Much to our distress, the cute, black-faced monkey with its fringe of white hair bared his teeth and moved in closer.
We admitted how lonely and cut-off we felt a continent, an ocean, and most of another continent away from all that was familiar around The Festive, as Christmas is called in Cape Town.
Inwardly begging my sleeping pill to do its job, the plane is hammered by more turbulence than I’ve felt on any flight, anywhere.
The thin pink line on the horizon grew, silhouetting the bodies of millions of flying fruit-bats.
For research purposes, maybe it’s better to remain detached by giving a study participant a number. But this cheetah had sparked something inside me. I wanted to give her a name.
The zebu is a hump-backed cow, with droopy dewlaps, and floppy ears, somebody I can relate to the older I get!
It was uncomfortably hot. To shed my hiking boots and socks, pad slowly through the cool water, was divine.
May you find that which makes your heart sing. Though for most existing will be your destiny and provide little about which to sing.
Within the Bwindi Impenetrable Forest, the name gives you a clue as to what this place is like, I’m steps away from mountain gorillas.
Regal, alluring, the black and white colobus monkeys watch me. They aren’t nearly as impressed with me as I am with them.
Eventually we would run out of city. We had to.
No fanfare, no drama, Sara went to bed, the only logical, self-preserving thing to do.