Crtd 12-06-05 Lastedit 14-08-20

...I invested in a brand new robust PVC snow white (for the next days) shade tent...right: Roland's freshly dug fish pond...

...this adolescent monitor lizzard took a liking for the engine compartment of my car...until he found out the whole  thing got on the move every now and then...

...Roland bought two adult ducks that until than had never seen any navigable water. Having discovered his goodness and frequent carrying of breadcrums, they walk after him all day. Roland took them to his newly dug pond. First, they categorically refused to enter, but then after a reluctant first attempt (let us be honest: Roland simply threw them in) discovered swimming as a really cool modern hobby that they miraculously turn out to be very good at!...  

... For pulling dry the stern and closing the leak I follow the strictly no-Africans protocol ^[why?]... prepared a wooden rail to roll the dhow up...and strolled 'round to find a decent tree stem as a roller (RR)...

...Since no Africans will handle the tools, now I can have them prepared properly by Mark the GC (German Cowboy) in his foreign donor sponsored modern machine demonstration centre...Western readers! Finally something decent done for your tax money! Thank you!...

After an 8 day atrial fibrillation stopped I declared it Leak Closing Day 0. My white South African friend and volunteer helper Brown calls off with heavy malaria. 1 day postponement, Mark (German) will help Saturday morning "OK make a good coffee". But no Mark. It seems: no-Africans = nobody. I decide: if old ducks that never saw water can swim than I can pull that fucking dhow dry on my bloody own. A new challenge!

... The ramp is lee shore so I turn on lines using the wind ...

... then with a bow port and starboard line make sure tip of bow is where the wind blows the stern to the eucalyptus-rail ... 

... then fasten winch wire ...

... and bring roller in position under water ...

... and pull up! ...

Now since someone evidently had to make the pictures, let me introduce him

... Arni Helgason, an Iceland embassy staff and captain himself, accidently paid me a visit and got taken away by the sheer charm of the operation ...

... Then he invited me up to his car where he had a stethoscope. I invited him on the nearby dhow to use mine....

Time for another fibrillation? Apparently. I am not in charge. A bit quick after only 6 days regular heart beat but no record. Roland came down with a guest who turned out head cardiologist of Kampala Mulago hospital. I did not know, so, as is my habit in these circumstances, loudly abused my heart while manipulating the ramp winch. The doctor asked some details. Meanwhile he trod on an ant track. Under the discrete utterance of some politically correct exclamations, he stood for a while with his pants down crushing ants on his very white long thin legs. Then he invited me up to his car where he had a stethoscope. I invited him on the nearby dhow to use mine. He listened, recommended warfarin, the blood thinner I successfully rebelled against since it requires testing and dose calibration every week or two, so only I use some cardio-aspirin. "But that is not enough, you have increased stroke risk, what if you get one?"
"Take poison".
But may be you can't and Roland will find you here.
"He will duck tape my nose and mouth"
"That is illegal..."
"Thank you"
Then the doctor sat down and said: "now just tell me all the medicine you are using at the moment"
I: "Roland, you heard the question?" Roland nods.
I waited another second to have maximum impact, then said: "Nothing".
The doctor recovered more quickly than I expected and came up with a list of medicine that I would benefit from, some alternative, some in combination with others.
I: "But Herr Doktor (it was a German and we spoke German), I am genetically designed to last 40 years when I am of the despicable kind that does not die honorably in battle. Why waste time and money and the ingenuity of our blessed pharmaceutical industry on a 60 year old three-quarter corpse like me?
Roland quickly took the doctor out to lunch and we cordially parted.

I thought I'd better decline to join and stayed behind, realizing the truth is: this will not get any better. In that issue I believe the medical literature. I'm fucked. Well, I know that for 56 years or so, but it starts to come out of the background scenery of theory and jumps right in front, for me to curse. Surgical operations for this condition have success rates too low for my case, since while fibrillating my power is just reduced to the average power of my age group, and I am just mourning about not having the comfortable excess that I am used to. Anyway you don't die of it. Luxury considerations! Decadence! I should just scratch it from the list of daily considerations. Fibrillating should be classified with farting and burping, under vegetative body eruptions. This is the proper day to decide to really do it.

I do it. Now!

I did it.

Yes. Feels better.