These things we can surmise, given the information available to us:
When she was in diapers, the nation was as well: she was born at the end of the 1700s.
Maybe her family had money, and some land.
Maybe they raised corn, or horses, or tobacco.
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This is the money shot, the one they sell you afterwards for $20. It's full of excitement and energy and features what looks like me, crying like a baby (the water was cold!). But it fails to capture all the things I will remember most about this excursion.
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25 May 1999, El Hato
Arch back, reaching away
from the soft earth that sustains you,
Eyes high to spirals traced in starlight
wrapped in curling sheets of woodsmoke
from endless kitchen fires
spinning in the Coriolis loops
of excrement settling in pit latrines
and Managua traffic's orbits
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Lake Bunyonyi seemed hell-and-gone from nowhere, tucked in a volcanic crevice 8 hours' drive from Kampala. And nature's tension mounted as we made our final approach: the wind picked up and began blowing spirals in the dust as the road wound upward through forest. The sky darkened in impending storm, and then, just as our car emerged from the forest on a forest ridge overlooking the lake, the first icy drops began to fall. But below us - almost vertically below us, it seemed - was the lake, and it was bathed in a silver light by a band of sunlight that snuck through a hole in the clouds. Stunning.
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The turn-offs towards the little coastal towns were better suited for motorcycles than 4 wheeled vehicles, or even our little, rented VW Polo. Down and around hairpin curves, each of which threatened to rise up by its elbows and hurl us onto the rocks below, the little seaside ports always just around the next curve.
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