It’s Saturday morning in Africa and some of us, jet-lagged, are sleeping in. At least to the extent that’s possible around here.
Hannah opens the front door and yells out, “It’s time for breakfast!”
She’s yelling to her brother, who is with his best friend, a boy from school who, last night, had his first sleepover.
The friend slept up on the bed. The boy, my son, on the floor beside him.
The two boys, who seem to be as close as Jonathan and David, are out on the front lawn playing soccer.
The sun is shining. The birds sing nearby, the cats, satiated after their own breakfast, are lounging around. The dog is barking at one thing or another.
It’s pancakes and maple syrup. This is what Hannah is calling the boys in for. (The “maple syrup” here is, in fact, two per cent real maple syrup.)
The other sister is in her room.
Sleeping-in – or trying to – is Mom. She just arrived from over the Atlantic earlier this week, joining the rest of us who came two weeks ago. She’s still getting her bearings.
It’s the family news of the week. It was a long wait for the kids.
The one young cat, son of The Fighting-Roaming-Playboy Cat, a cat born (and found by Liz) in nearby flower pots) is wandering around in front. He has a bad wound on his head – he’s taking after his father and this is a concern. The vet is coming in from Kampala on his boda-boda, to take a look.
Soon, at a nearby recreational spot, the kids will swim and Mom will have a coffee and continue to immerse herself in our life here. I will stay back to ensure the vet has all he needs.
Later this afternoon, we’ll play hockey.
Which is all to say it’s just an ordinary Saturday morning around here with just the ordinary details of life unfolding.
And in this, simple pleasures.