As I write this opening paragraph, I am sitting on my bed, overlooking the Mara River. There are hippo snorting water out their nostrils, and bugs (I’m guessing crickets) calling to one another. A cool breeze passes through my tented room, and the feeling is that of the18th century colonial, having conquered Africa, writing to those back home in an endeavour to paint the picture of a landscape, people and tongue they could never have imagined. Just over the horizon, clouds amass in a bulky fluff, white at the top yet heavy and dark towards the bottom…the condensation of a pending raincloud. Above my head, the tent groans and moves slightly with the wind; as do the leaves, responding to the movement of an African afternoon.