Yellow Smock, Blue Dress, Black Suit

I have a deep appreciation for my husband's sense of humor and patience. Today he let me dress him up in tights and fashion his likeness to a knight from the Middle Ages for the Getty Art Challenge where art lovers recreate famous pieces of art using only what we have on hand. Mark was modeled after Jacques de Lalaing, a guy who was good with a sword and lance in the Middle Ages. Apparently, Jacques regularly fought and won in tournaments and was considered be quite chivalrous during a time where it was normal to stab people with poleaxes and call it a day.

The kids were also enthusiastic participants for this weekend craft project. Margo dressed up as the Getty's "Young Woman with a Fan," a pastel painting done by an Italian artist who was a high roller for royalty portraitures. The girl's eyes caught my attention and reminded me of Margo's uncanny ability to look into my soul- for better or worse. 

Finding David's likeness was bit more challenging so I had to expand my search beyond the Getty's online collection. I won't lie. It felt very creepy to google "famous art with boys" because I wasn't sure what foxhole I would find, but it ended up being super fitting. I found a piece that would show his creative side and his smoldering side. David could legitimately be a model. He posed in "Hat Storm" by Yann Faucon, a French artist who creates barren, yet oddly full collages as his expressive medium.

Tomorrow brings us Monday- another day full of worksheets, writing, teaching (attempts at), Russian, and daydreaming about what we will do next weekend... inside.

Livre des faits de Jacques de Lalaing

Young Woman with a Fan

Hat Storm

Situational Associations

During Ms. Prester's Advanced Algebra class my junior year in high school, an announcement came overhead: there had been shooting at Columbine High School. Ms. Prester remained seated on her metal teaching stool and calmly applied another layer of Cetaphil to her hands. She always kept a bottle of it on her desk.  A number of students stood up in a panic but she insisted none of us were going anywhere until fifth period was finished. 

Known as a stern and unbendable teacher, everyone begrudgingly slid back into their seats. As she rotated back to the blackboard and picking up where she left off, my mind tried to process the seriousness of what would ultimately become (at the time) the deadliest school shooting in history. I had a realization. What I thought had been a weird habit of coating her hands in soap, the same one I used at home to wash away oily teen angst, was actually lotion. The association of Cetaphil and guns now are permanently fused in my brain.

On Tuesday and Thursday mornings of my sophomore year of college, I started with anatomy class at 7:30am sharp. Forty-four minutes prior, I watched two planes crash into one of the Twin Towers on my 12" TV that had a built in VCR while in my basement apartment. I tried to wake my roommate but to no avail. She was too sleepy and wasn't having it. Not knowing what else to do, I went to class. My professor was an old codger who insisted that the invention of lotion was nothing more than a pharmaceutical money making scheme. He also wore a lab coat at all times, even in the lecture hall that held several hundred students. Despite the devastating national news he insisted class should continue.  Lotion, guns, and airplane crashes are linked in memory bank of terrible events.

This time it's not lotion, but rather hand-sanitizer imprinting my personal experience of our current viral calamity. Of course, I've been following the spread and have had countless "what if" conversations turn into "if then" conversations. I have seen our grocery store empty and restock and empty again in unpredictable waves. But for me, it all got real a few weeks ago when I was at a park with my daughter and saw a mom lose her mind over her kid dropping his turkey sandwich onto the ground. Like any normal kid, he just picked it up and kept on eating. Appalled, she whisked it from his hands and slathered so much Purell on him it was dripping all over the place. She hissed "Well now you're going to catch the coronavirus because of what you just did!" He was no older than two. 

The smell of the hand-sanitizer was as intense as her stress level as she threw away the rest of his lunch and hauled him away crying. As the flowery-alcoholic smell wafted in my direction, I received THE email: Arlington Public Schools announced its official closure due to coronavirus. From here on out, my small, self-centered life would get a whole lot smaller.

I faced a lot of indecision about whether I should or should not write about what this new, smaller life of mine has been like. I reasoned, who would want to hear about my routine when the most exciting part of my day is choosing which direction to walk the dog every morning- clockwise or counterclockwise? But then I received emails from a friends in different places sharing how the virus has changed their lives, and I read them with great interest. So maybe sharing my own monotony might be interesting to others? 

Life at home has become monotonous but surprisingly, also incredibly busy. I quit taking Russian and took over our kids' schooling. Mark continues his lessons on Skype with his two classmates and instructor for five hours a day. Since I have control over so little right now, I keep a schedule for the kids as we churn through assignments that school sends every morning. They are lifesavers to help pass the day which is a cycle of forty-five minutes of class time followed by a 15 minute break. We do school from 7:45am-2:30pm. They get story time with Grandma and Grandpa to break up the day full of worksheets and writing taskts.

On our breaks, I feel like a sadistic Simon Says, but the kids have taken a liking to my shouting out drill exercises. We are the daily weirdos doing bear crawls, push ups, and zombie walks on the sidewalk. Though they will last only a day or two more, seeing the blooming cherry blossom and magnolia trees has made our walks feel extra special. 

I work out for about 40 minutes every day after school, using Nike Training Club (free at the moment), online yoga, and my current old favorite YouTube channel for women over forty, Fitness With PJ. She's sassy and super knowledgable. Plus I like that she curses. Because let's face it: working out sucks. We live on the first floor which means everyone can see in. There is a particular attention deprived child who, on her daily constitutionals loves to hang onto the window sill and watch my un-glorious grunt show. I have now resorted to closing all the blinds which makes the living room even more claustrophobic.

It could be worse. We are healthy, if perhaps bored and overly frustrated with having no idea what will happen next. Mark has a job that keeps us housed and fed and that alone helps me swallow my humble pie. This week, I ran into an acquaintance who worked at the school's extended day program which got cancelled when everything else did. Luckily she has a second job to help pay the bills, because that's what it takes to survive these days. Plus she's a single mom who has to leave her child at home. Even more eye opening, she lives twenty miles away (where rent is more affordable) and relies on public transportation. However, Metro shut down several metro stops and cancelled many bus routes leaving people virtually stranded, unable to get to the jobs they so desperately need. Ironically, the few routes that were operating, the buses were packed like sardines- everyone was taking their chances of exposure. I saw her at 6pm as she making her way to her 11pm shift at a nursing home, experimenting with safer routes to limit exposure to not just for her family, but the residents too. She's a legitimate hero.

If I ever complain about how hard this is, please punch me in the face.  

Fresh air.

Vocabulary development. 

Medical training.

Listening to the story of White Fang.

Still here. Still studying Russian. Still a nurse. Still writing - sort of.

The Russian language motto: say what you know how to say, not say what you want to say. Memorize, repeat. As an amateur writer and professional feeler of feelings, and one who loves to indulge in the dramatics every now and then, the motto is painful. It makes me feel indignant and stupid. But, it is essential. Russian requires paying attention to all endings of words (especially adjectives and nouns) because they determine the structure of a sentence and its meaning. I could give examples, but after two glasses of wine, I can only say that remembering which ending goes where, becomes a difficult task especially when shooting the shit. Unless you are a case-ending nerd with no life, it's really hard to reproduce on the fly. 

Anyway.

My point is, I have been diligent, sticking to memorizing rules and set sentences to get me through the beautiful pit of Russian language. It really is a cool language to study and I am blown away by its sophistication. I want to be one of those people who can string together coherent, intricate words and I study like it's going out of fashion. Then I open my mouth and it feels like I never cracked open even one of the 25 text books I have amassed so far. The process is humbling and annoying and I am trying to enjoy it as much as possible.

I study and make tiny chips into the Russian granite, leaving no time for other diversions, such as writing blogs, stories, or anecdotes. I miss using my true voice. 

Rewind to December 2019: my friend Remy (and though he doesn't know it, mentor,) wrote me an email asking if I was planning to submit a story to Doek! his online literary magazine published in Namibia. It is his baby. Through Remy's insistence and overwhelming vision, he put together a first edition, and just TODAY, a second edition of stories written by a menagerie of personalities and talents mostly based out of Namibia. There's fiction, non-fiction, poetry, and photography. When I lived in Windhoek, I was part of the first tranche of aspiring writers. We met a few times a month, usually over wine to share and critique pieces of ourselves like that of a cheese platter. 

I moved away, but my heart never did. God - I loved living in Namibia. The writing group was one reason why. In the group, I didn't write about travel much like I do here. Instead, I revisited rusty memories from my nursing career and I forced myself to reveal parts of my life I was horribly proud of, fabulously ashamed of, and a few other emotions in between. 

I was part of Remy's first publication of Doek! where I wrote about a tough nursing decision I had to make (read here, it involves Vicodin) and now the second publication about dealing with my own realization of what real nursing care meant to me (which you can read here, it involves a butt hole - not mine). 

Perhaps more interestingly than my typical notion for bald forthrightness and slapstick humor, are the stories my fellow writers have to share. Their stories and poems gave me the feels of loss and vulnerability, wonder, hope, and creepiness. I highly suggest reading them. The photography of course is bold- they are stories told by a couple of photographers that showcase corners of Namibia that you would never know or see as a tourist. They are... awesome and unique, for lack of better words. Check out Shawn's Dry Dock series here. It totally "gets" what Walvis Bay is all about.

I am so proud of the group and I am proud to be part of it. Please check out the stories and share. Also, Remy successfully wrote and published a book, The Eternal Audience of One, which is something I have never done. Buy it and read it. 

I will keep writing here and elsewhere. For now, I return to obsessing about a different kind of writing - the kind of writing I fantasize about to knowing its Russianic curves, deepness, and punch lines. But probably never will, because the language is so damn hard! Спассиба.

Light reading.

WDK -> IAD -> the burbs of VA

For the past couple of months I've been trying to figure out how I could best close out the last three years of my life in Namibia. It would be rude not to do so, considering how much Namibia meant to me and my family. The stars, the camping, the game drives, the dry weather, the friends we made, it all feels like they were wild dreams and imaginary narratives. 

But I know that it was real when I'm in my Arlington kitchen, avoiding dinner plans and I'm suddenly struck with the urge to call up my friends for impromptu cheap dinner dates and I remember they are thousands of miles away. Dinner gatherings with friends in Virginia, though special, require a lot more planning, patience, and money. Braaing will never be the same. Now it's all about the efficiency of propane and sharing a grill with hundreds of other residents in our building.

When I walk through the National Zoo I notice that the cheetah exhibit is a neglected, lonely spectacle instead of a rare and exhilarating treat. The elephants are not as exotic and I feel like no one appreciates the Griffon vultures or the Damaraland mole rats quite like I do.

There were some good things about closing out our Namibian chapter. Schooling in Windhoek ended up pretty messy with the international school and their unreliable stash of teachers. Some teachers were fine, only a few were good, and the remainders were wild cards with inconsistent teaching skills and bad attitudes. Unable to see any improvement from the school over the past few years was disheartening. I won't miss it.

The kids are in a public school system for the first time, and so far I have been very impressed and more so, relieved. From what I can tell, each elementary school has its own speciality focus such as Montessori, STEAM, foreign language immersion, NASA, global citizenship, expeditionary learning, etc. My kids love their teachers, they've made friends, and I know what they are expected to learn this year. They have an actual curriculum with Standards of Learning testing that evaluates each student's progress on a spectrum. The only thing I would change are the PTA meetings which suck the life blood out of me. The passion is real folks, over electronic flyer distribution versus paper. 

I miss my car, the open spaces, and the spirit of Namibian adventure. Perhaps more so, because we are car light and bike heavy. From now until hopefully May of next year, Mark and I are all about learning Russian language, where we commute every day using Capital Bike Share. The bikes are fire engine red, bulky, and very heavy. I ride like Pee Wee Herman and I am not sad about it.

Classes started about four weeks ago and it has taken over my life. Five hours of class per day, one hour of lab time, and for the normal people, there's about two hours of homework, to make up a typical 8-hour workday. If I am left unsupervised, I could spend another two or three hours studying (or drowning) so I depend on a tight schedule that doesn't allow for me to get any more psychotic than I already am. Russian makes relaxing over the weekends either super easy or super hard and I haven't found the space in between. I am either thinking, obsessing, and agonizing over vocabulary and cases. Or, I am beyond that stage and totally stupid. The other day, I couldn't remember how to use Google Maps or even what the number 5 was. IN ENGLISH.

Undoubtedly, the next few months will be full on slog but I am certain the Russian will come in handy. Like any State Department language course, I might not be able to ask for things in a grocery store, but I will for sure be able to talk about politics in Russian. It's a skill that everyone needs these days.

Old life.

New life.

DC. Credit: Mark

Lubber Run Park
 Arlington, VA

View of Rosslyn Metro and Georgetown U Cathedral
 from the 7th floor where my enjoy my language "hobby."

Lodge Reviews On A Very Big Namibian Road Trip

The hardest thing about planning a Namibian road trip is that you are spoiled for choice. The sights and sounds of this country are all worth visiting, the majority of the lodges are a pleasure to stay at, and most of the roads to get there are not horrible. The biggest limitations are time and money. 

When I know friends and family are coming, I always start by asking the following questions: What do you want to focus your trip on? Animals? Landscape? Culture and history? Once those questions are answered, the rest of the planning is easy and a matter of logistics. Even better, in Namibia, there are so many great travel agency companies that will do the work for you. This was a lesson I learned about halfway through my tour, when a colleague heard me talk about an upcoming road trip, and whining about picking which lodge to stay at.  She asked, "Why do Americans always insist on doing things the hardest possible way, when there are companies designed to do just that?" My response was something stupid and defensive about how the trip felt more personal and that Americans take pride in hard work.

She laughed at me and handed me the name of Dietlind Basson, owner of Acacia Namibia, a 100% woman run booking agency. I would have no regrets, she said.  I emailed her and after one day, Dietlind delivered fantastic options which included a gorgeous website link to my customized trip, which was fabulous from beginning to end. From there on out, Acacia became my default recommendation to everyone.

At any rate, my best friend came to visit! She and her parents would brave a 10-day road trip with me and the kids. Super casual mid-western folks, they told me they wanted to see dunes and animals. The rest was up to me. I called up Dietlind and we put together a trip that would capture everyone's wildest wishes.

We drove, we laughed, we drank many mimosas. It was fantastic in every way possible. Of course, there were a few annoying issues: the C14 road from Solitaire to Walvis Bay is a tease. The ever changing views are stunning, but the ruts and potholes at times are bad enough to make a car full of people very murderous. The Sandwich Harbor tour needed its own story (click HERE), the Omaruru Game Lodge smelled spectacularly bad, and one of the chefs at Okutala used a single pair of tongs on raw and cooked meat. No one got sick, but I spent a very sleepless night convinced I'd be forced to drive through Etosha with watery insides. Etosha is not a place to get sick at. Drop toilets are few and far between.  

Besides those hangups, the trip was perfect. I miss them dearly. Great friends like that are so rare. For those who are still reading, below the photos are the pros and cons of all the places we stayed in. To sum up: would I do this animal and sand filled trip again? Absolutely. Would I make lodge change? Oh yes. 

Ten days, nine lodges, 2,016km.

Dune 45.

Gondwana Namib Desert Camping2Go.

Gondwana Namib Desert Camping2Go: gang of oryx.

Along the road to the Gondwana Desert Grace.

The folks who bring such sweetness into my life.
Sandwich Harbor

Sammy at Omaruru Game Lodge

Mount Etjo Game Lodge

Mount Etjo Game Lodge lion feeding.
Tonight's dinner: ostrich tartare

Mount Etjo Game Lodge with Egyptian geese and zebra.

Mount Etjo Game Lodge

Okonjima/AfriCat

Okonjima/AfriCat and a hyena on the Leopard Game Drive

Okonjima/AfriCat Leopard Game Drive

Okonjima/AfriCat Leopard Game Drive.

Rare and Endangered Species Trust (REST): baby duiker.

REST: Amos the pangolin

Gondwana Namib Desert Camping2Go

Pro: it's a Gondwana and it's fancy camping! Like really, really, fancy camping. 
Pro: super comfortable beds with all the kitchen fixings you could ask for. Just bring food, booze, and matches.
Pro: views, silence, oryx, and a convenient drive to Sossusvlei.

Con: check out is always a confusing time for the Gondwana employees. It requires more patience than I usually have to give.

Would I go back for more: no doubt.

The Sandwich Harbor Tour

Pro: excellent option for experiencing how intimidating and spectacular the Namibian coast is.

Pro: if you like roller coasters, champagne and oysters, this adventure is for you.

Pro: beautiful flamingos.

Con: if you have already done the epic Skeleton Coast tour, this is a let down.

Con: weird-ass tour guides.

Con: Atlantic weather is unpredictable, so it is possible that your pricey tour will be cut short.

Con: solitude is rare.

Would I go back: nope.

Gondwana's The Delight

Pro: it's a Gondwana!

Pro: buffet breakfast with champagne and oysters.

Pro: awesome rooms and beds.

Pro: good customer service.

Con: it's in Swakopmund. But then again, MOST people like Swakopmund and I am just weird like that.

Would I go back: yes, of course!

Omaruru Game Lodge

Pro: you can feed elephants, giraffes, rhinos, zebra, eland, ostrich. Bring multiple bags of apples for the elephant game drive if you are into it.

Pro: elephants will snot on you mid-grab.

Pro: delicious dinner.

Con: you can feed elephants who are 100% bullies. They may steal your phone, and they will snot on you. And they are terribly dangerous.

Con: the rooms and the outside smell like gangrene and I don't know why.

Con: if you prefer wild animals to stay wild, don't come here. 

Would I go back: Maybe. If they can get rid of the smell, then I'd be happy to stay. But only for one night, tops.

Rare and Endangered Species Trust

Pro: educational blowout on animals who are getting rehabbed and there is always something different with each visit.
Pro: you get to see a pangolin! 
Pro: the excellent and dedicated staff are a breath of fresh air.

Con: none noted.

Would I go back: for sure. They are a non-profit organization and all of the tour fees go directly back to them.

Okutala Game Lodge

Pro: it's a catch-rehab-release lodge. They have many rhinos, banded mongooses, and porcupines.

Pro: they have a HIDEY HOLE (bluff) at the level of the watering hole and you can watch the animals super upclose.

Pro: great beds and soft sheets and there is door you can lock in the family room if your children get unruly (just kidding).

Pro: superior customer service and very child friendly. 

Con: food poisoning possible.

Would I go back: yes. 

Mokuti Etosha Lodge 

Pro: it is a lodge that has everything. Pool, spa, reptile park, nightly bon fires, huge dinner buffets, good customer service with beautiful rooms.
Pro: they have grass!

Con: the beds are meh.

Would I go back: totally. Okutala is on the east entrance of Etosha, so it is much farther to drive to than the more frequently used south entrance.

Mount Etjo Safari Lodge

Pro: historically significant lodge. Mount Etjo was the place where Resolution 435 was signed which segued into Namibian independence.

Pro: SO MANY ANIMALS all shapes and sizes.

Pro: they have grass.

Pro: huge, delicious dinners and bon fires.

Con: crappy and expensive drink selection.

Con: taco beds.

Would I go back: yes.

Okonjima 

Pro: high end lodging with high end customer service and high end wine.

Pro: beautiful setting, beautiful rooms, beautiful cats (do NOT miss the leopard drive).

Pro: hiking trails.

Con: you might need to sell a kidney if you want to stay for more than one night.

Would I go back: yes, if I had the money.

THE Sandwich Harbor tour

They all said that the Sandwich Harbor tour would be among the greatest Namibian must-do experiences. They all said the view of the endless sand dunes plunging into the Atlantic Ocean would be unforgettable and breathtaking. They also said we'd be blinded by the flamingos with their flashes of pink permanently seared into our retinas, and the jackals, seals, and kestrels would only add to the scenery.

I would say they were all right. For the most part. 

On a recent gonzo trip around Namibia with my best friend, her parents, and the kids, I included an excursion to Sandwich Harbor, a World Heritage Site located about 80 km south of Walvis Bay. It is indeed a menagerie of all the items mentioned. 

However.

We met with our tour guides whose names I have since forgotten. One announced that he hated children. The other saw my passport and immediately started demanding for a visa, complaining about the horrid, limitations Namibia had on offer. I had been in the car for less than five minutes. Onward he drove, skirting the town, into the marshy salt flats, and through reeds taller than the car. Onward, he complained and I continued to ignore, hoping to bore him into silence. Eventually we stopped to view several hundred, electric pink lesser flamingos hanging around a pond that was seasoned with springbok and jackals. We enjoyed the view and pretended these beautiful creatures didn't stink to high heaven.

Into the dunes, the ride became wild and stomach dropping as the guides gunned the engines to climb and curve around the huge piles of sand like a slingshot. I swallowed my barf more than once while the children screamed for more. Our guide stopped at a dune mid-saddle to allow our party to reunite and climb up for the grand finale view, where dunes meet ocean. Everyone made it to the top winded but unscathed, and we enjoyed an unobstructed view for about two minutes. Then the tour competitors arrived like moths to a flame, and out of 20 trucks spilled about 50 people about to do the same thing we were.

Our guides were incensed by everyone's arrival and wasted no time making their anger known to everyone who drove the dunes wrong, or ruined views of pristine sand with "ignorant" sand boarders and sledders. They shouted and cursed in Afrikaans and gestured like New Yorkers. Admittedly, it was disappointing to see so many tours swarm over the land, but when tourism is considered big business, and that the government had recently allowed more permits onto the land, it should have been of little surprise that everyone and their mother would take advantage to make a few bucks.

For the next few moments though, we would be at peace. The guides chose a secluded patch of sand to set up lunch featuring world famous Namibian oysters and champagne. I opted for water and crackers, but hey- I'm glad it was there. The guides ran off to commiserate leaving me to my friends and family. I filmed my best friend's first experience eating oysters and we laughed until we cried. 

I guess someone's Casio watch beeped, and time was up. We piled back into the trucks and returned north, driving at a moderate clip along the flat sand banks, dodging sick and dying seals, and past malnourished jackals who were waiting for their chance to eat. Perhaps he was feeling funny, or perhaps he was just a steaming spread of diarrhea, but my guide blurted out, "Normally I drive over the dying seals. Oh, would you mind if I drove over that one just now?"

I suppose there are things you do when it's just "you." I could see his perspective: in his mind, he would be putting the animal out of its misery. But, really man? You want to drive over a breathing speed bump while on a tour with kids in the truck? Turns out he was really and truly asking. I replied, "Sweet gravy man! Could you not? No thanks." 

We finally pulled into the sandy parking lot under the gray dreary sky that frequently drapes over the Namibian coast. He helped us out of the car, and asked to exchange emails should the miraculous day come that he could move his family to America. I shook my head and walked away, unable to say anything at all. Unforgettable, indeed.

Lesser flamingos.

Paired for life.

Also paired for life.

Sand duning.

THE Sandwich Harbor.
At least part of it...

Black Manes, Red Sand, Blue Namibian Sky

Mark loves cold-weather camping and on a recent trip to do just that, he was the happiest I had seen him in months. It was three days of frozen water, foggy breath, and building big campfires to sustain the necessary high level of coffee drinking one needs during winter in the Kalahari Desert. Plus, the lodge we camped in is the only place in Namibia that is home to black-maned lions. They are a breed that conservationists think will die out in about three decades because of two reasons: one, the black fur gene is recessive. Two, the land that travel guides call the Deep South of Namibia is majority owned by farmers, so lions that get past their fencing means the farmers shoot first and ask questions later. Thus, the local wildlife vets and conservationists monitor these lions carefully.

During our game drive, we noticed that the oryx acted especially nervous. More so than the springbok, who both live (survive) within the boundaries of the huge lion enclosure, which is about the size of 40,000 official size sports fields. Indeed, the springbok here DO have a distinct advantage of not dying because compared to wildebeest, oryx, or zebra, the lionesses do not find it worth their time to chase and kill them. Their meat would only fill the belly of one lion, two at most. Our guide, wearing nothing more than a hoodie and baseball cap in 2 degree (C) weather, happily mentioned this fact as we all huddled together in the early morning, wrapped in the truck's bright green blankets, ski hats and jackets.

Our drive started before the sun came up. We watched the sky turn from dusky grey to yellow to Namibian blue amid the low laying fog. It took a few hours for the sunlight to sharpen and define everything into shape, and we finally got to see the unique layout of the Kalahari Desert. We'd drive to the top of a sand dune and observe the vast landscape of thorny trees and bushes scattered among the orange sand and yellow grass, eyes peeled for lions. Each dune summit gave us moments of eager anticipation and hope of seeing them, but we mostly just surprised grazing animals on the other side. Leon, the guide, would then drive into the valley, the truck obediently following the carved tracks, like those of a roller coaster.

The first pride we found was sick and tired of people, having recently been darted and given a health check.  We attempted to follow them, including a lingering female who hadn't yet been accepted into the pride, but they were not about to stick around.

We later spotted a group of females lounging on a sunny patch of sand. Leon inched the truck as quietly as one can to get when driving a diesel Landcruiser, and shut off the engine. All we needed to do now was wait (some more) to see when the male would arrive. As soon as he did, we watched him get slapped by couple of lionesses before receiving affection and laying down to stare back at us. The lions were so chill and so beautiful, but it took only one yawn, and the stretch of their powerful legs to remind me they were not the kind of animals to be trifled with. 

Bait

The greeting

Red breasted shrike

Meerkats

Kalahari Red

Wildebeest

Oryx on the run.
Photo credit: David

Big fires. Big.