the hills are alive

As hard as I've been on the hospital, they came through this past week Despite the interdepartmental communication problems that plague just about every department of health on earth, I have to mention how they're terribly understaffed for the scale of this epidemic; it's only fair to the kind doctors and nurses who really have been helpful. M. began ARVs on one of the coldest nights of winter here. Fortunately, she lay warm beneath wool blankets in a hospital bed, while I buried myself in a sleeping bag and two comforters. We boil ourselves in hot baths before bed, to remind us that we have feet. You can sunbathe in skivvies by day, but nights are frigid in houses without insulation and heat. Thatched roofs are well insulated, and the smoke from the floor fires burnishes the grass and beams shiny black. It makes a beautiful finish. Mud bricks are laid for walls, and the smooth floors are mixed from clay and dung. Grass mats are unrolled to sit upon, and smell incredible.

Sarah's been working her cold little fingers to the bone all weekend to bring you an updated trailer to the film (posting to site TBA); a little warmer to how it will really feel. To assist her concentration, I cultivated my wifely skills: making dinner, doing laundry, running errands, kneeling to serve her tea, and ever increasing my value in cows. In this weather, gathering dry limbs of wood at the top of the mountain makes or breaks an excellent bride. To do it, we climbed half a mile vertical and four more through Sound of Music-like hills, with an entourage of little children singing in neat rows. D.'s lovely sister led us up, telling legends of the ranges around, including one 'Hysterical Woman Bush'. There are no men in D.'s family; just beautiful girls with sparkling smiles and amber eyes. The enormous bundles were tied together with green strips of young bark, and balanced on our heads. The sight of us doing Zulu things or making Zulu sounds is endlessly funny to everyone here...

And you can see from Sarah's glowing photo that we visited the Tevreden Cheese Factory, in honor of the classic David Friedland song. We are wealthy in cheese! It was crucial—cheese sandwiches are our lunch four days out of the week, to keep the budget steady against the soaring price of petrol. And then come those golden afternoons when we are given enormous plates of home cooking...