I’m going to Africa. I can hardly believe it. This is something I’ve wanted to do since I was, oh, perhaps five years old. And now, at the age of 57, I am going.
My older brother Evan and I had talked about going when he turns 65. But last fall, my niece — Evan’s daughter Gina — managed to buy a one-week package for four to South Africa at a charity auction. She and her cousin were the first two, then she chose her Dad as the third person, and, in a miracle for which I will be eternally grateful, Evan called and asked me if I wanted to be the fourth person. It took me, oh, roughly a nanosecond to say yes.
There were some stumbles in the initial planning phases. Another brother (my younger brother Fred) wanted to go as well, but we weren’t able to work out the logistics to add another person to the package. Then for a very long time, there weren’t any specifics as to when or even exactly where.
Finally, in late March, the details were set: leaving JFK in New York on the evening of May 30th, en route to Johannesburg, South Africa, arriving on May 31st. Staying overnight there before flying on to Richards Bay on June 1st. Then on to Zulu Nyala Heritage Safari Lodge at Hluhluwe, KwaZulu-Natal.
And the planning begins…