Friday, March 30, 2012
I Only Know Of Gifts Given, Never Hidden
As of yesterday, March 29th, 2012, I am without my computer. This is to say, my personal computer has decided to take a short vacation of its own, and not allow me even the privilege of my log-on page. While our tech is not in residence – as he is currently stomping the grounds of Tanzania – I’ll be without a personal computer for an unknown span of time. This is quite an unfortunate time for occurrence, as we are about to embark on our final research project, which will include 4 solid weeks of non-stop work, plus the three papers I have due within this current week. My solution?
Friendship. Well, in the spirit of being honest, I am blessed to find myself among a collection of wonderful individuals who, thankfully, are in the business of lending-a-hand… or in this case, a computer. Finding myself on the tail-end of a silly situation, my friends offered to share their time and property, and I am forever thankful.
Although, I must note, I have been having a strange run of techno-terror these past few days. First a hacked email, next a quirky computer-glitch. True to form, however, I reminded myself that as nothing could be done (except maybe a quick trip to the duka for a Coca-Cola) I had only to find the silver lining in this dark techno-cloud. What I found, friends, was time.
What I did with this time, however, may be labeled as questionable. I took the time to rediscover the camp, and found some hidden treasures. I took a walk about the yard, and saw many tiny critters I hadn’t seen before. I jotted down some adventurous stories in my journal, sang a few songs while dancing in the bright equatorial sun, and spoke with some of our neighbor baboons.
How does one enter into conversation with a baboon? So glad you asked! When confronted with a pack of immoveable baboons, one might find that some of the males will puff out their chests, open wide their golden eyes, and begin to grunt at you. If you find yourself decidedly bored, and harboring a mischievous streak, you may or may not decide to grunt back. (I should call to attention the fact that I was standing safely behind a door while peaking my head through a small opening). Soon grunting will evolve into moaning, barking, and then full on screaming should the conversation prove to be teaming with excited emotions. My conversing ended with the barking, as the male had decided that I was not the conversationalist he had originally imagined, and found that picking through the grass was infinitely more amusing.