| The
year of 1994 was not a
good year. It had seen its fair share of warfare,
bloodshed and disaster. It was a busy year for me
and before I could write my annual letter, Christmas
was upon us. I'm only writing to you on January,
1995!! In February, 1994, my mother was badly beaten
over the head by a burglar. For a tiny sleepy little
town like Maun, this was hailed by all, especially
the local black people, where elders are so respected,
as the most awful act anyone could think of doing
to a helpless old woman living on her own. They
were shocked beyond belief. We called for a mercy
flight at 2:30 am and my sister Hazel flew with
her in the Lear jet to Johannesburg. She recovered
well but aged ten years overnight!
"E aster
week-end turned into a ten day holiday in Tanzania,
on a wild part of the coast, near the Mozambiquan
border. The most wonderful snorkeling and scuba
diving I have ever had, to say nothing of the daily
menu of fresh fish, crab and lobster. The island
was covered with hundreds of cocoanut trees and
cashew nuts. We went shopping in the local markets
where we were the only white people around. We crossed
from the island, in a huge dhow, sails billowing
in the breeze until we sighted the mainland and
suddenly ran out of wind. It took us nearly two
hours in a near calm sea to eventually dock at an
old Arabic, slave trading port of Mikandani. We
viewed the remains of old German forts, Arab style
verandahs with elaborately carved doors and door
frames, and bartered jokingly with the locals for
their wares"
Love
to you all
Daphne
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