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“The Academic Board Meeting (having started at 4 p.m.) was interesting and informative. The girl who served us drinks was dressed in a black and white French maid’s uniform. I wondered if this was how all the institute meetings were conducted, or were they simply trying to impress the new Mzungu. In the absence of the Acting Professor, the meeting was chaired by Hodian Urio; he, John Monyo and I drank Fanta orange, instead of beer, the drink of choice for all the others.

When the meeting agenda was read, along with a list of participants, I noted that CC Silvano and the Acting Director (Professor Sharma) were “on safari”. Surprised, I whispered to John, seated beside me, “Have they gone to visit the game parks?”

“No, no.” John threw his head back and laughed. “They are away on business. ‘On safari’ just means that they are travelling, isn’t it.” Keep your stupid mouth shut, Anne Marie!

. . . I had sat through many government and business meetings, rarely stretching past the two hour mark, but never one as intelligent, interesting and productive. Where government meetings in Canada never seemed to accomplish more than to put certain people to sleep (including yours truly, I have to admit, the morning after one particularly active and long-drawn-out social occasion), private sector business meetings kept people awake by raising stress levels, often disintegrating into bicker-fests. The only person close to dreamland in this one was Robert. Any stress that might otherwise have been induced was quelled by the copious amounts of Safari Lager ingested.

. . . I had no time to think about my tummy rumbling until Urio announced (at 8 p.m.) that we would all be going to town right after the meeting for dinner, courtesy of the Institute. We went straight from the boardroom to the Land Rover, where Italicha was waiting to drive us to the strobe-lit Cave Disco.”

“Still running, he led us straight to the football pitch. We had to join in the soccer game; on the team with shirts. Playing for an hour, non-stop, after an hour of running and exercising, I did not (as was pointed out to me strongly by Charles) score a single goal.

Eke insisted that I was responsible for one of our goals, in that all the defenders had been following me, instead of the guy in possession of the ball. My toe did manage the occasional contact with the ball; I achieved one brilliant header. . . . I played my little heart out, even if I was far too preoccupied with inspecting the semi-nude bodies, and rippling muscles, on the opposing team.”

“Lake Manyara National Park had its own unique features, I discovered, and was far from being a let-down (after Ngorngoro Crater)... When we reached the Hot Springs area, we were allowed out of the vehicle to wander around on our own. Eke, Celestine and I ventured farther into the bush than the others; discovering a fabulous old tree, covered with carved initials.

“Climb up there, Jane,” said Eke, “and I’ll make you an authentic picture of Jane-of-the-Jungle to take home to Kevin.” I climbed as far up as I could, posed for the photo, then, on an impulse, took out a handy nail file (from the money pouch hanging around my neck), searching for a blank space to carve. While the others nagged down below for me to hurry – “Haraka, Bwana!” – I carved rudimentary initials of the Three Musketeers, “CI”, “EM” and “AM”, enclosing them within an even cruder heart-shape. Now all I’ve got to do, thought I, is go back to look for them before I’m too ancient to climb the tree.

(Later, in Tarangire National Park) Two or three elephants appeared over a rise to our left. They were humungous; particularly a male, which was also very agitated. He looked at us, shook himself, trumpeted angrily, then set off at a gallop towards our vehicle, pulling himself to one side suddenly, before continuing on a path right across our bow. You think I could tell it was a male by the size? Right! By the mind-boggling size of the phallus, that hung down from his under-section, waving back and forth as he ran; almost touching the ground. Not the only person in the vehicle struck speechless, my affliction was caused by amazement rather than fear. What did I know about death-by-stampeding-elephant statistics? The Africans knew! If I thought Hodian was frightened when I asked him to take a photo of the rhino the previous day, I now sensed unholy terror; times five.”