was just going down the hill towards Kazangula, where the Zambesi forms the border between Botswana, Zimbabwe and Zambia, when I got stopped again. This time I was not speeding, it was just two traffic cops who were bored! So, two more caps and two more sets of coloured pencils lighter and I was on my way. I managed to get to Garden Lodge just as dark fell. It falls like a brick there, with little twilight, but just sudden and total darkness. You dare not drive after dark because with 120,000 Elephants roaming free in Botswana, sods law dictates that at least one is going to decide to cross this one and only road north to south at the very moment you want to use it.</div>
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<br />It was wonderful to see my friends again, and we talked and laughed well into the night.</div>
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I had known there was a little orphanage in Kasane from a notice Gabby has on the reception desk, asking that any loose change be put into a dish for this little place. A couple of days later it was arranged that the owner of the orphanage would come and pick me up and take me on a visit to it.</div>
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I was not prepared for the sheer numbers of children I was to see there. I had taken 100 yellow caps with me, and about 20 pink sunhats. (Those, because by now I had exhausted the supply of sunshine yellow caps in the whole of Botswana!)</div>
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It is housed in a few little buildings and has a series of classrooms for children from babies of about 1½ years up to 5 years when they go to the primary school.</div>
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In each little classroom the children sit on the floor around the room but they are happy, because they are also fed whilst they are there.</div>
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Proudly wearing their sunshine yellow caps, but the wee girl was not going to be persuaded to let me tighten the laces on the back of her hat to make it fit!</div>
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This little orphanage was started by a wonderful lady who herself is HIV positive. She was infected by her husband, who promptly left her when she tested positive. She keeps going by taking the free Retrovirals that are available to all sufferers in Botswana, and is determined to make a lovely orphanage for her charges. The Government has given her land to build one on, but again, as with other similar projects, it is up to her to raise the funds to do it. It is totally independent, without the backing the the Mother's Union one has at Mahalapye or the St Peters one has in Gaborone. It is a huge challenge, but she is determined and is very deserving of the help that everyone tries to give her.</div>
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<br />Again, I was delighted to be able to leave a load of equipment for her, and also to give her some money to help her keep the place going. The money I have given to each of these places has been from my own pocket - the money I raised specifically for St Peter's was given to them in full.</div>
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I think this has now filled in the missing links to the other Orphanages I try to support in my own little way. There is this one at Kasane, the Orphanage for the blind children at Francistown, The Mothers Union one at Mahalapye, the St Peter's on at Gaborone and of course, the I AM SPECIAL school also at Gaborone.</div>
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My philosphy is that whilst I know I cannot feed and clothe all the children, at least I have more than I actually need to stay alive, and I feel that the only reason any of us had more than we actually need (not to be confused, ever, with want!) it is on condition that we use that little surplus to help those who don't have the most basic necessities in life. I have no desire to be the richest woman in the world but if I should just continue to have the chance to help someone else along this rocky road we call life, then that is sufficient reward for me. I am just a pensioner, but my husband was a saver and I think he would be happy that I am using some of those savings to bring a few smiles to the faces of children who are growing up poorer than any child we have ever seen here in the UK. I have been truly blessed with the wonderful friends I have been lucky enough to make, and those are my real and abiding riches.</div>
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<br /></div>Sunshine's African Kidshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15625511184269581478noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7378813653076101296.post-9486849743466338482012-05-27T19:00:00.003+01:002012-05-28T00:12:05.111+01:00Tale end of the Highlands May 2012 - Click on photos to see the full size-I had waved off Jean & Bob, and my car was packed and ready to leave after them. I had decided to stay on for a couple more days because I always find it very difficult to tear myself away from the Highlands. I had been able to book a room at The Priory Hotel, Beauly, where we had eaten High Tea the day before, but they would only have a room available for two nights. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMttXAtVM7B7ixob9VlR4X5Pc5EPoNdxy2LGKHisom-MRNh_M5TsvRIybflUeH8eMSOSAkraMBPfJdyTTXYeUD4O_XbKUeFRHSRLfvYaYjROStyittA2UqyD6ISgmSeh0allzvRYoitOI/s1600/IMG_4009.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMttXAtVM7B7ixob9VlR4X5Pc5EPoNdxy2LGKHisom-MRNh_M5TsvRIybflUeH8eMSOSAkraMBPfJdyTTXYeUD4O_XbKUeFRHSRLfvYaYjROStyittA2UqyD6ISgmSeh0allzvRYoitOI/s640/IMG_4009.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
I stopped just before leaving the village and looked back across the fields at the houses and the snow capped mountains. Despite Jean & Bob having left some 15 minutes before me, they passed me as I was taking the photo, so must have taken a wrong turn and had to turn around to get to Inverness.<br />
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Beauly is only a few miles from Kiltarlity, so I decided that as I could not check in until after 3pm, and it was then only about 9am, I would go to Inverness and fill up with fuel, and have breakfast.<br />
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There is a good view of Kessock Bridge from the road to Inverness, beside the Beauly Firth (it becomes the Moray Firth beyond Chanory Point where it is almost met by Fort George from the south bank of the Firth) .<br />
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However, this view is from a tiny track to the north of the bridge looking south.</div>
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I had decided to get fuel at Morrison's, and as I waited at the traffic lights, Bob & Jean came out of Morrison's Filling station - and took the wrong turn again. This time there was nothing I could do about it, so they would end up having to go round the city again to get to the A9 and their road home.</div>
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I had decided that since the weather was still being kind, I would try to go over the Pass of the Cattle again, so I set off for Applecross. It is a wonderful route, through some lovely lonely country and beside some lovely lochs - but then, to me, all the lochs are beautiful!</div>
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I stopped to take a photo of Dulnain Bridge, as I am always in awe of the men who built these lovely bridges with very little by way of mechanical help and would have only had hand tools and horse drawn transport to get to and from their work and to carry the lovely granite they used to built them.</div>
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Dulnain Bridge</div>
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Soon I was beside the Loch Luichart, and it was a blustery day so the water looked decidedly choppy.</div>
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Loch Luichart - the railway track to Kyle of Lochalsh runs beside this Loch</div>
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There was still a fair amount of sunshine around, so my fingers were firmly crossed as I headed down glorious Glens towards Lochcarron along the A890. It looks much wider in the photo than it is, as it is single track with passing places. Happily there are plenty of passing places, but occasionally some fool will park in them and make life difficult for other motorists.</div>
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Driving down to Lochcarron, through the Coulag area</div>
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Loch Carron just before entering the village</div>
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Strathcarron came into view and the delightful village that is strung along the northern shore of Lochcarron. The Clouds were now building up, but the patch of sunlight through the clouds sparkled on Loch Carron. I was planning on stopping at my favourite sea-food restaurant at Kishorn. I have rarely had such wonderful seafood as they sell there. Normally I have Squat Lobsters, but today I was to be very disappointed. They had not got enough and wanted to keep those they had for their version of the mixed seafood platter. At £27.50 I was not going to be buying that! It is designed for two to share anyway, and being on my own it was definitely a no-go area! Instead I settled for the most delicious bowl of Cullen Skink soup it was my good luck to taste. Followed by smoked salmon what more could I want? Well, really I wanted Squat Lobster, but I was very happy with what I did have.</div>
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Bealach na Ba - Also called The Pass of the Cattle</div>
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The road is one of few in the Scottish Highlands that is engineered similarly to roads through the <a class="mw-redirect" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_mountain_passes_in_the_Alps" title="Great mountain passes in the Alps">great mountain passes in the Alps</a>, with very tight hairpin bends that switch back and forth up the hillside and gradients that approach 20%. It boasts the greatest ascent of any road climb in the UK, rising from sea level at Applecross to 626 metres (2,054 ft), and is the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_the_highest_roads_in_Scotland" title="List of the highest roads in Scotland">third highest road in Scotland</a>.</div>
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The weather decided to be difficult now. Whilst I was in there, chatting to a lovely couple who joined me at my table as the place was packed out (there are only 7 tables!) it started to rain. There is no point at all in driving over the beautiful Pass of the Cattle (Bealach na Ba) in poor weather, as I had found out on the last time I went over, about 3 years ago. The incredible view back over Loch Carron and out over Skye are denied to you in poor visibility. It is the highest Pass in the UK, but to enjoy it at its best, good visibility is really needed.</div>
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Reluctantly I decided to turn around and head back to Beauly. By now the rain had arrived in earnest, so it had been a good decision.</div>
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I got to the Hotel, and although normally all the parking area around the hotel is full, I was my usual lucky self, and managed to park right outside the door. In fact, I got the same lovely bedroom I had had last time I was there, which overlooked the square, and now that there was free Wi-Fi as well, the picture was complete. In no time I had downloaded the photos I had taken that day and caught up with all my friends emails and my other friends on Twitter.</div>
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I had been tempted to have another High tea, but having had a good breakfast, then a sumptuous lunch, decided that just a simple main course would be fine that night. I had ordered the Dover Sole Meunier, but the waitress came back and told me they had none left (it was all of 7pm!!) and would I care to have the haddock instead?</div>
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I really don't think I have ever had a greater contrast between two meals in my life! It was dreadful. Dry beyond cardboard, and coated in some anonymous coating that was neither batter nor breadcrumbs. My guess it that it had been gathered from the bottom of a bird-cage! I resolved not to fall for that again. The restaurant was crowded with about 20 golfers there for a weeks golfing holiday, plus various other guests, so I really felt a bit nervous about complaining, but complain I did. I am a firm believer that if you don't tell them if something is bad, they have no chance to correct it. I do always compliment them on the good service they give, so I feel quite justified in complaining when things are bad.</div>
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I was back up in my room, now grasping a nice large glass of red, and onto my laptop, where I spent the next few hours happily tweeting.</div>
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I did wonder what the breakfast was going to be like and have to say it was superb. I could not have wished for more choice and it was all beautifully cooked (perhaps the breakfast chef is not the same one as had been on duty the night before)!</div>
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From the top of the Struan, looking East over the Dornoch Firth & bridge</div>
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Sunday morning and I decided that after the abortive trip to the Falls of Shin on Friday, I would go there instead. The weather was pretty bad, but since the Salmon would not be running for another couple of months, I would not be going down to the see the Falls, but just having a wander around the Harrods of the North. </div>
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The River Shin, above the Falls of Shin</div>
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After a pit stop for a sandwich and a drink, and with rain falling gently all around, I decided to go onto some roads I have not been on for about 5 years. I headed toward Lairg, but instead of turning right into the village I turned left across the moorland. It was wonderful. So empty and as someone once said, if the weather is good, you look at far distances, but if the rain comes, you look in much more detail, and I did just that. I rounded a corner, and noticed this lovely little Bridge over the Cassley river that tumbles over Achness Falls. They are lovely, and in the rain looked to have a good amount of water coming down. </div>
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The River Cassley tumbling over the Achness Falls</div>
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The River is down in a deep gorge here</div>
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Primroses in bloom on the banks of the River Cassley</div>
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A small bridge below these falls carries the road I was driving, and the banks of it had lots of wild primroses in bloom on it. It was like seeing dots of sunshine captured for anyone to enjoy who took the time to stop and look.</div>
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My next turn took me toward Oykell Bridge, as I had rented a cottage near there a few years ago, so it would be lovely to see it again. The views of the Kyle of Sutherland are breathtaking, so I have got to include a couple of photos of them. In spite of it being misty, and giving everything the look of having been painted in watercolours, it is still very lovely.</div>
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The Kyle of Sutherland looking West </div>
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I was fairly high up by now, and on a back lane which leads from Invercassley to Achnahanat.</div>
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The Kyles of Sutherland looking East, where it goes down and empties into the Dornoch Firth at Bonar Bridge.</div>
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I had hoped to get some photos of Carbisdale Castle but it is shrouded completely in scaffolding at the moment, so is obviously undergoing extensive restoration. It is currently some sort of Youth Hostel, but I am not sure if it is the property of the YHA but it has a fascinating history.</div>
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Carbisdale Castle</div>
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<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">The
castle was built between 1905 and 1917 for Mary Caroline, Duchess of
Sutherland, the second wife of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Sutherland-Leveson-Gower,_3rd_Duke_of_Sutherland" title="George Sutherland-Leveson-Gower, 3rd Duke of Sutherland"><span style="color: blue;">George
Sutherland-Leveson-Gower, 3rd Duke of Sutherland</span></a>, whom she married in 1889.
She is better known as "Duchess Blair" because of her first marriage
to Captain Arthur Kindersely Blair of the 71st Highland Light Infantry, who
died in a hunting accident in 1883 near <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pitlochry" title="Pitlochry"><span style="color: blue;">Pitlochry</span></a>.
The marriage was not well liked in the Sutherland family. When the Duke died in
1892 his will, in favour of the Duchess, was contested by his son and heir <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cromartie_Sutherland-Leveson-Gower,_4th_Duke_of_Sutherland" title="Cromartie Sutherland-Leveson-Gower, 4th Duke of Sutherland"><span style="color: blue;">Cromartie</span></a>.
In a court process that followed, the Duchess was found guilty of destroying
documents and was imprisoned for six weeks in London.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">Eventually,
the Sutherland family came to an agreement giving Duchess Blair a substantial
financial settlement. Furthermore, the family agreed to build a castle for the
Duchess, as long as it was outside of the Sutherland lands. The Duchess
employed a firm of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ayrshire" title="Ayrshire"><span style="color: blue;">Ayrshire</span></a> builders and work started in 1906 just outside the
Sutherland lands in <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ross-shire" title="Ross-shire"><span style="color: blue;">Ross-shire</span></a>. It was located on a hillside to be visible to
a large part of Sutherland, especially the main road and rail line which the
Sutherland family would have to use to travel south. Thus it became known as
the "Castle of Spite" as it was widely considered that the Duchess
located the castle there to spite her husband's family and the settlement
agreement. This is further supported by the fact that the castle's tower only
has clocks on three of its four faces - the side facing Sutherland is blank,
supposedly because the Duchess did not wish to give the time of day to her
former relatives.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">My route now took me through Ardgay, and then back over the Struan to Dingwall and Beauly. There is a wonderful Viewpoint on this road of Dornoch Firth, and looking back up towards Bonar Bridge</span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">Dornoch Firth looking toward Bonar Bridge</span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">This viewpoint is usually quite busy, but on a windy and, as the Scots so descriptively call it, a dreich day, there was just one couple on a motor cycle. They turned out to be French, so having offered to take a photo of the two of them together, we had a few minutes chat. It was their first time in this part of Scotland, but they had fallen in love with it completely, even in the rain. It just goes to show, no matter what mother nature decides to give us, she never hides her beauty of her own accord unless she decides to cover her face with her veil of mist.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">I had enjoyed a wonderful day, and arrived back at my Hotel in perfect time to get ready for dinner. I decided that I would give them another chance, and had a splendid dinner which more than made up for the dismal meal I had had the night before.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">I was on the road home after a good breakfast, this time of a great mmoist Finnan Haddock and 2 poached eggs, and as I had promised to prepare a practical quiz for the Women's Rural Institute that night, it was just as well that the hotel was full for the rest of the week or I would have been tempted to stay, regardless of what the weather forecast said.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">I had had a wonderful holiday, and as soon as I got home I have already booked the same delightful holiday home for next year and Jean & Bob are as keen to join me as I am to go. They are wonderful friends, because holidays together can mean the end of friendships if there are any chinks in them, but ours is very strong and I cherish them both.</span></div>
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</div>Sunshine's African Kidshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15625511184269581478noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7378813653076101296.post-60285932824160421702012-05-20T22:47:00.000+01:002012-05-20T22:47:21.952+01:00A Week in the HighlandsI booked on line, and it can always be a bit of a risk. I have had cottages that have been, to put it mildly, 'tired', others that were superbly situated but lacking in equipment, and yet others that were a bit of a disappointment. This one, through Cottages4You, was indescribably beautiful. Only 11 miles from Inverness for shopping, but very close to some of the most magnificent scenery Scotland has to offer.<br />
I had arranged with my friends from Scarborough, Bob & Jean, that they would go up in their car, and we would rendezvous at Perth. We were going to meet at Morrisons, as I would want to fill up the car with fuel and that is where I always fill up. <br />
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I arrived at least 2 hours before them, so having filled up, I decided to do a bit of shopping at Aldi and Lidl, and then meet instead at Tesco, where they would want to fill their car up. I tried Jean's mobile phone. Switched off! I tried Jean's 2nd Mobile - also switched off! Knowing that Bob would also have his as he usually leaves it in the car, I tried his. Switched off! Eventually I drove to Tesco and sat in the cafe with a view of the car park entrance. My phone, my new phone rang. and rang. And rang. I could not figure out how to answer the darned thing! I pressed everything that could be pressed, but no. Nothing worked. In the end, I looked for the call log and found their missed call. I rang them! They were at Tesco, Perth. Not the same Tesco Perth as me! Transpired there are at least 3 Tesco's in Perth, and we were sitting in two of them. Telling them to stay put, I asked in the store I was at for the post code of the other one. After many strange looks, I was eventually given the post code. I was all of 5 minutes away. Theoretically at least. Obeying the voice of my Sat nav, I turned right when she told me to. I had Tesco diagonally opposite me as I sat at the traffic lights. Sat Nav told me to turn right so I did, expecting to see the entrance to the car park.<br />
Wrong! this took me on a slip road behind Tesco, and before I knew where I was I was heading south on the A9. Drat - now I had to drive to the M90/A9 interchange a few miles south, go round the roundabout and back north, leaving where I had got on! Now it was easy to go into Tesco's car park, so I found Jean sitting laughing in the cafe. Bob had gone walkabout, but he too had a good laugh when I told them of my slight detour!<br />
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Soon we were refreshed and on our way up toward Inverness. We called off for a comfort stop, as the coach drivers so delicately put it, at Ralia, the only Rest area with a cafe on the whole of the A9, and one I had always used when I was towing the caravan with my husband on our annual trip up to the Highlands. <br />
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We found the bungalow very easily, as Bob had looked at Google Earth, and traced the lane from the main road to where he assumed the bungalow was. At least, it was an assumption, as when google Earth took their photos, the bungalow had not been built.<br />
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Going inside it was a revelation. What a superb property, and beautifully decorated. The owner had even put fresh flowers for us, and there was milk and tea and coffee there too, so we were able to have a drink quickly. Jean had made a casserole, and before long that was heated up and we were sitting down to a wonderful evening meal, before setting about getting our laptops working.<br />
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The bungalow had Wi-Fi, and after a couple of phone calls to the owner, she arrived and sorted out the WEP key for us and we were happily tweeting and emailing all and sundry. This was luxury at its best as far as the three of us are concerned.<br />
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Sunday morning dawned with blue sky and wall to wall sunshine. The cows were in the field next to us, curiously looking over the fences at us, with their calves at their sides. We could not believe just how quiet and peaceful this place is and had all slept like logs.<br />
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Setting off for Inverness, and the Black Isle, I turned the wrong way, and we were halfway to Drumnadrochit, on Loch Ness, before we knew it. As we were passing Urquhat Castle, where there was some event on, and looked very busy, Jean asked how far it is to Skye, as she had always wanted to go there. No sooner had she asked than we were on our way there. Turning right at Invermoriston, and stopping every few miles to take photos, we thoroughly enjoyed the journey. We had a little stop at Eileen Donan Castle to take photos, then again a few miles further on to take the first photo of the Skye Bridge.<br />
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Where we stood to take this picture there is a lovely memorial seat to a young man, and I am always moved by the wonderful words engraved on the plaque.<br />
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After crossing the bridge we were getting ready for some lunch, so we stopped at Broadford at a restaurant I have used before, and had a good lunch, and a little rest, before setting off back. I decided to take them to see Plockton, as it is a pretty village, but very busy on the weekends. It is where Hamish McBeth was filmed, but since neither Bob & Jean, nor myself had seen the series it really was not the reason I wanted to take them there. <br />
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As we left there, we came to the tiny village of Duirinish where we stopped and admired the superb herd of Highland cattle grazing freely on the village green. I love Highland Cattle, and to get so close to them as this was something of a real treat for me. They seemed totally at ease with people and indeed came almost nose to nose with us. <br />
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I had half thought we may be able to drive over to the Applecross that same day, but the weather and time were against us, and since the whole point of driving over the Pass of the Cattle or <span dir="auto">Bealach na Bà as it is called in Gaelic, is to see the glorious views both back over Loch Carrann, and over Skye and Raasay and Scalpay, so we decided to leave this for another days treat.</span><br />
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Monday and the weather was again superb, so it was a good day to go up Glen Affric, only a few miles from where the bungalow is. It is a beautiful Glen, with the winding single track road, and heavily forested with lots of birch and of course, the ubiquitous pine trees. The river Affric runds down the length of it, tumbling over Dog Falls near the bottom end of it. There had not been a lot of rain, so the falls were not as dramatic as I have seen them many times, but during the winter of 2010/11 there was tumultuous water which had washed away the supports to the bridge carrying the footpath to the other side of the Glen. This has been replaced, but still looks like a raw scar - time will, no doubt, soften it so that it does not look so unsightly, but at least it has been mended, so it is a tribute to the maintenance work of the Forestry men to care for such important structures.</div>
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These information boards are so well done that it is always worthwhile photographing them because I always forget what I read a week or so later!</div>
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Last time I went up Glen Affric it was possible to drive right to the top. Now there is a car park, and the rest of the Glen is only accessible to those on foot. Fine if you can walk, but not funny for those who are now denied the pleasure of seeing that bit further up such a glorious Glen. Oh well, I suppose some people just don't see things that way, so I am glad I had the chance a few years ago.</div>
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It is Chisholm Country, and the clan sold most of the timber for use in the shipbuilding trades. From the top, there is a trail called the Chisholm Trail (or at least it was when I went up there a few years ago).</div>
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Coming back down Glen Affric, it was still early enough in the day to show my friends the wonderful Glen Strathfarrar. This is a closed, private Glen, and is unsignposted. There is a sign to Piper Major Willie Ross's Cairn, but that is all. The story of this wonderful Piper is to be found here <a href="http://www.pipetunes.ca/composers.asp?pg=Details&composerID=22">http://www.pipetunes.ca/composers.asp?pg=Details&composerID=22</a> and is well worth reading. I love the sound of the bagpipes, and even though I was not born a Scot, my paternal Great-Grandmother was, so I reckon some of her blood must run through my veins too.</div>
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Glen Strathfarrar is one of the most peaceful Glens, mainly because you have to get a permit from the gatehouse to drive into it, and it is stunningly beautiful. </div>
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Further up the Glen we saw our first deer. What a lovely sight they make. About 40 of them all grazing together, a few young stags amongst them.</div>
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We came across this tree with its rather curious mishaped branch and I was trying to work out exactly how it had grown into a circle without any apparent need to do so - you can usually see why trees have grown into certain shapes by the objects that have obstructed their normal straight growth, but this?</div>
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We had had a wonderful day, and still the weather was holding up, but it was getting colder, and of course the mountain tops still had snow on them.</div>
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Wednesday dawned and although a little cooler, it was still fine. The forecast was for showers later, but there was so much to see, that we were determined to make the most of it. A little shopping in Inverness Tesco, and we were ready to set off for the Black Isle. The view of Kessock Bridge is always one which sets my pulse racing, being, as I see it, the gateway to the North, and all the wild country I love to see up there.</div>
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I had seen Dolphins in the Kessock Bridge a few years ago, so decided to drive down to where we had seen them first. there is the Dolphin & Whale watching visitor centre there, near the new RNLI station, but it was closed until June. This should have reminded me of something, but didn't. </div>
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Whilst driving down to the shore line, we saw lots of lovely blue bells, and Jean got out to photograph them. A man in a van stopped and told her that if we drove down a very narrow track beside the Firth, we would see lots more than those. Of course, we just had to do it! It was indeed a narrow track, but the reward was well worth the effort.</div>
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We hoped to see Dolphins, and a friend had told Bob that the best point to see them is off Chanory Point. I stopped just in a layby to get a photo of Dalgetty Bay, as it looks so lovely.</div>
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We sat at Chanory Point for quite a while, but alas, there were no dolphins to be seen, and I am sure it is because it was a little too early in the season for them, as I seem to recall that they come from about June onwards, and this was May, and a cool May at that.</div>
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On to Cromarty, that village famous for its name being given to a Shipping Area, and one most people know, even if they don't actually know where it is. It is a delightful village, and has a very interesting history. One of its most famous sons is Hugh Miller, the Geologist. <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hugh_Miller">http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hugh_Miller</a> and anyone interested in Geology is likely to have heard of him. His birthplace, a lovely heather thatched cottage, is now a museum and stands near to the Courthouse, which has also be restored to provide an excellent visitor experience as a tableaux, with sound effects, of a Victorian court room bears witness to.</div>
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Leaving Cromarty behind we drove along the north side of the Black Isle, where we could see the Oil Rigs being worked on at Invergordon, with the backdrop of Ben Wyvis with snow on her tops.</div>
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Joining the Cromarty Firth, and the bridge across to Dingwall, we hoped to see the seals hauled out on the rocks near the bridge. As we were also near to the Storehouse of Foulis, it seemed a good place to have a break and look at the shop there. It was by then almost 6pm, as we could see from the sundial in the grounds. </div>
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The shop was closing, so with one last stop to look for seals, felt it was time to head back to the bungalow for dinner.<br />
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We had done a lot of travelling in the previous four days, so decided to wait indoors to see if the weather would improve. We each had our laptop, and so I got busy with sorting out photographs and straightening them up - and missed this one! Digital photography is simply magic in that it is possible to straighten photographs after they have been taken, but I don't change anything else. Colours remain as they were taken, and on dull days, it means that they are not such bright photos as would otherwise be the case. </div>
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These ladies and their children were our daytime visitors - it being still too cold to let them say out overnight, they would emerge about 9am and be called back in about 7pm. It was funny to watch them, because their field surrounded the bungalow, and we would suddenly see one of the 'girls' head off in a different direction, and in no time at all, they would all have followed. Talk about sheep keeping together, well we now know that cows do exactly the same thing. The black & white cow was washing her calf for quite a while - it was lovely to watch the way he would turn round for her to make sure she got to the whole of his face!</div>
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Friday came along, and there was no improvement in the weather. However, Bob had decided that he had enjoyed his day indoors, so was more than happy when Jeanie & I went off out for a few hours. We were going to go to the Falls of Shin, but first decided we would go and see the House of Beauly nearby. This was originally called A Taste of Scotland, and sells exclusively local made goods and is wonderful. It has been expanded a lot since the days when it first opened and we would call in for a browse and a snack. We wandered around for a while then made for the cafe for morning coffee. I don't eat cakes, but I am a sucker for Paté, so as it was almost lunchtime, that is what I had and it was stupendous! Home made and simply superb, served with a lovely side salad too. Sitting in the cafe, I noticed this sign in my line of vision in the shop, and on closer inspection of it, just had to take a photo as it is without doubt one of the nices 'Graces' I have seen in many a long year.</div>
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I only had my phone camera, so if the words are not as clear as I would like, they are: For Food that stays our Hunger, For rest that brings us ease, For homes where memories linger, we give our Thanks for these.<br />
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After our pleasant time at Beauly, we set off for the Falls of Shin. I know the way. I've been there lots of times. Carry on at Garve as though going to Ullapool and it is about 3 miles after the village that you turn right. WRONG! We did, however, notice this waterfall, so managed to pull the car onto the side of the road to get a photo.<br />
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After a few more miles I felt that we might be on the wrong road. Arrival at Loch Glascarnoch confirmed this! This place is often cited as the wettest place in Scotland on the Met office reports, but today it was just grey. On a lovely day, the water looks like sapphire, today it looked less than that.<br />
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We turned around there, and headed back to Dingwall and since the weather was just not improving at all, and indeed there was a hint of snow in the showers, it seemed that our trip to the Falls of Shin was not going to happen on this trip.<br />
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As we headed back south, we were to the north of Ben Wyvis, and she had even more snow on her tops than the view from the south, which is the one we usually have.<br />
<br />
I wanted to show Jeanie a particularly interesting monument in Dingwall, which is by the Station. We had a coffee in the Station Cafe, a beautifully decorated establishment, that has divine home cooked food. Like most of the wonderful cafes and restaurants in Scotland, soup is unsurpassed anywhere else in the country, and here was no exception. However, as I had booked a table for 6pm at the Priory Hotel, Beauly, there was really no chance to sample the food for ourselves as it was now 4pm.<br />
<br />
After leaving there we took these couple of photos of the Memorial to the Seaforth Highlanders.<br />
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The journey back to the Bungalow was done in less than half an hour, so we had time to change and be at Beauly in good time for our High Tea. I have been going to this Hotel for High Tea for more years than I care to remember and is one of the few places I have found which still serves a traditional one, with toast and preserves, a hot course, then a cake stand filled with wonderful selection of home made cakes and goodies.<br />
<br />
After our meal we could not manage to eat all the cakes, so the Hotel very obligingly packed the ones we could not eat ready for us to take with us. They were home made meringues, Chocolae brownies and scones. <br />
<br />
Back at the bungalow we had to get our packing done as we all wanted to be on the road early the following morning. I had decided to stay on for a couple of days longer and had booked into the Priory at Beauly after we had had our meal, so I only had a short distance to travel to go there.<br />
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<br />
We had had a wonderful week together, and our friendship is still strong. I had never more a moment thought there would be a problem, as we have spent many weeks in total in each other's company, and the fact that we had out laptops with us meant that we could stay in touch with everyone we want to and I could keep tweeting, which is something I love doing.<br />
<br />
We were all up early the following morning, and with the house now back immaculate as we had found it, we locked the door, put the key where we had been asked to put it, and I waved them off on their journey home.<br />
<br />
My couple of days I shall write about in my next blog.<br />
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<br /></div>Sunshine's African Kidshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15625511184269581478noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7378813653076101296.post-17728740408246920472012-05-11T22:49:00.000+01:002012-05-11T22:49:25.082+01:00The Jewellery LadyIn 1976 my lovely Mum died. There was just my sister (10 years my senior) my brother (8 years older than me) and myself present, and at least that was an improvement on when my Dad died 4 years earlier, as at that time I was alone with him. My mum knew me very well. Too well in some ways. She had little money, but left me a huge legacy of love and happy memories, and I didn't need anything else. What she did do, though, and this was only applied to me and not my siblings, was leave me £50 'to do as much good as I could for as long as I could' with. I knew from conversations we had had in the past that this was not meant to just be put in some charity collection box. No, my mum was far too subtle for that. My brother & sister did indeed put their £50 in their pockets and I have no idea what they did with theirs - but no doubt they would have given the money to some good cause or other.<br />
<br />
As for me, well I pondered. I thought and thought and kept silently asking what I was meant to do with this money. £50 back in 1976 was not a kings ransom, but it was worth more than it is today in 2012. <br />
<br />
Every year, since I was about 18, and learning to walk again, I had given myself an aim from the clocks going back in October till they went forward in March to learn a new craft I had not done before. This usually meant getting a library book out, and getting myself equipped to try something I had not tackled before. My mum died in March, so the following March, 1977, I got a book out of the library on jewellery making. I started with very simple things, like earrings and pendants, and gradually, after about a month, I had begun to make some pretty things. Friends then asked if I would make things for them to give as Christmas gifts. Now I had the germ of an idea. This is what I could do with Mum's £50! I bought enough findings and semi-precious stones to start off, and the profit I gave to charities. Then I asked if a friend would host a party, and I would give the profit to her chosen charity. Because I had no intention of keeping a penny profit, this sort of rubbed off on my friends. They too were more than happy to raise funds with my help. I would sit up nearly all night making the pieces that had been ordered, then make the quick journey over to Stockport, and Manchester Minerals as the small shop that I always used to buy my supplies from was called. <br />
<br />
I still have the diaries for those years, and my heaven's I was busy. I only ever kept the £50 going, and wouldn't have dreamt of taking any expenses out - it was my way of carrying out my Mum's wishes. I then decided that I could probably make more for the charities if I bought in some of the things - tiny silver earrings were all the rage back in 1978, and those were beyond my skills to make, so I found a very wonderful Jewish jewellery wholesaler who allowed me to buy from them. I also decided to have a market stall in Knutsford, which enabled me to give even more money away to charities.<br />
<br />
I had a ball with that market stall. I had never realised before what fabulous people ran market stalls in those days. There was the couple selling underwear and household linen, the wife of course selling the underwear, the husband the sheets and towels etc. They would go away on exotic holidays - and Kenya was very exotic back in 1979! I remember so well when they came back and showed the rest of us their photos. One couple who ran the fruit & veg stall next to the underwear were rather disparaging. 'Cor, it looks just like Knowsley Safari Park' was all the wife could say, in a very broad Scouse accent. I just fell about laughing, because that remark just did not go down at all well, and in fact it was months before the 'knicker lady' spoke to her again!<br />
<br />
I had a brilliant man next to me and he sold socks. Alan (and his family) became one of my best friends. He would turn up late at the market (I was always there at 7am to set up - he would saunter on at 9am, reverse his car with box trailer onto the busy market, then gradually unload). He was always laughing, and such fun, so I would start setting up his stall for him. He used those elastic luggage straps as clothes lines, and a bag of old pegs to hold the socks up for display. I would usually tell Alan that if he fetched me a coffee, I would finish off his stall for him, and he would be off like a whippet. He hated setting up, and had me well trained. One day I was busy doing this for him when an older chap wandered along to the staff. 'How much are your pegs?' he asked. '25p a dozen' I replied in a flash. 'Can I have 2 dozen?' he said. I was just putting these old 2nd hand pegs into a bag when Alan arrived back. He looked puzzled, but said nothing. The old boy went off, happy as a sandboy with his 'bargain' pegs. Alan was helpless with laughter. 'Well, I've seen it all now' he said 'selling second hand pegs at 25p a dozen, and new ones are on sale on the inside market for only 20p a dozen!'. It became a standing joke with us, rather akin to selling fridges to Eskimos in Alan's eyes.<br />
<br />
There was another character (but they all were in their own way) who came along selling shoes. Every couple of hours he came round talking to us all, moaning how it was a rubbish market and that he hadn't sold a single pair of shoes yet. Eventually, I was detailed to go and have a look at his merchandise. No wonder he hadn't sold anything, he only had shoes in sizes 2s and 9s - and ladies wanting high heels in those sizes were rather thin on the ground. He didn't come back after that first week.<br />
<br />
My party evenings were still going on all this time, and getting busier and busier. It was becoming a 5 night a week job, with the days spent either driving to Manchester or Stockport and making up orders. <br />
<br />
By the end of 4 years I had also added, thanks to profits made on my market stall, gold chains to the range of jewellery. I still gave all profits away, of course, from the parties, and started to wonder how much longer I could keep up the pressure I was under. Remember, I had two children and a husband at home to care for, so all this was on top of my other domestic duties. After exactly 5 years I finally did a party at a place outside where I normally did them, and it was not until I was packing things away that I discovered that a whole card of a dozen gold chains had gone missing. I felt very strongly that this was my sign from my mum that I had done enough for her. On checking back through my books, I had given away £5,000 in that 5 years, from the £50 she had left me. I had made so many wonderful friends, and was known throughout the area as 'The Jewellery Lady'. I was so pleased that I had been able to meet so many very wonderful people who had helped to support many different charities, and the satisfaction was more than compensation for all the hours spent creating their jewellery.Sunshine's African Kidshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15625511184269581478noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7378813653076101296.post-38336411536559304782012-05-03T08:55:00.001+01:002012-05-03T08:55:33.545+01:00Reminiscences of WW2 of Nev Robinson, my friend.Over seven years ago a chance remark by someone on a website about where my father worked, led in short order, to a lovely friendship that continues to this day. Nev has been in New Zealand since the 1950s in fact, and over the time I have known him, I have been asking him to write down his memories because he must have so many and every person's memory is unique to them. Sure, they have experience in common, but no two people have common memories. Rather like looking into a mirror, every person looking in, even standing side by side, sees a slightly difference reflection to the other. <br />
<br />
I asked Nev for permission to publish this particular memoire on my blog, because he joined the RAF the year I was born. Consequently, 1942 is special for very different reasons to two friends who will never meet, but who share so much fun and both care enormously about the other. He is my knight in shining armour, ready with his (t)rusty sword to defend me when I am stupid enough to allow someone to break my heart. He is the shoulder I cry on because I know that he will never let me down when other men have done. He is wonderfully articulate, and for me, and I hope anyone else reading this chapter of my blog, paints a very vivid picture of what it must have been like to be 17 and volunteering for the forces when this country of ours was in greatest danger and young men like him wanted to come to our defence - but in actual fact, saw it as a chance to see the world and get a slice of whatever action was out there to be enjoyed or otherwise. <br />
<br />
Most of us have been fed a diet of every Soldier, Sailor or Airman being some sort of superman hero, riding with the single thought to defend us. We overlook the plain fact that many of them were conscripts, who would have much preferred to have stayed at home in their 'proper' jobs living in the bosom of their families, or simply escaping the bleak unemployment which the 1930s depression had brought in its wake. Instead the conscripts were whisked off to some of the most horrendous battlefields that the world had seen since 1918, and they were scared - they were, after all, still kids in the main. You cannot, in all conscience, call a 17 or 18 year old a man. Yes, they became men very quickly, but on that first week, they were kids wondering what on earth was going to happen to them.<br />
<br />
My own father was in the First World War, and joined up aged 15 in 1914, and I have enormous regret that I didn't ask him far more questions than I did. I knew he was a dispatch rider behind enemy lines, and that he was taken prisoner and was sent to Russia, but details to fill out the picture were never filled in simply because I never asked. At least, through Neville's writing, I can imagine what some of our now fast disappearing veterans of World War 2 experienced a little. Bear in mind, though, this is only one man's unedited view.<br />
<br />
So, here, in his own words, are the Reminiscences of Neville Robinson, a man I am very proud to call a friend.<br />
<br />
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Young Neville with the world at his feet.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">'You know the old crap about those who were
in the forces never speaking about their experiences? As though being
tight-lipped showed some sort of continuing valour, or as though speaking of it
would revive some sort of horrific memories and turn the divulger into a babbling
idiot. I can tell you why those involved with armed conflict don’t talk about
it. No-one is interested. No-one I’ve ever known including my kids has ever
said ‘What did you do in the war?’ Well, maybe Lis did once when she was about
12. I was in the RAF. Oh, right, yeah’.</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Anyway, for the record, here is the Never
Before Told Story of Neville’s Heroic Wartime Exploits. If you’re wondering
what brought this on, put it down to some reading I’ve done lately. Firstly a
pictorial history of the ill-fated airship R101 in the 1930’s, then to a book
by Duncan Campbell about the India/Pakistan war in 1971 (The Paradise Trail).
Puzzled? Read on.</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">!942 – I’m working for JS Engineering at
Wortley Road in Croydon. I’d always fancied being a bomber pilot, so I went to
the recruiting centre and signed up. I signed up as an 18 year old – no-one
questioned that sort of stuff. Three weeks later I had a railway warrant for
Cardington RAF where the four-day selection process was held in the giant
hanger that was built for the R101 Airship in 1929. Significant to me in a way,
and a year later, because I can still remember, having been banned to my
bedroom for some misdemeanour or other I was called outside by my mother to
watch the R101 droning overhead on what was its maiden overseas flight to India
via France. Hard to realise I was four years old. Harder still to realise how
stupid our engineers were in that age. The R101 was a floating incendiary bomb
made of hand sewn leather bags of hydrogen gas and powered by suspended pontoons
with petrol-engines with their red-hot exhausts. It never did have the lift to
combat even the least grade of bad weather, and extending the thing by fifty
feet made the situation worse. Not many hours after I saw it floating over
Croydon it was forced down by bad weather in the south of France. 48 of its 54
on board were burned to death.</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">So for the keen reader, that is the first
link in the story. The mooring mast for the airship was still there. Maybe the
mast and the hanger are still there for all I know.</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">But the selection process was a great
adventure. There was the deliberately imposed discipline by drill-corporals,
coupled with foul weather and crack-of-dawn mess hall meals, stripped medical
exams (complete with the balls-held ‘cough’ test) Gunnery tests with primitive
CRT screens (true), breathing endurance tests, steady hand tests, writing in
the dark tests, maths tests, -- actually all the sort of stuff you watch on the
‘Cube’ TV show (as at Jan/Feb 2011)</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">All devised to determine if you were fit
enough to be killed. But at 15 I thought only of the blue uniform, and the
status of the sergeant’s stripes and the magic ‘Aircrew’ brevet.</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Alas. The following interviews revealed that,
yes; I had the aptitudes required for aircrew, but not the education or the
attitude to become an officer or a gentleman as a Pilot, or even an Observer
(navigator), but YES! I could become a WOP/AG. The lowest of the low. Maybe a
sergeant, but never to enter the Officers Mess. Bugger.</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">So then I back to work to await call-up</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">But unbeknownst to me the brothers at JS
Engineering had applied to have me deferred from service. At this time I was
working night shift, fabricating and welding huge structures that I learned
much later were components of the Mulberry Harbour to be used at D Day.</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">So, it was not until August 1943 that I
received my call-up papers to report to St Johns Wood in London. Not that we
were there for long. The V1 weapons were at their height, so the decision on
high was to evacuate the whole flight to Babbacombe in South Devon.</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">All of the seaside hotels had been
commandeered by the RAF. Our Flight was in the ‘White Hotel, where the only
concession to its preservation was planks nailed to the staircases. To stop
wear and tear from boots I assume, but everything else had been stripped, and
we were billeted 5 or 6 to a room. (Went back there in 1975). Nothing changed
much, but didn’t get to see inside) </span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">This was a time of indecision. The war was
almost won, but with thousands of embryo aircrew in various stages of training.
The Air Gunners in our flight were offered training in Canada. The whole flight
volunteered, but about six were chosen. The rest of us were split. What
happened to the others I had no idea, but I was sent to ITW at Bridgenorth to
learn wireless operation, gunnery, Morse code, aircraft recognition, medical
emergency procedures, parachute drops and survival and all the rest. But
without OT (Operations Training) the Sergeant’s stripes eluded me.</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Someone above must have made some sort of
decision, because suddenly, trainee aircrew were presented with choices to
re-muster. Like, what else could they do with us? They obviously didn’t have a
clue.</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">So, from memory, the choices were: (believe
it) Re-muster to:</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Dispatch rider</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Bomb disposal squad</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">War gasses experimental</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">So I re mustered to driving a motor bike. That
was at Weeton, near Blackpool. An eight week course that seemed much longer,
but I learned all about the Otto Cycle, side valve and overhead valve engines,
blah, blah, blah, and also a little about driving the bloody things, with and
without a sidecar. Pass out, then a posting to London War Office, passing
meaningless documents between meaningless departments.</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Only one episode stands out. I landed a job
to act as rider escort for a sound-detector truck being driven from Uxbridge to
Salisbury. These things – probably invented by some mad scientist - were a huge
bow-shaped horn on a truck base, with a small office-like compartment
alongside, where talented sprogs listened through headphones. Supposedly, they
could detect and differentiate between the various types of enemy bomber
aircraft, where they were, and other stuff. What they did with the information
is a mystery. Especially as radar was in full use by then. But not to reason
why etc. This 12 tonne contraption had to go to Salisbury. I’ll skip the detail
– the interesting thing is that the Fleet Air Arm depot consisted of a wire
perimeter fence, a guardhouse and a small office-like building, to which I was
escorted with my delivery papers. And surprise! This building turned out to
house an elevator, which descended 200 ft. to a huge complex labyrinth of
tunnels and command Centre’s. And obviously they must still be there. Actually,
I’ve searched the WEB, but yes, there are tunnels below Salisbury Plain, but
not a word about their origin or their purpose</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">But I digress. Hey! I could re muster again
and join the Police Force. So why not? The Old Man had been in the job for
nearly thirty years. Maybe that had an influence, but I don’t think so. It was
something different to do, so anyway just a short time later, demob suit done
and dusted and I’m at Peel House along with 20 other aspiring plods, nearly all
of them ex-service of one branch or another. So we were used to discipline and
rote. Mostly it was a lot of fun, especially the staged accident and
confrontation exercises, but some of it was hard yacker – mentally that is,
like having to learn very long legal passages from the IB word for word. I got
a slap on the wrist for not getting some 500 word passage on bail incorrect,
and told I would be retarded for a month should I not have it right the next
day. I did get it right, but not without some midnight oil. But one of our
intake got so stressed that he became constipated for three weeks and had to be
hospitalised.</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">So, come the pass-out date and disclosure of
where in the Met we would be posted for our two-year probation period. I don’t
think anyone got the division they had requested. Certainly no-one was posted
with another of the intake. A deliberate move by some sort of inverted
psychology I suppose. As for me, I was posted to H Division at Bethnal Green in
East London. In those days, coppers still walked the beat, and new recruits
were assigned to a senior constable. And because all the young cops were in the
forces (like we were) these guys were all approaching retirement and couldn’t
care less. Certainly the one coaching me told me where to get a free supper or
lunch, and where to sleep on a parked bus during night shift, but I never saw
him again after the first week. Over the next six months I ticketed one
motorist for an obscured number plate, arrested (sort of) a 17 year-old girl
escapee from Borstal and dealt with a sudden death in the street of a man with
a burst aorta. Detective Robinson strikes again with lightening precision. I’m
living in a half bomb-destroyed Section House on 47/6 pence a week, doing three
alternative shifts and trying to sleep among the noise. Just like the NAAFI, if
those of you can remember the organisation. It was the Navy, Army and Air Force
Institution, but better known to the forces as ‘No ambition and fuck-all
interest’.</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">So I thought what the hell am I doing here?’ And
then, ‘I’m out of here’. And so I was. And I went back into the engineering
trade, and would you believe, it took the labour department another six months
to tell me I had not fulfilled my demobilisation commitments, so it’s back in
the Air Force for you laddie !!</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">And do I care? Not at all. Like thousands of
other ex-aircrew I’m milling around at Uxbridge dispersal unit. What a totally
senseless business that was – but hey, here’s a thing, I could volunteer for
overseas service (although why the RAF would be needed overseas now the war was
finished – who knows?)</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Right. Fill in the waiver forms, choose Singapore
as preferred posting, because I had a mate serving there, and after 3 weeks at
a new dispersal centre I’m aboard the troopship Mooltan out of Liverpool. Great
stuff. Always fancied cruising. Then on day 2 (too late to jump off) I learn
I’m going to Bombay. Oh well. At least it will be warm weather.</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">So after six weeks of lazing around on hot
decks and even hotter below deck, here we are in Bombay, or Mumbai as it is
called now, marching (sort of) through the Bombay Gate and into trucks and off
to Tintown. So called because of the rusty iron shacks that passed for the
souvenir shops that lined the road into the dispersal camp.</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">And have to say, if all the info I’ve seen in
the press and on the net, and in films like Slumdog Millionaire, nothing has
changed in India in 70 years. The same slums, the same stinks, the same
squalor, the same inequalities. Maybe they never will, but that’s another
story.</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Now, off we go again on a pukka tourist trip
from Bombay to Calcutta by rattling jostling steam train. Too much detail for
here. Overnight laybys in sidings, Stop offs at remote tented camps, lousy
nights on wooden seats. We get there in twenty days. The WO says ‘What the fuck
they send you here for? ’ Good question, better answer: three days later we’re
on a DC3 flying to Karachi. Don’t ask.</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">But this is the final point in this endlessly
stupid marathon, and now we are in Karachi, what is now known as the capital of
Pakistan. But then, it was in India.</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">And our final home is MU 263 Drihg Road. A
huge area on the edge of the Sind Dessert, encompassing an RAF airfield, a
fully tooled Maintenance Unit, a separate Transport Unit and the huge, never
used hangar built in the thirties for the Airship R101. Full circle. </span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">I suppose the question is, what were we
supposed to be doing there? Or anywhere for that matter. Part of the answer was
in the pending partition of Pakistan from India. Military action may have been
anticipated? Who knows? We are a transport section. Just driving around and
maintaining vehicles. I needed to learn very quickly how to drive a Chev 15cwt
waggon instead of a motorcycle. Apart from that it was a very lazy and congenial
life. Six of us in a spacious stone built, full verandahed room. We had the
daily services of a bearer to clean our billet, a dohbi wallah to do our
laundry, a pani wallah to supply our daily chilled water, a char wallah to
supply twice daily tea. And a fruit wallah to deliver fruit. We lived like
Rajahs at one rupee a week. Worth about 1/6d. Working hours were 6.00 am to
1.00 pm. Weekends were usually spent playing cards or travelling into town to
browse Elphinstone Street for American cigarettes at 3 Rp for 200, or a 2 hour
haircut, massage etc, or an Indian meal, all for peanuts. The only interesting
things to happen were when a mate got a bullet through the windscreen for
failing to stop at the camp gate (well, it was only a bloody wog on duty), and
I got picked as armed escort for Mountbatten when he drove to Government House
for the partition ceremony. Well, I say armed’ I was given a Sten gun to wear
across my back, but no bullets in the magazine. Somehow or other a pair of
Harley Davidsons was found, so two of us preceded his lordship in his Bentley
and got shown on Movietone News. Big deal all round.</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Now we have a new incentive to look at DROs.
Demobilisation is under way for the forces in India, and in Pakistan. New
groups appeared weekly, and after just a few months, there’s mine. Group 62,
must be ready to embark in two weeks’ time. Like, do I have a choice? Not in
this Air Force. I’ve only just begun to settle down and quite like it here, but
back on another troopship to Liverpool, thence to Uxbridge and yet another
demob suit, shoes, tie and overcoat, rail pass. 14 days paid leave, goodbye,
good riddance, served your country, now get lost.</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Did feel lost actually. All I ever wanted to
be was a bomber pilot. Or a navigator. Or a Gunner. Or a WOPAG. Came close
though. Common theory that war is 23 hours boredom, one hour excitement. Never
got the exciting bit.</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Now you know why us veterans remain
tight-lipped and inscrutable heroes.'</span></div>
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<br /></div>Sunshine's African Kidshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15625511184269581478noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7378813653076101296.post-60045781220103719762012-04-28T18:50:00.000+01:002012-05-03T08:11:53.216+01:00Reflections<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_5CTINE0xIikcrCkzk5PzYJ0F4D8IYFvmthUuJAM_N-qKE0tAYWFj2jJhMaA7yDi8yRKGEK5pK29rJI6d0DBZq9kcRAX3O4QZs2tHtxraTvzn-Yy6psa7qcS8d3uVJpRapjm8kzbwy1k/s1600/P1000787.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_5CTINE0xIikcrCkzk5PzYJ0F4D8IYFvmthUuJAM_N-qKE0tAYWFj2jJhMaA7yDi8yRKGEK5pK29rJI6d0DBZq9kcRAX3O4QZs2tHtxraTvzn-Yy6psa7qcS8d3uVJpRapjm8kzbwy1k/s320/P1000787.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
Facing a blank screen and wondering what to write about is something all Bloggers have to endure. Shall I write about what I have planned in future, or what I have already been doing? No, neither. Why? because when we breath out we don't actually know if we will breath in again, do we? So, whilst I have a lot of past, and it has shaped the me I am today, I can only thank it and not blame it. Oh yes, there are times I could fall into the trap of blaming fate, destiny, others or none. In actual fact, I tend toward the Fate school of thought.<br />
<br />
I found how to use Twitter last August, in spite of the fact I had created an account some 2 years before that. I had tried at first, but was completely confused as to how it worked. I was suspicious of the term 'follower and following' as it has connotations I was not comfortable with. Then along came some news article and the word Twitter was being used extensively, so I thought I would take another look.<br />
<br />
I followed willy nilly every famous name I came across. I read topics from the 'trending' lists and was horrified at the amount of disgusting language that was being used. In fact, I felt sullied when I had read some of the posts and their totally unnecessary use of the words I still see as disgraceful when used in front of strangers (and most of them were what I had always considered were 'bedroom' terms anyway!)<br />
<br />
However, I got hooked. I weeded out every person who didn't ever answer any tweets (that got rid of 99% of the famous names!) and all the people who were so inarticulate that they needed to use expletives the whole time and multiple times in each tweet. I reduced the number I was following significantly with that clean up too. <br />
<br />
I sorted out the topics I was most interested in, and then doors really started to creak open. It was wonderful to read other peoples considered opinions - and many unconsidered ones too. It was the interaction with people of similar or diverse opinions that really caught my imagination then.<br />
<br />
I started to read some of the sayings I had lived by all my life, and then remembered that I have a rather extensive collection of pithy sayings that I have gathered myself over the long years of reading philosophy and collecting jokes. Distilling the sense of a long diatribe into one short sentence is challenging, but so satisfying when you have done it. The real joy came in sharing those sentences with others on Twitter and even better, seeing people send those same words on to their followers as being worthy of being shared.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFaUiW52tu2CjJYCcWkjdwKBOd4mODz8Fsua8xGK2QM-sZYQmJax99dVUoRNohKBWZcbY6zdof6cW1Qdt9e2w4PCH3E8ooOsd6Xkxl0rn7_J5T3bN7K134_31-CIq6ERYmn3ql9CUVUio/s1600/IMG_2495.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFaUiW52tu2CjJYCcWkjdwKBOd4mODz8Fsua8xGK2QM-sZYQmJax99dVUoRNohKBWZcbY6zdof6cW1Qdt9e2w4PCH3E8ooOsd6Xkxl0rn7_J5T3bN7K134_31-CIq6ERYmn3ql9CUVUio/s320/IMG_2495.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
I love having laughter around me - who doesn't? What really pleases me is to know that others can read the words and smile, or nod in agreement, or simply store them away for their own enjoyment at a later date. Like the ripples on a pond, we don't know how far those words go, but we can be fairly sure that they will bring some comfort or pleasure or amusement to some other person somewhere in the world - and it doesn't matter where or when. <br />
<br />
There are so many who violently disagree on the subject of God or religion, and I am not the person to try to argue with them. All I know is that I have a deep sense of faith, but not strictly a religious faith. I have faith in my fellow man, that they are inherently good and well meaning. That they would rather help than hinder and for the most part prefer to give than to receive. Of course, there are exceptions to this, but you only have to look at the number of people on Twitter who are happily putting themselves to all manner of challenges to raise money or awareness or both for those less fortunate that the rest of us. Many of those are ones who would never dream of accepting the very idea of a God of whatever ilk. So long as they live in the way they do, wanting to help others and to not damage the precious world we live on, surely that is all that matters?<br />
<br />
We all have things in our lives which test us, but I am so certain that we are not tested beyond what we can do, just to see how strong we can be. Being bitter about events that are past and gone is futile. There is no worse cancer than bitterness, because whilst cancer eats at the physical body, bitterness destroys the most precious part of us, our soul or whatever name you want to use to describe the person we are inside our bodies. If we can't, or don't want to change things, and there are some things I just don't want to change, at least I don't advocate keeping it alive. Let it drop and ignore it.<br />
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I feel the same about religions. Why look at the things that divide, when there is a golden thread which runs through every religion in the world. Concentrate on the things that unite and divisions disappear. It matters not a jot who said what - we don't have recordings of anyone to prove one way or the other what was meant, merely someones interpretation of what was said - like Chinese whispers, they are probably not remotely like what was really being meant.<br />
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Rather like those people who try to tell us what the artist meant when they painted this or that masterpiece or the composer was attempting to portray in their glorious music. Only the person who created it really knows, so if we can't speak directly to them, we should just accept it as it is, and not try to either put our own interpretation onto it, or even worse, listen to what anyone else considers was meant. Have the strength to believe your own thoughts and stand by them. You will find that the small quiet voice in your head is more often correct than not. Call it conscience, call it instinct, call it anything, but just learn to listen to it and act on it. If you don't act on it, and it was a good idea, you can be sure that before long the same idea will have found fertile ground in someone Else's head and they will be the one who makes it work.<br />
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We all have the power within us for good, and we can change the world little by little, but if we never start to do it, it will not change on its own.</div>
<br />Sunshine's African Kidshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15625511184269581478noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7378813653076101296.post-47849704097481656182012-04-25T02:50:00.000+01:002012-04-26T17:32:34.195+01:00School teachers can inspire or conspire<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpf3H6Fr2Ook2n10dJK7OHu_KJNUAo0fJOyMbRQEiTYUc0NGfEM1oHuTHCpu9R09lzAGXjtsYKeq-zpFkmVDN3uPy2HZI01J4KFssj-ter4y9yID3a0XLAphcXLg3JM0nrVyZXjzBCqaI/s1600/P1000762.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5731945029991745330" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpf3H6Fr2Ook2n10dJK7OHu_KJNUAo0fJOyMbRQEiTYUc0NGfEM1oHuTHCpu9R09lzAGXjtsYKeq-zpFkmVDN3uPy2HZI01J4KFssj-ter4y9yID3a0XLAphcXLg3JM0nrVyZXjzBCqaI/s320/P1000762.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 240px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
When I was 6 I had a fabulous teacher. Her name was Miss Allott. She always sat in the front pew in Church, and was very tall and slim. From my earliest memories of her, to the last time I saw her when I was about 30, she had never changed at all. Always smiling, always caring. Of course, to me, she didn't have a Christian name, or if she did, it was Miss. It was only after she died that I discovered she was called Rachael.<br />
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Her passion was Geography. She would teach us the way round the world, leaving Liverpool, calling in at Dublin and then across to Canada and so round the world. I was obsessed by learning about geography. I could soon recite all the capital cities, what each country exported, what its language was and a myriad other facts about every country. She was a truly inspirational teacher.<br />
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I lived the furthest away from school, and had to get a bus there at 8am each morning, which meant I was at school with the cleaners. I could not get a bus home until 5pm, and as in those days school finished at 4pm, it meant another hour with the cleaners. I loved that time. I adored poetry, and would spend a lot of those hours learning new poems to recite when I got home. I had been reading since I was 3, and as my siblings were 8 and 10 years older than me, we really had nothing in common, so, since I lived in a big house and there were no children nearby to play with after school, reading became my big love.<br />
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We moved house when I was 10, and so as I am an August child, I went to the new High School 2 bus rides away. Only 2 other boys passed from my school, and since this was a single sex school, I no longer saw anyone I had known at junior school.<br />
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I was lucky. It was a brand new school and I was in the first first year there. It was 1953. Coronation Year. It had happened in the June, so all celebrations were well forgotten by then.<br />
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I had a new set of teachers, and the georgraphy teacher was not a patch on Miss Allott. She was not interested in Capital Cities or exports or pretty much anything that we had learned before. She was all graphs of population and crop growing. Nothing interesting like the Taj Mahal, or Ayres Rock, or the Grand Canyon. Fortunately, the seed was well planted by Miss Allott, and it grew of its own accord.<br />
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I did have a fantastic English teacher though. Miss Wainwright. Again, no Christian name. Just Miss. She was small, with untidy hair and her black gown (all our teachers wore their hoods and gowns every day to teach), flapped around her. At the end of her lessons, which she always managed to make incredibly interesting - even clauses and phrases - she would stand, wrap her gown tightly around her, and rest her bottom on the edge of her desk. She would then tell us classic stories. One which made a huge impression on me was the story of Svengali from the book Trilby. We were the most silent during the telling of these stories than at any other time of the week in school, such was her skill at story telling. She was like every Best Actress rolled into one. The voices, the actions, and facial expressions, they were all there. She became the person she was telling us about. Extraordinary gift that is. I only found out three years ago that her name was Mary.<br />
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Then there was the other side of the coin. The Maths teacher. Horrible woman who delighted in belittling any girl who made an error, no matter how small. Not one of us liked maths after have had her for 5 years. Yes, a true martinet. Not an inkling of human interest in children learning anything. She inhabited her own planet, and we were just one long pain to her. the same with the art teacher. I can't even remember her name (all our teachers were females). What I do remember though is that we had one very gifted girl in our class, and the rest of us could go and knit fog as far as the art teacher was concerned. She said that it really didn't matter what any of us did, because we were all, with that one shining exception, rubbish at art. So, art was something to be suffered and dropped if possible. I never picked up another paintbrush until I was 54!<<br />
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There lots of Ann's, Pat's, Jean's and Julie's in my year. I was the only Phyllis. The sole other bearer of this awful name was the headmistress. Miss Cater. That woman had the most devastating effect on my life it was possible to have.</div>
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I had been the innocent victim in a court case, and when I knew that it would mean I had to go to court to give evidence I went to see her to tell her what was happening. Nothing was said. Not a word of comfort or support. The day came, and I went to court and endured something no girl has to face these days. I had to stand in a courtroom, look around and actually point out the defendent who had attacked me. Once it was over, I thought that was the end of the matter. I went to school as usual on the following Monday, and was happily cooking in the Domestic Science class when the school secretary came in and ordered me to the headmistress's office.</div>
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Shaking I went in. She had a sheaf of newspaper cuttings in her hand, and my mother was sitting in the corner. There was to be a school trip to the Channel Islands the following Whit, and I was daft enough to think my mum had brought the money up to school to pay for my place on it.</div>
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Waving the papers at me, this angry woman said that since I had been in court over such a matter, I was no longer fit to mix with 'nice' girls, and that I was to go home with my mother and never come back. I was not even 16 until the August and this was March. I had shone at my mock GCEs and had been expected to get 8 or 9 good grades. Now all that was out of the window. </div>
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My ambition had been, since a little girl, to be a nurse and a missionary nurse at that. I was numb. I sat at home with my parents, who were both very angry, but of the generation who did not, ever, question anyone in authority like a Headmistress. My father asked me what I wanted to do. He said I need never work, that I could happily stay at home with my mother, and just be a lady, or I could do whatever I felt right for me. I wanted to work. I got a job as a Vet's surgery nurse until I could get into Nursing School the following September. </div>
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The Nursing was my dream job. I loved every moment spent learning and caring. I would often be found telling jokes to patients (particularly when I was on a male ward), and my nickname was Smiler in those days. I passed my exams with ease. I felt I was on the right path for me. Then one day, just before I was 18, I got a message to go to the Matron's office. I had always got on well with all the Sisters and even with Matron (godess though she was in the hospital in those days)!</div>
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Wondering what it was all about, I went to the office. The moment I went in my heart sank. There was Miss Cater. Matron simply said that according to information she had just been given by Miss Cater, I was not to be allowed to nurse male patients again. To say I was devastated was the understatment of my life, let alone that year! Here was history repeating itself. If I was to be banned from nursing men, then there was clearly no future in nursing for me. Full stop. End of.<br />
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So you see, wonderful teachers inspired me to see the world and to be able to express myself in good English and to admire beautifully written works and love poetry and prose in equal measure, but another teacher ensured that I became almost innumerate (though not completely), and finally the one who should have been caring of a rape victim was the ultimate devastation. I thank heaven that such events can no longer happen, because now girls such as myself are cared about and protected. I had to fight my own way through, but I suppose I am who I am because of the events of that time.</div>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="http://twittercounter.com/embed/?username=peewitsunshine&style=avatar"></script><noscript><a href="http://twittercounter.com/peewitsunshine">Peewitsunshine on Twitter Counter</a></noscript>Sunshine's African Kidshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15625511184269581478noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7378813653076101296.post-52366558193628932012012-04-15T11:48:00.000+01:002012-04-15T11:52:34.964+01:00Life goes on and still lessons have to be learnedI recently had a couple of weeks where I thought life had improved immeasurably. Then, out of the blue, it came falling in on me again. It hurt like hell for a while, but then I did what I always do. Picked myself up, re-built a bridge so that bitterness could not get a firm hold, and now I have a friendship that I think we will both value in time to come. I am so blessed, because I have a wonderful circle of friends who laugh with me, but also don't mind comforting me when the tears flow - and yes, they do, try hard as I might to <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">suppress</span> them. I know this other person does not have such a fantastic support network, so holding out a hand of friendship was, if very difficult at first after such rejection and hurt, a cathartic thing to do.<br /><br />I read a lot, and always have done, and since childhood have read books that lots of adults have never read - <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">philosophy</span> has always been a passion of mine, as has poetry, so I have a wonderful fund of quotations and pithy sayings from others, and many that I have put together myself.<br /><br />A few months ago I discovered Twitter. I had registered about 3 years ago, but never understood what it was really all about. Once I had a couple of spare hours to experiment, I really got into it. I have found that, whilst at first I just randomly 'followed' mainly well known people or politicians, I soon discovered that they are only on Twitter to self-<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">aggrandise</span>. They never follow back (or very few do) and only tweet something when they want a bit of extra ego massage. Gradually I found that I would find really interesting people by reading their tweets before I decide to follow. It takes a little time, because I do not want to follow people who use expletives every second word. If I want to hear dreadful language, I can go outside any school these days and hear all I want - and frankly, I don't. I am not a prude, and yes, I swear from time to time - but only if I really want to draw attention to a point that exasperates me to despair, not just for a shock effect. Those words have lost their shock effect these days, in the mouths of people who use them as frequently as 'the' and 'and'.<br /><br />I now have a wonderful band of Twitter friends. I have time for those who think of others, and those who support worthy causes, and support their friends if they are in need of a friendly word. It costs nothing, but if someone lives alone, and spends their time shouting at the TV when there is something contentious on it, twitter is the perfect place to let off that bit of excess steam! There is always someone with an opposing opinion, but many who will agree, so it can be a comfort to know that there are others 'out there' who feel the same.<br /><br />This morning there was a discussion about the Human Rights Act, and someone tweeted that it really should be a matter of Common Sense.<br /><br />Years ago I put this little thing into my files, so this morning it was dusted off, and posted on Twitter. It is very heartening to see how many people agree about it - I know that because it has been re-tweeted so many times. So, I thought I would put it on here, so that if anyone wants to read it in future, it is accessible.<br /><br /><br />Obituary<br /><br />Today we mourn the passing of a beloved old friend, by the name of Common Sense.<br />Common Sense lived a long life but died in the United States from heart failure<br />at the beginning of the new millennium.<br />No one really knows how old he was, since his birth records long ago were lost in bureaucratic red tape.<br />He selflessly devoted his life to service in schools, hospitals, homes, factories, helping folks get jobs done without fanfare and foolishness.<br /><br />For decades, petty rules, silly laws, and frivolous lawsuits held no power over Common Sense. He was credited with cultivating such valued lessons as to know when to come in out of the rain, why the early bird gets the worm, and that life isn't always fair.<br /><br />Common Sense lived by simple, sound financial policies (don't spend more than you earn), reliable parenting strategies (the adults are in charge, not the kids), and it's okay to come in second.<br /><br />A veteran of the Industrial Revolution, the Great Depression, and the Technological<br />Revolution, Common Sense survived cultural and educational trends including body piercing, multi-language ballots, and "new math."<br /><br />Alas, his health declined when he became infected with the "If-it-makes-you-feel-good-do-it"<br />virus. In recent decades, his waning strength proved no match for the ravages of well intentioned, but overbearing regulations. He watched in pain as good people became ruled by self-seeking<br />lawyers.<br /><br />His health rapidly deteriorated when schools implemented endless zero-tolerance policies. Reports of a six-year-old boy charged with sexual harassment for kissing a classmate, a teenager suspended for taking a swig of mouthwash after lunch, and a teacher fired for reprimanding an unruly student only worsened his condition.<br /><br />It declined even further when schools had to get parental consent to administer aspirin to a student, but could not inform the parents when a female student was pregnant or wanted an abortion.<br /><br />Finally, Common Sense lost his will to live as the Ten Commandments became contraband,<br />Churches became businesses, criminals received better treatment than their victims, and Federal judges stuck their noses in everything from the Boy Scouts to professional sports.<br /><br />Finally, when a woman failed to realize that a steaming cup of coffee was hot, she was awarded a huge settlement, and Common Sense threw in the towel.<br /><br />As his end neared, Common Sense drifted in and out of logic, but was kept informed of developments regarding questionable regulations such as those for low flow toilets, rocking chairs, and stepladders.<br /><br />Common Sense was preceded in death by his parents, Truth and Trust; his wife, Discretion; his daughter, Responsibility; and his son, Reason. He is survived by two stepbrothers: My Rights and <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">Ima</span> Whiner. Not many attended his funeral because so few realized he was gone.<br /><br />We can all wish for a better world, but the only way it will happen is if we ourselves change first.Sunshine's African Kidshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15625511184269581478noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7378813653076101296.post-72494025691059223462012-02-26T08:27:00.003+00:002012-05-21T00:17:46.538+01:00A stubborn madam - that was me 52 years ago!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
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1960/61 The weeks turned into months, with the daily insertion of longer and longer needles to see if there was any residual feeling. No stimuli worked. Neither hot nor cold nor needles. On a monthly visit from my parents in the February, the surgeons came to the bedside to speak to my Mum & Dad. He looked, for the first time since the October, terribly serious and sombre. Up to then, he had always been optimistic with me. Now, the words came slowly, like a death sentence. ‘I am so very sorry’ he started ‘ I’m‘I’m afraid she is really a lost cause. We’ve tried everything we know how to try, and then a few more things, but there is nothing else. I’m afraid she won’t ever walk again.’ ‘What about her dancing?’ came the preposterous question from my father, totally oblivious to the consequences of the words the Surgeon had just spoken. ‘And tennis? She loves tennis’ he asked in desperation. ‘I’m so dreadfully sorry,sorry; there will be nothing like that for her again.’ The surgeon replied. Turning to me he said again ‘I’m really sorry, my dear, but there is an end to every road, and this is the end of this one. You will be discharged next week, once we have had time to make all the arrangements’ He then added a few words which sustained me for years to come. ‘You would have been such an asset to the WRAF and your spirit is beyond reproach. Maybe one day you will learn to forgive us for the awful mistake we made’. With that, he left the ward, and my life in tatters again. My parents were devastated. They didn’t have any way of expressing what they were thinking, so they left without trying to express anything at all. As soon as they had gone, I asked to be released from the traction. It was obviously doing no good, and was very uncomfortable, so there was no need now, to keep on with the treatment. I lay in that bed and I formed my natural stubbornness into some emotion I felt I could use. The following morning, I asked if they would help me to stand up. I had been in bed for almost five months from October until February. It had not occurred to me how weak I would feel. After a lot of persuasion, I was lifted gently to the side of my bed. As if in slow motion, instead of being able to stand, as I was so sure I could do if allowed to try, I just slid down onto the floor. The nurses thought that I would now accept my paralysis. I would not. Not for a second. No, I couldn’t actually feel my legs, but neither did I have any pain. Over the course of the next three days, I tried dozens of times to stand, supported by a couple of nurses, propped up against my bed. Finally, on the Friday, she managed to stand for a couple of minutes. That was all I needed to know. I now would be able to go home, and know, deep down inside me, that I could teach myself to walk again. It may take me a long time, but time was something I had a plenty of. Determination I possessed by the ton. Likewise, my stubbornness, if I wanted to achieve something badly enough, I would do it come what may. Well, I wanted to prove the doctors wrong, and I would do it, however long it would take me. They drove home in silence. I had to face starting my life again.</div>
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Arriving home, the major obstacle was getting to my bedroom. I’d not thought about having to climb stairs. A bed had been brought down into the drawing room for me, the same drawing room where my bed had been during my bout of rheumatic fever, all those years ago. This time, I was not going to sleep in the drawing room again. I saw it as some sort of defeat, and this time I was going to win. Insisting that if someone could help me to get to the foot of the staircase, I would get up it somehow, I plonked myself on my bottom on the lowest step. With immense strain, I put my hands either side of me and pushed until I lifted myself to the next step. This continued until I reached the sixteenth and top step. Now, there was the long landing to negotiate. Not giving in, I simply hauled myself along it until I got to my old bedroom, and with the last burst of energy I possessed, got onto my bed. I’d made it. Yes, it had taken a little over an hour and a half. I didn’t care if it had taken me a day and a half; I had achieved the impossible. My parents didn’t believe I would manage it, but when my father returned from work, he was amazed to find me, not in the bed in the drawing room, but upstairs in my bedroom., where I had all my collection of beer mats on the wall, my old ball gowns and dance dresses in the wardrobe and my photo of my airman by my bed. I was so pleased with myself. For a couple of days, I was content just to be in my bedroom. I managed to shuffle to the bathroom on my bottom, and to enjoy, to my total joy and delight, a long, warm soak in the bath. How I had longed for that. I also discovered that with my legs in the warm water, I was able to begin to move them a tiny fraction. There had been no after-care arranged for me, so if I were to learn to use my legs again, I would just have to do it myself. I worked out that if I could spend an hour in the bath two or three times a day, I would get got more and more sensation back in my legs. My feet were still numb, but now, very occasionally, I was sure I felt the pins and needles in them. This was a big advance, because I just knew that if there were pins and needles, eventually there would be feeling. How I worked on myself over the next few weeks no one would ever know. I would not rest – except if someone was around to see me. I hated anyone to witness my frustration with myself, so just sat passive if there was anyone around. Since the house was empty of all but my mother most of the time, I had ample time to do my exercises in complete secrecy. Eventually, after a couple of months of incredibly intensive work, I was able to stand unaided. I even took a couple of steps from my bed to my dressing table. Then to my wardrobe. I looked at the beautiful gowns hanging there. Recalling how I had danced in them, and been admired by my escorts, I just became even stronger in my resolve. My brother was getting married in a month’s time. His bride had asked me to be a bridesmaid before all the events of the last six months and I had been so thrilled. Even my dress had been made in readiness. It was Sunshine yellow satin. I hated the colour, but it was the bride’s choice, so it was accepted. Now I had little more than a month to get to the point where I could wear it, and walk down the aisle behind my sister-in-law to be. Of course, the family had resigned themselves to me not being able to be a bridesmaid. No-one gave it a second thought, and no-one mentioned it, as a courtesy to me, and no-one wanted to hurt me more than they thought I was hurting already. Little by little, and overcoming ache after ache, I practiced. I could now walk, albeit terribly slowly and haltingly, to the bathroom. Of course, I had been upstairs the whole time, and now I felt I had to try to get down the staircase again. I got myself to the top step, and the stairs took on the proportions of a mountainside. Sitting myself on the top step, I bumped my way down them. Easy. No problem at all. Now I turned myself around, and managed to lift my first leg high enough to allow my foot to get on the bottom step. Pull up on the banister with my arms, and try lifting the left leg. No. It wouldn’t move. It just hung there like dead meat. I slumped down onto my bottom, angry with myself, but more determined than ever. Right. Stand up again. Right leg up, onto step. OK. Arms onto banister and pull up. This time, I nearly got my left leg to clear the step, but not quite enough. Again, I slumped down. I was alone in the house, and so knew I could just keep on trying and trying for as long as I liked. Had there been anyone else there, they would have told me to give up and just go up the stairs on my bottom, but I had the house to myself, and I was jolly well going to work at it. Again and again, and then, as if someone was helping me, up came my left leg enough to reach onto the first step. At last. I had succeeded in climbing one stair! Only another fifteen to go. It took me two hours, but in the end, I fell, exhausted, on the top step and half on the landing. The tears fell then. I knew again that I would conquer my legs. Even if they would not take me where they had taken me in the past, dancing or walking with my brother over the Derbyshire moors and hills, they could be made to be of use to me. And moreover, I hadn’t resorted to a wheel chair, and that was a huge achievement. I had been so determined to do all this work secretly, because I felt that if they saw me doing the exercises and failing so many times, they would just lose patience with me and tell me to give up and accept the verdict of the surgeon.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJK1A_w-1r2PoN7PADDP6ipPslD7X30WMNkYCQXc0TJIWkQbK0iHel9Rwk_X0AvMeTduCRSagheIDKFW1hvbJ5_1dT5MxJM-efKEzXMFaKNeHAzlvNsm5q_WP33rnrLSUSC7a0EqsyfBU/s1600/Martyn%2527s+CD+012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJK1A_w-1r2PoN7PADDP6ipPslD7X30WMNkYCQXc0TJIWkQbK0iHel9Rwk_X0AvMeTduCRSagheIDKFW1hvbJ5_1dT5MxJM-efKEzXMFaKNeHAzlvNsm5q_WP33rnrLSUSC7a0EqsyfBU/s320/Martyn%2527s+CD+012.jpg" width="263" /></a></div>Sunshine's African Kidshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15625511184269581478noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7378813653076101296.post-22919583050664198262011-12-27T20:56:00.000+00:002011-12-27T21:17:03.645+00:00Help others in any way you canFrom time to time the question of Organ <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">Donorship</span> comes up, so I would like to share this with you. When my son was killed, it took 4 hours for the Police to finally confirm to us that it was him because he was driving his sisters car at the time. Amongst many other things that went through my head, this thought genuinely <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">occurred</span> to me on the way back from identifying him at the hospital. I turned to my husband (we were in the back of the police car at the time) and said 'My God, if only they had got to us sooner, we could have helped someone by donating his very healthy heart and anything that they could have used'. My husband agreed with me, and it made us both even more sad than anyone can know we were feeling already. Roger was only a month of being 20, and his organs could have been such a gift to some other family.<br /><br />Well, years passed, but that feeling never left me. A few years ago, my beloved husband had a brain <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">haemorrhage</span>, and was in <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">intensive</span> care in Newcastle (the nearest <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">Neuro</span> unit for <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error">Carlisle</span> area). I had spent the night with him, and my daughter and her husband who had travelled with me behind the ambulance the previous evening, had had to return home as they had a dog. We arranged for them to come in the morning, and I was to come home and rest for a few hours. I had hardly got home when they arrived. Debby, who was totally devoted to her dad, said the doctors had told them there was no hope, and that I should go back to sit with him until he died. Debby could not face going back, and I didn't feel any need for her to be put through more agony than necessary anyway.<br /><br />On my drive back to Newcastle, I resolved that if Graham was going to die, then if his organs could help anyone, in any way, such as research or whatever, then I would offer. I had always decided, whenever I read of people needing to be asked for permission to take organs, that I would never put some young doctor through such an ordeal.<br /><br />I arrived back and immediately went to the ward office and asked to speak to the doctor. I then said that although he would probably think it odd, I would rather ask now, rather a few hours too early than too late, if there was any way in which Graham's organs could be used, then it would be his wish, and mine, that it be done. The doctor was taken totally aback. He said that he had never been put in this position before, he had always had to ask before, and how hard it is to do that in the midst of so much heartbreak. Well, I have always felt that it is more useful to offer than to wait to be asked, so that is why I was taking the course of action I had decided on.<br /><br />The upshot was that even though Graham was 1 month off being 71, and his heart was not able to be used as he had been on Anti-coagulant drugs for a few years, he was still able to help 32 people to enjoy better lives for his gift. I was in awe of how wonderful the Blood Transfusion service were with me, the thoughtful way they asked the questions that they had to ask to make sure all was well and that he had not suffered from any diseases that would have precluded the use of any organs etc. I was staggered to find that it was not just one or two people than can be helped by this sort of donation, but such a lot of people - corneas give sight to two people, then there are other parts that can be used for tissue grafts etc.<br /><br />The reason I am writing all this is because if you are not already on a donor register (and Graham wasn't) please make sure that your family and next of kin know your wishes and can act according to what you want done. If we can help someone, anyone, it makes the loss of a loved one a tiny bit less painful because you know that somewhere, there is a family rejoicing that the long awaited transplant can finally happen. Make it a New Year Resolution if you like, but whatever you do, make sure you do either (preferably) register or even just tell your next of kin.Sunshine's African Kidshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15625511184269581478noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7378813653076101296.post-37637921371282037322011-11-02T19:42:00.000+00:002012-05-29T18:44:47.577+01:00Update latest news<div>
I was going to mention that at the end of my 2<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">nd</span> visit, I only had British money left, so gave Vic's maid, who had looked after me incredibly well, a £20 note. She immediately burst into tears. I told her that I hoped she was not upset, and that I intended for her to be able to buy something nice for her little girl. She explained that her tears were because she had never held so much money in her hand at one time. This shocked me to my core! I knew she only earned about £12 a month (and that was a very high pay for domestic staff, but was because she only worked 3 days a week for Vic).</div>
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The next time I went to Botswana, I got chatting to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Nostar</span> (easy to remember her name, by thinking of Welsh for Goodnight!). I asked her if she had found something nice for her daughter. 'No,no, no!' she exclaimed. 'I used the money to start a shop!'. She had been out and bought a load of tomatoes, and a few other bits and pieces, and by the time I returned 4 months later, she had a thriving business. This time I taught her how to make Scotch Pancakes, as at her home she only has a wood fire, so it was no use giving her ideas that needed ovens and gas hobs etc. I bought a sack of flour and a tray of eggs and litres of milk, and she now has a very thriving business making something that gets sold to all and sundry. It just goes to show that give someone a gift as insignificant to us as £20, teach them how to make something with ingredients that are easy to source, and with the enthusiasm to escape poverty, they will work really hard to achieve wonders.</div>
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I get very angry about the so called Charities. The workers on the ground are one thing, but the ones who 'go out to check things are happening' are appalling on the whole. They travel first class or at the very least business class, and then want only the very best accommodation in the most expensive lodges and hotels. When we give money to charity we expect virtually every penny we give to go to the poor we are trying to help. Well, it doesn't. It goes in Admin and paying 'fundraisers' obscene salaries. I decided that never again will I give a penny to a charity that is saying it is helping poor people overseas. My donations are reserved purely for the RNLI and RBL.</div>
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I went out about 9 months after the Tsunami, and by chance was sitting next to the International Manager for a very large bank on an internal flight. (No 1st class seats on those flights!) We got chatting and when he told me he lives in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Chenai</span>, I asked about the effect of the Tsunami and had they received help from the enormous amounts of money given. He told me that they had actually not seen any of it, and that some of the American money was 'matched funding'. Disgusting eh? When communities have lost everything, how on earth can any donor expect them to raise money in order to be given money from the Tsunami Fund. I know this is now nearly 7 years ago, but it sticks in my mind and disgusts me still. </div>Sunshine's African Kidshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15625511184269581478noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7378813653076101296.post-69622666043611528042011-10-05T12:11:00.000+01:002011-10-05T12:21:45.246+01:00Still interested but not able to travel far<div>SO many years have passed, but my support for the children continues. I can be relied upon to bring up the subject of Aids orphans with monotonous regularity, and also the contrast between children who really have nothing and those who have too much.</div><div> </div><div>At Christmas last year I'd heard that the dream of the orphanage was to have guttering and water butts to save some of the water from the rainy season to use during the long dry months. This I paid for instead of buying a load of useless gifts for friends who really don't need anything more to clutter up their already full houses. All my friends were delighted with this, and as I told them, their gift is now a length of guttering on an orphanage in Botswana.</div><div> </div><div>I still have hope that one day I will be able to return there to see the wonderful orphanage that has now been built and is filled with happy, cared-for children.</div>Sunshine's African Kidshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15625511184269581478noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7378813653076101296.post-10309788859699180582011-09-26T14:07:00.000+01:002012-05-29T18:42:44.940+01:00Sunshine's African Kids update<div>
Time has gone on, and I have only managed to go back once since my last blog entry, but I have now been able to send money via Vic to pay for food for the children whenever I have had an SOS message from Andrew at the orphanage. My friends Vic and Terry have loaded up Vic's truck with food and been able to delivery it for them. I was able to leave a fair amount of money with Vic last time I was there, and it has made sure that the orphans have been fed when times got very hard.</div>
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The wonderful new orphanage is now built, but the thing they did not have enough money for was to put guttering and water storage tanks in place. I heard about this last November when organising my usual Christmas food gift to them. I immediately transferred enough money to pay for all the equipment to be bought (again, thanks to Vic & Terry who got the best prices as well) and I have recently seen photos of the orphanage with the guttering and water tanks in place - and of course, it will be enormous benefit during the long dry season that Botswana has (mainly when all the rain is falling here!)</div>
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I still hope to return to Botswana one day to see all my lovely friends there, and to see for myself the superb orphanage that was just a dream that first time I went.</div>
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I am hoping that this link will work as it is the Orphanage report with lots of photos and showing the enormous amount of support they have from all over the place.</div>
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They were going to stay in one of the camping lodges, and we were setting off within a few hours. It was decided that I would drive the car down to Palapye, where their friends live, leave it in their garden, and continue to Serowe in Ian & Larry's car. This way I would be able to go south from Serowe instead of back to Francistown at the end of the visit.<br />
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I had been unfortunate the last time I had been to the Rhino Reserve as the batteries on both my stills camera and my video camera were flat, and the chargers were in the car left to be serviced. This time I was well prepared.<br />
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We arrived at Serowe and I met Esh and Ellie for the first time and we got on so well it was as if I had always known them. They had with them Ellie;s sister, Twinkle (don't ask!) who I had met at Clifton School where she was teaching at the time. She had come over for a short stay, from her home in Canada, and had found a job with a lovely house at Clifton. She was great fun, and again, we had got on very well.<br />
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Arriving at the Kharma Rhino Sanctuary, I was entranced by the clouds of bright yellow tiny butterflies that looked like miniature sailing boats on the ground.<br />
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Soon we were rewarded with this wonderful sight of our first close up Rhino.</div>
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We were still on our way to our cabins, and this was very exciting. They were lovely. Wooden A-Frame buildings, with two bedroom, a shower and a toilet and a table and 4 chairs. Outside there was a Braai, and we were soon getting that going as night falls very quickly, and once it does, it is not easy to find your way to your cabin if you are in one that is a little walk away through the high grass. We were lucky, as the one we were sharing, Larry & Iain and myself, was close to the Braai, but Esh & Ellie and Twinkle had a bit of a hazardous walk to get to theirs.</div>
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First light and we were up, coffee pot on, toast made and ready to go and see the animals or whatever we could indeed see. We hear the 'Go Away' bird shouting at the top of his voice - as clear as any Mynay bird can shout it too. He acts as a warning signal for other birds, so you are rather lucky if you get to see many with him around - and he also seems to warn the animals too.</div>
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The Zebras are also another favourite of mine, so to see a whole herd of them together was great. I had noticed a couple of Wilderbeast in the distance, and wondered if there would be any near enough for me to get a photo. I could not believe my eyes, when, after about 5 minutes waiting, this handsom chap appeared about 15 ft away from me!</div>
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What a reward for such a little wait. I think he must have been hiding and watching me!</div>
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There was another flotilla of those lovely yellow butterflies in the road, so of course, I had to take a photo of them.</div>
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More strange (to me) insects, some very pretty too, were everywhere, and all could do was marvel at how much grass had grown in the 4 months I had been away. It was at least a metre high, and ladened with seeds.<br />
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Soon it was time to leave, and chance for a poignant photo beside the cabin Larry and Iain and myself had been using. <br />
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<br />Back row: L. Esh, Centre: Iain and R. Larry, Front L Twinkle and R Ellie.</div>
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Larry & Iain now live in Perth, Western Australia, Twinkle is back with her family in Canada, and Esh and Ellie now live in Gaborone. One photo encircling the globe, but all with their hearts in Zimbabwe. These friends are one of the reasons I mainitain a page on Facebook.</div>
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<br />Sunshine's African Kidshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15625511184269581478noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7378813653076101296.post-71014865605457078962007-09-13T13:03:00.000+01:002012-05-29T18:12:03.514+01:00Into Zimbabwe<br />
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I then borrowed, once again, a car from Terry. His kindness never fails to
amaze me, as having transport is the greatest gift he could give me.<br />
This time I was in the lap of luxury, driving his Mondeo. I was now en route
for Francistown for the 3rd time, and this time I would be staying once again
with Larry and Ian at the school. Their kindness, as with everyone else, is
simply overwhelming. I feel like a member of their family and this is the most
warm and wonderful feeling one can have in my opinion.<o:p></o:p><br />
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I left behind my friends in Gaborone, and headed up to Francistown once more. My welcome at Larry (Lorraine) and Ian's was overwhelming. Larry had arranged for all the girls from the Book Club to meet at her house, and also for us to have an evening out at the Francistown Marengo Hotel. I was so happy to see all the girls I knew from my first visit, and some new faces too - and they in turn wanted to know about England (and Scotland too!) and how things were changing since many of them had gone from England some years before. Some of these ladies (but I still tend to refer to them as 'girls') were teachers, but many were working in other industries, particularly the administration side of the Gold and Diamond Mining Industries. They live a relatively good life in Botswana, but salaries are not nearly as high as they would be earning if they were living here in Britain. Of course, the cost of living is much less, and the standard of living is very high. Francistown was the original 'Gold Rush' town, and consequently has a good selection of shops, considering that supplying them is quite a big logistical problem. <br />
<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5109662944702943426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhShD8fNJwFhagHCh930TKQdHMljk4tP2Xo9XIyknnGrYVfTkOlk1RAyRfWhBBdWWQB2koy1Lkb_IBLCsCyY3kM6iiPBvBXeJx72UNNFIFOYmBr0wRw3dy5CeqFle-vkVTIidOQGzWdn_0/s640/100_1302.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /><br />
<br />They do, however, have ultra modern shopping Malls, and of course, the favourite vehicle is what we call the Pick Up truck and they call the bakkie.<br />
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Goat and kid at the Zimbabwean Border - Perhaps they were also queuing for a visa.</div>
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Larry and Ian have two daughters in boarding school in Bulawayo, and they had to go to talk over their exam options, and asked if I would like to go with them. I jumped at the chance. they are both from Bulawayo originally, so to be taken there and shown around by people whose home town it it, was an opportunity not to be missed under any circumstances. Of course, carrying a British passport meant waiting in an almost endless queue, then paying double the visa cost for the priviledge, but it was all worth it. At the border post, Ian (he was delivering a bakkie for a friend, Larry and I were following in their own car) there was all the rigmarole of getting papers signed and the formalities to be done. Ian carries a Zimbabwean passport, as does Larry, so they just told me to stick with them, and they would do the talking. Instead of waiting up to 5 hours in the queue (not unusual at that border!) the border guard was really lovely. He was chatting away to me about how sad life is in Zimbabwe, and how hard it was getting. He said to me 'You know, we have never had a problem with the British, they were always good to us, but when two elephants fight, the only thing that gets damaged is the grass'. What a profound and true statement that was.</div>
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The sign welcoming visitors to Bulowayo - with Cocal Cola advert alongside the Arms of the City</div>
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Old Colonial buildings now sadly gradually deteriorating due to lack of maintenance.</div>
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The bakkie, and the car I was in, were both filled to capacity with mealie meal, and other goods like cooking oil, salt and a whole long shopping list that Larry and I had been collecting for days. I still did not appreciate the significance of the precious cargo, but in the course of the next couple of days all became clear.</div>
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Haddon & Sly - Once the poshest place in town - now there is nothing to see in it!</div>
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As we left the border post, on either side of the road for about a mile, were men waving bundles of money at us. We just kept on driving, not stopping for anything. Once passed these people the countryside looked very wild and uncared for. Larry explained that these had all been farms up until very recently, but Mr Mugabe had thrown the owners off their land, and the 'war veterans' (this was the Zimbabwean 'war' against Ian Smith's regime) had taken control and smashed up all the machinery in an orgy of wanton destruction. Piles of rusting machinery lay beside the roads and the land was no longer cultivated. After a couple of miles, Larry said to me that where a little dust track met this main road, one time she had picked up two little girls who were running to school. She said she would show me where she had dropped them off, so that I could appreciate just how keen children are to learn in Africa in general, and Zimbabwe in particular. We continued on, and could see in the distance a huge fig tree. She told me that it was one of the biggest ones they (herself and Ian) had ever come across - almost 70 yards across at its widest - a wonderful shade in such a hot climate. She pointed out the Kopje's (sort of stony outcrops that punctuate the scenery and are sacred places to the native peoples). We continued mile upon dusty mile, and I assumed Larry had forgotten to tell me about where she had dropped those two little 6 and 7 year old girls. After 32 Kilometres (about 20 miles!) she pointed to a little village just off the main road. This was where the school is - and those children RUN that journey morning and afternoon every day - and often have other duties both before school and after they arrive home helping to carry water and firewood for cooking. No wonder these countries produce such incredible long distance runners - they do it from their earliest years.</div>
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Soon we saw the sign telling us we were about to enter Bulawayo, but this was covered in graffiti and looked neglected. It was fascinating to see this city. Wide, majestic avenues, designed so that an ox-cart being pulled by 8 oxen could turn round in its width without any problem. Now, it was more pot-hole than road. Ian was very upset by the state of the roads and the once gloriously manicured lawns of the parks. We arrived at their friends, the DeBeers, house (he is headmaster of a highly prestigeous boys boarding school) and the welcome was overwhelming in its warmth. Gleefully, sacks of Mealie Meal, gallons of cooking oil, fruit, flour, butter, sugar and all other provisions were unloaded. Their friend was almost in tears to see such generosity, and they invited me to join them for a braai (barbecue) later that night.</div>
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<br />Once majestic street!<o:p></o:p></div>
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I was staying with yet another friend of Larry and Ians. Martin Sanders is, without a doubt, the most charismatic historian it has been my joy to meet. </div>
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<br />Martin was very welcoming, and has incredible stories to relate about his
life there. Born in India he has lived also in Palestine (as it was in those
days) before finally settling down in Bulawayo. His house is very historic,
having been part of the estate of one of the most eminent men in Rhodesia,
Julian Greenwood. His house is crammed with artifacts which he has spent a
lifetime collecting. His grounds are the last resting place for a couple of
Model T Fords, various Zephyrs and Minis, MGs and even a Hunters Safari
Caravan. This is an amazing vehicle, still in original condition, and still
with its engine in working order. It was built around 1920 and has racks above
the drivers seat to carry the guns. His intention was always to use it as a
teaching aid, something which he has done for many years. Alas, the last time
he went through the border, the guards wanted to know the value of everything
he was carrying, which indicated to him that if he tried to go through they
might confiscate his collections, so he turned back - very reluctantly!</div>
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Martin's property is also where he has a huge collection of artifacts from years past. Including this amazing vehicle. It was built for Marshall's of Cambridge, the aircraft manufacturers. It was a mobile workshop and laboratory, and in fact all the contents of it are still in Martin's possession. He had intended to convert it to use in travelling around schools, but with the deteriorating situation in Zimbabwe, this was now an unattainable dream.</div>
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Mobile workshop built for Marshall's of Cambridge for aircraft fitters to work on engine by carrying personnel and all the tools necessary fortheir work.</div>
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He was instrumental in setting up the Zimbabwean National Natural History Museum, and worked as their Education Director for 40 years. We became friends almost on sight, and talked so long that Larry and I had almost forgotten to go and get the Pizza which their daughter had requested for her birthday treat! Martin lives in one of the most historic houses in Bulawayo, and it is filled with the most amazing treasures imaginable. We sat on the terrace, having a long ice cold drink, and as is always the case, suddenly it was dark. This was the Zimbabwean summer, but it was also the rainy season. </div>
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Each of the 4 sections is colour coded, so this green section had ruler, pen and scissors etc all painted green, same for blue, red and yellow, so no arguments about children taking each others equipment!</div>
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Martin demonstrating a very clever desk he has designed to allow 4 children to work at once on a different subject each at the same time. </div>
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<br />He has a large building which he refers to as 'Harrods' because it houses
just about everything anyone interested in history could possibly want to have.
There are old motor bikes, old toys, household equipment by the ton, well, you
name it, Martin has at least one example of it. The saddest part though, is
that he will never be able to retire. He worked all his life in Bulawayo as the
Education Officer for the National Natural History Museum, and his pension now
amounts to the princely sum of Z$700 (Zimbabwean!!!!) per month. This will not
even buy him a slice of bread, let alone a whole loaf. The inflation was
running at 973% pa and now, a year later, it is at 1,790% per annum! When Ian
and Larry took me to a lovely cake shop this came home forcibly to me. The cost
of just the box to put the cakes in was Z$50,000! One hot cross bun was
Z$47,000.</div>
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A Talbot Sunbeam stored on blocks in his garden, and in other parts were even more interesting vehicles.</div>
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There was a bull-nosed Morris, a couple of Model 'T' Fords (one really just the chassis left) and a fascinating 1920s Hunter's Caravan.</div>
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I was taken around the town for a tour of the centre of Bulawayo, and it was easy to see what a beautiful city it had been before Indpendence. Alas, the present Regime seems hell bent on destroying all the beauty that was there. The racecourse, the cricket ground, the public parks, all were now shoulder high with weeds and over grown shrubs.</div>
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The Foundation Stone for this Church was laid by Cecil Rhodes himself.</div>
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Bulowayo town Hall</div>
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<br />There are OFFICIALLY Z$200,000 to £1.In practice it is nearer to Z$500,000
to the £1, as when I was there in March it was Z$400,000 to the £1 Now this is
the place to be a millionaire (NOT!) How on earth people carry on I just do not
know. We went to collect a pizza for Larry's daughter, and it took 2 minutes to
order the thing, 20 minutes for it to be cooked, and a hour for the money to be
counted! It cost Z$850,000 and imagine counting that out in Z$2,000 notes when
someone comes up to speak to you half way through counting it. It was like
Comic Cuts, I can tell you.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p>Suddenly there was the most enormous explosion in the not to far distance. We all looked at each other in fear and trembling, wondering what on earth could have happened. Then, a minute later, all lights went out. It turned out that the electricity sub-station serving that part of Bulawayo had blown up. Larry and I quickly got in the car, and she drove to the Pizza shop, hoping against hope that it had still got power. The relief when we saw the lights on was rather great. We dashed in, and ordered the pizza. Sitting down at a table, I was amused by the passing scene. At that time, there were 400,000 Zimbabwean Dollars to the £1. The cost of the Pizza was Z$ 1,200,000. No money counting machine was available, and no sooner would the poor girl on the cash register get to 500,000, than someone would come and speak to her and she would lose count. Starting over again, the same thing happened half a dozen times. I observed that it took 2 minutes to order the Pizza, 20 minutes to cook it, and an hour to count the money being paid for it. </div>
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At that time, inflation was terrible - it was 3,000% p.a. (the official rate was just over 1,000%)! At least I understood then why there had been so many men waving those bundles of notes as we can over the border - they wanted to change their money out of Zimbabwean Dollars into something which had some value.</div>
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The braai was cooked to perfection, and we sat down to a most wonderful feast (Martin had also joined us by now, as Larry & I had gone straight to the school to delivery the Pizza then back to her friend's house). It was a wonderful experience, but the following day, even better was to follow.</div>
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Martin was out early, as he was teaching in one of the schools for the day. Larry and Ian came and collected me - but not until I had explored the grounds of the house, as Martin had invited me to do. In the garden there were all manner of vehicles. A couple of Model 'T' Fords, a Hunter's caravan circa 1920, complete with the racks for the guns over the driver's head, and all the original fittings still in the back. There was a bull nosed Morris and a MG Magnette, various minis and even, piece de resistance, a mobile engineering workshop, built for Marshall's of Cambridge in the 1950's. He returned at lunch time, and then showed me what he refers to as his 'Harrods'. This is a long building in his garden that is a total museum of everyday life in Colonial Africa - not laid out in any sort of order, but things stuffed into every concievable nook and cranny - old motorcycles, pith helmets, old cookers, basket chairs - you name it, Martin has it in there. He also had dozens, if not hundreds, of old leather attachee cases, and each one bore a number. The number coincided with a period in history, and inside, for instance 'Ancient Greece' there would be some ancient coins, pictures of clothing, writings, indeed a potted hostory of Greece which he uses for teaching children. Fabulous.</div>
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<br />Girl's College, Bulawayo</div>
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Larry & Ian came and collected me to take me to the school, called Girls College, where they have their daughters. Built at the turn of the 20th Century it is one of the best schools in Zimbabawe, but the fees were escalating at an alarming rate, due to the devaluation, now almost daily, of the Zimbabwean Dollar. Heather and Paige were coming up to very important exam years in their education, and Paige was an exceptional athlete as well. She represented her country at swimming and we were taken to see the schools fantastic facilities. All Heather wanted was a Pizza, so we had collected one for her the previous evening, and had delivered it quickly to her before taking ourselves back to the DeBeers for the Braai.</div>
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We had, of course, taken cakes for the girls as a big treat for them.</div>
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Paige was not able to join us at this time as she was busy in class, but Heather was allowed to pop out and see her parents for a few minutes, and take us to see her pretty living quarters.</div>
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It was time to head back to Francistown, and first a little detour to call in at Modumela, a game reserve and Lodge just over the border back into Botswana. It was a delightful Lodge, but had no guests staying at the time, as formerly a lot of its guests had been visitors who wanted to visit Zimbabwe as well as Botswana, but now the situation in Zimbabawe was so bad, it was just not easy to do the two Country safari. It was a good 12 Km off the main road, and had a welcome waterhole too, but the only wildlife we saw in the couple of hours we were there were the ostriches which, I was told, were 'quite aggressive' and this amazing blue tailed gecko.</div>
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Modumela Lodge<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br />The 'Aggressive' Ostriches</div>
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<br />The Blue tailed Gecko</div>
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After a cooling drink, we were soon back at Larry & Iains house, but they had another treat planned for me that I was totally unaware of.</div>
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<br /></div>Sunshine's African Kidshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15625511184269581478noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7378813653076101296.post-50503668750219508252007-03-25T22:19:00.000+01:002012-05-29T17:05:23.638+01:00My first orphanage experience<div align="justify">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAptJ5PXHQgwzbYrrR1zIfruIJupabniyKBPjpNhpE2vYc-2xTLKS2YavMmK8fyiesv7Cd8Zl7HXji0-f5E3eFTekFBK3YWv3OgBtOvCliXvxXVBRyrCQexdpfCSpJ7Mh7TcDOTnkCSiw/s1600-h/100_1173.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5045987631459128450" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAptJ5PXHQgwzbYrrR1zIfruIJupabniyKBPjpNhpE2vYc-2xTLKS2YavMmK8fyiesv7Cd8Zl7HXji0-f5E3eFTekFBK3YWv3OgBtOvCliXvxXVBRyrCQexdpfCSpJ7Mh7TcDOTnkCSiw/s640/100_1173.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /></a><br />
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This little girl is one of the most beautiful children I have ever seen - quite stunningly lovely.</div>
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I had tried to find out where the orphanage my friend had told me about was, but all I could find out was that it was at <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Mahalpye</span>., about 400km north of Gaborone. It had been impossible to search for it as I travelled south with Phil and Gabi, so I resolved to see if I could find out more about it once they had left for home after a few days. I got the telephone number to the Bishop's Office at the Cathedral in Gaborone, and after a few different people trying to help me and passing my call from one to another, I finally got to speak to the office of the National President of the Mother's Union. It was arranged that I would go there the following day to meet Agnes. Of course, sensible me had not actually asked where her office was physically situated, and she had just said she would meet me at the Cathedral. At the appointed time I entered the Cathedral, having managed to park my car in a very crowded car park. This was my first surprise. The Cathedral was packed to the door. People ushered me toward a seat, but I managed to escape, as it was obvious that some sort of service was about to begin. There were a couple of young ladies standing at the back wearing badges, so I tiptoed to them, and in a low whisper asked what was about to happen (no service had as then started). Oh, it is a funeral memorial service for a well known young person who killed himself last week, they told me. Very matter of fact and no trace of emotion. Quickly I asked where the MU office was situated. They directed me out of the Cathedral, then a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">trek</span> around the back to a series of low concrete block buildings, painted white with the MU blue paint on the woodwork.<br />
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Right - Agnes, Centre - Julia Left - the Lady in charge at the Orphanage. This was taken at the orphanage but inside the church.</div>
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Relieved, I entered to be greeted by the friendliest lady I think I have ever had the good fortune to meet in such circumstances. I had been so acutely embarrassed to find myself leaving just as a funeral was about to begin - and I was not the only white person there, so it seemed even more strange, I am sure. I was so pleased to meet Julia. We chatted about her work, and she kept apologising for Agnes, the President, not having been there to meet me. After about an hour Agnes arrived in a cloud of dust and squealing brakes. She had just returned from <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Mahalapye</span> after one of her many visits to make sure everything there was running smoothly.<br />
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This little one was upset because he couldn't keep my camera!</div>
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She had decided that she would like to show me around some of her projects around Gaborone, so it was into the mini-bus with Julia at the wheel, Agnes beside her and me in the back. I think I have mentioned before the dreadful driving in that city. I am sure the first thing prospective drivers learn is to close their eyes and get their foot as hard down on the accelerator as possible. She was, as I said, a really friendly lady. However, it is a little <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">un</span>-nerving to have a conversation with the driver who insists on turning round to talk to you whilst propelling the vehicle at break-neck speeds through city traffic. At one memorable stage, she was actually asking me what I thought of the standard of driving in Botswana, and she had not looked at the road for a good 2 minutes at the time. It is very difficult to be polite when sheer terror is overtaking you.<br />
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<br />More of the lovely children who all look very healthy and cared for, thanks to the wonderful work at St. Peters.</div>
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The laddie with the big grin on the left rejoices in the name of Prince and what a character he is.</div>
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We got to a triangular building which had high concrete fencing around it, and it transpired that this was St Peter's Church, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Mogoditshane</span>. (Strange <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">coincidence</span> - Vic also lives in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Mogoditshane</span> but didn't know this place existed - second thought, not so strange really as church and Vic don't really see eye to eye!)<br />
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The Children, like children the world over, love painting. Except here they only had green and yellow paint.</div>
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I was taken to the Rectory and met the most charismatic Rector I think I have ever had the good fortune to be introduced to. Andrew had trained at <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Mirfield</span>, Huddersfield, so he immediately enjoyed hearing my Yorkshire accent.<br />
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<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5045986123925607474" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOAS0XePl2l-Xypp10U724j-B6LTyJtNRo5K-A3v26EBN3PvVW487gKJm3G6lnG3C0XKqqMrenoyVqAvsc_mB6F8Ef4La8kNFuCVUXtWmmiLWRXEPDkc9FLj-e8Y2glzFJYiRRZ3JWC0Q/s640/100_1161.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /><img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5045989229186962658" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguCsrqDgDjRCKBB5UFzfUZD_SigBVvkd9hpLAqywhX_bMcDn_UTBgzaoIV1AwTyicEqLSqUE7JZDtl_LtobIaVQpvRSyiNSMhmCh8nIxPGhBSPk0ohvxck4D5AUDKH3UAOZgbSDIqWc4Y/s640/Botswana+selection+353.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /><br />
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<br />With some of the most enthusiastic volunteers any centre could hope to have - full of love and care for the children.</div>
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He and Agnes were talking about the building of the new orphanage, and he mentioned that the £1,000 promised by someone was not now going to materialise, which would severely hold up the dream of getting it built. It was to equip the kitchen and bathrooms. Without those, the rest of the orphanage could not be built. He ended up with just saying that they would just have to keep praying, and that he felt sure the Lord would answer his prayers sooner or later. (None of this conversation was directed at me, and I spent my time quietly chatting to Julia whilst this was going on)<br />
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<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5045986136810509394" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgawhdlJsm12echyPjl9EWOq40u0VmRnWS_RPn2eJhDsoNtwekzjMAw8mqAywMYKiENXM3vFJ39_wej7YqEflFg6T8u-ODeemYh-riDScgIa551Tyu5X8LY5iOhdq18LdrJhOfRpvaFURI/s640/100_1164.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /><br />
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<br />More beautiful smiles and more green and yellow paintings.</div>
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Now Agnes took me to meet the children. They were picked up each morning, and transported there, fed and looked after all day, and then they would go to wherever they were to spend the night. These little ones have no parents, and it is only the care and attention of the Mother's Union Members that provides them with clothing and food and a nights shelter. They are some of the happiest children who have seen the hardest of lives, and have little hope of any sort of existence without the orphanages. They are just the tip of the iceberg that is the AIDS/HIV legacy in Africa general and Botswana in this case.<br />
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<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5045989237776897282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVERG3i4lCl8AYtfkRBuhyphenhyphenV4uoWtYLrb8KJjvIxoXPyftThoB0ksPtOYCvsGPGU-7CIW9dOGC1O8gU89oWLle-2lKFDOa1vy0VvDsWNy6cRw7etBM0HM7NmG0fmho8vHCXeMr93MZAPfM/s640/Botswana+selection+055.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /><br />
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They were all gathering round to sing a song to me - talk about emotional!</div>
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I spent the most amazing couple of hours there, taking their photographs, which they loved and clamoured to see, and talking with their helpers. These young people have endless patience and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">thoughout</span> the whole work they do, their faith is a wonderful example. I felt completely out of my depth. These little ones with nothing were so happy just playing and chatting - just like children the world over really. They had never seen a digital camera, and the squeals of delights when they saw their photographs will remain with me always. When I arrived, they were doing some painting. However, they only had Green and Yellow paints, so every photo was a study in green and yellow. I resolved there and then to make sure that I would bring back a rainbow of paints for them, as well as pencils and crayons and everything else I could carry.<br />
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<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5045989220597028050" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLUfw4nFtpJ1tEXLRywyN7JXakATBknaBe_Vb2dkMZx3fwk9ckVeD4AGf1kDOH2fWBi3-US2H8pHmA3JrsOZV5kgKdlsfYQEY-Sud6gyrNUyPCdBlaVTtcRbxjkQm7D9XW_qAJKizUkgk/s640/Botswana+selection+048.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /><br />
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<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5045989246366831890" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGNaUOc2ivVI-YZkvuRo_BRnCh3KB6iXMa5L4LadOZcnDqqDhUJ-RQEYSiv_K93_B2SyXR-JFj-keT6dFJ-ArBFMQq3hFtTkOLpcy59tlUT3LIt_4bbcEATweZaIM3XF3c5RZhh_YwxkY/s640/Botswana+selection+049.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /><br />
I am just going to add their photos, but I cannot add their names - for their own sakes as much as anything else. They certainly provided me with a totally new direction for my life without even realising it.<br />
<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5045987657228932290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8Z-RiJnSM5C3R5IWMnBtiKQKlNpYCW21hBr_gLun3pGOCZqTtVoKs-OuqswjHkAbtgL3oVSwKIT0Wfdv0LwHVQNm2YViNf-IeLH7Xl0I0HHYdMt9Tj5GdQd1N1j24hyphenhyphenqIyC6dAGb5imw/s640/Botswana+selection+044.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /><br />
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Smiles, smiles and more smiles - from children who have nothing to smile about compared to children in the UK.</div>
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After the emotional visit to orphanage, Julia propelled the mini-bus to a lovely Lodge for a cool drink for us. Agnes still had one more project she wanted to show me. This lady had been in dire need of a home, and the Mother's Union had built her this house. As she was very ill, she had a couple of young people to help her, this young man, and there was a lovely young lady who was busy preparing lunch for her - and who was very camera shy, so I didn't take her photo.<br />
It is a very worthwhile project that they had completed and were justifiably very proud of what they had achieved.<br />
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It was impossible for me to spend longer with Agnes (my nerves would not take a lot more of the driving for one thing!) but I hoped to be able to return one day with some paints for the children, as well as lots of other things I could see they desperately needed.<br />
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<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5045987648638997682" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOSEcvlY2CO3Q0nNw5h7SJYeTGw7k-wOw-btQPY4WZzum8KxV2VptwMc3KSxobYea5y3HHldbZZiogQgkFQd3m7U_c430YkVMLxBnR8gjk5xzN4ARkCNwG31nL9gVFp5Dpcg5nzNH5QQE/s640/100_1187.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /><br />
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Where the young care for the old and infirm as a matter of choice and pleasure - no relation of this lady, who had none, but just a volunteer helping out with the Mother's Union work.</div>
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I had made arrangements on my way north some weeks before, to return to Clifton School and spend longer with Larry and Ian, and this I was able to do the following day. I was SO grateful for Terry's amazing kindness in lending me a car, so, with bag packed once more, I was off on the road up to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Francistown</span> again. I do love to get on that road north - and this time I did not have any idea just where it was going to lead me eventually, and I was prepared for anything. I shall tell you about my incredible journey next time.</div>Sunshine's African Kidshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15625511184269581478noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7378813653076101296.post-88167001840486465302007-03-25T21:29:00.000+01:002012-05-29T16:49:12.222+01:00A few days in Gaborone before going North again.<div align="justify">
Arriving back at Vic’s was wonderful. He does a very good impression of being pleased to see us – well I know it is genuine where Phil and Gabi are concerned, but having me back there chattering all the time, must be a strain on someone used to a quiet life!<br />
He had laid in enough food to feed a battalion, so we ate like royalty yet again. Terry came over as well, so we got really stuck into a mountain of steak cooked to perfection by Vic on the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Braai</span>. It had been a long and rather tiring day – particularly for Gabi, travelling as she did in the back of the truck. The heat of the day had been pretty intense, and whilst Phil had arranged the canvas in such as way as to let in some flow of air, it must have been most uncomfortable for her.<br />
As I was saying…. Now I was back in Gaborone, and Vic had told me the previous visit about a fence that I really should see. You may recall the one made out of Cable Drum sides that I included a photo of earlier in this saga, and this one is even better in some ways. It surrounds a second hand car spares place, and is quite ingenious.<br />
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<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5045963661246649218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqipQqr_w8qQ4jw1aY-3QR7mm6y5uAEapsbbzQlYcOsAlN6wzvfdfybt1-NP2kPhUUQePy1SW_lJEM2gvYqLCBIxlRhC53-N6_izC8lCFBkN3x5vNcUN1okWF9pnQlkZm3xuvrFrBlNRs/s640/100_1127.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /><img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5045963674131551122" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtevJHZFyrxc11uWHDgBcTx7-VEhQnBwXeHKUK5Kl0BqGBOpVWub5rwvixSalhn6073F5QEqyro9a9iKQRv8C9MgWQVi-oCe2yiRFFC9LGRdylG6-AhlaGNDwx-Hvd1QrbRqEnyTinPcI/s640/100_1128.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /><br />It is constructed using old Car bonnets - but no doubt, if you needed one of them, for the right price the boss would take it out of his fence. Gives a whole new slant on the word 'Stockade'.<br /><br /><br />I had received an email from a friend in the north of Scotland telling me about an orphanage that had been opened recently and would I visit it and take some photos. She had no idea where I was staying, or where the place I was to look for was situated. As it happened, it was some 400Km north of Gaborone, but I would do my best to find it – well what is 400 Km when you live 6,500 miles away?<br /><br />I was again very fortunate – nay I was fantastically lucky! – because Terry once again came to my rescue with the offer of a car to drive. What a blessing that was. I had been to a Garden Centre with Vic and had been absolutely enchanted by it, so now I had to find it again on my own. Normally, in Europe and the UK, I have no problem whatsoever orientating myself. All that skill desserts me in Africa. I think I said once before, that when you grow up in the Northern hemisphere you KNOW that the sun rises in the east, goes to the south at midday, and sets in the west. Easy <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">peasy</span>! Just look where the shadow is and you know where you are. WRONG in Africa! The sun in the North at midday is confusing to say the least. Add to this the fact that I had so far not seen any single map of Gaborone, so <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">didn</span>’t even know the direction from the City centre where Vic lives and you have a recipe for instantly getting lost. Well, sorry folks, I <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">didn</span>’t get lost. I DID visit all sorts of places unexpectedly, and certainly not on any tourist trail. I just call it the scenic route!<br /><br />The garden Centre was wonderful, and these are some of the photos I took there, From the fully grown trees, to the gravels and stones used on gardens, everything was so different to a UK garden centre. Except of course, for the roses. </div>
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<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5045966203867288562" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimzSQQFi_6zOAHJ7_rQCsb36CFFsnTKtINNFDFt2QxEZp6Fy5Z-A9f8qNgigbs1PV_v8vDW1PHEmDZRv-oYYR7UAt8trv7EIDJFFN9mOQQlxNIx9HW3uIwG8mI4sCX1pUZbgaoCZnDpZA/s640/Botswana+selection+668.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" />The gravels were something out of this world – as one who has worked with semi-precious stones I found it fascinating to see them in their natural state, ready to just cover a garden!<br /><br /><img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5045963687016453026" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIpmNp809jrFVMNBtv44FK8OaT86R4Sn0JrTPrMi6HSIoRNg4SBSe1-tJKHGrFr6n1wmUY27gvXIf6YRO9_TB4MnLk0_R4EHEVBHvNkE-3lbhMv5zPQzZG_5glhmWQzCHJeL02-oheWFM/s640/100_1146.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /> This red gravel is Diamond gravel</div>
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<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5045963708491289538" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQqbAOllFIVYim1o-lr8TZHVWr3AzoeXar8FfYg6ep9hZUjFXeSTbBrfd_CueQkcGmX_b3K1Z20x0tYEFjnvXnbOHFyljoYIZZfG_OOq5NzNvZxRlS7QQ_nrqRoUZ4us7xRariwAeOcoI/s640/100_1148.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /></div>
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Blue <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Jaspers</span></div>
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<img alt="" border="0" height="402" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5045963695606387634" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSWaT_eLGxTXvH3KI7K2NnBzBg7GhihfCMDN4VD3EKzxbDEEMpG98Ok8lnkq4VecD1gq74fTV8cTa4J-_HJkhpFv64L9UCd2-vcMRQlT_880j80kjupxsKyX8fjchGDpvDzji3R86x494/s640/100_1147.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /></div>
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and Tiger's eye (strange that it comes from Africa, where the Tigers don't live!)</div>
<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5045966195277353954" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPlWW5rPsWqh2YBhFRMCuiGI9O1VMLN51ImWZxt_tSFozfItfj8pFD9kgUaeKjF34kZrfzwR9DHOCe-PpZbZyt2fBCLNgouOK5o_N4CqX5DwDmDPe0bfdDVNwb5ueQTJe0PuLHPFIXO7s/s640/Botswana+selection+041.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /><br />
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<br />Seeing so many roses in bloom in February also was unknown for me</div>
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<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5045966212457223170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWoLaIM8veUPeuaAj5ype92YKdwf2XHVaQapPYPI1azLhaS9hBwP-XNgq6uaQEYr-gBVxPU8-Q8Ux0JI7JmCYo5wi-wcceKW6XvL9dOr7hvDtHbNfogkTxSH7QkPKzNiAX1wGuXQ5rJw0/s640/Botswana+selection+681.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /><br />
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The ever present Zebra Butterflies and I did manage to get a close up of this one</div>
Of course, as I have told you before, they never let their wings stop fluttering, so it was difficult to photograph, but you can at least see it more clearly than others I have taken.<br />
<br /><img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5045966221047157778" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDYbpItS_Oc8lsf3Pvyzkgd0i2r5CQOSznCyAOrRmC8-aExLXu9DefXBSrrhHFUEdulqgwwM0vLmlXwuvAWt4hOdljd7WzFrYgERew6WTnZQqQQ1IYTtZzXkCEHr_ouTaBfUlyD5j172o/s640/Botswana+selection+688.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /><br />
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This double <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Bougainvillea</span> was stunning. </div>
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<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5045969493812237346" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZxm05GgCVTnt8HOFJZWIHnRz1ZjUxOboOjc5eb6-ExkDN2NhPdn75t12k7SFyA1bDflM2SReqs_Um_11SuK3Zclu_-oQUZarlO3tchVxv40TE0RjTUnmZR-NNWCA5hxUG_AvYNa47hWQ/s640/Botswana+selection+689.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /><br />
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<br />And the perfume from this <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">stephanotis</span> was just overpoweringly beautiful</div>
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<br />I had arranged to go to Vic’s office to access my email one day, and yes, he had taken me there a couple of days before. Could I find it? Well, suffice it to say that instead of the 10 or 12Km it is to his office, I actually did about 35. Here is Sir at his desk, and you can see from the look on his face that he is rather amused that I had taken so long to find his office!</div>
<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5045966182392452050" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-5CMOcxC4LptRR4zK98nRF5Y992r7NXjb_zjpPqIfZRWNr7i0MgmjKz-h1UUkBftEeIg0Hfdp0ksN5xq3BT4clli3zZaGZox0PBoXDZAFhK-svCxkGdal1KZGkMPjXmIGgJ7gUl7XPUE/s640/100_1188.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /><br />
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My dear friend Vic<br /><br />I had also arranged to meet up with Phil and Gabi at a shopping centre for lunch. ‘Oh, yes, I know where <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Riverwalk</span> is.’ had been my proud boast! Well, I had been there a couple of times with Terry last October. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Mmmm</span>. I had not taken the notice I thought I had taken of the route, had I? When you pass the same spot for the 4<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">th</span> time, you get a little concerned. I had to stop and phone Gabi a couple of times, but at the 5<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">th</span> attempt I did arrive. Too late for lunch, but in time to enjoy a long cold drink.<br /><br />I spent a very happy half hour in the computer shop there – bought a set of speakers for my MP3 player for a mere £35 instead of the £70+ they would have cost here. How I was wishing I had unlimited shipping facilities. The chocolate fountain would certainly have been in my luggage if I could have carried it. Not for my own use, you understand, but so I could raise money with it for my charities. For those of you who have not seen a chocolate fountain it is a machine which melts chocolate then it flows over 3 different sized bowls and you just dip fruit or marshmallows into the melted chocolate to eat them chocolate coated! <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Mmm</span>, wicked or what!!! (This was in February 2006, before they came to the UK other than commercial ones and a few very specialist shops may have had them).<br /><br />The week I was back in Gaborone was wonderful, and I spent a whole day with the National President of the Mother’s Union visiting their orphanage in Gaborone. I shall tell you all about that next time….. </div>Sunshine's African Kidshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15625511184269581478noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7378813653076101296.post-32498162874647742932007-03-18T18:06:00.000+00:002012-05-29T16:36:51.443+01:00Back south before another adventure<div align="left">
Dawn on my last morning at Garden Lodge on the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Chobe</span> River (<a href="http://www.thegardenlodge.com/">http://www.thegardenlodge.com/</a>)<br />
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<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5043329352440194850" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhap5QJCGdpIXFdNoOpZfCSIOtGZf27ax_4Mx6yWWq-1x-T_azpuk3b1cB4rsZXA6JSJH-N4G4dkEW4953nRST6lYH5QBoV_eDv8WiKtiHwA2-kKPEau1EqheL1_QynRgPNUOdpkYAztzc/s640/100_1093.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /> <br />
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Leaving The Garden House and its wonderful staff was a huge wrench. I had been welcomed like a member of Gabi's family, and the only saving grace in leaving, was that the three of us were travelling together. This in itself was a testament to friendship. They do not have a car or vehicle with 4 seats in the cab. No, it had been a lot of work for Phil to adapt one of their vehicles to take all the luggage - and we had lots! - and then make room for a mattress in the back. Gabi took up her position laying on the mattress, whilst Phil drove and I sat like the Queen Mother in splendid comfort in the cab! I felt pretty awful about Gabi going all those miles in the back, but she would not hear of my changing places with her. Phil did, however, change with her, and again, Gabi and I chattered like two monkeys for mile upon mile. </div>
<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5043344277451548642" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhypHwr0K-yaaPvfH46YNpRB4uHKfBXvYzODlMffR_LZFDT94wN-j6G5tArH27pv0HvFeBw_J2APwt5qDmMQKj_cFR3XdcQvwGa94ldBAqBeSGyGlhi5kAIDhn7APWZFdlDxVwu1IWwg30/s640/100_1097.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /> <br />
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This was my last (perhaps) sight of the entrance to Garden Lodge with its <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Setswana</span> sign.</div>
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Talking to Phil is always a delight, too. He is such an intelligent, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">knowledgeable</span> man, and our conversations were so interesting that the miles simply flew by. His stories of his time in the Rhodesian Police, and the problems that country under its present Government has to bear were many. I had not realised just how tribal some of the atrocities committed are. The <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Matabele</span> are a very <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">peaceable</span> tribe who had been in positions of authority for many years, but the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Shona</span>, the tribe of the present Leader, have killed thousands of the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Matabele</span> in what is purely and simply a score settling exercise. It is to my eternal shame that I knew so little of the stories of our past colony. More of this situation would be corrected when I got further into my holiday.<br />
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We stopped at the usual vet fences, with their disinfectant troughs, and this photo I took at one of them. The vehicle on the left, with the canvas covered back, is the one we were travelling in. I don't think another sheet of tissue paper could have been forced into it we were carrying so much. There was the launcher for the Clay pigeons, there were boxes of clays and ammunition, a lot of luggage being delivered to Phil's son who had recently returned to South Africa from England where he had been educated. A very large mobile Freezer, which was wonderful, keeping our food and drinks icy cold - something of a real luxury on such a hot journey. Not to mention our own luggage - well, mine any way, because I had all my luggage with me this time, as opposed to the overnight case I had used on our 4 day trip to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Maun</span> - plus various parcels etc.</div>
<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5043329373915031378" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaju5qC4u31EHpcSxssmv4gfSAypLRhbGRoCgN9hAG3eGdzhinVPFFYpE35QPOvaKZgmneAooHvSrvpLqBbdxUGHYgFHuRVl46srK7myyiAQ1ESWqNmwUf5jk28Vjda5ZBe5KnXQR0qEE/s640/100_1110.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /> <br />
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We pulled off the road for a coffee and a sandwich, and looking around, as I tend to do, I noticed this caterpillar. Neither Gabi nor Phil had ever seen one like it, so if anyone can tell me what it turns into, please do. It was about 4 inches long, and the hairs looked like spikes.</div>
<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5043329361030129458" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPGAONP0g4hR9APamLJwKY8_R_cJQ_LXIbdDdyDnnXa_ytnC5VZFiRPJ6eKhNVoDY_NJq_ikdZ-zYjkTOEAcpR1ru_zwVSZz1NapwC7e8kniLZmi0YOz0uR8aNaWXp87NosnCSshTurds/s640/100_1106.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /> <br />
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I had been very wary about getting out of the vehicle into the long grass, because I imagined snakes would be lurking everywhere. Fortunately I never saw a live one, although we did see one or two dead ones on the road.<br />
You may recall me talking about the road becoming an airstrip in at least 3 sections of the route from <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Kasane</span> down to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Francistown</span>. This is one of them. As you can see from the volume of traffic, it is not exactly going to cause huge disruption if one did have to land. Apparently, when I asked our pilot friends, they are only used in emergency and were really put there for military use during the Zimbabwean (Rhodesian) <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">UDI</span> time. Happily, nothing required our bit of road when we were travelling along it. Mind you, it would be one thing to buzz a vehicle to get out of the way, but imagine if an elephant were crossing! <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Ooops</span>! A bit more of an obstacle than most pilots would imagine having to contend with.<br />
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<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5043370360787937266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrKCl71JQgR5pOg6dtP7PaM2kxNlGxZPln5NRTzEyVxH11KAx8quWj1czfkPyJlooSXa4GayQWdOlFmBT3riBA1OWD9N5jhNqIAHwB8_Grpg3LsiR5bKj0dEO8JXsxWkhn9URNYHJcka8/s640/100_1107.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /><br />
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The marks on the sky are actually on the windscreen, before you try enlarging the photo to find out the species of red bird!</div>
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We were travelling happily along when suddenly Phil said, -' Look - Ostrich!' Well by the time I got the camera switched on, this was all I managed to get! <img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5043329365325096770" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj73EqkVvIhxT8aiQXm9IPYG2O9VuyMT4h_j9_2Z2zc5MrGqhzmvwKkFT_aPyHWhRoc7QhDsmorT2cr3svi0pz7nZEbdGpk39KmGxPrDxUUhGFTMUeDSv3ILMdNaAX7otgsLW2Dljo4YVE/s640/100_1108.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /> <br />
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It does, however, show the amount of greenery that had carpeted the land - now lush and even more green than when I had driven up it some 2½ weeks before.<br />
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We were heading for <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Francistown</span>, and these next two photos I took to show the contrast. The first one I had taken on my way south with Vic and Terry in October, and the other on this journey south<br />
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<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5043335262315194290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7zOE_QQOhqHVysgT9ya6TDDdek6nZFFs81KylrOweqxG_boUrZkAFe0aVQt8eSH9lynZN-behUxt_WGWPG9tEKcvkSd1qZdcanaocBySyMbSm7EDaU0HCujiLthEmqmY2cpDy7ChsuVw/s640/Gaborone,Kasane+and+Francistown+2005+145.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /><br />
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and now </div>
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<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5043370373672839170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVe-9cOUvnINkEbAKF8zvjySfinQO9aCLAfNuITnm6Ut48wwxwuNzUkAkBEuYAEcb2gUoMzZgbxEDa7mQERiUb7a1g46uZntyaGyLEtIhteyDIfqksP9xr9lS6b2dtrXukVfx-pyjYfLg/s640/100_1112.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /> </div>
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<br />Again, apologies for the marks on the windscreen, but I am sure you get the effect. Hard to believe it is even the same country, isn't it?</div>
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This is a very quick snap I took of the swallows that had left our shores last Autumn, and will return this coming summer. They were swooping and diving all around us, but since they fly so very quickly, it was almost impossible to get a photo of them, which is why I just got these few resting on the power lines. It is strange how the sight of swallows gladden the heart, isn't it? Rather like the daffodils in spring. <br />
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<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5043370386557741090" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc2SJ_ZvY_IUP0lIzVtN_5ccuwCCH6KseP5zwX9OrCa4a-2ZlVOAbg0OLC4WasvWHG9e456DI1RLrmjKbs74zwk7V7Ov6e35ejflpm_pd7IyNzPZFAVH5JpYBO2v35J97zuvwJgZFILJI/s640/100_1117.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /> <br />
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We stayed overnight again at <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Gelli</span> and Butch's house, and all the animals were there to make sure they were noticed. They are not allowed into the kitchen, but this was a very tempting moment for them. </div>
<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5043344268861614034" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_8y0TCDBCzhNEuRnSdPBFqv2r0RSS0cgEKizTxinv3kXLG4jtbtJIsIPynMnH1KfjKF-lGnrrm0me8WmEaPAKvIkKmDWOqkIV1M52DSfMIAE3P6uaMAAoyHV-oLK7urdrnyfMt209Ooo/s640/Botswana+selection+659.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /> <br />
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Gabi called me out to one of the sheds where spare Freezers are kept. She wanted me to see THIS! It is a King Cricket and I was horrified by its size. Needless to say, I did not hang around long enough to look too closely - a click of the shutter and I was off!<br />
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<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5043329378209998690" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeu4W8itoz4_E3tDI2ibD5b_oTyXVsEHuDwV1q9e3fb_bNN-PT4pR5LowjMYmoGsalDmv4u68xZIeWAl03vnwRhyphenhyphen072a-C0-oSnPmVB4LhxFhg_HsA0xeUa1aqqFeTv6ZZzySWemI-cC4/s640/100_1113.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /> <br />
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The following morning, we went to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">Serowe</span> to get the vehicle serviced. The family who own the garage were extraordinarily kind to us. They loaned Phil and Gabi a double cab vehicle, and off we went to the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">Khama</span> Rhino Sanctuary. I had not known we were going there, and to my horror my batteries were almost flat for my cameras. Whilst I do have car battery chargers, they were left in the vehicle being serviced, so I just had to be content with a couple of photos. The first thing we saw was this beautiful wild <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">Nerine</span> lily. Of course, at this point I didn't realise just how flat my camera battery was, so I clicked away! <br />
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<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5043370382262773778" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6UdFF1Na-Gurj7zgz8F96GxCx_1B_m639CsmPuP2mTFLDhI9HZ1TL612OgCnDOW3RZJiYeRTugwlg99k73wcX9H1QXUfOaxYw5cdUuqa84tQ-lJTbYky-WFO2J6I3fe73xZ-oRQaaS_o/s640/100_1118.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /> <br />
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and then we got to the edge of the Pan (the name, as you have no doubt realised, for a lake or body of water).<br />
<br />There were <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">Wildebeest</span>, Impala, Zebra all drinking and it was magic. Trouble was, we were a long way away, and trying to zoom in used up the last of my power in the battery. You will have to be patient with me and forgive the tiny figures of animals.<br />
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<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5043370395147675698" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxDshNRhH6QDP0j1e0WrD6E9v58IXck5sBPNPEchF73x0PAPCo77tHAKpw9hyphenhyphenq80DQAYKIvknmHCSez8BGS3h5bkfHLBtd3edjXeyTntY2AfD7DSYsvwil34jCLJqHG4HpxjYMJIqZEnI/s640/100_1121.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /> <br />
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<br />All the visit went from one wonder to another - we rounded a bend, and suddenly there was a huge Rhino about 30 metres from the car. What heartbreak! No camera in action!! Of course, it meant that I just wanted to re-visit the Sanctuary, but heaven knew when, indeed, if ever, I could do that!<br />
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Back to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">Serowe</span>, we had been invited for lunch at the friends house. What an experience of pure hospitality and friendship that was. One of the most memorable times of my stay, we went to the most wonderful house imaginable - and no camera!!! What a shame!<br />
<br />The family is one of the oldest in Botswana, and their story is the stuff of legend. The great-grandfather had gone out at a trader at the end of the 19<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">th</span> Century, and was doing very nicely at it. The thing he lacked was a wife, and there were few white women of eligible age who were single. During his travels he had met up with an Irish family who had taken in an orphan girl of about 14 years. He was 30+ at the time. Doing what he knew best, which was trading cattle, and there had been a disease which had wiped out a lot of the stock, he did what came as second nature to him. He offered some stock in exchange for the girl. Frowned on, no doubt, by later generations, all was agreed. They were married and lived a very long and loving life, producing a large family, one of whom I was delighted to meet. She is the mother of the present garage owner. She and her husband had started the business back in about 1942, and had also had various other sidelines, like a cafe etc. Their son now runs the business, and in turn his children are also taking over. They have been politicians but their main concern is the welfare of their people, and the Rhino Sanctuary. They are, as I said, one of the most well known, and highly respected families in the country, and for me it was an enormous honour to have been invited to their home.<br />
<br />Phil and Gavin talked at length about the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">pre</span>-colonial history of Rhodesia, and the lack of any written history, but of course, back then it was only an oral tradition, and therefore extremely difficult to research. I was to find later someone whom Phil would be able to consult on his quest. Talk about doors opening and meeting extraordinary people most unexpectedly. I can never believe how it seems to happen to me. Perhaps it is something to do with the fact that I love people and am curious about them and their stories. (Or is it just plain old Yorkshire nosiness?)<br />
<br />Once the car was ready, it was time to head down the road to Gaborone, and to inflict ourselves on Vic, yet again. He is an excellent host - and he and Phil go back a long way, so it is always good to see them, as Vic would say 'talking shit!' (meaning, rubbish of course!). .<br />
They have it down to a fine art, and have always got a one liner to come back at anyone with.<br />
Vic's garden had grown a lot on the time I had been enjoying myself at Garden Lodge, and this photo I took from under the thatch covering the Jacuzzi - and no, I wasn't IN the jacuzzi at the time!<br />
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<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5043376055914571842" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuOS0Gnmv-yTOcHDOIACUkXCFJFgTprlSGnjVV7901qZNxzUU1E3vpOeVDzz13irdz3VQQ9nDkz5-XS18LbK0tk58xhy0m4tfOddNhrgoouv5lcyXW_PtKSKJVwzQKiy1Py-Elducg_bc/s640/100_1126.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /> <br />
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Now I had a couple of days to spend with Vic - laughing non-stop as usual. Gabi and Phil took me to a garden Centre, the likes of which I had never seen before, with the tropical plants in profusion. Next time I will show you a few of the photographs I took there. However, I now had received an email from a friend in the north of Scotland. She told me she had read of an orphanange and wondered if I would pop in and take a look at it. Pop in? It was 300 miles north of Gaborone, but since I was going to drive back up to Francistown to re-visit the many friends I had made there, I would try to find it. It was to be a very memorable trip in many ways.</div>Sunshine's African Kidshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15625511184269581478noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7378813653076101296.post-79719791722391708622007-03-10T09:51:00.000+00:002012-05-29T16:26:42.791+01:00A pride of Lions and a sunset - perfection!<div align="justify">
A Game cruise on the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Chobe</span> can last until it is almost dark, tearing oneself away from the excitement in order to get back to the Lodge before it is too dangerous to get there. The sun drops suddenly from the sky over Africa. Not the long twilight hours we have here in the North of the UK - and indeed, I do sometimes like to go to the north coast of Scotland near the summer equinox in order to experience the midnight sun - well if not exactly sun, at least be able to film at midnight without the aid of lights.<br />
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One of the many river cruises was particularly memorable for me. We had got close to the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Chobe</span> Game Lodge - this is one of the few Lodges actually within the National Game Reserve, and is where (incidentally) Richard Burton re-married Elizabeth Taylor. We had noticed a knot of game vehicles obviously watching something intently. Then, to our dismay, we saw the object of their attention.<br />
It was a pride of 7 lions. Some 2 km distant from us when we first spotted them, Kelvin turned the boat so that we could follow the line they were taking. Across the high bank of the river, we could see the golden heads, then the black tips of their tails.</div>
<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042301373492733522" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN8cEeuHUuaoD3YMPLUwXE-bRzedVvxwX-LA0GamDlJ4wUyENpSGbIKJexZv5ZoPDc_X7I-52_S7JJ61OPP0dIUs2y61WU7uGp2slGoPu024wcXuLNmjwd197hXKMAtOCeNpVjtnzFB1I/s640/Botswana+selection+095.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /><br />
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Closer and closer the approached, but quite slowly at first, whilst we watched. Video camera whirring (yes, well, not quite like a cine camera, but you know what I mean)! Occasionally I would pick up the stills camera in the hope of capturing the sight for you.<br />
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We were just 5 people on the boat - myself, Kelvin and 3 guests. As ever, I was at the very bow of the boat, but this time I scarcely dare breath. Closer and closer they came. All the time, we were wondering if they would veer away from the waters edge and we would lose sight of them. The leader wore an electronic collar - essential for the management of the reserve, since only last year there was Anthrax in the Reserve, and at least one pride had been wiped out. Now it is imperative that a watchful eye is kept on the health of the remaining prides.<br />
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FINALLY we were rewarded by this wonderful sight. I have lightened this photo so that you can see them more clearly, as the original is rather dark. </div>
<img alt="" border="0" height="490" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042301377787700834" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfJ5CHGufbcsgYk3qDSWRMknuBTwGbkumqf1zTu2Lq9ATc3OBenIWLeQhxslIHTqxvky36fgLKwr3yMfOSFGTU5KshMboQ245DdRYV6m6BGq-FUukFvaufptN8QIxV6aL4pV2Zrd5xW7g/s640/Botswana+selection+096.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /><br />
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It had been an unforgettable experience, and one that I felt privileged to have witnessed. On the same cruise we also came across these elephants playing games. Typical teenagers, pushing and shoving each other trying to each outdo the other in the test of strength.</div>
<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042301386377635442" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFdpilegesgvHSWSeFpmVTjNe4cBZ4A8H8mO8va3zP75G8-aAlXLD6El3whdoJFKA3xzi21a7-uRbs_KNRdk_WSxLTcBOWewGxSODA-gUXcfptUWuaz8PlaySvQH2dfYrXTOfKtRPl830/s640/Botswana+selection+013.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /><br />
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They played like this for a while, but eventually decided to go off in search of more adventures.<br />
Further along we came across this delightful scene of an elephant family - but the baboons were really bugging them, and the large elephant on the left was warning them to keep away. Eventually he got very cross with them, and was trumpeting at them to clear off. Of course they just held their ground, and the elephants went away instead!<br />
I bet there was a fair amount of muttering under his breath by the Bull on the left! </div>
<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042301390672602754" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdmHnxiLxlfxvl7s11qHVMIFBviM4WsxwtenRGxe9PT_jEihPyaeqF-mC3tZhnBwHk5no2oIe5S8UPyFhJPLxLDLERkVV6LEmQWCtMesE3zxlfPSU2waqN15cIB8-pmTGLBdl17G481Z8/s640/Botswana+selection+022.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /><br />
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As we were watching this scene, I was again sitting right in the bows of the boat, and looking to my right, was this baby crocodile. I was more than happy when Kelvin moved the boat, because if there is a baby, so also there must be a mother nearby, because as I have said before, the young are fed by the parents for the first 7 years</div>
<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042301399262537362" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVoJZLbfBpUzbW0AqLv2rVypbbOoxEEMOlyzy6AbFPUpyOjTEeGuRly_6zB8ctpsHI61nKXejKdNO5yXNsWEChx14cyqH3CJPylAQFqE4sFSgLmy2Mrx4xmxjV_4wyy6seEs1n017a07o/s640/Botswana+selection+024.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /><br />
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The evening was now getting rather humid, and there was quite a storm brewing over to the Namibian side. In fact, it was already happening over that side of the river, and was quite spectacular from where we were sitting. </div>
<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042304495933957794" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQZr8Efp5PFJTT2Xn_2G_ZBFavZXo_p3SfWfmviYMHD8_UZ_q05oyjfLIvpFdFYPZKHfINhaQi73sxPsPyfQ9bTXxKLr3YnRgBuTdYlLoNh7vhm6kGmx4teejoAf9c2oiHcBOwdAl9ACU/s640/Botswana+selection+016.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /><br />
However, before we got very far, I noticed we were being observed quite closely. This old chap was taking in the scene, sitting in the comfort of his tree. <img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042304504523892402" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYGvGIJu1wlJ5gCVYX1uDLKpuN0aqBiuP7hOOYnB0UNxQ3aT14Z65PjEaZxyF7hHn4gPxQcX-BdwCfShjrV16oKdQasMn8BwAX-unrd-oCI5QsHBgbEBSq7R48xeAn0ciJKnzW1FOYSVU/s640/Botswana+selection+021.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /><br />
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Time was coming though that we really just had to be moving back towards the Lodge, and this was one of those lovely nights, despite the gathering storm, that we were rewarded with a lovely sunset.</div>
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It took a very short while to go from this </div>
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<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042309061484193522" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFXt03ZDl6aTBkS4Lka6qu4fSmSNwva2HIa5ucC9T6AGUUfyJBfoQMnt2CnoEQPL27DGZU43bwHvn6z8heJj6fgehPy1Q95e-bNTiJtekKo9mmnLnmcoz7nL0ursdGnB1pLs_2drbj6OI/s640/Botswana+selection+025.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /><br />
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through this</div>
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<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042304508818859714" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9Gf7jWOaY1WjAqtLdW0TcuAGsWNi1dYM0VB7SbkzOWLzE2U5DrAnbWfgYBVkXEOoghLU6Lziv5sq-MPsZ9viJYc1O9D1-Y9s19cvWVyaSK3cxWYuwPO8mKkcYaYc2fc5UHWhqEJWh4o4/s640/Botswana+selection+026.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /><br />
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And with this magic moment thrown in </div>
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<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5040236275907405362" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWcErE-uDFzdEj23lvWV17OSV9VyevDkd44FHV-KIWAKOfk2LLiOYGWftG3-LIe0VjaUiOmjHW8svUBbXRsL-UpHEIVfK3CSlVV8DK1E_eg65MzSHl3RAsl51sNiOfqc7UPxNdVDsQIwQ/s640/100_0994.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /></div>
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and the golden glow of the sunset being shown on the eastern flank </div>
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<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042304517408794322" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv5ZN2BWWw1ONBJ-DpyIx8uVrhVrhUXl8eOcBPPLTuv4L1zW74dnGOH2eaqNP48UQOMZnOXUNum6vhBx7wkAAitYbx1JiBHwzPLFjL55FMSazWIeIfMmWz-gwD8qX8rS4iYs6nYOaH7SQ/s640/Botswana+selection+027.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /></div>
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and southern, or <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Botswanan</span>, bank </div>
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<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042309074369095442" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY2sbTJWmiWCeNtYO9Of1nYQPNPU33SAzrvS_s8uqsn7g_3v1hgq38vCAyspqSyAI4j7A0AjpnKI5mCdOF0wlBV6xR_oy2Tw_7ctzbFORARAgvmYFmni9YSU1p8lLvlWnt_LmeFPhmz3E/s640/Botswana+selection+028.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /></div>
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all the way to this glorious sight in the matter of about 10 minutes</div>
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and finally this moments before darkness decended completely.</div>
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<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042309065779160834" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwr5CqoWImko4d5icat7MwAsceeLNNznN0Pgf8W2CgQRlWyKz0W_O27VEiybaBf8V4O9ww-wi8W2K_gZuC6tZWO-3ejObz9jAjoJUeUjloAGYGBKhbzuppIVe4g0sxnTZDWIhCh6STe3s/s640/Botswana+selection+325.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /><br />
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Leaving me another game drive to do the following day... and all this time, Phil was adapting the Toyota so that he or Gabi could travel in the back of it, along with a mountain of things they were taking south for their son, as in a couple of days, we would be making that 1000 Km journey back to Gaborone, via, of course, friends in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Francistown</span> again.</div>Sunshine's African Kidshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15625511184269581478noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7378813653076101296.post-83732587880693225822007-03-08T20:46:00.000+00:002012-05-29T16:20:51.807+01:00Back to Kasane<div align="justify">
After our marathon weekend, which turned into 4 nights away from the Lodge instead of the two planned, and the little matter of a 300km detour, we arrived back to find there had been huge rainfall. The stores rooms had been flooded, but all was now cleaned up, and nothing had been damaged. Whew! That was a relief for the staff, because Kasane is remote, and owing to the distances that provisions have to be transported, it is not as easy to re-provision as it is for me to just nip down to a choice of 4 or 5 Supermarkets in Carlisle. There is one wholesaler and one Spar shop in Kasane, plus various other shops, but no vast choice selling everything under the sun. The population of the place without tourists is probably no more than about 12,000 (the size of a large village here)! However, what shops there are do sell a good range of the basics, and one becomes very adaptable in ones choice of ingredients. Traditional Raspberry Pavlova? Well, no, but fresh Mango or Paw Paw have to substitute, or fresh pineapple. The banana tree in the garden had produced a good crop, but they were still unripe.</div>
<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5039661818097638338" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIW3QxazONPlRz3QVbGW8Dy-kkGd1vYetZuZ1f2evzPaQ0LsUHbVTd8qshbLvjwkDpZdr4A1d8IJY9pidhJcXK0WMTCl97L1TDDkiIpTdomkdjR1QcqhhZ9JqCVutta2YKXmeTPzLOxGk/s640/100_0620.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /><br />
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These were growing outside my bedroom.</div>
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I had never realised that once the fruit is cut from the tree, the tree dies. Then again, neither did I know that the Banana is a member of the grass family either. There are fields of Bananas growing around Kasane. My plan had been to make Banana bread, and Banana Cakes, but alas, even a week later, the fruit was still not ripe enough to be peeled, let alone used to bake with. Now it was time for plan 'B'. This was just to go out and enjoy the Chobe NGR (National game Reserve) as often as possible. Every morning would see me going out with Kelvin, the guide, and sitting beside him in the cab of the Game vehicle, he was showing me how to track the various animals and recognise which spoors were left by which animal. All fascinating to me. With the height of the grass in the Reserve, it was very difficult to spot animals if you did not watch for the tracks. Here is the difference between the reserve in October, and February.</div>
<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5039663725063117778" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjOxdbe_TXo4cSDckT1mwTMi3019gL8BK_XAzP6Jm-QqI_3ILGgAFmFtvMQyAqWoeI5yt70-586SLRf8wx_bkF5wfpkivY6P0IxFMi_WDzEJv4AKHiWKEhqtCoumJPlhYeut08Ch5qSmk/s640/Antelope+family.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /><img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5039663733653052386" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8wmq-j4ZqUkAgkeCiJnhdI-JvNZ3VRB2PtTNz4JACGwjQeYZHxWqQWovy1ZQ5H-DSMR7UHqOSuC6Xif4CC-Ic-9JVOEVuqUEYmjesWp0XZ74UjDY9AeLc9t3IA4dKa8jaPmSNqPk4N5c/s640/100_0942.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV4kzr8gwV4Fx5oURzppyZU2tc8YcCTcrhwfWzNTi47AGgkpZiPR_Tmke7C1scXOm96ySu39xjaE42QbfEq1c0KuTxiNvp455W4ZPAjyFX5fVLbMtmxvDC-DPhJ3hPCBLCBWhHRxjFzd8/s1600/100_0936.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5039664631301217266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV4kzr8gwV4Fx5oURzppyZU2tc8YcCTcrhwfWzNTi47AGgkpZiPR_Tmke7C1scXOm96ySu39xjaE42QbfEq1c0KuTxiNvp455W4ZPAjyFX5fVLbMtmxvDC-DPhJ3hPCBLCBWhHRxjFzd8/s640/100_0936.JPG" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;" width="640" /></a></div>
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Another animal I was delighted to observe was the banded Mongoose. They are very garrulous, chattering away to their family group, and very playful. When I had been at the other Lodge in October with Vic and Terry, there were Mongoose playing in the grounds, but these were out in the Reserve. They are very quick, and I only managed to get a still of this one who was far too interested in examining something to scamper off into the grass. </div>
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As the year progresses, and the grass dies, and the water holes start to dry up, it will be much easier to spot the various species, but at the moment everything is lush and water is abundant. The Hippo can walk 10 to 15 KM a night, and will then find a nice deep water hole in which to wallow. It is quite startling to stand and look at a water hole and then have a dozen hippos raise their heads from the water and look at you. Their sheer size never fails to amaze me. In this water hole if you look carefully under the flight of the bird, you can just see one. Actually there were over a dozen in there, but submerged and seem to take it in turns to come up to look at us. A Hippo can stay under water for 5 minutes at a time.<br />
<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5039666005690752002" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifj0er5Ei22hGDEJzkKihQkXL95zxiWeiWGx_M62IWkQjQnIIMu2x5PT4o3wONRAQnyb5imDpI9xaPwnIDwso3MtY0_HSqMyw-hzXbWv4lBjpOinfc24ABOwUxdkgsnTtqq2pd6k-s95Q/s640/100_0927.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /><br />
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Kudu are another wonderful member of the Antelope family, and again, very well camouflaged<br />
and hard to see in the vegetation. These were very curious females (go on, boys! I know exactly what you are thinking! Nosey women!)</div>
<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5039661285521693602" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRvkMxHddDmFgzK0icO3aOeifb8ZSJugs4vceF8uY5PVhyphenhyphenxQnCwCjROf7UjKBdBEcQ9B4xAIvrSSZZIdjbdieTVhekJOsIx2Q0DOX7LxBnFPPDxT0gwlQJCoV4118grRa03Zvie-1rpXM/s640/100_0897.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /><br />
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I must admit that when I look at these beautiful creatures, the words 'Kudu' and 'Steak' on a menu just don't appeal.<br />
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Whilst at Kasane, I met lots of very interesting people - some were travelling overland to far distant countries (a journey I keep promising myself that one day I will take!) Some, like a young man and his little boy, were Zimbabwean, and had left their native land because they could no longer bear what was happening there. This particular young man was absolutely fascinating, because he had been an activist, trying to help to get his country back to the way he had known it was and could be. He had been thrown into jail, beaten to within an inch of his life, had escaped to South Africa with his little boy, and now was heading for Zambia, where he had property. We talked very late into the night (Ok, the couple of bottles of wine oiled the voices a little) but I was very sad to see him on his way. It is good that there are young people who are just biding their time to go back and rebuild their country. Phil had had similar experiences, having been in the Rhodesian Police, so the three of us had a very deep and interesting few hours where I learned such a lot about the politics behind the present state of Zimbabwe. All I can say is no wonder Mugabe won't allow reporting from inside his boundary - he has a lot to hide!<br />
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I met people who visit Africa frequently, and others for whom this trip is the only one they will ever make. Before I went, friends told me that Africa has a way of getting into your soul. I didn't believe it. I do now! It is a sort of primeval 'cradle of mankind' sort of feeling. Yes, you do see the poverty, the dirt, the undercurrent of violence. But, what you also see is the immense vastness of its beauty, the smiles that light up those dark eyes of the children when you wave to them, the friendliness back if you show friendliness first, the surprise on their faces if you actually apologise for bumping into them in a shop, the even greater surprise if you stand back to let them go ahead of you in a supermarket queue because they have less shopping than you do - all things that I take for granted here. How they love to talk to you, and ask you where you live. In my case, when I say Scotland, their eyes open very wide and they ask if it is really as cold as they have heard! </div>
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<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5039661272636791682" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7PGNC4f2s7RGEafYQt7NbgRk4zlo_P5ClZpTaTgWUIudv2AlcKhme7tOMKHZJ6VB0GZtqzGT4msWIKSwOvjRZ3XGNkD8cmCU9_dq-tVhXVDBYpKC1QdutkFOXXLSbRe8wQ7oJwKQ1W_A/s640/100_0887.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /><br />
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This is a female pied Kingfisher - one of many such species that live on the banks of the Chobe River. They nest in holes in the soft river banks and are wonderful to watch fishing.<br />
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The beautiful Fish Eagles are nearly always to be found in pairs, as they pair for life and stay close together except when actually getting food.<br />
<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5039661276931758994" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-Utjzt7eE5njVkaWajkeb8i3QIfD7LRAyBNwt83iTns2o6dsqyTLIBgHkMoJ5nc9KpXdwGJ29GZxs-oeL2HLWzhIBeB5a0YbLKsn5M7LqKCFnOwfL06u-mJ_kkxw2Z_SY0YST-uBsMOY/s640/100_0894.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /><br />
<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5039661289816660914" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoxMWkmjp57ndC7hp6-IHwusP4DIIeldYF-Jk8PdHL0RtXUP7Uh_0bzTq3RiLQBk66Q14u6kGfQY1IkVm-hBFanPsFzdGoVId9E9-OZ9Nw3ujPpeaSlSkAosvvVfytXHoXhM6uZ0kqVcE/s640/100_0848.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /><br />
This pied Kingfisher is perched on a Pampas Grass gently waving around in the breeze of a warm evening.Sunshine's African Kidshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15625511184269581478noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7378813653076101296.post-55034694698084739312007-03-03T15:52:00.000+00:002012-05-29T16:18:44.083+01:00Just a small detour..<div align="justify">
A little word about <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Maun</span> before we get on our way - having had a substantial meal in yet another cafe where virtually everyone knew everyone else - Gabi and Phil included. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Maun</span> itself is one of those places in the back of beyond, with a rather unkempt air about it. Not the prettiest of places, but then few places in Botswana can be classed as 'pretty' or even 'picturesque'. They are mostly a collection of houses and shacks, huts and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">rondavels</span> (round, mud hut homes) with the occasional magnificent house amongst them. Here you don't find enclaves of rich designer style homes, separate from the rest. They are all together. At one corner you may have a collection of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">rondavels</span> with their stockade around them to keep out the animals (no, not necessarily lions and elephants, but donkeys and goats!) and a block built, corrugated iron roofed latrine and next to it you might have a 5 <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">bedroomed</span>, three <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">bathroomed</span> luxurious house with a swimming pool and every convenience money can buy. Every other shop seems to sell airtime for the mobile phones. I find it quite amusing to see someone walking along with a load of goods on their head, and a mobile phone to their ear. This sign also amused me in the middle of nowhere!</div>
<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037730158116735090" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp3xxX8NGq1miPOtH4zCbtvaVLYeprlGNQc1XwR8A_JPBtuxlzErUmTl8IZcAf0yMXhMiwlJldH46i4CfEHd1Vsmb1P7Xz6JGWHOJG8-IUagYt2E4gCyG4hmBa2QaZ2gC-M8Zf0JW5r4E/s640/100_0713.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /><br />
Leaving <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Maun</span>, we retraced our route back to Nata. Deciding that a cool drink (and not one from the cool box we had in the back!) was a welcome reason for a break, we stopped off at <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Gweta</span>. There is a Lodge here that Phil & Gabi knew, so I got yet another chance to see somewhere I had not seen before. <img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037730171001636994" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFfnJhtEbyHXBO0upB2tPurGhFuXL_zqmSHOdLmmK9tnUksuhv4mVUG4Ok1FlEBg_0kOwpivgyFU_4GqLiTcpcpaM0MYEJMQJBNUi1NH4LeOzVkCxa_HGFjAs0FFnN-z_XfAH1OVN8mw8/s640/100_0718.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /><br />
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This is the interior of the dining area, and the young man is called Scott Montgomery. He runs a safari Lodge 40 Km into the Pans. He was waiting for someone else to turn up who would be going his way. This is not unusual - he was not waiting for anyone specific, but just anyone going to the Pans. The reason for this is that the rains had made the Pans very treacherous for driving, and sensible people do not travel alone (or at least a single vehicle). they try to make sure that there are at least two vehicles, so that one can assist in pulling the other out of any difficulties they might get into with the mud. The mud can be up to the axles of the 4x4's, and with no mobile phone signals, you could be stuck for days waiting for someone to happen along who might be able to help get you out. This is normal practice in the bush - and can entail a wait of a few days at a Lodge. When he had left his camp, it had taken him some 14 hours to do the 40Km, so bad were conditions. My admiration for these people is boundless, because to run these camps through all weathers, and in such extremes of weather conditions, takes a very special type of person. Only the most foolish people go off into the bush alone and in a single vehicle. </div>
<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037730179591571602" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8-Q-Qcy0FZ4qLsyhPeAbIesYhyphenhyphenuYUzbmldEndzTz9KJi3gbei-5g8-hBqWdDscfm_LL3X5mIOcIu1Tk0btusGbpnkZN5mF6yt6FVwh1mWZ8t503sex-Hd4kA_gJXf_J3dwYCLc-1sZ1Y/s640/100_0720.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /><br />
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After our brief stop we set off again, at this stage still intending to go back to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Kasane</span>. Talk turned to equipment Gabi wanted to buy for the Lodge, and after a phone call to a friend in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Francistown</span>, it was decided that we would do a slight detour (only 300 km or thereabouts), and go to the shops to inspect the goods on offer that might be suitable for Gabi's purpose. Another phone call to tell (no, not ask!) a friend that we would be arriving in a few hours, and was there a bed available (or to be more accurate a couple of rooms!) for the night. The friend was wonderful and so, at Nata, we turned southwards instead of north. The Nata River, which I had seen as an expanse of sand, was the fullest that Phil had ever seen it. We did another little detour to get some photos of it as who knows when it might be so high again?</div>
<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037731738664700146" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIM4k4EYcjrPCkVurAgW1fwaalsbopOLTQXbqDqx557gVeFe-5Ex_bRBVBNfQX-Nynx4xMA9DDN-yMfm98-ky2CDabU895WFxAEd7VBTuB7zTOa-q_qRNbhEDUM-GqIb3YHthQMn5lvLc/s640/100_0771.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /><img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037731742959667458" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjpiBy4nRPqNebCkpg68edxGLl6WuJks2JCjqiutj349GgErWc-gYNrLrR_dXhmL5a5S5juKlQGO0IBRR46fX2_rczJIezZV5QBVy3ta6njA9CxM2KVjMrLjTIItkT_RmWw8QqG_7Xr_Y/s640/100_0773.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /><br />
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Gabi and Phil on the old low bridge over the Nata River. <img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037734122371549474" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyA6IrDW9Mp1-5ZBT-l9osxVRX5dqKs8vb2xGS5ffoOzlbDF33E4d6mQ1uDQZmz8pUptUYeZz4czMJmaIx7UmOF_e_DaN_jKK7_wFOms_tITIS2Pg5R4KqMuHrSjQ-671sDdk11bhsrrs/s640/100_0779.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /></div>
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Arriving at <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Francistown</span>, we drove into the bush again, this time to stay with Angelica, another of Gabi's German friends, and her husband and little girl. Theirs is an old colonial style house, with its classic green corrugated iron roof. There is a covered veranda down the whole length of the back of the property, but the thing I did find a little disturbing was the burglar gates inside the house. I suppose one gets used to such things, but at first glance they are a little intimidating. </div>
<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037730192476473522" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhxWXdysGIjoLkwbmbUi831BSRITSqUKy9nvIEHbX1zVtel33xIiTIzulkv2hJvY3yeTL3p9R4rXAjKPrSMHaZiDtDFcPX2rblrzHeh5_jo_SGASwTPAW4FHVX7s1vqpxCtE1KGpkIias/s640/100_0746.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /><br />
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The swimming pool was very inviting, but each time the rain came, the colour changed from a clear turquoise blue to this murky green, and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Gelli</span> had to treat it yet again to get it to look the right colour again. <img alt="" border="0" height="490" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037731712894896322" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdsRh2eHPMtNTEOKXhCO-PGt_mZlNAgpGRiLgCmfkowfljV25L1IPwQIUdJUOCCyICrwRU0NFfE1J-9Icor0hto-bvHbpbjSiRW0qk9OHHNWex-SPOyUH4o87fAJ1rTCJHvCXn_TEY6lY/s640/100_0764.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /><br />
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Hannah, their little girl is a little star, and typical of most 6 year <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">olds</span>, was full of mischief. She was thrilled to bits to push Uncle Phil into the water and then scamper away as fast as her legs would carry her! Hers is a rather lonely life, being an only child and living out in the bush, but she is so lucky to have parents who spend a lot of their time playing with her so is not at all the spoiled brat she could have been. </div>
<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037731721484830930" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM5kJNXx2KbH5cPiUrWCDPLp4eyBXHRtyUWrtRkeuVVuSxXtcjHro9HHwGldicwe8yOwyofeqpJzdfuboXELnys50CA9ZI-OKzgfWUE_3apxK39lGaUMT53j6-rlckalYCaIowIZxm2YE/s640/100_0753.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" />One of their cats had also just had kittens, so naturally I could not resist taking a photo of them.<br />
<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037731730074765538" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5sHCgrFEVYuaqQgstW-BsUlJxFEwA4DoSO4ag3x__mRom9y_SBKvHU96sUUvsR_AWA-vSe9-cNGgFHXSdqpsxtf_k2zGzVrRnlj3UcIU7KZ-SKi8ByTdnvXH3shyphenhyphenH8AwLwI0FNGa_KOU/s640/100_0765.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /><br />
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I was very fortunate that night, because it was the night that the Ladies Book Club meets, and the meeting was at my friends house where I had stayed a few weeks before on my way north. I was able to attend, and what a night we had! Not having to drive, I was able to enjoy the odd glass of wine, and the conversation was very interesting. These book clubs (and there are many in Botswana) came about because books are terribly expensive in Botswana. Each club is restricted to 12 members, and each member buys 12 books one month in the year. This means that by the end of a year they have all read 144 books for the cost of 12. This club has been going a good few years, and had dozens of books on offer of every type. Many of the members also chose books for their husbands to read - after all there are no public libraries as we know them, so Book Clubs are a brilliant way of counteracting this lack. It is also the excuse for a party night for the girls (yes, I know that comes as a bit of a shock to you, but the truth will out!) and it was this book clubs invitation to me back in October to visit the School and talk to the children that opened up a whole new set of friendships for me.<br />
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Back at <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Gelli's</span> house, the garden is a dream. Here is a photo of the Hibiscus in bloom.</div>
<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037730183886538914" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioKFVbX2AcR53Eu3J8kLX19AhLqWvO78lL6SD__Agu62qJU7OdECSM2W513rhwDTBSxp4xF04kCqs0SyBTgUyPR217Byjz-7NiRq7_4nUNgDzS5GsNrbwcWf0TA5hyphenhyphen-sqVzu7aI3Q3Ynw/s640/100_0740.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /><br />
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Leaving behind <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">Francistown</span>, we headed back up to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">Kasane</span> but decided to detour again to take in a Campsite called Elephant Sands.<br />
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This was only 2Km off the main road, but the carvings on the gum poles supporting the roof of the main buildings just have to be seen to be believed. They were done by a Zimbabwean artist, and are a pure delight.</div>
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<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037734130961484098" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWM_y58XcW1Y0S4a-6qFmXeHtvdhdy5II6f8AKgevdNwl7KcAtlHwUt-q1SuKQmM647c3s7rlgkH59Wsi-jQ8M7DIfYmq50s7deehsAeo_ffTLFfRhUlYbwLawXQbqJKwBHajK_Nr2f-k/s640/100_0787.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /><br />
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I was very surprised to see the TV in the place, but of course, the evenings are very long, with night falling by 7pm at the latest, and no visitors around, so it must be a welcome distraction.<br />
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<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037734139551418706" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6LOX8PJcmJOxJ1MErQ1hLCnLc8Ci_jXFcM7eQZyJF7O7QuSovkgA2XT3HwO3uMNOM40Uk_864kKnW7ufNuINGrNDHmi9RO4jLZQ4iTaJ2MWWm4RVToV1Q2ZKfZ0maCi1A1W_2APr_bVM/s640/100_0788.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /><br />
The thatching is also a work of art of this building<br />
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<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037734126666516786" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje-_MTgYhjReaxXTMgsAbaO2Hj8B9vZly_ESVoVJVS01VqZerrVBcTzgWRD0xwle8QWtoCYHtskwSi7OXm6PNEB0pHIa4h5RCmMSkoyJ1MCdrCaROWMzhdcs6l4f9G9q9UFLoCC6DlaBs/s640/100_0784.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /></div>
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even the ants are artistic - but the Termite mounds can be very tall and solid as rock.</div>
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<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037738915555051906" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikSL_xY1bG-BEgfsfz0iuQSFRiK2bnixhxPaeXF9F76EnqgGkagzLZ-14EL80oZeWAxVMe_r5KiDqIqTJAhdbH0PJEZmmc-yP01T3mtospuYaJenzy9VntOUSiGa6JBk8ysJmU7TNnqzY/s640/100_0797.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /><img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037740487513082258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkJAdnMe-H6dff1sLdnAYA0Q_tgG3tiNlhL2Nd2eyoT9DlhemjIiYTWbaaXuA_-4iiYqeZAcRB9EGEH1a5XS0evTPslFRWmEr0e67ffOLbFAwWlWeP9zH-uFv8ag6V-keeoGwYkzXbta8/s640/100_0730.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /></div>
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and the Finger Grass, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">Digitaria</span> E<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">riantha</span> is already heavy with seed, only 4 months after there was not a sign of life. The wonders that water brings are stunning in their speed of arrival.</div>
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<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037738911260084594" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6-sQQHjjz3bKJn-4PTAWeHGH1T6kxiHS2if6Rh9ju8FVCm8gTn4VO3ZFaM-rBoE4zmEYbzbFSuGUWsqiZwBZL2ivC00NFGhYZKdWipU9WgDtDn5A42etok-5Cq0C6cjHye2JK_a2GycA/s640/100_0795.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /></div>
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and of course the noisy Franklin bird that kept us amused as he strutted around calling to anyone who would listen. He is a smaller bird than his voice would have you believe, but I have also taken this photo to illustrate just what being in the bush can be like - just acacia trees and long grass, with basically sand underfoot.</div>
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<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037738898375182690" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-i3w_vgh0HEeVU-sha1a5uxwyuTw2RrI10pq96xBSARczumkjbeggphQd7WjMgNnzYcHEdetFzpueiMZyuK5dbjIffD8QY5xRBMwXZ3XWXglNb8vqQv_gcwI5swNeRHAkpejM8Pf6OlE/s640/100_0794.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /><br />
Soon it was time to head back up to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">Kasane</span> and more game drives and river cruises, more cooking and much more fun..... </div>Sunshine's African Kidshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15625511184269581478noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7378813653076101296.post-72653411131402220272007-03-02T17:45:00.000+00:002012-05-29T16:14:32.028+01:00Maun and a bush paradise<div align="justify">
On many evenings I would go up into the Chobe Forest with Phil and Gabi whilst they were shooting Clay Pigeons. I always enjoyed these evenings, and to watch two very talented people practising their sport. I eventually was able to do the launching for them, which I thoroughly enjoyed. I would not touch a gun - not with a barge pole. I don't trust myself with anything more lethal than a keyboard (well, OK I know a car can be a lethal weapon, and so can a keyboard in the wrong hands!) but I had no confidence in even giving a shot gun a try!<br />
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Although I had no idea where we would sleep, I was amused to hear Gabi making phone calls whilst we were on the way, to a friend of a friend arranging for us to stay a couple of nights. Of course I am always up for any adventure anyone wishes to give me the opportunity to enjoy. There had been masses of rain, and the route to Maun had to be back down the main road I had taken a few days earlier, then a turn to the right for a few hundred kilometres till we got to Maun. Barbara & Guido offered us the use of the car I had brought up for them, so we set off in style. As we approached the first check point (I think I explained about Vet fences and foot and mouth controls before) Phil checked with Gabi that their driving licenses were in their usual place. Nope. they'd forgotten them! A couple of minutes later I was at the wheel, and happy as a sand-boy! I had my license and of course my passport with me. No problems then. They would split the journey with me, changing over just before road blocks and vet fences!</div>
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<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037388416158926802" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0_bEv0JzQ8IlUU8PQ-NDBjX_pfuLFWrB29T9PEPCRH1T9srtltFo7wPI4PUVenga21RQNJC7FxKG0WCLcMcvR3qK7rrlmrVRjR06JY8O_qlxZLIow04Gq6T1jz31ECFt89v_kk65xYXc/s640/100_0703.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /><br />
or just the storm clouds gathering (shades of the music Storms over Africa!)<br />
<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037390275879766082" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMeKWo4cHtzNFniHMB2TnyGI_m4y_rhWzWHghxgK33XD8yAkyN-gv1AGg2up47BPBnWQ7_tXpCvXKPj_AbuNOL_7bNnmxbl2GgEVA3ARc5PrB_Cn727AMlyikN23xAKk2zA0KtqO5cGJA/s640/100_0666.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /><br />
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All memorable in their own way. Once we got to Maun, we had to drive through 14 Km of bush to arrive at the home of a friend of Gabi and Phil's a German girl called Heike. The poor lass had only moved in that day, but mattresses and sleeping bags were found, a braai cooked (barbecue for our Aussi and other friends!) and all washed down with some good wines and beers. This was the night I got 200+ bites. Heike. who we were staying with does not believe in Mozzie nets, screens for the windows (although by the following day, she was busily putting screens up on her windows!) neither did she believe in burglar bars. Worst of all, she insisted on sleeping with the windows open, so really I stood no chance of avoiding the mozzies. Still I was more than happy to have a bed for the night, so treated it as just part of my African adventure. </div>
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<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037388441928730626" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBcSyAvkH67l9_asHeXdWLk5-ZWmUnr9yAAYK2qZBYjfnp3aCOHlsWNo82851pXQNqjEtwOWgr_O8bpPNKJFfwdTGnNNgOIkzw-ChnBDw7SVIWl8iCD28EDhMoxTmcm7Y26ud-ewhMtSg/s640/100_0707.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /><br />
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Burglar bars are an essential part of life in Botswana (and other African Countries as well). the African mentality seems to be that if the whites have something, the blacks are entitled to take it regardless. Is there any wonder there is a need for electric fences and gates and high walls around properties. This property had only been occupied for 3 weeks, but already there had been three break-ins. The worrying part as far as we could see was that for a 40 year old very pretty lady living on her own, and who is away flying (she is a commercial pilot) most of the time, she is very vulnerable. Rape is not seen as the serious crime that it should be seen amongst the black men. Yes, I must admit, I could not live there for a kings ransom. Delightful though the property is, and it really is, it is very open to crime.</div>
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<img alt="" border="0" height="490" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037388433338796018" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvnpsvNim1SwE4fRAZUGgEoxa7cnthIlUDG_4i2qawM0iUf19_JomQXsmtAwVyDqYBt5OgypTm6zg2ezkIEwuHuwSq_ZZfAhZe8ZhJfZbfjkHmxjAe9JLECh_MIgOtV2dOu7v7oykcL5M/s640/100_0706.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /> It is built as a series of small cottages - each with a ground floor and a mezzanine, and an en-suite bathroom. The kitchen is in a separate cottage, and the eating area is a thatched gazebo type building (called a rondavel). there is a large hearth in the open air which serves as a fireplace for a Braai. (Southern African name for a Barbecue)</div>
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<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037390262994864162" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmGxsBQNvxNFtW1hczzhhR5XQ54N0B7IDO0qq8QyXuafCcic_dCefPHtrlytS5sCRCvrHE5OeJ9CbgdOODz0m1P0pnDxg-Fyp4gB_kszrick4CPAr_OsIHn_IGHuWqgsESCSHqhXeOFVg/s640/100_0711.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /> The whole lot covered about 5 acres, with the river running along one boundary. It was well shaded by large trees (jacarandas mainly, which will look divine in the spring (October) and large Frangipani trees with their exquisite perfume. <img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037390293059635282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh7js1lfs8o1lIIrCoEwMjp_VjzpSXo-aVU-0SOf2Pl5uDorUf-lUMcHwg9vCam19qil0Pfc0GlpP4EWmDrzNlIP2hYNtlO4YfkqavKe13cXB77kbhoi771PqaL_pdHUk2szZkMsQ7PKQ/s640/100_0710.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" />The place had been empty for a couple of years, but already she had plans to get it back into shape. Of course, she has a maid from the nearby village to do the cleaning and the laundry - and another of the pilots has taken another of the bedroom cottages so she has some company some evenings of the week.<br />
<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037388429043828706" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFNO5AYdiFT_3ItNx_66JLm1rlWyWjPGPR1N2N5sHNpnJNqfI-X-U2qc3nHeqNzZV489hKO-ANRSHIUhshfoEwS5tEQ_q886SplhyER8inEYW_FhyphenhyphenY_twhVTZDXn9TBBsiMbaEVND7mZI/s640/100_0702.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /><br />
The birds in that garden were spectacular. This is a glossy long tailed Starling.<br />
<img alt="" border="0" height="490" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037390267289831474" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPhVsBfgFamdxoU6PQiD4QDNgCbG4g3OHLkLO8-VBbdRen20xzH9sJTdnELHGqFDMd3POdn38TNTgDnKBE2oZjWWeRT1fF5yGKSzDcJnjexBBIKHC0h0wXJk1ckYapZ5XbMHRKbp1WMlc/s640/100_0695.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /><br />
The colour is a brilliant petrol blue, but under the trees it was a little dull to take a good enough photo - sorry!!!<br />
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There was also a paradise flycatcher flitting about in the trees above us, with its long flame coloured tail and multicoloured body. Whilst I have, I think, captured it on video, I was unable to get a photo of it.<br />
<img alt="" border="0" height="640" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037396452042737762" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL3_QQ4CUlxA13laNC363m1XRZYRsBw3YUF7PfPnErREodn7UAl77eAV1ih0hnuHScZ2xO8vVqY3xu367wgz5Uj9R0kFFk39EM5FFhXEG8NQO3QYs592p7FRBZ3WTDHEaBd_QNYf5HiQM/s640/Paradise+Flycatcher.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="332" /></div>
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We spent a lovely day at the Shoot - every one is so very friendly at these local events, and virtually everyone took the trouble to come over and speak to me. Soon it was time to go back to Kasane, but true to form, we stopped on the way for a pit stop... and a slight change of plan...</div>Sunshine's African Kidshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15625511184269581478noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7378813653076101296.post-18254586278648500122007-03-02T10:21:00.000+00:002012-05-29T16:12:15.675+01:00Hippos and lillies<div align="justify">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiSu_U87wJ_X34oxGDIJEZfI36d8UCEFU9f43YvC98zbVktIlomGJaplkcRWk8K4v9OW8509s4jet6uopAqjcxjU61II5vbaSoKh8y00Rg1dma-hBgJOdoK6Yju-rq1PZHlDu7XTvO6hg/s1600-h/general_map.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" height="640" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037279890925291458" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiSu_U87wJ_X34oxGDIJEZfI36d8UCEFU9f43YvC98zbVktIlomGJaplkcRWk8K4v9OW8509s4jet6uopAqjcxjU61II5vbaSoKh8y00Rg1dma-hBgJOdoK6Yju-rq1PZHlDu7XTvO6hg/s640/general_map.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="432" /></a><br />
If you right click on the map and ask it to open in a new window, you will be able to see the map in much more detail.<br />
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I have included this map of Botswana but it is not really large enough to be able to pick up the detail that you need. GABORONE is down in the South east of the Country, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Francistown</span> to the east of the area that looks like lakes about half way up the country, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Kasane</span> is right up on the Northern border near to where the four countries of Botswana, Zimbabwe, Zambia and Namibia meet, and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Maun</span> is just on the edge of the other 'watery' area in the west centre area of the country. Now you have some idea of where I am talking about I will continue with my story.<br />
Settling down to the routine at <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Kasane</span> was easy. Those who know me, know that I do not require much sleep. What a happy situation that is, because sleep in the heat and humidity was very fitful. The fan was going full belt over my bed night and day - but all it did was move the air around. The Mosquito net was indispensable, and even then I managed to get bitten frequently. (Yes, I have heard every variation on being sweet that there is to hear). I covered myself head to toe in insect repellent of every variety, then gave myself my customary squirt of my favourite perfume to make me feel human. All it did was attract more mosquitoes. I am sure that the packages say repellent, when in fact it is a spelling mistake, and should read 'attractant'.<br />
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At breakfast and dinner there would be lighted <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Mozzy</span> coils under the tables, in an attempt to prevent legs and ankles being bitten. I would sit right next to one of these, and STILL manage to get bitten. By the end of my stay I had more spots than any leopard, and had to keep wearing long sleeved tops - they could still bite through those, but at least others could not see just how dreadful my arms looked.<br />
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More time was spent in the kitchen and so many times the only sounds emanating from there was the sound of gales of laughter, as we made all sorts of treats for the guests and staff. The staff thoroughly enjoyed these times, because they were rarely allowed to enjoy the things they were cooking for others. I tried to ensure that they got their fair share of everything, so that when they come to cook things without my help, they know what the recipes are supposed to taste like. Since I was buying most of the ingredients myself, I felt that they were not costing the Lodge anything, and therefore they were able to acquire a taste for scones and jam and cream, shortbread (both plain and orange), pavlova with fresh paw paw or <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">mangoes</span>, etc. to name but a few.<br />
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The evening river cruises were wonderful. We would leave the Lodge at about 4pm, and since night falls by 6 or 6.30pm, we were usually lucky enough to see the animals at their best.<br />
We had, at this time, 3 young American medical students staying. They were on an exchange with the Princess Marina Hospital in Gaborone and were taking the opportunity to see the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Chobe</span>, and also go to Victoria Falls. That first river cruise with them was unforgettable. At the sight of the first Hippo, they went into overdrive! Each of the girls must have taken at least 50 photos of that first Hippo. <br />
<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037275321080088434" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJwDrcq8ISuVW8Fa63PudTXlct8ler4-B1Ah_9hmmR-T9_8rT-nPYJ-9G8GPczxgZ0V_UfxTqfGj1d58XD1qR6Zl5h-udRtRemZiFxWhtRSe4DV3D_g0o4wOJdbavoXMqn47fj6oz_XBM/s640/100_0875.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" />The fact that we went on to see at least 60 more meant that they were having to delete photos in order to cram more onto their memory cards! The Hippo causes more deaths in Africa than any other animal, and when you see their enormous bulk rising out of the water beside the boat you are very pleased that they have not surfaced under the boat. However, this is a very rare occurrence, as they do not like the sound of the outboard motors, so one is relatively safe from that sort of encounter. However, should you get between a mother and her baby, a different, far more dangerous scenario can unfold. We managed to avoid doing this, but at one stage a Hippo decided to chase the boat, and our guide had to accelerate at one holy lick to get away from her.<br />
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<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037275351144859570" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh05hBqAKmdRn0GPVt__o-uZETGQvRXW5KCuI5YaFhkL0RIi-U_a3EiAhVuJuT4XOQjvmyqQ1IC0bzxCaPzWcCaoabVMS71MGFzEZbISfvQM2QLo0dM6ztQ4wz45nhJ6GEODUhung6nN_Q/s640/100_0867.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" />The darter birds get their name from the fact that they use their beaks like spears, and are part of the Cormorant family, and sit on any suitable branch to both watch the water for signs of food and also to dry out their wings.<br />
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<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037275329670023042" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY4F67NERI10d-GGXda8imNGTi471lcMR-m1AQ_BtHcx61GY23D2YMDVM9VVBBHCMUcID1wuq8Tx5zydkaQCdhmWAHLu1cDPivocEtf-uq-uoqibkX1qynI9-4Zif98lR3kMTNy5ubvkk/s640/100_0840.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /> Surprising to me were the large areas of water <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">lillies</span> - and we managed to get the boat well in amongst them to get a close look at their lovely blooms.<br />
<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037275338259957650" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSsKAsQBYFCbGr6GgoWow4IzyDtHCmri-Mv-n4NJLfg_WemWLI_ckeO5FisAm4C8a5PAfnwwOz2wDnwmDIyrKmFsoRMTDIOMcA1ttM2gtXtteQUvsTMek98DAS_xHFDEiqgVU3czH-Zdg/s640/100_0842.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /><img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037275346849892258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXHpqEAeh7iPNEQlgZttg1w9vmYel4vWfEWrc4mi26bwKd6LJX4wGi_MV647S0HW0884TmHkqi7QrheXK9YVzPgHMm8R8_F1ke6JhVlwP3gekSTiTgTrNleSbi_Tcanmup8-J306-Xio4/s640/100_0844.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" />I went on many river cruises, each one completely different to the last. However, Gabi and Phil loved to go clay pigeon shooting, and asked if I would like to go with them to a shoot in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Maun</span>. Why do people ask such silly questions? Did it for a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">nano</span>-second look as if I would refuse? Never!<br />
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<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Maun</span> is a fair drive from <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Kasane</span> in the rainy season. No taking any short cuts through the dirt roads as we only had a couple of nights, and it can take a day to go that way in case the vehicle gets bogged down in the mud. No, we would go the tarred road way, just a short hop of around 600 miles.<br />
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Although I snapped this guy the day before we set off, I have included him because he is a good illustration of why you never drive at night. This was mid afternoon, but with a rather hefty storm in the offing, so imagine what it would be like at night. Did you spot the elephant? No sidelights on him - or even reflectors.<br />
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<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037273946690553634" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaZ1ZcpdquMQqMS9iM6SjvdRdRqJJLkBlLdOUhjZ6m_NpqOnxjxBQVzwLp4a7KkqKRVy5HB4RpXg1yOp51Z419pSlOu9t3CxsZX5wZzaFuwuH-1py51t7-BSZs7xfzmXd9BMdsPr7SUOQ/s640/100_0659.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /><br />
Finally we left for the journey to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Maun</span>. This is a town in the back of beyond, but very much a tourist town, situated as it is on the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Okavango</span> Delta. Every other place in town offers flights over the Delta or boat trips on it. Now don't get the idea that it is near the sea, as the word Delta would indicate. This is the only Delta that ends up in a desert - Botswana is landlocked of course.<br />
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<img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037273955280488258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz3nlFZHmZ3ZNp7IYIzZkGnzfP8H2c0liivxx5R4fj8sjk8PHLVfGq8xRyx0IFGebvp9-4e6TE9BulqtzXZApqIXADSD-bruxkfHYvxg38wUGqcPsfDuP99SZiF-P5qwuWDAmxzQ0yD5s/s640/100_0674.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /><br />
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This chap was enjoying himself in the vegetation that had covered the land very quickly - there had been not a blade of grass only 4 months before.<br />
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We stopped for a cup of coffee at the edge of the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">Mkadgikadgi</span> Pans, a famous wildlife area that is made up of soda ash, and which rarely gets any water on it. Hence the reason for taking a photo to show that there was indeed water in 2006.<br />
<img alt="" border="0" height="640" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037273950985520946" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRHe3fO4AyCHZOPD5X4_TGYhTn07blKAKUMc7XRPEb7zD5c6Dplb7_lBdWkD6M4dbvR36bPqtlDJYm7jXdjzN0svAsRUOc_dc-cTC8XPfVAuTQtUBZ4_OUtxmc-JYl38iiGC132IIZsII/s640/100_0667.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="570" /><br />
Rainbows always fascinate us, and this double one was so perfect an arc that I had to take a video of it in order to capture it in its full glory. As you can see, it was a double one and we just stood and marvelled at it.<br />
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<img alt="" border="0" height="454" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037273963870422866" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisEdJPOMiAp7N3KnutBYIpdo5KLhV18TNaQI27Img-b_Tfjo7dwTvJLjra5z_qFN_7DitprfIrlk8y3UBF8b9gJgUf69Fq8AHYlufkGPqZJaD8Lnb50LagqseKyYUfvl4652YXnNr-tmw/s640/100_0682.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /><br />
It was lovely to be going to a town I had only heard of - but I had no idea where we would be staying.... but then, that is where my sense of adventure never lets me down.</div>Sunshine's African Kidshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15625511184269581478noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7378813653076101296.post-43982700782120782112007-02-28T13:00:00.000+00:002012-05-31T00:00:29.722+01:00Soup and Scotch Pancakes<div>
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Dinners and breakfasts at Garden Lodge (<a href="http://www.thegardenlodge.com/">www.thegardenlodge.com</a>) are an institution, with Gabi never sitting down to eat (so that is the secret of being super slim!!!) and Phil amusing us all. (That's Gabi on the left of this picture as the rest of us are sitting at the table - well, I am taking the picture!) There is no menu, as it is treated more as house guests than hotel guests, with everyone sitting at long tables together. <img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036575547330755618" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirX4zkngWrhuRcIAu8ZvMhUHR_uX7ni_2xEcuK3GyJx30mRP7NI4f1nLwMGUPnXdRs7Y7omPpS4FnRaS-x_IfqlIZwdNfWmxXm2_Y1mVw8nN-53i-cNui9bqG3KEarAiylO8Pt-M9wkDk/s640/100_0830.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /> When I got there new managers had recently arrived, and both spoke excellent English, although they are both German. I was made very welcome - after all there were no guests, it being the end of the season, and I was good 'practice' for the staff. This was Barbara & Guido with Phil supervising the harvesting of the bananas from the tree in the garden. </div>
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<img alt="" border="0" height="300" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036572592393255858" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEKWjsEjB-tpwhHRz9NQWiWcoLk8CdXXI1LZ4JOxGy8LYsuritI6yhQv5zFhCjmFBfhyphenhyphenuIs9lIjesFAmVeTRd58PFx_ZLnm4Lvqpf0ybfPN-n5ILR85iN1jDAmVFP9irJ0m7ygnowXgE0/s400/100_0825.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="400" />The rest of the staff have been there with Phil and Gabi for years, and I was taken aback when I was told how they all remembered me from my previous visit. I think this was a bit of flannel, it being more likely that they actually remembered Vic and Terry, and I was just the idiot woman who had come up with them before! I don't have illusions! Gabi assured me that when she told them I was coming they said that they remembered my laugh! Well, maybe.... </div>
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On that first morning, as I said before, I went off on my first Game drive of my stay. As you know from my last posting and photos we had seen the snake which the driver had told me was a Green Mamba. When I showed the photo to Phil later, it turned out to be a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Boomslang</span> and Phil laughed and told me that to the African, if a snake is black it is a Black Mamba, if it is green, it is a Green Mamba! Simple as that. However, it still has a very potent venom which will kill from internal bleeding, so not to be taken lightly! Truth of the matter is that the average African is terrified of snakes and will not go anywhere near one at any price - hence the reason you will only see white people handling them. The African is very superstitious, and there are many and varied superstitions bound up with snakes. <br />
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We continued up into the Reserve, and the rewards came thick and fast. My video camera was being used most of the time, but I did take a few stills shots with you lot in mind! Sorry if some of you are disappointed in the quality of my photography - David Bailey I am not, nor do I claim to be good, so you will just have to bear with the best I have for you to enjoy.</div>
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After the excitement of seeing the snake being captured, we were into the Reserve and the first thing we saw - and this is by no means a common occurrence, let me tell you now, was this ...This was a wonderful sight - and there were 7 or 8 others sitting inside that bush! They were shy, though, and despite my calling 'Here Kitty, Kitty' they refused to come out and enjoy the 40°C temperature! She was just sitting there languidly on guard, watching for any passing impala with which she could enjoy a snack along with the rest of her family.<br />
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This young Lioness was obviously on guard duty for the others.</div>
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Elephants are a great favourite of mine and this one, enjoying a juicy mouthful of new grass, came out just beside us to say hello. And to hear an Elephant trumper next to you, is deafening! It is certainly not a sound I am ever likely to forget.</div>
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There are these graceful Impala everywhere, and I never get fed up with seeing them! There are big herds of them some days, and other days you might only see half a dozen.<br />
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A beautiful female <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Kudu</span></div>
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I had, as I have said before, delivered a 4x4 for Barbara and Guido, and then they told me that if at any time I wanted to use it, I just had to tell them and I could. This meant the world to me, because Phyllis sans <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">voiture</span> is unbearable! It meant I was able to go to the shop and buy ingredients to start teaching the kitchen staff some recipes, too. This is Mimi, who is the under manager for the Lodge, and the daughter of a Chief. We spent many happy hours laughing together, and she taught me lots of things about the Botswana culture that I would never have learned anywhere else. I count her as one of my dearest friends.</div>
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What a lot of fun I had in that kitchen. They are good at cooking main courses, but their knowledge is limited when it comes to starters and desserts. Although it is summer in Botswana, it is also the rainy season. Yes, albeit warm rain, it is still wet stuff and welcome a blessing as it is, it still can dampen spirits! So, being an adopted Scot, I set too to teach them how to make soups. You would not believe how quickly 5 gallons (yes! gallons!) of soup can get consumed. It is something they are just not used to making - well, after all, Botswana is hardly the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Heilan's</span> o' Scotland <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">wi</span>' the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">dreich</span> days that have encouraged Scotswomen to be able to make a pan o' soup <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">oot</span> o a bunch o' heather and a haggis leg, is it?<br />
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First things first was a search around for all the surplus vegetables that were laying around the place. You know how it is, a couple of carrots, 3 onions that are beginning to sprout, a few wrinkling potatoes, 5 courgettes, a manky sweet <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">potato</span> etc. Chucked into a pot and some chicken stock added, 2 hours later you can produce the most delicious soup and the cost really has been virtually nil, as all those veg would have ended up in the bin normally.<br />
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There followed a number of variations on a theme, and each went down equally well. The chef makes the most delicious tomato and olive bread, so we were feasting in no time at lunch times. The equipment in that kitchen is basic - and when I say basic, I really do mean it. I think I had more equipment in mine the day I got married, and how I longed to have all my myriad gadgets to ease the way. However, they were 6000 miles away, and I just had to improvise. With no scales or measuring devices, I just had to remember being a girl guide (as opposed to a Boy Scout (!!!!) Writing down the recipes was a little more difficult. After all, how you write 'and a bit of baking powder to a handful of flour and a knob of butter' does seem a bit hit and miss.<br />
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I was surprised I could not buy oranges in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Kasane</span>. Considering we had supermarkets full of South African citrus fruits, I never thought of NOT being able to buy anything. How we forget the seasons for things. We are so used to having everything from everywhere in the world, that we forget how lucky we are. It was a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">salutary</span> lesson to me. We take so much for granted, don't we?<br />
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I wanted the oranges because I make Orange shortbread, which makes a pleasant change to serve with tea and coffee, but it was not to be. Eventually I did find orange oil, but it is not quite so good - but it worked insofar as no-one there had ever tasted the real thing, so to them it was very good. The same with Scotch pancakes. I was making them by the hundred! I would make a few dozen, butter some and leave the others plain. Putting them on the reception counter, the next time I would look, they would all have gone. It is such a compliment to have people enjoy what you make, and as they had never tasted them before, I soon had them addicted. I worked on the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">premise</span> that if I am fat, then they could be too and I would feel less of a hippo around the place! Treacle tart became another favourite, as did proper English Custard! Not the stuff out of cartons, but genuine, egg enriched, thick, creamy custard. Baked custard as well got introduced - oh yes, there in Botswana, you can now get a few old English favourites! At least you could whilst I was there, and I trust that they have continued making them - I did leave full instructions for everything I did.<br />
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Needless to say, this was not all about me going up there to cook. No, that was a by-product of my boredom at times. Boredom? Far from it. I was out in the Game reserve most mornings and what incredible sights I saw. Botswana is Animals - of course it is. Animals and birds, butterflies and moths, fauna and flora - a total immersion in mother natures bounty, really.</div>
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And there is always Gabi's dogs - here is <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Knudle</span> and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Tokolosh</span>, the Irish Wolfhound.<br />
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It is said that the first time you go to Africa you only notice the Animals, the second time you notice the birds, and then subsequent visits you notice the butterflies and vegetation.<br />
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I love the birds, and this Bee Eater enjoying his meal was a glorious sight. <img alt="" border="0" height="300" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036572583803321250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiray2Im7WSZALDiUOLzmW27DnNkyzldLGt0vmp1JziX2-0aRVkgjZu-wzoqqtOaxmLQl1tQVV6SdzhTB6yEEJ9pkSsP7JVWP7IurAwXq4SB5fKvgbRKozghihKs3md6Mi_tjr4k6VBLU/s400/100_0586.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="400" /><br />
This is an African Fish Eagle.<img alt="" border="0" height="306" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036583939696852018" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDgIB1ORQAJ8WoOIUp0NfljA_2GCEeILQMgF7oB3J2o_wRTYAyE-eJ7jkeonaeygP7679gjItKCZLOEpV5uhjneKpQCjevDYfQHp_X1UGdbMBB31XXOghTxLYc-FoCQCDDgKuKNZ1NdiQ/s400/100_0519.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="400" /><br />
My bedroom was usually made up with flowers tucked into the towels and pillows - such a pretty touch when I walked in at the end of a day!</div>
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<img alt="" border="0" height="300" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036574542308408306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5dyN2LYm1bB2_h_7VDX4cVXYR5w4XoKcjtchtQANnRlyXR6N9DzlKMQE9FE9GZqmtnfz_KKy7KA3V4wvHGU_Ba6vILdVRAno6eWN8MfpUn-E-xLw345dKZDJWWFO6ikxiUG7y6I-k2yM/s400/100_0802.JPG" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="400" /><br />
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Soon it would be time to go out onto the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Chobe</span> River for the evening cruise but that can wait until next time...</div>
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</div>Sunshine's African Kidshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15625511184269581478noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7378813653076101296.post-77006720734473629212007-02-19T17:51:00.000+00:002012-05-21T18:21:29.485+01:00Game drives and river cruises<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAPvxOl2iKhHc7BKc1VxENN4oLpPQ8YQrE_0WgoCgPOrSIlSQJEu0-G5__ZOih1kmVLpqRl66ndMLW0RKW4cnpzPVZnR-cgkJsJYizTw8iqPcIzzyaXIBJ2YnGOlOsOhyDIaiYwi4jwGA/s1600-h/Bi+007.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5033307865963818018" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAPvxOl2iKhHc7BKc1VxENN4oLpPQ8YQrE_0WgoCgPOrSIlSQJEu0-G5__ZOih1kmVLpqRl66ndMLW0RKW4cnpzPVZnR-cgkJsJYizTw8iqPcIzzyaXIBJ2YnGOlOsOhyDIaiYwi4jwGA/s320/Bi+007.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a><br />
Waking up that first morning was wonderful. At least it was, once I had untangled myself from the Mosquito net! It was the first time I had slept in the room right next to the garden, so my view was of the Canna Lillies with the Sunbirds and butterflies on them. Sunbirds are glorious tiny birds with long thin beaks - rather like the Humming birds, but larger. The colours are metallic greens and petrol blues, with white and pink banded throat strips. The butterflies were unlike any I had seen before - now it was their mid-summer, so different ones were about than I had seen last time I was there. There were large ones and tiny ones, some with the most delicate lavender margins to their wings, others with huge eye-like markings on them. It is said that the first time you go to Africa you only see the animals, the 2nd time you notice the birds and butterflies, and from then on, you see everything. I must say that it depends on the time of year that you visit. The dragon fly had transparent wings with a black dot on the end of each one, so as it flies towards you, you think it is five insects flying at you at once.<br />
<img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5033310228195830946" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqwZGypKfNS5OpxsJif-5KzLJ0p6XbnHCTEAoFEZUQGG6yn6Z1PR9ukxVFDZw6OqKvKybtGjlsefDhDJ4jWBsc331cVYUr0hnfN6IviP_XmlKziOjRevuEa-meRud_T8y9zc4jnumK1Zc/s320/Botswana+selection+164.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5033310211015961714" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSxZcQdhXqayzKVvGA_DRvdr3kRQom2KF6Kj4GwpQM5fKC-CPKlTgHkfCuh_eSXYyJEnScC4vajh7qcSlejvSqwl0ZO3vd0bFpOXh94bJ_GQ8H2qAiHNhwYRFO90_JYyK4tlyQpzkuG6g/s320/Botswana+selection+163.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5033307878848719938" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmTT_IorArev5RLqs3uJEXi7Hikbeggxr6yjqxi8dq6Z9GrQsyG8IQsMFv1J3hSJ8knugy4dGz2CreUPTzLLCtpNIX5skr3pZz5pBNRU4gWIE7Z7q6FV-_jREzzVYHWQ9Z7oQuNiQCME8/s320/Botswana+selection+080.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /><br /><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5033312968384965826" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLNbGYA_JZWfuYKPjHhl0Yd19WYPMcwji8w7XFcopKRmugwqeZcmC4HT7TLxof8HDVlHDMIafH3S-ii9_QXQ8Thv_Ua0GlPJDSl-zuTPjTd0LLOCnsvqMTbNXQZg6Q2DwL-wHLUlvnnZM/s320/Botswana+selection+276+Grasshopper+on+Digitgaris+Grass.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /><br />This was my room at the foot of the steps on the left. It was raining and the dogs (a Jack Russel called Knudle, a German Shepherd called Hunter, and two Irish Wolfhounds, the elder called Guinness, and the puppy(!!) called Tokolosh - which is Setswana for Ghost or spirit) were not exactly happy. Fortunately, rain doesn't last day in day out as it does here, but comes down in an almighty deluge, then goes away for a few hours!<br /><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5033310215310929026" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitd1nrSmM49yy3TgHzVVaLnymJW7_n6VcIsbzP6szzcPWMBTZf1QbhlbzgfqRzVTw29fFcTSE_NcnT5yoQv35ww5-ltxVK5XcbiTZf16oUO_6rBuUeC2GcoU-Gtw3aJV1mO1118NVVDxM/s320/Botswana+selection+121.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /><br />I had a day's rest, then it was going to be great fun going on game drives with either Phil, or Kelvin, who works for them and does wonderful game drives. He is very knowledgeable, and is a great asset to The Garden Lodge.<br /><br />As I said, the butterflies and moths were outstanding, and when you consider that most people only stay up in that area for 2 days, I was supremely lucky to have the time to photograph some. The large one was up on the rafters of the Lodge, and the white mark is nothing to do with the Moth - that was from the Owl who flew around at night feeding her young who were in the owl box that was attached to those rafters. <img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5033307883143687250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD1s1-Int_p4yZMeZ9OJ6cvEWD5YTetk_4WcFX_wEHRHeykAU9qgUdCjwqKCztSAgs0zXycRqTX25Eqzx4td5lnYuzByGZAmzE3GIeMFZKDMyDG5bqbVfkRcCQsOvVT_YvkuCy8BsSOwE/s320/Botswana+selection+118.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5033310236785765554" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjzWruog6j_CxXuj0eI810KWU8dMEe0gnG84hJEIEu4_ft0oaLt4EKveZ_8DpCFHlrqzICxxU9-pYjtdzD0wdtI6aoFZiHkGKM4FSDR5miSZ6WysQb3k_8Ir2A7IfJ_f-w5Z_z5GXBQ-c/s320/Botswana+selection+192.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /><br /><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5033307891733621858" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipyvq5KKHrs-CuXOr5aDvKsTbWcvRVByTIYjm2uEHGOwpedpXa8-PJ8byqylN5CL6vSqMb6z6lYey2gw07wg5zuZLAomPCVou1QVWPgALMX9y7_qmKcgQqsEbOq6fdOWrkvjKWM8_yki8/s320/Botswana+selection+117.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5033307870258785330" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqfAeyGC_nu0hcfB4KOUt8We83d8EnO7ZrPl4Y8WriPOqsdcCpuCa60bkwpTztUPCn1ZV7qLq1auyXhrtv8j4l3t4h5vk8JjWeC7Y_v0hWxGMDazcMciLgfT5wY-Agc080GriCKpKQLn8/s320/Bi+010.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /><br />There were various other insects, like the large green Praying Mantis, not to mention the rather large Dung Beetles that were more like birds flying around at times. (Urgh! no, I don't like Dung Beetles whatever anyone tries to tell me!) <img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5033310223900863634" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjafB8bBcN8kFMxoUjyFntbtw5FzYB2vj4EpmG7gMCOlfdfNGrR_8YpwGEC9AQDmpmZwWKmPAEVWFr1eaxyzBVTiuyBC96F2FyqsDHpop3vQvrabKGHhWSmQ72xUe604xLuDO0UyWTM6Nc/s320/Botswana+selection+138+Praying+Mantis.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /><br /><br />That first full day was ended with a trip to a neighbouring campsite bar with Phil and Gabi. It was really great to meet so many friendly people - and these are residents in Kasane, as January/February is the low season there. We were surrounded by people who actually wanted to chat with someone who was going to stay for a week or two, and who had been before 'with Vic'. That man is known just about everywhere and by everyone. Of course, the fact that he had installed Security systems, TVs and even fire protection systems into every Hotel in the place does mean that every hotel manager knows him - and asks after him with real affection. You could say that Vic is one person no-one ever forgets, and all for the right reasons. He never changes for anybody. He is fun, but more importantly, he does a good, reliable job with great integrity.<br /><br />This was, as I said, the low season. What a pity that more people don't go then, as the country looks beautiful and the animals are almost as plentiful as later in the year. All Game drives are chancy. No one knows what you will see when you set off. It is hard to convince people that these animals are in the wild - it is a Game Reserve, purely to protect the animals from poachers and is not a Zoo. Some tourists were even heard to ask 'What time do they let the animals out?' as though someone rounds them up at night and keeps them penned up so that they can be 'viewed' by passing tourists. It doesn't work like that - not at all. You may be lucky and see lots of the Big Five - Elephant, Rhino, Buffalo, Leopard, and Lion, or you could be years before you see a Leopard or a Rhino. It is a case of you pays your money and you takes your chance.<br /><br />Kasane offers every level of accommodation, from the wildly expensive Chobe Game Lodge, where Liz Taylor married Richard Burton for the second time, all the way to campsites. The only small, intimate Lodge though is Garden Lodge. It is run on the lines of a House, and you are house-guests. There is no menu, just everyone eats the same food at night (unless you are Vegetarian, in which case something would be cooked specially for you), and it becomes a big party and once Phil gets into his stride, he can keep everyone enthralled for hours with his true stories of his fascinating life. No-one stays up terribly late, because game drives have to be on the road by 9am, in time to see the elephants going to the river to drink. It is definitely a memorable and unique experience to stay in such a beautiful house - and where else could you imagine watching a Hippo grazing in the garden?<br /><br />I fell into bed tired, but with my head reeling with the warmth of the welcome I'd received - and ready to get up for the first Game Drive of my visit.<br /><br />As we drove off up the hill to the entrance to the game Reserve, the police were stopping everyone. There was some sort of a problem ahead, but very soon we saw the cause of it! It was a Boom Slanger Snake that had just been caught.<br /><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5033312972679933138" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-KtB-NYhM2oCS8T8MJYwQ9balJDrHw6n0Q1vrBCI7JRdM3Nt4qQG7BtdUzQL5xxgFqL3s5VnUYeHXVOTdZXznl8Qi9i6nwaQY1uyY9fUOrqAAub1JDwalrM_UHRejDeRA9SZ5I2_4eX0/s320/Botswana+selection+127.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5033312981269867746" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivYE5rNDUq1HromCf4r_7QShxsJe2-TcT7uO9EE7ifa7iv-MdG3agY9AEMOjGFfnffT85kiOg10gCtspziKFJeNY3yKbTjXeITOV1N-LZdx9b3pOa826c6QX4tT36AzwM6O5ZSwc5jCZE/s320/Botswana+selection+128.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /><br />I have included these last two photos of the Entrance to the Chobe National Game Reserve to show the contrast from October drought to February lushness.<br /><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5033312989859802370" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhGx7Dhr7ZsDsYVMGfDys40fBJ9UT0jQZb4uL4IBAwQ0MMXDv90oD6XgB5-nQRUuLfSX765xaOehM9IuyjU784QHSOJXPZKVyKNCZWXXPgDx7xD77HNZ3HBhwSFqVHSveS-e451bsp3bU/s320/Chobe+Entrance.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5033312989859802354" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD0KDzvokSS6vGoryJl1pzUlf5pePVrsaqmdqkSWIfkNQlzsRZl5FUZLTJdcCxPqVHVNKN8oHn7X0o_M63i2d3FHCyQfgNhipBTayQiZltVltV0QM1trrbX3GZoc2LMGs0JiPB-ig54Y8/s320/Botswana+selection+129.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /><br />We were about to enter and see whatever the Gods had decided we would be allowed to view this time.Sunshine's African Kidshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15625511184269581478noreply@blogger.com0