Friday morning after being awake, seemingly forever, pickled herring sounded better than cereal for breakfast…I attributed that to jet lag. But then considered Justin’s beer instead of orange juice after a morning game drive and thought, “What the heck and had pickled herring for breakfast.”
It is good to be home. It is good to put clothes into the washer and walk away knowing they will be reasonably clean upon my return. It is good to turn on a faucet and be able to brush my teeth, knowing that it is safe to do so. It is good to have infrastructure…from electricity to roads.
But I miss the beautiful weather with the lack of humidity. I miss have breakfast ready and waiting for me (ditto lunch and dinner). And as I began to go through pictures, I have wonderful memories of all the people we met and the hospitality which they extended. Of waking up to an elephant outside my tent and the necessity of a Maasai walking me to breakfast. Of the graceful gate of giraffes as they saunter across the grasslands. The sway of the train and animals on the Athi Plains. The excitement of seeing lions and cheetah. The antics of the monkeys. The grandness of the landscapes in all their varied forms. And of course the wonderful companions of the journey.
As I made it in and out of a store the other night, without talking to another soul thanks to self-checkout, I wonder who really is the poorer? As we grumbled across the Chalbi, amazed at the people who actually live there it occurs to me they might be happier where they are, because they, too, are home.
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