On a completely unrelated note, I came across a beautiful piece of writing the other day and I suppose it made me consider how I remember my life in Lusaka. I don't usually post excerpts up here but I thought it such a poignant description of memories:
In real life, I reflected, you warmed yourself on cold winter days in a foreign land by pulling out a rag-bag collection of those memories. You wondered which ones to keep and which to throw away, paused over a fragment here, smiled at a scrap. You reached out to grasp people you knew and came up with a handful of air, for they were only chimeras, spun out of your own imagination. You tried to pin down a picture, thought that you had it exactly the way it smelled and looked so many years ago, and then you noticed, out of the corner of your eye, a person who had not been there before, a slight movement where there should have been the stillness of empty canvas. (Anita Rau Badami, "Tamarind Mem")
I'm off now for a quick bike ride before the next downpour (hopefully)*grin*
