This one is Hilde's fault

Well, it's been about a month since I started this thing, and true to my nature, I haven't quite stuck with it. But I have been informed, by my sister, Hilde, that another post is in order.

I am in Dar-es-Salaam now, at a guest house in an Indian part of the city. It's hot and humid, but in that Sunday evening way that makes you think it's sort of cool. Something about the dark, and the way people are at the end of the weekend, with all the shops closed and the streets bare but for small families walking to the corner restaurant, that makes it look like it is cool, even if your sweat is pouring. Today I spent the day on a bus, from Arusha, and there isn't anything to say about it. You sit, for ten hours, and then you get there, hot and damp and drowsy. End of story. I like this part of the city because people live here. It's downtown, but it's also residential. I sat down to eat koftas and rice to the evening call of the mosque and the smell of charcoal and meat and spices.

My time at home went fast. I am not sure what I did. Michael and I went snowmobiling one weekend, but I can't really write about it now; it seems impossible that anything was cold and white like that. Michael finished fixing up a house, with the usual last-week-marathon of major painting and spackling and and mounting. I assisted him in this by dawdling around, working for a few minutes, complaining for many, and generally spending my time saying why we needed to call it a day and go home. I had many reasons and even made up some when I ran out.