The treatment for rabies is not what it used to be.
Not so long ago it consisted of twenty or more painful shots into the abdomen delivered by a needle the size of a fencepost. This treatment is now obsolete, as I have (thankfully) discovered.
I collected myself. Only minutes before the doctor had phoned to tell me that the dog that I had strangled was rabid. This was not a time for moping; it was a time for moving.
This incident could morph into a legacy-act of Davy Crockett proportions. Of course, in order to bask in it fully, I had to survive a ghastly and foaming death.
I rinsed with water from a hose. The clear imprint of teeth on my thigh would have made a dentist proud. But the wounds were also deep so they took a while to stop bleeding. Red streaks mixed with the water and dribbled down my leg and forearms.
I got the skinny from Father Yusef, a local priest. He was waiting to perform a baptism and was happy to chat while the family gathered. What I learned turned out to be an interesting mix of gospel and tradition. It goes like this.
Swarms of giant storks were suddenly everywhere. They were beyond counting. In the hundreds? For sure. Thousands? Maybe. Some circled slowly overhead, great wings outstretched. Many more rested, nested, and clattered their bills from poo-spangled trees.
Jody Owens, Professor of Bible and Pastoral Ministries, and I discuss some of the high points (and one of the lows!) from our experience with Johnson University students.
While not the excursion that we had planned, the Johnson University study-tour to Israel/Palestine turned into a real-world exercise. And the team responded magnificently.
Safari operators often speak of the "Big Five." This is a linger-longer from the blood-sport days. The phrase does not identify Africa's largest species, but rather the five most difficult/dangerous animals to hunt on foot.
In the story of Noah's Ark, a portion of the living world finds sanctuary in a pinch. I thought about that as our rig bounced down the steep track into Ngorongoro Crater, Tanzania.
The land yawned like a Wyoming dawn. The opportunity in front of us was equally wide. We had a full day to spend in Ngorongoro Crater and I was pumped.
Zebras and wildebeests drank the muddy water, flicked their tails, rolled in the dust, and fussed with each other. It may have just been in my head, but somewhere I could hear the soundtrack of "The Lion King" playing.
We pitched our duffels and then ourselves into Saidi's knobby-wheeled truck. Saidi found the gear and we lurched forward. Our aim was to encounter the wildness of East Africa, God-willing, in a bloodless way.
How do you bring home photographic images that truly capture your travel experiences? Four techniques are helpful. Think C.E.L.L.: Composition, Exposure, Light, and Location.
The caloric burn of that day was equal to the effort of running three full marathons, back-to-back. My body felt like I had been run over by a full marathon . . . of stampeding wildebeests!
