Thus it is with Alan and Mary Brody. We met in 1973 in Ghana, West Africa when we were all young. The Brody's went on to travel the globe working with UNICEF to improve the lives of children, women, and communities. If Alan's name sounds familiar, it's because you've read Alan Brody's words on Riehlife.

Recently I visited the Brody's in Iowa City where they invited me to stay for a week while I took a week long workshop in memoir writing. Mary and Alan are a "Salt & Pepper" couple who have been married for decades with a brood of children and grandchildren to revel in. They are "very married" in the affection they show even in the midst of occasional aggravation.

In 1970s America mixed marriage was still a tricky business. I knew Alan's side of the story. My father often says that the best decision he made was to marry my mother. Alan says that his decision to ask Mary to marry him was his last decision. The rest of his life unfolded from there.

As we stood in the yard taking down the badminton net, I asked Alan what it had been like for Mary to decide to marry him. "Ask her," he smiled.

Mary loves her garden. Each morning she comes out to greet her flowers blooming in a riot of colors and shapes. She knows each one as if they were her children. I knew I'd get her most eloquent answer while she watered her flowers.

Janet: "Mary, when Alan asked you to marry him, was it hard to say 'yes'?"

Mary: "No," she said simply, and then with great eloquence connected 1 + 1 + 1 +1 = (at least) 4 to share with me the secret to a happy life. Here it is, folks!

1) Just say "yes."

No, it wasn't hard to say "yes." There were other successful intermarriages in her family, so that wasn't a big deal.

2) Go where life leads you.

In her culture the woman follows the man, so she wasn't concerned where they lived--Ghana or the United States. What she didn't know then was that they'd travel to Nigeria, Afghanistan, Turkey, China, and Swaziland during their long distinguished diplomatic career.

3) Life is vast and mysterious. "When you look out at the sea, there is no end to it. When you look up in the sky, you cannot count the stars. People think they are powerful, but when you feel the wind blow, then you know what true power is."

4) Thank the Man Upstairs.

"Every day I wake up and my feet touch the floor, I'm happy I have another day. The Man Upstairs decides when and what. I just go along with the plan."

Meanwhile the flowers had finished drinking the water and listening to Mary's endearments. We eased inside to finish drinking our milk tea. In the kitchen I shared her answer with Alan. He said, "Oh, this sounds like a good story for Riehlife." And so it is.

My father and mother visited me three times when I lived for five years in Botswana and Ghana. They met the school children I taught when I was a Peace Corps Volunteer. They met the village girls who studied in the sewing center I set up as an independent volunteer. Which, in 2008, I discovered had grown into a multi-village vocational school. We never know--especially those of us who have moved around--just who we've touched in our lives. But, I believe these creative seeds we sow do bear harvest.

Pop likes to tell the story of meeting one of my students in Gaborone, Botswana (the capitol). I'd taught him in 1973, and they met him in 1976. He told my parents that he had one of the best jobs in the country because of his education in Maun, Botswana (way, way up north) and being one of my students.

So, my parents saw and they knew. My father has a deep undertanding and love for me. It's not an "I love you, Janet" sort of love. But, it's a love any daughter would count as her blessing. It's this no fuss love that keeps me going as part of our family care team to keep my 95-year-old father as lively as possible as long as possible--in the home he's lived in all his life.

He wrote this poem for me the other day. I found it lying on the table next to him sitting in his chair. I picked it up, not knowing it was for me. After I read it, we chatted about it some more and teared up a little as I faced him, my toes on top of his--another version of hand holding that works pretty well. --Janet
_______________________________________________________________________________________

THEY ARE NOT HERE
by Erwin A. Thompson
For Janet, my youngest

Our family are all dedicated teachers. Each of us to their own field. For Janet there is no scroll to hang in the living room. She has followed her inheritance and the examples set by her parents and her siblings of "looking out for the underdog." I tell her that the reason she has no family gathering around her at the family reunions is that her family is scattered all over the world.

THEY'RE NOT HERE
by Erwin A. Thompson
For Janet, my youngest daughter

The family gathers.
They seem to settle down into little family groups.
My children, and their children.
Sharing their love, the things that they have done.

And then I look at you. You sit alone.
Alone, with people on every side.
The kept back tear drops that you try to hide.

Your children scattered o'er the world,
With education & skills that you helped them learn.

"We have two of the top jobs in the country."
Quite a jump from the little school
Six hundred miles of sand from the capitol.

And so, you sit alone. But part of you is not here.
You gave it to those youngsters years ago;
And then you gave the education, the tools
To make that dream come true.

At the Mercy of the River: An Exploration of the Last African Wilderness by Peter Stark

"There is always something new coming out of Africa."
--Pliny the Elder

Click here to go to African Great Lakes Initiative

Dear Friends,

For me the most poignant time of the day was when we were in the field and I noticed a small toy compound obviously made by the kids. Their toy compound was built solely of dirt, rocks, and twigs! Quite neatly and nicely done---much more like the home they fled than the IDP [Internally Displaced Persons] camp.

Peace,
Dave

David Zarembka, Coordinator
African Great Lakes Initiative of the Friends Peace Teams
P. O. Box 189, Kipkarren River 50241 Kenya 254 (0)726 590 783
1001 Park Avenue, St Louis, MO 63104 USA 314/647-1287

Maun, Botswana

Afternoons, I teach schoolchildren to swim
in the flooded waters of the Tamalakane.
Two fingers support wiry bodies that sink
every chance they get.
“Arch your back! Spread out your limbs! Float! Kick! Paddle!”
Until one student travels under her own speed.
We collapse on the bank, gasping with sputtered water and glee.

Evenings, I swim downriver towards sunset.
A flamboyant lilac-breasted roller covers the sky.
The current muscles me onward, multiplies my strength.
No matter I cannot reach the sun. It reaches me.
My arms cut through the smooth-rolling water flaming before my stroke.

At river’s edge reeds grow with tender white shoots at their base.
Good to eat.
Water lilies perch on princess pads.
Waterskaters skim along the surface between legs of Jesus birds.

It's slow work swimming back against the current.
Fin and smooth slippery skin slide past my calf and knee.
The water parts before my hands. Sun sets.
My wet cheeks reflect the moon, rising.

Okavango Delta, Northern Botswana

We leave from a white hunter safari camp with a Motswana guide in a
Mokoro, that buoyant log burned and dug from tribal memory.
Tent, food, two passengers.
My hand leaves its own wake.

Day one
In knee shallow water, we wade.
If waist high, it's still okay.
The kindly hippo breathes bubbles in warning.
Our guide poles to one side.
You don't want the hippo carrying your boat on its back
before dropping down to swagger off with your arm in its mouth.

Day two
We're beyond settlements now.
A fellow poler hails us to show an abscess on his leg.
Medicine? No.
But we lance the pus and bind his wound.
Fancy-pants language not much use here. Damn!
I wish I were a nurse.

Day three
Our guide burns down a palm tree
to find and eat its heart.
We strip to bathe among reeds and mud.
I've never felt so clean as with
sand and ash for soap.

Day four
This place owns itself.
38 varieties of fish
47 varieties of animals
96 varieties of birds
143 varieties of plants.
None knows their names.
They just are.

Day five
Halfway to somewhere we turn.
We must return to nowhere, where we began.
Uncharted channels call.
We duck out of reach of that siren, Adventure.

Day six
Sky meets water.
We’ve exhausted
all conversational combinations
of Setswana, English, and body language.
We're together, in silence.
Clouds dive deep.

Day seven
It's a straight shot to camp.
Another straight shot to the hot sun showers.
Imported grub.
We empty boat.
The boat is empty.
Goodbye, water legs.
Hello, sand ruts.

Kalahari Desert, Springtime

Rainclouds gather and drop their load.
Delirious sands soak it up, roll it off.
Herbs, wildflowers and tufts of grass spring up...
beyond seeing.

Yesterday, a road.
Today, a river runs...
beyond fording.

We cook sausages over a quick, small fire;
Sip strong tea;
Warm ourselves over stories;
Touch stars on the piercing bright night;
And wait for The Arc to arrive.

The smuggler is searching for a diamond, but finds God in an unexpected series of plot turns that change his heart.

The fisherman is searching for his son, the true jewel and symbol of peace and reconciliation in the film, and finds respect and far-reaching influence across the ocean from his homeland.

The country is rent by war and searches for peace, a jewel beyond any price.