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November 10 2006 - Freedom
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I have four days remaining to me before I hit Heathrow for my flight to Jo'burg. I shall spend the night in Jo'burg with friends and the following morning catch the bus for the seven hour trip to Tzaneen where I will be collected from the bus station and driven to the Sanctuary. Upon arrival I shall rush to the enclosure containing Ms Felix - this time secure in the knowledge that she WILL remember me - and know that I am truly HOME! Oh! Ms Felix, I can hardly wait! In my imagination I can already feel those arms clasped around my neck, smell the sweet monkey scent of you, stroke the soft silky coat of you. We'll both be laughing and crying simultaneously and zillions of kisses will be exchanged! Not bad eh? The only thing concerning me is the weather. I previously visited in Autumn and Spring and even then it was HOT! I learned to cope with heat, but humidity is another matter. This time I arrive at the beginning of Summer and the rainy season. And intense humidity. For the three months of Summer everything remains damp. Tents, sleeping bags, clothes, bedding, books and oneself. I shall LOVE the storms: I experienced a few during my first trip over, and they were AWESOME! Huge sheets of lightning that lit up the sky giving an electric blue glow to the surrounding landscape, great booms of thunder that shuddered through my tent, winds that shrieked with glee at the havoc they were wreaking on the fragile canvas of my shelter, and the RAIN!!! I cannot tell you how exciting I found it when the heavens opened and rain screamed onto my canvas home with fantastic ferocity. Would it survive the experience? Would I?!?! Needless to say we always did, and as suddenly as it had started the storm would stop. I love it when they happen at night, Mother Nature really knows how to put on a show!!! REE....SPECT! In a previous life I lived on a houseboat on Chelsea Reach, and whenever there was a storm I would rush outside and dance naked on deck. I would be dragged back inside by friends and neighbours concerned by the binoculars being trained upon my person from a block of flats opposite, and the distinct possibility that the police force in its entirety would soon be thumping down the gangplank, truncheons and handcuffs at the ready, and haul me away to the local cop shop to spend the night in a cell prior to my appearance in court the following morning, to answer a series of charges including 'breaching the peace', causing 'grave psychological damage to impressionable minors' and putting into motion a major pile up on the Albert Embankment. (I mean rilly, GET A LIFE for heavens sake.') But as far as the humidity is concerned I shall simply grit my teeth and go boldly into the unknown! Talking of teeth, that's another reason for my return to the dark continent. I think I may have mentioned before that mine are in a parlous state. My bridges are f----d, the metal beneath the teeth has cracked and could split asunder at any moment. All the NHS can offer me is a smile in a glass by the side of the bed, which after a great deal of reflection I've decided I'm not quite ready for. However... I saw a dentist in Tzaneen prior to my last departure and he is prepared to give me the necessary implants, bridges etc for a quarter of the price I would have to pay in England. So I'm going for that option. The procedure will take three months altogether, so I know I shall remain in Africa until at least the beginning of February. Hip, hip, hooray! By then Matthew will have finished the re-writes on his script and will let me know when he has a theatre and a rehearsal date, because quite frankly there isn't any reason for me to be in England except to work. Yes, of course I have dear friends here, Caspar cat and my home, but the climate of fear that seems to pervade all aspects of daily life takes precedence over everything else. CTV cameras everywhere - apparently there is one camera for every eight people in the country - the data that government agencies have on each and everyone of us is vast and totally intrusive and the world that Aldous Huxley predicted in Brave New World and George Orwell in 1984 is no longer some science fiction fantasy but a reality that we all have to confront and deal with on a daily basis. And I for one have had enough. We're told that life is a gift. Try telling that to the poor souls ducking and diving in back alleys in Baghdad, the millions dying in Africa of aids, tuberculosis, poverty and despair, the women being raped and mutilated in wars fought by men over land, oil and power. So I'm off, back to the magic and mystery of the bush, the call of the wild, tent village and my babies. And I thank God on a daily basis that I have been able to discover that for me, life is about freedom, the heat of the sun on my face, the wind blowing through my hair, the feel of the rich, red, African earth beneath my feet. And how privileged is that, to be able to live my life as I wish, to answer to no-one but myself and my God? God for me being Nature: the God of organized religion interests me not one jot. Although, having said that, it's the proponents of organized religions that I object to, not the religions themselves which all appear to have Love as their core message. The day has passed and now I only have three days left before I hit Heathrow, and I intend to spend them as I spent today - or do I mean yesterday? - which is in bed, with Caspar curled up beside me in front of a blazing coal fire, safe, warm and protected from the madness outside that is urban life in the 21st century. So, on that cheerful note, I shall bid you all a very goodnight, turn off my fairy lights, cuddle Caspar and fall asleep as I watch the glow of the fire, and hopefully dream the sweetest of dreams!
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