Bujumbura in a heartbeat

Sitting in Bujumbura International Airport, shaped a little like a bra, it is 10pm and I am sweaty and tired from a lack of sleep and tired from what will be a long night of still less sleep.

Earlier I had dinner and a beer on the terrace of a hotel looking out over Lake Tanganyika. In the distance, the lights across the water showed where Burundi ended and the DRC began. Presentation done and client happy, the beer was watery and the night was warm. I had lots of energy and I was having dinner with interesting people.

Now I am dog-tired and I dare not go to sleepo on bench because I am the only blonde little umzungu in the building, but for 10 sinister looking francophone soldiers and a cleaner. My flight only leaves at 0125am and will not open for another 2 hours.

A group of gentleman from the Central African Republic arrive, a little worse for wear (maybe their beer was less watery) but I reason: better one flirts gently with a friendly drunk in the light than disappears into the Burundian night with an unfriendly unknown.

It's amazing how long flirting takes in broken French and English. Two hours to check-in just flew right by.

Monkey's Winter

On a monkey's winter day in Cape Town (24 degrees and humid), I took a stroll around the block to clear my head. On the corner I found a second-hand bookshop I hadn't known was there and, inside, a book I hadn't known I was looking for.