Back after a break.....

Hello to those of you who have managed to enter this intricate world. I tried to get through myself to check on my last entry and it was a nightmare! So congratulations a very big 'thank you' to those of you who left messages, which I have just learnt to open.




.......................................................ACCRA!..................in Ghana

Ages since I have been able to spend time at a keyboard, so this is the update:

Went through Togo like a dose of salts..... Sounds impressive, but when you look at the map and realise that it is a small, elongated country, you can see why it was so easy. Lome is the capital and it is on the border with Ghana----the only capital city in the world which is on a border and that explains it's history well, as the original Togo, as designated by the Germans in 1884, was twice the size. After WWl, the French and English divided it and the English incorporated its part with Ghana (Gold Coast then). The Togoese calmly, as they are a very peaceful nation, hope to reincorporate it into Togo again one day. Ghana does not seem too keen to have the Eastern lake/mountain area anyway.

I stayed in Lome for quite a time and then went about 120 km North West to the mountains where I spent another week walking and eating mangoes before returning to Lome and eventually getting to Accra ( just over 2 hours by bus away) for the meeting with Margaret and her fellow-delegates who had chosen to do a post-conference tour of the Southeren part of Ghana. We went to the East Coast Slave Castles, had a fabulous canopy walk in a rainforest and then went North to Kumasi, the centre of the Ashanti empire (that was) with its royal palace (the King was in mourning, so we did not have the promised audience). Lots and lots of information from our professional Guide and places to see and places to spend money. The night we returned, Margaret gave me a present of sharing a room with her in the Hotel where the Queen slept (and a Mr. T. Blair, but he is not of importance). The next day was spent lounging by the pool......Now back in my modest hotel near the centre of town.


Also back now to my original idea which has taken so long to get down to typing....





......................................... 21 KILOS continued......



Helen P.
A few Christmasses ago, Helen gave me a wooden container of bath utensils. One of these is a loofah-enclosed brush. Boy, is it useful in those Cathedrals of Voluptuousness, the Hamam! Or anywhere else one needs to scrub off the African sand and grime. Let no-one mistake this statement....it is GRIME. Because one is constantly walking in sandals, the detrius of a city very soon penetrates every exposed pore. Sadly, the tap has replaced the bucket and there are no longer hamams in non-Arabic areas.

Hilda Too (also).
or Hilda Two or Hilda Matthews -- my namesake and email buddy who took the address Francis was trying to get for me. So we became friends and over the ether, her sense of humour and love just radiated. I have wice visited that trailer-home in Idaho. It is stuffed so full of love that one is overwhelmed by all the love pouring out as you enter. Can so much love possibly be contained in so small a place? Hilda takes up a large part of my heart and I carry it heavily with me. As well as the container of Idaho Cream she gave me once. If you have ever suffered from rough skin on elbows or heels, take a potato, slice it and rub on the rough area. It is nature's answer to having a cream. Idaho is famous for its potatoes. And this is just the best handcream I have ever had!

Hotter.
This shoe firm has been my supplier of shoes for many years. It just seems to know what an old lady with broad feet and heavy walking needs. Their shoes have been through so many countries with me that thy deserve special mention. I first put them on during his trip in the Dogon Country. Walking up and down rocky paths and in thick sand proved no problem. I did not twist an ankle or ever feel uncomfortable in the heat of the desert. For many hundreds of years, the Dogon People have used their paths in which the stones are very well-bedded so that they never rock and the women carrying large, heavy containers of water, will not falter. When I was in the mountain area of Togo, the walking was different; along small paths amongst tropical bushes and often wet after a downpour of rain. Once again the shoes were ideal. So no need for proper hiking shoes.

Incontact.
Having a bladder problem and being able to admit to it and talk about it, is largely due to the great support from Incontact, a charity helping and advising people with these problems.. When I left them, they graciously presented me with a solar-powered radio! What luxury! This was when I was still going to do the trip by Land Rover. Sadly, I have to confess that the rucsac-travel option was not going to be kind to this wonderful machine and I have temporarily swapped it with Ingrid for a smaller, more robust wind-up radio. When I get back though, the solar-powered radio will be the star of the show when I am in my garden, where I have promised myself many hours of digging..... The BBC World Service has been the other star. Not so easy to get in the Arabic/French-speaking countries, but once in Ghana, a really wonderful companion. Laying under the stars on a rooftop and listening to Daniel Barenbohm give a Reeth Lecture, or stories of Africa, can transport one to another world. One of the latter was about the vast business of second-hand clothes which is overwhelming Africa. We in the West so easily discard our clothes when they are not yet worn out. We give them to Charities in the belief that we are going to help those in countries like Africa who cannot afford such luxuries as 'new' clothes. However, let us not forget all of us who buy our secondhand clothes with pride in the Charity Shops in the UK. But, the Charities are overwhelmed with clothes, so a large business has arisen where they sell them to middlemen who then sell them in large sorted bales to the women who sell them in the street/markets of all the African countries. These are bought with pride and it is said that the most sought-after are those which show the creases made by the baling twine; genuine article... The down side to this is the fact that this trade has put genuine clothes poducers out of work. In Lusaka, which was given as an example, the three businessmen of one firm who exported these clothes last year, made a profit of 100,000 pounds (US$ 50,000) each. The Lusaka clothes' manufacturer, whom they interviewed, said he used to employ 1,000 workers and is now bankrupt. How does one solve such a problem? Here in Accra, I had two days on my back as I had twisted it when helping a woman fill her watercontainer with even more water once it was on her head. Bending over the waterbutt, pulling up the water and then lifting it to pour into her basin on her head, was too much for a softy like me, so I decided, after a week of riding in a bus, to take a proper rest. After weeks of not knowing what is going on in the world, I can now tell you all the world news you want....clear BBC reception.

Ingrid B.
A tremendous support over many years, Ingrid got it right with a gift of a book. 'The Shadow of the Wind' lay amongst my things to pack and was just what I needed with which to start the trip and relax in Agadir....under a tree, by the pool, in the airconditioned room, in a park, on the beach... As I read, I admired the quality of the translation from the Spanish original. Only at the end of the book did I see that it had been translated by the daughter of Robert Graves. As a Guide, this brings to mind one of my stories I tell tourists who visit Poets' Corner in Westmister Abbey. (OK you can skip this if you are not yet totally bored). There is a plaque in the floor for the First World War Poets...quite a few names. However, the only one of these illustrious poets who was still alive when the plaque was unveiled, was Robert Graves. Not many people can claim such distinction, I think.
My other story is totally unrelated; In 1963 (Yes, that is where I was when Kennedy was shot), Margaret and I were living in Tangier. We were regularly invited to Sundy lunch by a wonderfully small, round woman who lived on her own and would always end the meal with slices of orange soaked in Contriue (sorry about spelling!). Afterwards she would dance around the room saying 'I am pixilated'. No one would have guessed that she wrote steamy Mills and Boon novels..... The other evening, which had been given to me as a present by Margaret, when we spent the night in the Hotel used by the Queen (and T. Blair if you must...), I consumed most of the bottle of brandy Margaret had brought along. It reminded me of our previous times together; I was pixilated.

Ingrid.
Everybody says their daughter is the best. I cannot argue with that. I could not wish for a better daughter. Constant advice and tremendous awareness of all the practicalities I shall be facing. The body belt for money, given years ago, is still in constant use. She sensibly made me practice can-opening with the Swiss Army Knife she gave me. Not one of those impractical monsters, but a slim-line one to which was attached a long string so that one cannot easily loose it. The first time I used the knife, during the first stop in the bus after leaving Agadir, I peeled a mango and left the knife on the wall.....This was a good lesson in sharpening my awareness about loosing things. Sadly, there have been other losses from inattentiveness brought on by fatigue. Her Pyranha waterbottle is a steady companion. I wondered why she seemed to put store to such a gift. Then someone told me that it is unbreakable and the best thing I can have....so I am suitably impressed and really have mistreated it with no damage to its water-holding ability. The times it has relieved thirst and cooled me down by wetting my clothes! The waterproof document case is reassuring, although I have not yet been in a situation where I am worried about my passport being stolen. This will surely come as I move south out of the safe Islamic area and into parts of Africa where theft is more common. Ingrid lent me her Body Shop T shirt which said 'now you see them' and on the back ' now you don't' when I cycled in Uganda/Rwanda for the Dian Fossy Gorilla Fund. This time she gave it to me and it was soon worn out with all the fully-clothed swimming I was doing in the Niger. I gave it to a little boy who had accompanied my bullock cart one aftrnoon in Dogon Country. This was when my minder was looking after me when I suffered from heat-stroke and had no energy to walk the 5 sandy kilometers to our village of the night. It was late and the bullock driver would have had to return to his village in the dark. The little boy suddenly appeared and said that he had been sent by the cart-owner to accompany the cart-driver back in the dark. The Dogon people are very aware of the spirit world around them, and it would have been frightening to travel alone.
All those laminated documents! Ingrid cleverly uses her laminater for all kinds of things to do with work, so to have the use of that was wonderfully convenient. In my flat, it took pride of place as I was packing and anything related to paper was soon laminated. It has meant that documents that are frequently handled are not made grubby, and they are actually very impessive, so when I tell people about my fish-research, they can read it in English, French or Arabic and are suitably impressed. The document gets shown and passed from one to another...And the labels on my rucsacs are not yet peeling or curled up. Nor are the sturdy Zips on the rucsacs sticking or misbehaving. Ingrid made sure that they were all waxed and treated with Ziplock.
I take a Vitamin B tablet every day. This is my only concession to modern medicine so far. Because I do not like to take malaria tablets, Ingrid suggested that those little mossies do not like skin that smells of yeast. We await the results. I know it sound very irresponsible not to take something, but as I do not know where I will be when and this is a long holiday, as well as there being different strains which not all tablets can protect one from, it really is a game of roulette. Yes, I have recently heard of two European cases where people known to friends died and of one of intensive care in Hospital. Then one sees so many people here in Africa who take it as it comes and have various herbs to drink etc. Most are just taken to hospital for something and appear none the worse.... As long as it is not Cerebral Malaria, as Margaret said. But then I will not know and my lifeline is long.... One has to have a sense of fatalism on a trip like this. Ingrid got me the long-sleeved shirt and trousers which are made from non-mosquito-piercing material, and if they cover most of my body when there are mossies about at night, I should be reasonably safe. When I recently wore the trousers, I decided to unzip the bottom bits and use them as shorts. I had noticed a little label on the left zip which had an 'L' on it, so assumed the trousers were 'Large'. Only when it came to rezipping the leggings, did I notice that the right leg has an 'R' on the label. Now I feel like a child who has shoes with 'L' & 'R' on them!
There is a small (Keyring size) calculator in my bumbag. Ingrid knows how hopeless I am at calculating the different values of the different monies (17,000 Cifa to the pound in Ghana!), but I cussedly believe that I do not need a calculator and have not used it. I have been warned often enough to keep an eye on moneychangers, and they are the only ones I have used so far, and have invariably caught them out when they either cleverly switch the calculation on the machine in the palm of their hand in front of you, or count out the bulk and then dismissively give you the last lot, as though you can surely trust them now.... And when you point it out, they graciously give what you should get (or at least what you bargained for) and honour is restored and you leave with a smile. All in the day's work...... In Ghana, everyone walks around with vast quantities of notes, but at least no coins are used. Jenny told me that in Zimbabwe, a 500,000 dollar note was recently issued. Value 5 pounds (10 us $).


James B. and Andy S.
Both doctors of parasitology and very impressive-looking on their Stirling University-headed notepaper letter of explanation to anybody who questions what I am doing. Being such dedicated marine biologists, James and Andy have given me the ideal opportunity to do some research for them. With those translated letters of introduction and many and various items to go with the disecting kit and phials of laboratory alcohol, I was given a swift lesson in how to gather gills and fins and put them in the liquid for posting. All very interesting as it has often given me a purpose to go somewhere or to involve the locals or to have an excuse to watch a catch being brought in. In no time one has a crowd of people around one and they enthusiastically bring forth all kinds....getting paid for it is also an incentive of course. I hope I can continue with this as my rucsac gets lighter through loss or discard and the authorities so far have shown no interest whatsoever in its contents. Also the letters are impressive enough to be read in awe rather than used as an excuse to look through the stuff. If I remember correctly, there are 21 identified fish parasites in the UK, but only 2 in the whole of Africa. We could be on to something here.....

Jane T.
Jane was one of the original professional Tourist Guides in London. A great linguist, this tiny woman guided well into her 80s, although it came as a great surprise to find out when she died that she was 92 years old. We became friends so that when she died, her executor asked me to help clear out her house. It was packed to the rafters with wonderful things she had accumulated during a lifetime of travel. I was told to help myself to whatever I wanted after the assessors had been. The (then brand new) purse I use all the time is very handy with its various pockets for essential bits and pieces as well as large notes and coins. Even my passport... The little silk scarf she loved, I brought as a talisman, but when I tried to wash out the desert dust the first time, it disintegrated. But the earrings she wore, are in my 'jewelry bag' for 'best'. Not had a chance to dress up yet. Another invaluable item I always knew would be handy one day, was a bar of Fairy Soap, which had been languishing in the kitchen. Wonderful what you find when you decide to have a clear-out or, as in my case, a clean-out for future tenants. The bar of soap was very useful for 'smalls'. I made a dreadful mistake one day. My large items of clothing are given to the many men and women who do washing in all the towns and villages. I notice on a Sunday in Accra, when the usual sellers are away, that the time for washing takes over and the pavements are strewn with drying clothes. Anyway, I had given some clothes to my Minder in Mopti to give to the washerwoman and he came back very agitated. Amongst the things was a pair of knickers (yes, the Dior ones!) and the women regard it as an insult as they never wear smalls and would never wash those of others. I had to pay double for that lot.
More than anything for which I am beholden to Jane, is the fact that her executors gave me 5,00 pounds from her legacy. It is this bequest that I am using and which has made this trip possible. Such an unexpected gift has changed my life......

Jeannette D.
Jeannette knew that I needed practical items and her supply of ziplock plastic bags has been ideal in the desert (as Vinca said, 'sand gets everywhere') and helps to keep things in order. There are certain items I have not yet used (like 'best' clothes) and the bags have kept them firmly at the bottom of the rucsac.

Jenny C.
Life throws wonderful things at one and the sudden appearance of Jenny, whom I last saw as a 7 year old on her father's ranch in Zimbabwe, was one of those occasions. Jenny is now a confident young lady who is taking a gap year before going to University in South Africa. She knows and loves Zim very much and inspired me to rethink my trip. Zimbabwe is certainly back on the list of countries to visit and her father has been encouragingly saying, 'when is Hilda coming to stay with us?' I love the ranch and the great outdoors it represents. Why go to a Wildlife Park when I can roam on this ranch and see the animals all around me? So a definite 'must' on this trip. But Jenny was just the right person to arrive in London to look for work and help me out when I was wavering or needed stuff doing. Her practical suggestions and advice and ability to just do things for me was great. For example, she went to the computer and found out which visas I needed and where to get them. She helped me decide on the practical and very sensible rucsac, on the sleeping bag and gave advice on malaria and also the confidence to me to know that I can buy anything I need in Afica. The latter is so true; you just stand on the side of the road and the whole supermarket and more comes to you. Africa is a country of small business people. They do not keep money in their pockets and as one thing is sold, another is bought. And the word 'recycle' can be given its roots in this country where everything that has lost its original purpose and which can possibly be used for another purpose, is converted instantly, put on sale and then copied by many. So you have whole areas of specialist items that reflect reuse. Car parts into farm implements or cement bags into shopping bags. One of my favourites is to see how the old hubs of car wheels are used as bases for the inevitable umbrellas the street sellers need. So Jenny sensibly and charmingly helped me to hide my money, laminated documents, chose which family photos I'll like to look at .... It became a 'just ask Jenny' time and I remember so fondly the help she gave.


Josephine Du P.
Grandmother of gentle Jenny and my 'family' in South Africa. Her mother was my mother's school friend. She is an 'earth mother' if ever there was one. If only Josephine could visualise the comfort I get from the 'neck rest' cushion she made and gave to me so many years ago! It is reasonably small and soft to fold away, but wherever I travel, it comes out and gives the necessary support. When I am reading or sleeping on a hard floor, that cushion is my comfort. And it lulls me to sleep as it returns to Africa from whence it came.

Now I am getting sentimental and will go back to the city centre of Accra to work out my next move.

I cannot get away from Ouagadougou!

Just another chance to type the name......

Yesterday I walked for hours in the heat of the day, just to be reminded why I usually avoid it. Not very pleasant....... But it is the only way to get to know a place and I thoroughly enjoyed seeing all the myriad of activities that take place from small premises along the way... Africa in its own way is into recycling in a big way. The people may leave the streets dirty and filled with plastic packaging, but where saving materials of worth is concerned, there is nothing to beat them! But it saddenedd me to see how many sacks of rice come from countries like Pakistan, where we are lead to believe that there are food shortages after the earthquake. The whole movement of goods around the world alarms me. I watched perfectly good leather shoes being made from recycled things, but was constantly bagdered by sellers with cheap shoes from overseas. And there is already evidence of the Chinese invasion. Projects for which they have cleverly won contracts. They will change the face of Africa considerably, I think, as they do not come in with the 'we are the experts and you must be the workers' attitude. But I did finally find the bus-station for Togo. Just to be told that there are only two busses a week. So another day here as I leave tomorrow early in the morning.

Continuation of 21 kilos

(for those who do not know what this is about: the things on my back define my thoughts--and they come from my friends---in alphabetical order)

Anna Maria F.
I had never met AM until Francis's funeral. But she was huge in his life, and if anybody has had a child, you would know that their best friend's mother is always 'if only you could be like her' stuff. It was AM with whom Francis had deep converations in pubs or who fed him with her boys when it was more like a family for him than us two alone. And a few days before I left, she came over with a bottle of wine and a packet of rolling tobacco. We finished the former and I put the remainder of the tobacco in the waterproof pouch Ingrid had given me for my passport. When I was in my apartment in Nouakchott, I happily rolled cigarettes in front of my French TV and relaxed with the memories of an amazing woman who keeps her male-dominated family going under past, current and future pressures with all the strength of a very special person. And here in Africa, one also sees the amazing fortitude of the women. When I asked why women do not use the modern generated pounding machines for their daily millet cakes rather than spend back-breaking hours at the pestle and mortar (I tried and it is jolly difficult), my male guide told me indignantly that the taste is not the same and that it is womens' work. And to see the women balance large, full, water containers on their heads whilst negotiating steep stone steps to the village, one is left as amazed as if one had seen a complicated ballet take place.

Ann E.
Without whom I would be lost! That Western Union Gold Card of hers will no doubt be brought into use. Wherever one goes, one sees the yellow signs for Western Union. In the old days (I am thinking of nearly 50 years ago when I first became aware of it in Southern Rhodesia), one could drive for endless miles through the African bush and then, out of nowhere, would appear a red disk and the words 'Coca Cola' on them. Today I think that 'Western Union' is the winner. It means that I will never be without money, as their money-sending facility is so efficient, but it also shows how much Africa has changed. Surely the only reason for this is because workers in Europe or the USA send back money to their families. At a very high % cost to the earners. But many people are totally dependent upon this 'blackmarket' economy. My Guide in Mopti, called Sec, was in the process of negotiating a large contract with a German client. To secure a deposit, he asked them to send him the money via Western Union. I was a bit upset and told him to open a Bank Account which would make people more likely to want to pay to avoid the large charges. He had never considered this and I suppose lived so much from one client to the next, that the idea of saving was difficult to understand. I got him to get photos as the Bank required an identity pass and made sure that my payment went into the account as the initial deposit rather than be spent immediately amongst his friends and relatives as is the custom... It leads to a certain kind of un-African selfishness, but when I explained that he might be able to save for a motorbike, he was overjoyed and his emails to me are now full of gratitude that I have put his thinking on another level....... Ann not only offered to be my Emergency Bank, but she arrived with a parcel of a note-book and very clever torch-pen. It makes one remember those nights in Boarding School when, after 'lights out', one got under the blankets with a torch. This way I can cock a snook at the mosquitoes! And the note-book is already nearly empty as I make notes or tear out pages to have directions explained. I have not yet used them for toilet paper as one soon learns to adapt to the ways of the desert where water is used very effectively. No more description needed, but I assure you, it is effective! But I was amused by myself today in my Hotel. It is the first place I have been so far where toilet paper is actually provided. Quite a luxury! The roll was put in 'upside down' as far as I am concerned and I had to resist the temptation to turn it around. Some of my friends know of my obsession with having the roll the right way up.... Such are the things of small minds..... Today too, I had to change the $US Ann so kindly provided. I had hidden them in my English toilet roll (to continue the theme) between the cardboard cylinder and soft paper and I was proud of this 'hiding place'---although I will not divulge other similar places to you. A thief might be reading this Blog! My Hotel has overstretched my budget and I have finished the Euros I brought with me. Currently the exchange rate for $US is not very good and I do not know if it will get any better (as I have no idea of what is happening in the world). I have a whole pile of 1$US notes which are so battered that the exchange people (a man in a back street to whom someone directs you) refuse to take them. I am reluctant to give them out as tips or payments for favours, as I have been approached by too many poor young men who ask me to give them something in their own money for a euro or foreign coin they have obviously been given by a tourist. And a nice surprise is that the money in Mali, Burkino Faso and Togo is all the same! So none of that dreadful mental exercise I have to make every now and again when crossing borders. Lastly, one cannot forget Ann's great gift of medical items! We will not go into the where-froms of this. Sufficient to say that a small pharmacy could have been set up!!! And when she had offered and I had remembered reading that condoms are a very useful emergency item to have (tournique, water container..) I asked for some old ones. But she came up with masses of in-date-condoms amongst other things like sterile needles, plasters and bandages and all kinds of things I will never know how to use. Her instructions on how to set up a drip went way over my head! As somebody said to me; 'Africa heals' and I just hope I do not need any of these useful things.

Anne K.
During her brief visit to the UK from SA, I was showered with presents, one of which was a sensible-shaped and sharp knife. Anne knew just how useful it would be. And so it proved. With the mango season in full swing and me being mindful of Ingrid's exhortation to always peel my fruit, the knife had been a godsend. Sadly, too popular. We were on the boat which I had hired to take me to Lake Debo along the Niger (4 days and 3 nights) and I had just finished peeling a mango. The cook asked to borrow the knife to prepare the fish we had just bought and disected for research purposes. I put my hand overboard to rinse the knife and was taken by surprise by the force of the water. It shot out of my hand never to be seen again. Sadly missed and finally replaced yesterday by another bought from the inevitable stand along the road. I promptly christened it with a mango needing peeling and of course, unaware of its sharpness, cut my finger. It was just something to suck clean and keep away from contact, but some blood had gotten onto my shirt and my hands. The locals were extremely upset and worried and I had to laugh it off quite forcefully. When I think of the thick red blood pouring out of the head of one of the accident victims yesterday....

Anne H.
Had it not been for Anne introducing me to 5W, none of this would ever have taken place. And if you are still with me, you would have been saved on a lot of reading. Anne is one of those people who effortlessly travels the world and knows all about its intricacies and knows how to inspire you about a plant or rock or road that seemed nondescript before she was there. She made me aware of the fact that there are many wonderful women about who like to travel and visit places, but do not neccesarily have the means. Through 5W you can stay with like-minded women who usually become instant friends. When I read about some of the journeys they ave undertsaken, I am filled with praise. Women are really being freed to explore like never before.

Anne M.
The extremely useful large plastic bag from which one can extract air, arrived by post just as I was packing. Anne had kindly asked if I was interested and promptly sent it. How did one travel without such conveniences before?! It is extremely useful for reducing ones' clothes to minimum size. I have put my 'best' clothes in it and not yet needed to unpack them. Although I no doubt have enough clothes, I tend to wear the same things all the time. Life becomes very simple and less stressful if you do not have too much stuff. It is a lesson we in the West find difficult to adjust to. However, I think I have managed. I have not yet worn a nightdress (too hot anyway and will only require more washing) and it is very easy, when one is with the locals, to do as they do; just find a place on a mattress and go to sleep. Having said that, I am always pleasantly pleased to see how scrupulous people are about hygiene and cleanliness. An African will not greet you in the morning until he has washed his face. At first I found it a bit disconcerting when I happily said 'good morning' to the bodies waking up aroud me and nobody responded. It is these subtle signs of cultural differences which make travelling so rewarding.

Burgert R.
Not that Burgerts' contribution is anything in my rucsac. His are the praise-poems and exhortations via the internet which lift the spirit and make one feel special. I met him 40 years ago and we have grown old in our recognition of each other's lives....but the spark that creates friendships which overcome time is still very much there. Nice to know that a spirit guards one's memories. I set off for Togo tomorrow and will no doubt be fascinated by the voodoo practices I hope to encounter. Here in Burkino Faso, there are hardly any animals left in the so-called National Parks due to poaching. In SA, Burgert fought a tremendous battle to save a rare colony of birds in trees on the edge of his village. But the developers won. It is not just the hungry local who is destroying the Goose that Lays the Golden Egg. When one sees all the plastic detrius on the ground, one despairs. But a culture which depended on nature (and the wonderful goat!) to decompose whatever is thrown down, cannot be expected to change overnight and adopt recycle/tidy habits.

Bush House.
It is always a thrill to go into Bush House where the Shop stocks wonderful items to do with the good works of the BBC World Service. It was originally set up as a bit of an opposition to the German service before WWll. Today it has lost out to a certain extent to CNN and other TV stations, but where there is no TV, its clear radio programmes in different languages can be found. Sadly, now reduced from an optimum of 45, I think. This is where I found my little books of African Phrases and 'The Wisdom of Africa' apart from the radio frequency timetables. The last few weeks have been very frustrating for me as I am not a natural linguist and I have been deprived of my phrase-book. It really is a bit of an insult to visit a country and not be able to communicate. I was quite amused when people who do not often come across foreigners, found it difficult to understand that I did not speak at least French (" you mean there are countries where they don't speak French?!"). So I try to learn a few greetings and am rewarded with looks of appreciation. Most of the people I have encountered know at least two or three languages. I was amazed at how Sec could instantly define the tribe someone came from and start talking to them in their language. And the subtleties were lost on me: some were traditional enemies, others were of the same grouping, others were from a tribe with whom they have a taboo due to ancient history, others are 'brothers' and are spoken to in a bantering way. And the Dogon form of greeting is the most complicated in the world! I used to think the Arabic greeting a long one, but the Dogon win by far. Every time you meet someone you have to go through a ritual of phrases which does not allow for editing. It allows one to appreciate that time is not important. And that is something I have happily accepted during these travels. If you have to wait 5 hours for a delayed bus, you do. And not being able to speak a language but trying to be polite in company by not bringing out a book to read (terrible temptation!), means that I have been able to observe the subtle relationships within a family. How people defer to each other and how the children, who have no toys, learn to define their dependancy on other members of the family. There is an extremely strong bond and inter-related social structure which gives the children a place in the hierachy. What nonsence I talk! Get the Anthropologists to define this and leave me to just smile and greet......

Dad.
My father's family originated in Germany and went to SA in 1883 when his great-grandfather emigrated for health reasons with 8 children and a governess. His grandfather was interned during WWl and his father during WWll---as though they might have been enemies. Both died as a result of hardships encountered in the camps. My father was not allowed to join the SA forces in Egypt, but was given guarding duties near home. I remember as a child using his wonderful tin helmet as a potty. But what did survive, is a whistle with which he was no doubt meant to alert the country that it was being invaded by the dreaded Hun (shades of Dad's Army?). I took this whistle after his death when sorting out the house and now have it on a long rope in my pouch in case I ever need to call for help. How one can do so in the stress of the moment is impossible to imagine, but one does these things in the vain hope that they would act as a talisman. Ingrid told me of the trick of adding a rope or string to small items like keys so that they do not get lost. And very useful it is... At night in 'bed' I can tie the little Mosquito bite zapper to my wrist so that it is easily available and not lost amongst the other items one has around one: waterbottle, torch, book, glasses, moneybag, mosquito repellant, damp facecloth, small sucsac, drying clothes and so on..... I realise what a tortoise-like existence I now live.

Dervla Murphy.
Whom I have not met, but who has been my inspiration ever since Margaret introduced me to her travel books. She is simply my heroine and there are often occasions when I say to myself "what would Dervla have done?". Having her travels and great knowledge as an inspiration/example gives one the confidence to proceed. There is no way in which I am trying to emulate her (she is far too tough and knowlegeable), but so many people asked me to let them know what I was up to, that it became a bit of a challenge to do this Blog. I doubt that I would keep it up and am only now doing this list as it came as a surprise when I thought about my posessions; but it is also because I have suddenly acquired the time due to bus timetables and can use an Internet Cafe which has wonderful modern flat-screens, is air-conditioned and actually works!! And they provide free coffee......... None of which would interest Dervla.

Donna D.
A loyal 'Garden Tours' client who has become a friend. Always generous with presents and books, I am just sorry that I cannot celebrate with her our 10 years of working together this month. The Chelsea Flower show seems another world away...which it is. Why do we use such useless phrases?! One of last year's presents was a make-up bag. This is not crammed with make-up, as those of you who know me will instantly recognise (I have mentioned the non-used lipstick), but it is a superb square shape and is crammed with medical things. All you ever wanted to have on your travels and never used, says I cynically. Judging by the storage instructions, most of the antibiotics have been exposed to more than 40%C and must therefor be useless. But one carries them in any case in case...... Sec, the Guide, had stomach ache and I gave him a Rescue Remedy pill, which he assured me made him feel instantly better. Later one day, when we were walking on the banks of the Niger river, we came across one of the many little temporary settlements of the Bozo people who are fishermen. We stopped to talk to the family and I was admiring the dexterity with which the woman was taking still-live little fish from a basket and then turning the fish body sideways and pulling free a hard fin which she then used as a peg on which to fix the tail. In other words, the fish is now a round shape and is then left to die and dry out in this way. Later I saw many like this in the market and was assurd that they are exported to Europe. While I was thus occupied, I noticed that Sec had disappeared into the hut with the husband. Later, after questioning, Sec told me that he had had a session with the man who is a Healer and that the man had passed incantations across his stomach which instantly cured the problem. I am not doubting thses cures and just repeat that there are many ways to heal. I always maintain that 80% of healing is in the mind and we choose to be healed by the 'science' which suits our personality. Simplistic Hilda!! I might talk later about my own health which is currently very rude.

Esther P.
Before I left, Esther, who has a very strong faith for which I admire her very much, gave me a little wooden cross and tract with my favourite Dali painting depicted on it. The original Dali of Christ on the Cross can be seen in St Mungo's Museum of Religion in Glasgow. It is certainly worth an effort if you are ever near Glasgow and reaffirms to me the fact that all kinds of religions are there for all kinds of cultures. No one is of more value than another. Just before I left, I went to say goodbye to Dick (my ex-husband). He was dying and I did not expect that he would live for more than a few days. He died the day after I left. I was sorry to have missed the funeral, but Ingrid gave a detailed description of it and I could just imagine it as he is buried with Francis. He had a tremendous faith and he was totally resigned to his death and was happy in the knowledge that he would be joining Francis in Heaven and be buried with him. All this was a great comfort to him and I accept unreservedly that his Faith helped him through the last days. When trying to discuss religion with some people here, it was useful to bring out the little cross to show how we all have symbols (the Islamic Star and Moon is the equivalent). I kept it in my Passport bag, and no doubt, because of the frequent extraction of the passport in the middle of the night, I accidentally dropped the cross because it has disappeared. But the memory remains. Here I love the way the Islamic religion permeates life. No matter where you are, if it is time for prayers, you get down to it. So often the taxi is stopped in the middle of nowhere and everyone gets out to face Mecca. In the streets, there is nothing to stop someone from just standing still amongst the bustle of the town and to then get down to praying. In houses especially, the women use a stone, which I learnt is the equivalent to touching the earth, to say their prayers amidst heated conversations. You just let them get on with it whilst talking to others. I was in a taxi in the town of Segou in Mali one Friday at about 2pm. We were about to cross the main road when it suddenly filled with thousands of pedestrians, cyclists and cars. A tide of mainly men were all directed towards the local Mosque. My driver just stopped the car and we showed respect for about 10 minutes before proceeding across the road.

Eva D.
Years ago, when spending a holiday with my favourite aunt (Dad's sister), she gave me a pair of 'African' earrings. They are ideal for this trip, although I have not yet worn them. One does not look in mirrors and I certainly do not try to change looks every day. So another pair is being used at the moment. However, I now have an attractive necklace around my neck which was given to me by Sec. It came from a store of stuff in his room, and just as the hat he gave me came from the same supply, I ask no questions. Sec wanted to shower me with gifts because I had taken an interest in his Guiding skills and taught him quite a few things which he assured me would make him the best Guide in the whole of Mali. He was a pleasure to teach and would retain the most obscure phrases, to come out with them later and take delight in my surprise. One of his favourites became 'to indulge in a bit of banter'. I had asked about the conversations women had and he said, although the loud calling sounded like arguments, it was just the way they communicated. So I used the phrase. One night we were ready to sleep on the rooftop of a Dogon household and below there was a gathering of women and babies. I asked what it was about. Unusually, the husband was alone to one side of this gathering. It turned out that the couple were newly married and that the local young wives had been invited to meet the new bride and tell her about the village and its inhabitants. Amongst the converation translated to me was the sentiment expressed by the visitors; "she did not come to my child's naming ceremony, so you must not invite her..." (Small-town sentiments!) But as I fell asleep in that glorious area of isolated villages inaccesible by road, the banter drifted up and I heard words like 'Orange' and 'Nokia'. In one village I did see a sign of sophistication: an elongated cart with straps across it and one inflated wheel. I asked if that was to be used to transport tourists when they sprain and ankle or break a leg (which often happens) and I was told that it was actually for women in difficult labour to take them to the only hospital in a nearby village. When we came to that village, one of Sec's hangers-on (for want of a better word for the many related people who wanted to share in our walk -- Sec is Dogon himself, so you can imagine the greeting which went on!) decided that he wanted to see the doctor about his stomach aches and we were asked to accompany him. The hospital was built on the outskirts of the village and it was 'closing time'. The French female doctor was sitting on a bench in the fading light with a colleague. She is part of a rotating medical team from overseas and was most pleasant. She sent the man off to wet a urine sample strip around the corner (well, OK, in the area known as the toilets) and he duly returned with the evidence. She decided that his liver is not good from too much drinking and gave him some tablets to take. I hesitatingly asked if she could diagnose me as well and offered to pay. She declined and just gave me a urine strip with the same instructions. When I think of the way in which, over the years, I have given urine to be tested in sterile bottles etc etc, I wonder why we are so obsessed with germs in the West.... Yes, as I thought, I had a urine infection. I thanked her and told her I shall drink even more water. She agreed and that was the end of the consultation. And I drank more water and am cured....

Felicity C.
Felicity sent me a generous contribution which I used to buy a map. This sentence sounds so banal. It does not reflect the great present it is! Without the map-book I would be lost!! It was the only one in Stanfords and covers the whole of Africa. No-one has ever seen another and it stays close to my back in a special pocket in the little rucsac. On it I mark my route and plan the next move. It is detailed enough to show all major/minor roads, National Parks, World Heritage sites etc. and gives substantial information about countries and places. The size of Africa cannot be underestimated and I shall be happy to have crossed a few of the pages of this book. A more valuable aquisition cannot be found.

Francis.
Without knowing about it, Francis has supplied me with many happy hours of reading. Books from his extensive and varied library which I brought with me to swap whenever I came across an English-speaking tourist, included 'Hard Times' (the world of Dickens's characters no doubt reflected in parts of Africa) and Tennessee Williams's script for the 1955 film of 'BabyDoll' (how easy it is to change a life through a chance remark or a twist of emotions). Francis's down sleeping bag was too bulky to bring and has now happily been transferred to Ingrid who needed a new one, but his silk sheet-sleeping-bag has already proved very useful when sleeping in the open where there might be mosquitoes. The highlighter he used at work marks my progress on the map and his camping spoon and mug were items I have subsequently discarded. The mug was soon superfluous to needs and I happily gave it to a lady who was laboriously emptying a bag of grain into smalll plastic bags for resale. Everything seems to be in these thin plastic tube/bags, which litter wherever one moves. But it is clever to sell cold water this way and things like oil or sugar all come in these containers. The thing that strikes me is that nobody has a store of goods in the house. When you decide to make tea, you go out and buy some leaves and some sugar. The little portable charcoal burners are fed by small piles of newly-bought charcoal and bread is bought as it is needed. So a breakfast could involve quite a few trips to the bakery. The spoon was given to Sec, who thinks it sophisticated to eat with one. Francis had had a very large bottle of Marmite in his store of things which I sorted out after his death. There was still a lot left when I was clearing out my cupboards and I suddenly thought that it could be useful. It is a great source of Vitamin B and salt. Just what one needs in the desert and against mosquitoes. I filled a little plastic jar with Marmite and every morning I have a fingertip lick. Hope it works!

Francoise.
I never met Heather's aunt, but after Francoise's death, Heather summoned me to visit her in Brittany where she was clearing out Francoise's house. My taste in clothes is simple, but here was a mound of lovely things still in original packaging or hardly worn by somebody roughly my size. I returned with enough clothes to last for the rest of my life! So it means that the coulotte, cashmere jumper, gloves, knickers (unopened packets of Christian Dior), nightie and kaftan are all very welcome. In other words, 'clothes for Africa', as the saying goes. I was made very aware of my insensitivity to local customs the other day when I asked Sec to take my clothes for washing to the women he always uses. He returned quite agitated and had to explain that my pretty Dior knickers had caused great offence and he could only placate the women by paying them double the usual charge. As African women do not wear knickers (and it is a custom I happily embrace now), they would never dream of giving someone else anything so personal to wash. The wearing of the local dress has also made me aware of how non-local people are viewed. We are far too ready to impart our customs on others, without realising quite how offensive we can be. Mauritania is actually called the Islamic Republic of... so one was more aware of the womens' dress there than here in the relative sophistication of Ouagadougou. But the women here dress in the most sophisticated clothes, adapted to African customs. I take great delight in watching them fly past on their scooters of moterbikes whilst showing great elegance. Sadly, I gave away the gloves and jumper when I realised that they were not going to be needed for a long time. The next morning I noticed that the ancient man in the house where I was staying, was wearing the jumper and I was glad to know his bones are being warmed.

Franziska S.
My last, magical, family Christmas was spent in Austria where Franziska gave me a little 'Africa' cotton passport holder. It hangs around my neck and has proved to be most useful in keeping the necessary documents ready for production at any time. It also contained the African Phrase Book with its 300 expressions in 12 languages. I am aware though that, as I move South, my need for French and other languages will become less acute. But I will still try to learn a few necessary phrases.

French Railways.
In February I shared a couchette (sp?) from Cannes with 5 ladies who disembarked in Toulouse whilst I continued to Bordeaux. In the morning I raided their un-used 'goodie-bags' and took the earplugs provided, from them. Small items but jolly useful if I want to keep friends and we have to share sleeping quarters! I have offered them to people sharing rooftops with me, but they were refused. So I can but hope that my snoring is not too much! Personal habits are soon forgotten when we all share and one just has to accept these ways of life. Thus if the bush-taxi stops, everyone just goes to the side of the road and does the necessary in front of everyone else.

Guy H.
The Arabic translation of my passport which Guy supplied has not been required yet. I really have had no problems at borders although one sometimes has to suppress a smile. But hey, if I had to try and read Arabic........Once a border official became a bit angry because he said my visa was out of date. But then I had to explain that that was the date I applied for it and that they had stupidly written the valid dates on another line... Watching someone laboriously copy my details in Roman script can be heartbreaking. And we had 26 police checks in Morocco where the disputed area of Western Sahara is still full of landmines... Thankfully many checks no more than a glance at my photo.

.

Still in Ouagadougou (OK, I like to type it!)

Have been thinking of a few more items I carry like a tortoise with me, which I actually bought (wait for it, you will eventually hear about where the others come from!):

My 48 -page passport and 80 copies of a photo of me. It is surprising how soon those photos disappear. It seems that African Visas require 3 every time. I have resisted the very many requests for a photo or business card. And the times I am asked to give my address and to write or to be written to! Today I walked endlessly to go to the French Embassy to get a Togo Visa (as all books advise). The official there said 'no, I must get it at the border'. I knew I could get one there, but as that is for only 7 days and I want one for longer..... but 'no, you will then have to go to the Ministry to get another once you are in the country'. No good trying to explain that I might be walking in the mountains far away from a 'ministry'.... On the whole I have not yet had problems...only am amused when the endless forms to be filled ask me for my father and mother's maiden names. And how many children do I have? and what is my marital status? And then, when I fill in all kinds of rubbish, it a accepted without a word. But I did save the Mali man (he of the Phrase book) some money one evening. The Mauritanians take the record for having police-blocks every few miles. Sometimes you get out, sometimes you fill in forms, sometimes they wave you off and sometimes I hide behind my headcloth so that they do not delay the vehicle as my presence always brings forth the full power of authority and form-filling which is not fair on the other passengers. But the Mali man passed most stops without trouble. One, however, tried to charge him money and I just told the hapless guy to refuse. When the policeman saw me, the 'charge' was suddenly dropped. Sadly, today on the way to the embassy, I heard an almighty crash and a speeding vehicle had just run into two men on a motorbike. The 'lifeless' bodies just lay there while no-one seemed to do much. But then I saw the distraught driver pull out his mobile phone. I went over and asked if I could give the men some Rescue Remedy pills. They seem to be regarded a magic and no one has complained so far. So I placed them in the mouths of these poor men laying amongst their bike and blood and just hope that it helped to keep them calm. The pills have 'miraculously' cured snakebite, toothache and stomach ache so far and I am beginning to feel like a fairy godmother dispensing miraculous healing.

I thought it a good idea to have at least a lipstick during my travels. Not used yet. But did try to apply lipsalve which seemed to do more harm than good during the period of my heatstroke and sunburn. The latter stupidly acquired when I went swimming in the middle of the Niger in Mopti during the heat of the day. We had taken various boats to get across to some of the temporary islands which appear in the dry season and where the river is swift and not polluted. Just jumping into the water fully clothed did not prevent sunburn and subsequent sore lips. But now I feel toughened and certain parts of my body have a good tan whilst others are blotched from peeling or have not seen the sun at all. And I always tried to have an even tan!!!!

The 'bush hat' I bought in a moment of foresight, has not actually been used as much as I thought it would be because I initially had the wonderful milufa cloth with which I could shade the whole body and then the 'Mali-outfit' with its accompanying headcloth. No doubt, when the real African bush-trek business starts...... But in the mean time, I am trying to stay away from the 'Africa-look'. I have only just realized that to the Africans in these parts at least, the erogenous zone is the upper thighs. In Mali a bare top is totally normal and breastfeeding anywhere just part of life. But one has to be very sensitive to exposing the thighs and I am quite sad when tourists walk around in shorts without realising the offence they provoke.

'till another day.....

Mayday in Ouagadougou (and if you can't spell it, I was the same...)

OK, so now I am in Burkino Faso for no other reason than the fact that, in 1962, Margaret and I travelled in Germany amongst my relatives and we heard of one who was the Ambassador here. The name stuck and I resolved one day to see this mysterious place. It is not mysterious, but a sprawling city of wide streets and some of them even tarred! Quite a change from the mud-brick villages I have been seeing and staying in lately. If you see how they build their multi-story buidings with the lightest of wooden scaffolding, you will know you are in Africa. And of course, the thing I like about these African villages, is the fact that the shops come to you. You just need to sit still for a moment, or for that matter walk along the side of a road, to be inundated by sellers of everything you ever dreamed of. And the technique is to persist and you find yourself, despite resolutions beforehand, to want a plastic bag of cold water, or a mango or batteries or clothes or food or watches or dark glasses or jewelery....and that is not taking into account the obvious tourist trash sellers (much of the latter very well made and not to be sneezed at if you have the baggage capacity and friends who are dying for evidence of your trip).

As I travel alone most of the time, I have become used to talking to myself and thinking of the life so far away. And the thing that has surprised me, is the fact that much of my luggage has a very personal and human element to it. In other words, my pack on my back reflects much of my friendships and family. So, instead of a straight review of what I have been doing and seeing, I have decided to describe it through my baggage. One can even give it a heading:


21 kilos


Before I left London I received many emails, letters, cards, phonecalls, presents and visits from friends who wished me well. It was overwhelming and I could not make the time to answer them all. But rest assured, they are there in my baggage and weigh nothing but very heavily on my thankfulness for such thoughts. Most of the phrases in these messages included the words 'be careful' and 'brave'. One is automatically careful wherever on goes in life (or one would have been run over by a bus a long time ago) and the word 'brave' only implies doing things without thought (a brave person goes into a burning house to rescue a child because he happens to be the one on the spot), for which I am well-known. 'Mad' or 'foolhardy' are also words to express the same thought..... So I reject any notion of doing something out of the ordinary. And when one sees other 'tourists' around places, one realises how small the world really is. The only thing I have done is to do what many might wish to do but do not have the fortune, health, energy or lack of responsibilities with which to undertake such an operation. So for all of you out there who want to join me in my thoughts, this is it.

My friends are very loyal and giving; no one is more important than another. When I thought of writing in this way, I decided that the alphabet is best used. But before that, I'll start with the things I paid for myself.

Rucsac and it's 'baby':

Ingrid very kindly bought me a nylon 100kilo rucsac with wheels which seemed ideal at the time. Fortunately this was in December and I used it with which to travel for 5 weeks throughout Europe. It was hopelessly too large and bulky and the wheels didn't really do as I wanted. So she and Pete took it off for their own needs and I went to Nomads, the camping specialists, and there was shown a 'sahara' bag made out of heavy canvas. It is brilliant in its design as there are no external pockets, the smaller bag can be zipped onto the main one or is a very convenient shape for a small rucsac. The main straps can be zipped out of sight and thus the bag is a very good shape to throw onto the numerous bush-taxis it has had the honour of accompanying. It is heavy, but the treatment it has had and will have has proved that anything else would have been destroyed by now. It is very dirty with oil marks and various unspeakable blemishes; but as Pete said, it would give me 'street credit', which it has.

This is probably the place to talk about bush taxis. They can be any vehicle which at one time in its life might have been classed as something to transport people and/or goods. Mysteriously, they become battered vehicles without lights or other fittings, with no concievable means of starting except through pushing or the deft use of a screwdriver. They are not put into motion until the paying fare has reached the optimum number (you can wait 5-7 hours without notice). The 'vehicles' are then systematically loaded on top until the load has the same or more height than the vehicle itself. On this is then placed goats or bunches of chickens. A young man is usually employed for this task and then has to find somewhere to hang on for the duration of the journey as the many breakdowns require his asistance. But the skill of tying everything in an orderly manner is quite remarkable. Just as an example, when we had a blow-out once and the vehicle went carreering into the Sahel (fortunately bush and not trees) for about 200 meters, we all, including the load, were supremely intact. Of course, it does help to be tightly squashed together. On this occasion 5 rows of 5 people with 4 on the driver's seat, two children on laps and two men outside (33 altogether) meant that we were in no way inconvenienced. The only slight hiccup was that one of the men assisting in the tyre repair was bitten by a small 10-inch snake. I gave him a 'rescue remedy' pill to dissolve under his tongue (ok, spelling is not my forte and I cannot find a spell-check) to keep his bloodflow calm, and we continued fixing and pushing in the sandy dark. On another occasion, when the Taxi was a truck, I was expected to share the front seat with the driver and two ladies of ample proportions (Alexander McCall-Smith fans know what I mean) and their children. There was no way....... but I think they appreciated my offer of sitting amongst the goats and 5 men on top of the load. It was sheer heaven! A starry desert night on sandy roads with frequent breakdowns was not to be sneezed at. How the drivers can find the right track in the dark through the sand is a miracle to me. There are various tracks going off in all directions, but he somehow knows which one is least rutted and will eventually get out on the other side. I try to see the countryside during the day if possible, but have found that some day-trips are virtually unendurable because of the heat. So evening trips through flat land are preferable. My last one to here from Mopti in Mali left only 90 minutes late at 6.30pm. We got help in pushing it to start, but then there were so many breakdowns during the trip that we only got to a town called Bobo Dioulasso (344 km further) at 10.30am and I missed the connection I had to have to continue to here. So I waited until 6.30pm when the taxi meant to leave at 5pm finally left. We did not have enough passengers and it took another hour of picking up and dropping people before we actually left the town. I arrived at 4.30am, a bit of a wreck. My back had been sorely tested. However, the inevitable town-taxi knew his customers well and instantly got me to the place I am staying in at present. Waking the 'reception' was no problem as they sleep on the entrance-settee anyway. As you can see, my life going through Africa is and will be dominated by the transport system.

Yes, I did buy other things:
A magical little 'pump' which, when applied to a mosquito bite, takes away the sting. So far used only a few times, but as I enter the more lushious (sp!) areas, it will no doubt be invaluable. And it works! But do not ask me how---a little 'electrical' impulse?
A sleeping bag designed by the same guy as the rucsac. It is a square and has a velcro slit in the middle to enable it to be used as a poncho. There are also ties all over, so it can be used as a shade cloth. Or zipped up as a bag. There have been times when I used its cushion effect as a mattress, but its best use so far was two evenings when it rained (the worse of the heat will soon be over as the rainy season starts) and I could pull it over myself and enjoy the sound and feeling of the rain as it fell down on me where I lay on the riverbank. And it pulls tighly into a relatively small bag.
Two torches: One a head-torch which is ideal for reading, although it can become quite tangled when I am trying to read with a mosquito net thrown over myself on a rooftop. The other is a self-charging hand torch which I love, but am a bit worried about because it no longer gives the bright light it used to, despite my vigorous shaking as prescribed. But it is early days and I defer to time.... Very useful when changing tyres or looking for the broken suspension or whatever as the drivers invariably have torches with fading batteries.
Spectacles: Extra for those inevitable losses I can expect. The Fendi dark glasses are a bit poncy for me, but they were the only ones available which would give me good desert-light protection. And it means that I have to be extra careful about not having them nicked, as the new wearers will not necessarily appreciate the varifocal lenses. But, although I sometimes feel a bit like a tourist with the glasses, they do give my eyes the protection from the strong light they need. The worst is to accept that I now need reading glasses. So one is just comfortably ensconced on a rooftop, covered by a loose mosquito-net with torch and book ready, when the lack of spectacles becomes another problem to deal with.....those mosquitoes are good at seeing an opportunity!
Diary: It is a small book, but extremely handy as I wrote birthdays and anniversaries into it and keep it to remind me of what I've done or where I've been. So those friends whose birthdays I know, are thought of and, with time on my hands, thoroughly digested. I hope you know that it is very important to me!
Phrase book of 12 languages of Africa. I'd gone to the BBC World Service Shop to get their frequency timetable and list of programmes. There I saw this little book. Great! I thought. It will help me to try and unravel the mystries of French. Sadly, I showed it to a Mali man during a long ride in Mauritania and he thought I had given it to him. It was only the night after he continued his visit to Mali and had installed me with his friends in Nema and I wanted to communicate with this hospitable family, that I missed the book. I have been bereft since, but emails to Karin has ensured that she has acquired another copy with great difficulty as the BBC Shop no longer had them, and is sending it to Accra. What friends would do for one! It was an interesting family to be staying with because they were on the cusp of modernising and my stay lead to confusions. One was offered the traditional drinks of welcome but I shared the dish of food with the host, not the wife and mother and children, as in other families. I was given a spoon rather than be expected to eat with my hand. A table and chairs was found rather than let us all sit on the floor. The new mother of a very small baby gave her child strawberry-flavoured yoghurt (as far as I am concerned, with no food value) and then anxiously/proudly asked me to confirm that it was good for the baby. I tried to explain that it should not be eaten after two days because of the intense heat, but doubt whether the message got across. They bought me bottles of sweet drinks made with artificial flavours rather than accept that the traditional goats' milk drink is preferable. But their pleasure in spoiling me had no bounds. They were impressed with the beautiful milufa (?) I had been wearing, but as I was going into Mali the next day, and the mother came from there, they insisted that I should have one of their Mali-outfits. No amount of argument or offer of money....... I proudly walked out in a two-piece with headscarf the next day and only hope that my beautiful orange/yellow cloth I left behind has found a good use. The outfit is certainly very popular with the locals (my guide in Mopti used to translate) and I travel in it to show that I am not seeking preference.
African Sayings: Another little BBC World Service publication which has caused much pleasure and discussion. Originally bought for the Land Rover Trip which fell through, it is still a handy start to the day. The book consists of many phrases and saying gathered from all over Africa. I allow myself one peek a day. A phrase is chosen and dated and the thoughts from it can be digested for the rest of the day. Today's from Kenya: "A moving cicket is only still in the mouth of a frog". Time for me to stop moving these keyboard pieces and to go and fetch a cushion to sit on in the open-air cinema I am going to. Have managed a few swims inbetween this typing and feel refreshed.......

If you have managed this far, congratulations! This is really just for me to get thoughts off my chest as there is a lack of conversation at present......