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August 9, 2016
Yesterday afternoon, a pleasant, handsome young black man named Jeremiah drives me 37 km to the Etango Guest Farm.  On the drive, I told him about the safari, and he told me of the various places in the states -- Miami topped the list -- he'd like to visit and the estimated cost of the journey.  Jeremiah hails from the swampy north, where there are no jobs.
The Etango Farm is at the end of a very long red dirt road, fenced with wire on both sides.  Pulling in, Jeremiah stops at the gate to undo the latch, then continues to the farm, where he delivers me to Albertina, a heavy-hipped black woman who waves away my apologies at arriving early and checks me in and tells me tea and biscuits will be at 4, dinner at 6:30.
The guest farm is a cluster of mustard-colored buildings, with two one-bedroom suites to each building.  The buildings are snugly ranged around a shaded circular courtyard at the center of which is a large stone fire pit.  Across from the suites is the re…