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IN THIS ISSUE

• Zvonko Springer goes looking for volcanoes and fossils on safari
• Freddie Goodship, Pat Moore, and Zvonko write to us
• Kate Brookfield forwards a letter from a nurse in Haiti
• Pat Moore remembers her button collections
• Canada Post clears up information in a recent post
• Sites are suggested by Don Henderson, Irene Harvalias, Gerrit de Leeuw, Jay, Tom Kyle, Tom Telfer, and Zvonko

Zvonko Springer recalls more adventures of their

FIRST KENYAN SAFARI

As our friends the Saches had not arrived after our morning adventures, we went on with the now standard routine: have lunch and a rest before going out in the afternoon. We were repeating the journey towards Masai Kopjes when somebody noticed something dangling from a branch of a tree next to the river. I did not heed the metre- high grass and entered it, not able to see anything below the car hood, just to get closer. With cameras ready, I saw my goal as the dangling tail of a leopard, when another shadow got up slowly as we came closer. Yes, there were two leopards watching our slow approach. Ljiljana was taking pictures and I tried hard to drive the car making the lowest possible sound. But when the space was about 10m, both leopards got up, stretched, and slid down the tree like ghosts and disappeared into the high grass, never to be seen again.

The commotion of barking baboons brought me back to the reality that I had to get the car out of the high grass. My only thought was how to get out using the same way we came in. At last we returned safely to the firm road and Ljiljana commented, "If I had suggested that you drive into this high grass, you would have said that I was crazy! True?"

Night was approaching and no sign from our friends yet. We were in the dining area when a muddy VW rushed in and Christa and Gerhard got out, totally exhausted and unnerved. Their travel story was hair- raising, particularly as they had come in on the same road we had driven in the rain the day before. Coming from Uganda, they lost two hours waiting for the ferryboat at Kisumu that sailed to Musoma. After disembarking at Musoma, they continued driving through Ikiza to Ikoma and the Serengeti entrance, where it started to rain all their way. Later a storm hit them as they helped another car out of mud. They arrived here totally exhausted. We wished them a good warm bath and a long rest until we met them in the morning.

In accordance with our schedule, we left the Seronera Lodge on September 2. The lodge service was the least pleasant of all we had visited up until then and the food in the restaurant was not as good we had had before that. It was time to say goodbye to the Serengeti, where we have seen many animals and had some extraordinary encounters.

A bit later that morning we started with a lot of optimism the 160km drive towards the Ngorongoro Crater. Our friends were ready early enough, so we showed them the road we had followed to the lions´ pride yesterday, and the tree where I missed the leopard. Later they told us that they found the leopard on the same tree and took pictures of it. We proceeded towards the Simba (Lions´) Kopjes and found a scuffed huge lion with a lioness resting next to the road. A bit further beyond this couple rested another lion, probably the opponent of the battered one.

There was not much to be seen on the way to Naabi Hill Park Gate. where we left the Serengeti´s good roads and came onto a bad section of some 65km that was the new road to Ngorongoro. With speed down to 30km/h, I tried the old road, but that was a real disaster as it contained a new kind of a trap: an old rut filled with dust. When I got into one of those, the car got a shock that hit us into the marrow, but Ljiljana yelled, "Push on!" Soon after that we read on a board with faded letters: "4.5ml to Olduvai Gorge", so I turned on a track leading into a dusty meadow.

Unexpectedly Vesna called, "My shoe laces are wet! Something is running out below my seat." I stopped instantly to find the reason. By Jove, the battery had overturned again and I saw a hole under its fixing place. A stone had hit the steel floor plate where it had corroded after a similar mishap in Tsavo East, when the battery got loose from its strap. I lifted the battery aside and with newspaper soaked up the acid and washed the wetted area afterwards. I closed the hole with a thick rubber piece so I could strap the battery in its place, happy that the battery was undamaged. I started the engine and hoped that the rubber would seal off the dust and protect the battery from another similar strike. In a short time we met the warden of the Gorge, who offered to be our guide into the archeological sites there.

Some years ago, Professor Leakey found the jawbone of "Homo Zinjantropus" (1.75 million years old) here, and the skull of "Homo Habilis" (younger by about one million years) some 50km upriver. The Kenyan guide spoke excellent English and led us up and down the steep footpaths, explaining with many details the way to search for fossils. Olduvai Gorge is a deep canyon ("duvai" means river and "ovai" is grass with thick leaves liked by the rhinos) with five exposed prominent layers down to the lava layer of Ngorongoro eruption of long ago. The whole Leakey family, parents and three sons, found some 400 fragments of Zinjantropus´ jawbone that took 18 months to be glued together in 1959.

Often the guide pointed to fossils sticking out of the almost vertical canyon walls. He also pointed out the danger of erosion caused by Masai herds coming down to drink. It would be essential to restrict the access to these archeological sites, particularly by cattle and goats, by constructing water-retention basins for them.

The guide, impressed by our interest (probably also by our good tip), gave us a rather sharp stone of opal (good to strip skins) and a piece of lava stone from the present river bed.

I had some problem to start the engine again and then drove up and down the 150m- to 200m-deep canyon until we came out on the old road climbing to the Ngorongoro crater. We went on through a deserted countryside to reach the Olbalbal Escarpment, with a splendid view of the Lemagrut extinct crater. Was there any vapour coming out of the crater vent? The grade became steeper and the car crept up from curve to curve in first gear at about 10km/h at full power. Suddenly the engine coughed ... and stopped instantly. I pulled the handbrake on and there we were, halfway into the next climb between two curves.

What looked like a compact road surface was actually fine sand ash in which there were no ruts - just a plain surface without any cohesion. Vesna and I got out of the car and Ljiljana took the steering wheel, ready to start the engine. Then she started it and slowly disengaged the clutch, while Vesna and I stood on the rear bumper to increase the rear-wheel traction. When the car started moving just a bit, I pushed off with one leg, and then stepped off to push the car forward. With our combined efforts, Ljiljana got the car moving up to the next curve, stopping there on a flat section. I opened the rear cover over the engine to adjust the air intake valve on the carburetor. Immediately the engine worked better and we reached the rim of Malanja Depression, where the grass was on fire. Of course, both girls started teasing me, saying the "vapour" from the Lemagrut extinct volcano was actually smoke from the fires set by the Masai to burn dry grass. The Masai lived in bomas (hamlets) there and set fires to encourage fresh grass to grow.

After we circumvented the Malanja valley, the road went up but not for too long, and we reached the rim of the Ngorongoro crater (the highest point at +3.190m). Happily I drove straight to the ESSO petrol station to fill up the battery and the tank. It was 2:45 p.m., quite a long time for the torturous ride for that "Pony" (the new nickname for our VW Beetle). No need to comment on the road condition - the vista was overwhelming all around the crater rim and down to the bottom with Lake Magad, and all over, many small dots of larger animals amassing. Right away we forgot all the problems and troubles we had undergone when we moved into our well-arranged room. We booked into the Crater Lodge located at the crater´s southern edge. From our room we had a brilliant view over the whole crater, under a clear blue sky with the long shadows of the setting sun spreading slowly over the floor. It was an absolutely marvellous sight!

To be continued.

CORRESPONDENCE

Freddie Goodship writes: Hurray, the day has finally come! After Geoff and I had a meeting with all the therapists and nursing staff, we were told that Geoff would be discharged on Thursday morning, February 18th - the 56th day after the accident. There will still be a lot of work to do in order for Geoff´s right arm and shoulder to work normally. It could take a year or more, or never fully recover, but all the indications are good as he improves daily. He is now allowed to eat regular food, although nothing too crunchy or gritty (nuts etc.) The feeding tube must stay in for six weeks so the earliest it can be removed is March 9th - why, I don´t know. The collar he disliked so much has also now been discarded.

We both want to thank you all so much for your good wishes, thoughts, prayers, love and support, which I am sure have helped Geoff recover faster than the staff expected.

Pat Moore writes: Jean Sterling wrote re some problems with cell phones, so I thought you would get a chuckle [out of my experiences]. With my new portable LifeLine phone, I do not plan on getting a cell phone - at least not yet. Thank goodness! Right now I cannot handle any more new technology - I am suffering brain overload.

I laughed at some of Jean´s remarks as I had borrowed a friend´s cell phone one day, and was utterly frustrated as every make of cell phone is different. I had several senior moments that day at the hospital. It was a waste of time.

Zvonko Springer comments on Jim Olson´s article in last week´s issue: Jim Olson writes in the last paragraph of his text: "I also know that the future holds many challenges to personal freedom of various kinds, and I could be well advised to suck it in and learn to fly my kite over the fence."

Many years ago I used my Homepage titled "Memories of a Croatian Soldier - Life Story" as the epitaph the following words from Grillparzer (Austrian author):

"I always have the need to occupy myself with any matter of study. With this knack I can steadily enjoy the after-taste of a childhood at man´s age. Thus, I´ll stay young, I do hope, until the last two hours of my life come."

We get the chance to benefit from the information technology, but we must have the will and the stamina to learn how to do it. We use it for our own activities, advantages, and last but not least, for fun and happiness.

Thus I have learned to fly my kite over the fence by using the Devil´s Tool - alias the computer.

Kate Brookfield forwards a letter from Scott Weinstein, RN, about rescue work going on in Haiti, taken from a bulletin from the Voice of Women:

THE MEDICAL CRISIS IN HAITI

Slande flew out of Miami two days after the Haitian earthquake struck. She is a nurse at a Ft. Lauderdale nursing home, and her home country was devastated. "Well, I had to come," she explained. Slande went immediately to work at the public General Hospital in downtown Port au Prince.

The hospital was in as bad a shape as the surrounding neighbourhood. The five-storey nursing school annex collapsed, killing many - reports of between 100 - 500 nursing students died. Inside the hospital, many sections were damaged. "But the courtyard was intact, and that is where the injured and the dead were brought. It was too much! We had nothing then. People were lying outside in the boiling sun during the day. The entrance to the x-ray department was crowded - because it had shade."

"Yeah, we treated them, of course. People came in with open fractures, dirty, flies, untreated. It was really bad," Slande says wearily. "There were no tents. People were dying too."

Over the last few weeks, the destroyed hospital has turned into a functional hospital with large 10-20-bed size tents serving as specialized wards crowded in the courtyard. There is a mixture of General Hospital staff and international organizations providing health care. Food is minimal for the patients, and none for the staff, but there is plenty of drinking water. Essential pain medications, antibiotics and wound dressing supplies are generally in adequate supply. The operating room is functioning, and the x-ray department has two machines running.

Three weeks later, Slande is now running between 50 patients in three trauma tents. She cleans their wounds and changes their dressings, makes sure they get their pain medications and antibiotics, and puts out fires. She coordinates with the irregular and rapidly-changing staff. Slande is of course very popular, not just because she is a friendly, excellent, dedicated nurse, but because she speaks the three languages that operate here: Creole, French, and English. Her past experience as an emergency room nurse prepared Slande "only a little bit" she confesses, for the overwhelming demands here.

Our wards are little communities. There is no privacy between the beds or cots. Most of the patients have family members staying with them all the time; there is a buzz of conversations and activity throughout the day. The families are essential - feeding, cleaning their kin, and advocating for them. They clean the mess on the grounds too.

By my second day, enough patients or family members knew me by name to call for me. Usually their needs are basic: pain medications (which they rarely ask for) when I get around to changing their wound dressings; but mostly it is to say hello. In fact, all the foreign staff are shaking their heads about how little we are asked to treat anything - especially the pain, which must be considerable. Bone pain from fractures, even amputations, are considerable. But most of our patients are getting by with the occasional Tylenol or ibuprophen. We use narcotics for a few.

C.M. and E.F. are two Haitian nurses who come in for the night shift. They work for the General Hospital, yet like all the medical staff, haven´t been paid in four months. "The government is broke," they explain. Pierre, a Miami accountant who is back in Haiti helping with logistics after being gone for 25 years, is like me, astounded. "Why do you come to work then?" he asks. "This is typical for Haiti," replies E.F. "No one gets paid here."

She exaggerates, clearly; some Haitians are getting paid very well. They drive nice cars, and live in big houses, with servants and gardeners. But one aspect is clear about this extremely poor country, there is little money for public services like health care or education. Which is why the patients appear very happy to have this foreign health care all of a sudden.

Not only are the staff here because we want to be, but we bring in tons of free medications and supplies that previously they would have had to pay for, even at the public hospital. Yet this is creating a black market too - the supplies and medicines disappear. Desperate people may be taking them, or common criminals. The patients go without, as their donated supplies are now for sale on the streets. Haiti has long been a country where the poor are greviously exploited - and this influx of relief aid without accountability and justice is not going to change the corrupt economic system.

One consequence of one million homeless is that a bed in a hospital tent is a bed for someone without a home. I have had to play the bad sheriff, this morning telling a man with a finger wound and a limp to leave, because he sneaked in and spent the night in one of our beds, despite his children´s pleading. But our beds are for people much more worse off than he. Where can he go? To a crowded camp with a mixture of homemade tents and fancy Red Cross tents. The situation was difficult before, and now it is just overwhelming. We all hope that the Haitian people will be able to take over the services the international volunteers are providing, and rebuild a better country.

Pat Moore writes: I just received this poem from a friend, and it bought back some personal memories of my own special button box:

THE OLD BUTTON BOX

When I was just a child,
Five or six or more,
I liked to sneak my hand
Into Grandma´s button drawer.
I´d dip and scoop and stir
My fingers through the past,
Remnants of her handiwork,
Strong and meant to last.
Buttons large and buttons small,
A thread or two still there.
Some were rough with fabric,
Others slick and bare.
Years have worn out all the clothes,
But one thing does remain,
Sifting fingers through the drawer
Brings Grandma home again.

For many years I had two button boxes: one box for very special and fancy buttons, and the other for ordinary buttons for when a button was lost or broken.

Travelling to England and Europe several times, I found they had many specialty shops catering just to button collectors, and I loved visiting the shops and often treated myself to a few buttons to keep until I found just the right jacket, dress, or suit to replace the ordinary buttons.

It may sound silly, but it was one of the hardest things to give away when I lost my sight and knew that I would not be mending or sewing anymore and had to downsize my "stuff". Some of the fancy buttons had been in that special box for years, as sometimes it was hard to find the right outfit that needed them. Sometimes I had four special buttons but needed six, and that was very frustrating - and so I kept them for another special item.

I still remember the day I made the final decision and I put the two boxes side by side. Within a minute I had put the ordinary box of buttons by the front door to send down to the local charity shop. After spending some time looking and sifting through the special box, again I finally put it by the door next to the other.

Later that afternoon, several papers and flyers were delivered to the front door and when I went to collect them, I could not help taking the special box back to look through it again - just for the last time. Each set of special buttons brought back a memory of where I had found them - sometimes in an antique shop, sometimes at a garage sale, and sometimes cut off from a special outfit that had outgrown its days.

Fate brought me many reasons to go to the front door over the next hours and finally, after a couple of days going to the front door for the mail, greeting friends, etc., I finally decided a delivery to the charity shop was necessary, and off they went.

The ladies at the charity shop were thrilled, and argued about where to put them. They finally decided to put them in the front window as there were many people requesting buttons. I often wonder who wanted them, and hope they are in a good home and are appreciated.

CANADIAN POSTAL RATES

Recently there was a post circulating that claimed that rates at official post offices and those in other outlets charged different rates for delivery. This statement from Canada Post refutes that information:

"Over the holidays, a customer contacted us by email to ask us why private sector partners would be allowed to charge more for the same service provided by corporate offices. The reply they received contained misinformation and we would like our customers to know the facts - rates are the same at all Canada Post establishments both corporate and private sector partner locations.

"It is very important to us that the customer experience is the same no matter where you choose to shop.

"In fact, the agreement that Canada Post has with its private sector partners specifies that the maximum postal rates that they can charge are the Canada Post published rates. If a postal outlet charges prices that are over the Canada Post published rates, they are in violation of their contract. You should also know that the equipment used by private sector postal outlets is programmed with Canada Post´s published rates. Therefore, the rates should be the same no matter where you choose to get postal services.

"We are very disappointed to hear of this experience and we are investigating the matter."

THIS WEEK´S SUGGESTED SITES

Don Henderson and Irene Harvalias suggest this site for finding pictures of some of your old haunts through the lens of the Google cameras:

Don also suggests you bookmark this site for easy access to many sites:

Gerrit deLeeuw and Pat Moore send the URL for a panoramic aerial photo of Vancouver:

Jay writes: "HMS Dreadnought" was at least twice as formidable as anything afloat when it was built in 1906. It started an arms race between Britain and Germany in the years before World War I:

Tom Kyle thinks you will like this site if you are "into" cars:

Tom Telfer suggests this game for testing your hand-eye coordination, judgment, and scientific skill:

Zvonko sends these two sites with 360-degree views of The Elysee Palace and the Basilica San Paolo in the Vatican: