26 Nov 2011
Really frustrating, if it’s your everything in terms of work, friendship, family, paying the bills, and contact with the world, when your line of communication is down. With the help of the satphone and Tom and his wizards in Pretoria I’ve tried everything to get the big dish talking to space again, but no luck. The router box has a blown port and replacement is the only option.
The parcel with the remedy is already waiting in bustling Pretoria while I’m waiting silently in the bush, but the word ‘courier’, if it even exists here, can only possibly refer to a certain Ford model. I’m also down to basics, food- and comfortswise. Tobacco, that magical leaf around which I find my mind constantly revolving, is especially missed. Since I run a dry camp I haven’t had a soothing glass since my last beer in Mapai either. I would have made a trip down to Massingir by now, but there’s still serious mud out there that can not only stop you, but also keep you captive in its sticky ambush.
Fortunately I’m blessed with good backing who’ve been arranging a supply drop, but there’s still no indication of when I can expect it. In the solitude that I find myself in I manage to knuckle down and make good headway with the novel, however. That toad honking outside my tent is shouting its encouragement, I tell myself.