Moving deeper inland, the very air grew barely breatheable in this
damp and oppresive heat. The river now twisted and turned so that the
rotting jungle now closed in on us from all sides as if it were some
monstrous bird of prey waiting for us to weaken. My indomitable spirit
never weakens however, but I do seem to be crying a little more often
now. Rounding a sharp bend we came upon the spot where we were to meet
our head guide, Sir Stanley Livingston, KCB, but there was naught in
sight but a rather large rinoceros. (not rhinoceros)
The quivering of a nearby mblapa tree soon showed us that Sir Stanley
was, indeed here after all. "Been waiting long, old tot?" I shouted.
"A-a-ass," he replied. (strangely familiar, that reaction to me).
Sir Stanley had been up the tree since last Tuesday and we had little
problem getting him down as the rino, (not rhino), had fallen asleep
and probably had forotten why it was there in the first place. On next
to Rungwa to hire our native bearers, hoping that their strike is