Molting

I've decided that the first two weeks of an adventure should be thought of as the molting period. In Africa's case, it's quite literal molting, because this is about the amount of time it takes to burn, burn again, learn to remember to put on your damn sunscreen, and peel. These two weeks are also used to develop the handy blisters that turn into even handier calluses, to catch and recover from whatever flu or cold is in the area that you don't have the immunities for, to learn how much water you'll need to boil and chill for the day, and to accustom yourself to sleeping in a new places with new sounds. Then there's the cultural molting- you learn to stop doing things your way and to adopt someone else's methods, you adapt your social habits- most importantly, you learn the local swears. Thusfar, I've only used Afrikaans curses in my head, but I'm getting there, I'm getting there.

Since the last entry, I have left behind my lobster color, and become... well, if not tan, at least tawny. Like Rupert the caracal. But with freckles. I'm sleeping through the night, I've got my calluses back, and life has generally settled for now.

Morning at the lion park begins with cleaning one or two enclosures, which incidentally is also a good opportunity for collecting. I've got an owl feather, a raven's primary, lion fur, some lovely rocks, and an intriguing raptor skull that Vesil, a staff member, has offered some of his favorite pieces in exchange for. No chance. My skull. Once-in-a-lifetime find. After enclosures, we frequently gather branches from various invasive trees to feed the goats. My other work has ranged from shoveling gravel to gutting chickens to brushing the donkey. (I'm curiously fond of this donkey. I suspect there's a lot of donkey guilt leftover from Ecuador, where we had to feed them to the carnivores. It had to be done, but... I like that I can pamper this girl with carrots and peach slices, and know that she'll never end up in a lion's belly).

Three afternoons a week (mon, wed, fri) we feed the lions, and this is the best time for lion-watching. Technically, my job is crowd control, but since the school year just started (remember, it's summer here) our "crowds" have been minimal, so I get a lot of staring in. The kids start feeling frisky about an hour before feeding time. The younger ones start wrestling like kittens, the older ones might pace in front of the fence, moaning to the two-leggers to hurry it up. Once they've inhaled their chickens (they do get red meat when there's a donation, but it's mostly chicken) they clean their paws and either go to sleep or start snuggling with their roomies. Yesterday I watched Shumba and Bai, one of the cuter couples, washing each other's faces. I recall a similar experience with a puma cub as feeling something like a sandpaper massage, but it's probably more comfortable when your face is covered in coarse fur. This week I also witnessed Chumba taking his sexual frustration out on his brother Mufasa's head, and Goliath catching and chewing on his brother Simba's tail. Aneta has just gone into heat, so part of today and tomorrow will certainly be spent watching how her roomie, Ringo, copes with the situation. It's his first time. They tell me that however sweet a male might be with a female under normal circumstances, once she's in heat all bets are off. In addition, his equipment is barbed- the pain of entry apparently stimulates ovulation in the female (for all the good it will do them, since our boys are vassectomized). I wonder if they've tried a domestic violence seminar...

I have had some angsty moments, when I'm just angry at Africa- for ants eating my cough drops, for water I have to boil, for being freakishly hot, for waking up already sweating. These moments pass once I've dealt with the issue at hand. My only other small angst has been of a feminist flavor. It's been explained to me that men here are "gentlemen". Bah Humbug and Piffle- I can lift it on my own! I was the strongest barmaid at the Skeff, and don't you forget it! It doesn't help that the last female volunteer they had here apparently fainted while working on a hot day, and thus the staff have been attempting to treat me like porcelain. Frankly, fainting is the last of my worries. I've fended it off before- just drink water and sit down if your vision goes wonky. You'll be fine. Hopefully Elzette, who gives me most of my work, has accepted by now that I'm hard to kill.

This coming week I'm getting a buddy in the volunteer camp- some guy from the Netherlands. I'm worried that because he has The Testosterone he'll get all the good work and I'll be stuck cleaning indoors. But most likely not. They've got my number by now.

Well, I'm off to buy my ticket to the next stop, Tanzania. I'll write again next weekend. Miss you guys...