We’ve reached the end of yet another very well needed Sabbath. It was high time that I gave my muscles, ligaments, joints and bones a rest after two days of grueling work on the playground. I know two days doesn’t sound like much, but if you factor in the spectacularly hot weather and my still recovering formerly broken knee, the gripe is at least a little more cogent.  Plus, after all the dirt digging I’m certain to be discovering soil in my pores and crevices for the next week. It all added up to a shower late last night and 9:30a.m. wake up the following morning (thank you, livestock).

The five of us in the house opted to go out for lunch at a proper restaurant, rather than settling for the ambassador hotel. Matt recommended a restaurant on the other side of town owned by the uncle of a friend of ours named Fousi. So, we nabbed a taxi—driven by Mr. Mohammad Ali—and went into town.

At the restaurant, as is customary, we ate outside. Instead of a canopy, however, we were shaded by a dying linden tree. The waiter gave us our choices for lunch which were goat, fish, pasta and rice. I ordered goat and pasta with a side of chapati.

Not long after we were seated, the owner came over to our table and struck up a conversation with Matt. Very bright gentleman—as it turns out, he attended the University of California, Berkeley. He and Matt had an animated discussion about everything from the government of East Africa to American politics. As the food arrived, the owner scooted away to allow us to enjoy our feast.

The food was atrocious. I ate only a few bites of the goat leg that was presented to me, that was incased in fat and hugged to the bone. The chapati was cold. The soup was bland. The only saving grace was the pasta. It made me realize how spoiled we are to have A.Q. as our chef.

What lacked in the quality of the food was more than made up for in the conversations we had. While we were at lunch, a man seated at a table adjacent to us waved hello to us. “Americans?” he asked. The three of us who are said yes. It turns out this man had spent time living in Ohio.

We continued on with our meal when out of nowhere an antelope quietly roamed by us. The wait staff was quick to control the antelope by pulling it away by its horns, but we were not the least bit bothered by it. In fact, we wanted to play with it. It didn’t take long before we made a little fun with the antelope by feeding it leftovers from our table (view video of the interaction here.)

Back to the gentleman from the table across from us. As it turns out, he was actually a sultan. He inquired about the about our organization, so we told him about the projects we are working on, including the aforementioned playground project. He told us he is the owner of a local hotel and purveyor of children’s playground on the other side of town. “Would you like to come see it?” he offered. We were a wee bit hesitant, but we had nothing else planned for the afternoon, so we alerted Mohammed Ali and followed the sultan and Matt (he rode along with him) to his playground.

On the way to the playground, among other things, the sultan showed us his hotel and pointed out the Obama Restaurant & Café. The drive was much longer than we anticipated, but when we finally did arrive it was worth it. Not specifically for the playground itself, which was quite impressive; I was struck by the clear view of the mountains. It was the closest I had been to the mountains since we arrived. After a few moments of admiring the sultan’s handiwork (and generosity in letting us visit) we drove back into town and parted ways. A well-timed nap was soon encroaching.

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Scotty and I made another one of our semi-regular trips to the ambassador hotel for orange cake and ice cream. It’s a wonderful opportunity for us to settle our minds and discuss what has been kicking around in our heads. We generally bring a book and a journal, and on occasion turn on the TV to watch a football (soccer) game or BBC News.

I don’t take moments such as these, or any other for that matter, for granted.  Not one.

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