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The Savage in the Immigrant’s House
One year the long rains failed.
That is a terrible tremendous experience, and the farmer who has lived through it, will never forget it. Years afterwards away from Africa, in the wet climate of a Northern country, he will start up at night at the sound of a sudden shower of rain, and cry, “At last, at last.”
In normal years the long rains began in the last week of March and went on into the middle of June. Up to the time of the rains, the world grew hotter and drier every day, feverish, as in Europe before a great thunderstorm, only more so.
The Masai, who were my neighbours on the other side of the river, at that time set fire to the bast-dry plains to get new green grass for their cattle with the first rain, and the air over the plains danced with the mighty conflagration; the long and rainbow-tinted layers of smoke rolled along over the and the heat the smell of burning were drifted in over the cultivated land as from a furnace.
Gigantic clouds gathered, and dissolved again, over the grey grass landscape; a light distant shower of rain painted a blue slanting streak across the horizon. All the world had only one thought.
On an evening just before sunset, the scenery drew close round you, the hills came near and were vigorous, meaningful, in their clear, deep blue and green colouring. A couple of hours later you went out and saw that the stars had gone, and you felt the night-air soft and deep and pregnant with benefaction.
When the quickly growing rushing sound wandered over your head it was the wind in the tall forest-trees,—and not the rain. When it ran along the ground it was the wind in the shrubs and the long grass,—and not the rain. When it rustled and rattled just above the ground it was the wind in the maize-fields,—where it sounded so much like rain that you were taken in, time after time, and even got a certain content from it, as if you were at least shown the thing you longed for acted on a stage,—and not the rain.
But when the earth answered like a sounding-board in a deep fertile roar, and the world sang round you in all dimensions, all above and below,—that was the rain. It was like coming back to the Sea, when you have been a long time away from it, like a lover’s embrace.
But one year the long rains failed. It was, then, as if the Universe were turning away from you. It grew cooler, on some days it would be cold, but there was no sign of moisture in the atmosphere. Everything became drier and harder, and it was as if all force and gracefulness had withdrawn from the world. It was not bad weather or good weather, but a negation of all weather, as if it had been deferred sine die. A bleak wind, like a draught, ran over your head, all colour faded from all things; the smells went away from the fields and forests. This feeling of being in disgrace with the Great Powers pressed on you. To the South, the burnt plains lay black and waste, striped with grey and white ashes.
With every day, in which we now waited for the rain in vain, prospects and hopes of the farm grew dim, and disappeared. The ploughing, pruning and planting of the last months turned out to be a labour of fools. The farm work slowed off, and stood still.
On the plains and in the hills, the waterholes dried up, and many new kinds of ducks and geese came to my pond. To the pond on the boundary of the farm, the Zebra came wandering in the early mornings and at sunset to drink, in long rows, two or three hundred of them, the foals walking with the mares, and they were not afraid of me when I rode out amongst them. But we tried to keep them off the land for the sake of our cattle, for the water was sinking in the ponds. Still it was a pleasure to go down there, where the rushes growing in the mud made a green patch in the brown landscape.
The Natives became silent under the drought, I could not get a word on the prospects out of them, although you would have thought that they should have known more about the signs of the weather than we did. It was their existence which was at stake, it was not an unheard of thing to them,—and had not been to their fathers,—to lose nine-tenths of their stock in the great years of drought. Their shambas were dry, with a few drooping and withering sweet-potato and maize plants.
After a time I learned their manner from them, and gave up talking of the hard times or complaining about them, like a person in disgrace. But I was a European, and I had not lived long enough in the country to acquire the absolute passivity of the Native, as some Europeans will do, who live for many decennaries in Africa. I was young, and by instinct of self-preservation, I had to collect my energy on something, if I were not to be whirled away with the dust on the farm-roads, or the smoke on the plain. I began in the evenings to write stories, fairy-tales and romances, that would take my mind a long way off, to other countries and times.
I had been telling some of the stories to a friend when he came to stay on the farm.
When I got up and went outside, there was a cruel wind blowing, the sky was clear and set with millions of hard stars, everything was dry.
At first I wrote in the evenings only, but later on I often sat down to write in the mornings as well, when I ought to have been out on the farm. It was difficult, out there, to decide whether we ought to plough the maize-field up again and plant it a second time, and whether we ought to strip the withering coffee berries off the trees to save the trees, or not. I put the decisions off from day to day.
I used to sit and write in the dining-room, with papers spread all over the dinner table, for I had accounts and estimates of the farm to do, in between my stories, and little desolate notes from my farm manager to answer. My houseboys asked me what I was doing; when I told them I was trying to write a book, they looked upon it as a last attempt to save the farm through the hard times, and took an interest in it. Later they asked me how my book was proceeding. They would come in, and stand for a long time watching the progress of it, and in the panelled room their heads were so much the colour of the panels, that at night it looked as if they were white robes only, keeping me company with their backs to the wall.
My dining-room looked West, and had three long windows that opened out to the paved terrace, the lawn and the forest. The land here sloped down to the river that formed the boundary between me and the Masai. You could not see the river itself from the house, but you could follow its winding course by the design of the dark-green big Acacias which grew along it. To the other side of it the wood-clad land rose again, and over the woods were the green plains that reached to the foot of the Ngong Hills.
“And were my faith so strong that it could move mountains, that is the mountain that I would make come to me.”
The wind blew from the East: the doors of my dining-room, to lee, were always open, and for this reason the West side of the house was popular with the Natives; they laid their way round it, to keep in touch with what was going on inside. From the same motive the little Native herdboys brought their goats round and made them graze on the lawn.
These little boys, who wandered about on the farm in the company of their fathers’ herds of goats and sheep, looking up grazing for them, did in a way form a link between the life of my civilized house and the life of the wild. My houseboys distrusted them and did not like them to come into the rooms, but the children had a real love and enthusiasm for civilization; to them it held no dangers at all, for they could leave it again whenever they liked. The central symbol of it to them, was an old German cuckoo-clock that hung in the dining-room. A clock was entirely an object of luxury in the African Highlands. All the year round you could tell, from the position of the sun, what the time was, and as you had no dealings with railways, and could arrange your life on the farm according to your own wishes, it became a matter of no importance. But this was a very fine clock. In the midst of a cluster of pink roses, at every full hour, a cuckoo here flung up its little door and threw itself forward to announce the hour in a clear insolent voice. Its apparition was every time a fresh delight to the young people of the farm. From the position of the sun, they judged accurately when the moment for the midday call was due, and by a quarter to twelve I could see them approaching the house from all sides, at the tail of their goats, which they dared not leave behind. The heads of the children and of the goats swam through the bush and long grass of the forest like heads of frogs in a pond.
They left their flocks on the lawn and came in noiselessly on their bare feet; the bigger ones were about ten years and the youngest two years. They behaved very well, and kept up a sort of self-made ceremonial for their visits, which came to this: that they could move about freely in the house so long as they did not touch anything, nor sit down, nor speak unless spoken to. As the cuckoo rushed out on them, a great movement of ecstasy and suppressed laughter ran through the group. It also sometimes happened that a very small herdboy, who did not feel any responsibility about the goats, would come back in the early morning all by himself, stand for a long time in front of the clock, now shut up and silent, and address it in Kikuyu in a slow sing-song declaration of love, then gravely walk out again. My houseboys laughed at the herdboys, and confided to me that the children were so ignorant that they believed the cuckoo to be alive.
Now my houseboys came in themselves to watch the work of the typewriter. Kamante sometimes stood by the wall for an hour in the evening, his eyes ran to and fro like dark drops under the eyelashes, as if he meant to learn enough about the machine to take it to pieces and put it together again.
One night as I looked up I met these profound attentive eyes and after a moment he spoke. “Msabu,” he said, “do you believe yourself that you can write a book?”
I answered that I did not know.
To figure to oneself a conversation with Kamante one must imagine a long, pregnant, as if deeply responsible, pause before each phrase. All Natives are masters in the art of the pause and thereby give perspective to a discussion.
Kamante now made such a long pause, and then said, “I do not believe it.”
I had nobody else to discuss my book with; I laid down my paper and asked him why not. I now found that he had been thinking the conversation over before, and prepared himself for it; he stood with the Odyssey itself behind his back, and here he laid it on the table.
“Look, Msabu,” he said, “this is a good book. It hangs together from the one end to the other. Even if you hold it up and shake it strongly, it does not come to pieces. The man who has written it is very clever. But what you write,” he went on, both with scorn and with a sort of friendly compassion, “is some here and some there. When the people forget to close the door it blows about, even down on the floor and you are angry. It will not be a good book.”
I explained to him that in Europe the people would be able to fix it all up together.
“Will your book then be as heavy as this?” Kamante asked, weighing the Odyssey.
When he saw that I hesitated he handed it to me in order that I might judge for myself.
“No,” I said, “it will not, but there are other books in the library, as you know, that are lighter.”
“And as hard?” he asked.
I said it was expensive to make a book so hard.
He stood for some time in silence and then expressed his greater hopes of my book, and perhaps also repentance of his doubts, by picking up the scattered pages from the floor and laying them on the table. Still he did not go away, but stood by the table and waited, and then asked me gravely: “Msabu, what is there in books?”
As an illustration, I told him the story from the Odyssey of the hero and Polyphemus, and of how Odysseus had called himself Noman, had put out Polyphemus’ eye, and had escaped tied up under the belly of a ram.
Kamante listened with interest and expressed as his opinion, that the ram must have been of the same race as the sheep of Mr. Long, of Elmentaita, which he had seen at the cattle-show in Nairobi. He came back to Polyphemus, and asked me if he had been black, like the Kikuyu. When I said no, he wanted to know if Odysseus had been of my own tribe or family.
“How did he,” he asked, “say the word, Noman, in his own language? Say it.”
“He said Outis,” I told him. “He called himself Outis, which in his language means Noman.”
“Must you write about the same thing?” he asked me.
“No,” I said, “people can write of anything they like. I might write of you.”
Kamante who had opened up in the course of the talk, here suddenly closed again, he looked down himself and asked me in a low voice, what part of him I would write about.
“I might write about the time when you were ill and were out with the sheep on the plain,” I said, “what did you think of then?”
His eyes wandered over the room, up and down; in the end he said vaguely: “Sejui ”—I know not.
“Were you afraid?” I asked him.
After a pause, “Yes,” he said firmly, “all the boys on the plain are afraid sometimes.”
“Of what were you afraid?” I said.
Kamante stood silent for a little while, his face became collected and deep, his eyes gazed inward. Then he looked at me with a little wry grimace:
“Of Outis,” he said. “The boys on the plain are afraid of Outis.”
A few days later, I heard Kamante explain to the other houseboys that in Europe the book which I was writing could be made to stick together, and that with terrible expense it could even be made as hard as the Odyssey, which was again displayed. He himself, however, did not believe that it could be made blue.
Kamante had a talent of his own that became of use to him in my house. He could, I believe, cry when he wanted to.
If ever I scolded him in earnest, he stood up straight before me and looked me in the face, with that watchful, deep sadness which the faces of the Natives take on in a single moment; then his eyes welled, and filled with heavy tears that slowly, one by one, rolled out and down over his cheeks. I knew them to be pure crocodile’s tears, and in other people they would not have affected me. But with Kamante it was a different thing. His flat wooden face, on these occasions, sank back into the world of darkness and infinite loneliness, in which he had dwelt for many years. Such heavy, dumb tears he might have wept as a little boy on the plain, with the sheep round him. They made me uneasy, and gave to the sins for which I scolded him a different aspect, a smaller look so that I did not want to go on talking about them. In a way it was a demoralizing thing. Still I believe that by strength of the true human understanding which existed between us, Kamante knew in his heart that I looked through his tears of contrition and did not take them for more than they were,—indeed that he himself looked upon them more as a ceremony due to the higher powers, than as any attempt to deceive.
He often referred to himself as a Christian. I did not know what idea he attached to the name, and once or twice I tried to catechize him, but then he explained to me that he believed what I believed, and that, since I myself must know what I believed, there was no sense in me questioning him. I found that this was more than an evasion, it was in a way his positive programme, or confession of faith. He had given himself under the God of the white people. In His service he was prepared to carry out any order, but he would not take upon himself to give reasons for a working system which might prove to be as unreasonable as the working systems of the white people themselves.
It sometimes happened that my behaviour clashed with the teachings of the Scotch Mission, where he had been converted; then he would ask me which was right.
The lack of prejudice in the Natives is a striking thing, for you expect to find dark taboos in the primitive people. It is due, I believe, to their acquaintance with a variety of races and tribes, and to the lively human intercourse that was brought upon East Africa, first by the old traders of ivory and slaves, and in our days by the settlers and big-game hunters. Nearly every Native, down to the little herdboys of the plains, has in his day stood face to face with a whole range of nations as different from one another, and to him, as a Sicilian to an Esquimo: Englishmen, Jews, Boers, Arabs, Somali Indians, Swaheli, Masai and Kawirondo. As far as receptivity of ideas goes, the Native is more of a man of the world than the suburban or provincial settler or missionary, who has grown up in a uniform community and with a set of stable ideas. Much of the misunderstanding between the white people and the Natives arises from this fact.
It is an alarming experience to be, in your person, representing Christianity to the Natives.
There was a young Kikuyu by the name of Kitau, who came in from the Kikuyu Reserve and took service with me. He was a meditative boy, an observant, attentive servant and I liked him well. After three months he one day asked me to give him a letter of recommendation to my old friend Sheik Ali bin Salim, the Lewali of the Coast, at Mombasa, for he had seen him in my house and now, he said, he wished to go and work for him. I did not want Kitau to leave just when he had learned the routine of the house, and I said to him that I would rather raise his pay. No, he said he was not leaving to get any higher pay, but he could not stay. He told me that he had made up his mind, up in the Reserve, that he would become either a Christian or a Mohammedan, only he did not yet know which. For this reason he had come and worked for me, since I was a Christian, and he had stayed for three months in my house to see the testurde,—the ways and habits,—of the Christians. From me he would go for three months to Sheik Ali in Mombasa and study the testurde of the Mohammedans; then he would decide. I believe that even an Archbishop, when he had had these facts laid before him, would have said, or at least have thought, as I said: “Good God, Kitau, you might have told me that when you came here.”
The Mohammedans will not eat meat of any animal that has not had its throat cut by a Mohammedan in the orthodox manner. This is often a difficulty on a Safari, where you carry few provisions with you, and are dependent for your servants’ food on the game you shoot. When you shoot a Kongoni and it falls, your Mohammedans rush at it, as upon wings, to be in time to cut the throat of it before it dies, and you yourself watch them in suspense, with burning eyes, for if they are seen standing over it with hanging arms and head, it means that the Kongoni has died before they got up to it, and you will have to stalk another Kongoni, or your gun-bearers will go starving.
When in the beginning of the war I was going out with my ox-waggons, the night before I started I happened to meet the Mohammedan Shereef up at Kijabe; I asked him if he could not give my people dispensation from the law for as long as our Safari lasted.
The Shereef was a young man, but wise, and he talked with Farah and Ismail and pronounced: “This lady is a disciple of Jesus Christ. When she fires off her rifle, she will say, or at least in her heart say: In the name of God, which will make her bullets equivalent to the knife of the orthodox Mohammedan. For the length of time of this journey, you can eat the meat of the animals that she shoots.”
The prestige of the Christian religion in Africa was weakened by the intolerance that the one Christian church showed towards the other.
On Christmas nights while I was in Africa I used to drive over to the French Mission to hear the Midnight Mass. It was generally hot at this time of the year; as you drove through the wattle plantation, you heard the chiming of the Mission bell a long way in the clear warm air. A crowd of happy, lively people were at the place round the church when you arrived, the French and Italian shopkeepers of Nairobi with their families had come out, the nuns from the convent school were present, and the Native congregation swarmed in gay clothes. The big fine church was lighted with many hundred candles and with great transparencies which the Fathers had themselves made.
When Christmas came, in the first year after Kamante had come into my house, I told him that I was going to take him with me to the Mass, as a fellow Christian, and described to him the beautiful things that he was going to see there, in the manner of the Fathers themselves. Kamante listened to it all, moved in his soul, and put on the best clothes he had. But when the car was at the door, he came back in great agitation of mind and said that he could not possibly come with me. He did not want to give me his reasons, and flinched from my questions; in the end it came out. No, he could not go, he had by now realized that it was to the French Mission that I meant to take him, and he had been so strongly warned against that Mission when he had been in Hospital. I explained to him that this was all a misunderstanding, and that he must come now. But at that he began to turn to stone before my eyes, he died, he turned up his eyes so that only the white showed in them and sweated in the face.
“No, no, Msabu,” he whispered, “I am not coming with you. There inside that big church, I know it well, there is a Msabu who is mbaia sana,”—terribly bad.
When I heard this I became very sad, but I thought that now I would indeed have to take him with me so that the Virgin herself could enlighten him. The Fathers had a life-size pasteboard statue of the Virgin in their Church, all blue and white, and the Natives are generally impressed by statues, while it is difficult to them to conceive the idea of a picture. So I promised Kamante my protection and took him with me, and when he walked into the Church, very close at my heels, he forgot all his scruples. It happened to be the finest Christmas Mass that they had ever had at the Mission. There was in the Church a very big Nativity,—a grotto with the Holy Family, just out from Paris, which was illuminated by radiant stars in a blue sky, and it had round it a hundred toy animals, wooden cows and pure white cotton-wool lambs, without any petty consideration as to their size, that must have raised ecstasy in the hearts of the Kikuyus.
After Kamante had become a Christian he was no longer afraid to touch a dead body.
Earlier in his life he had been afraid of it, and when a man, who had been carried on a stretcher up to the terrace by my house, died there, he would no more than the others lend a hand to carry him back; he did not recede, like the other people, on to the lawn, but he stood immovable upon the pavement, a little dark monument. Why the Kikuyu, who personally have so little fear of death, should be so terrified to touch a corpse, while the white people, who are afraid to die, handle the dead easily, I do not know. Here once more you feel their reality to be different from our realities. But all farmers know that here is a domain on which you cannot control the Native, and that you will save yourself trouble if you give up the idea at once, for he will really rather die than change his ways.
Now the terror had disappeared out of Kamante’s heart; he scorned it in his kinsmen. He did even show off a little here, as if to boast of the power of his God. It happened that I had opportunities to test his faith, and that Kamante and I came to carry three dead people between us, in the course of our life on the farm. One was a young Kikuyu girl who was run over by an ox cart outside my house. The second was a young Kikuyu who was killed while he was felling trees in the forest. The third was an old white man who came to live on the farm, played a part in the life of it, and died there.
He was a countryman of mine, an old blind Dane by the name of Knudsen. One day when I was in Nairobi he fumbled his way up to my car, presented himself, and asked me to give him a house on my land, as he had no place in the world to stay in. I had at that time been reducing my staff of white people on the plantation, and had an empty bungalow that I could lend him, and he came out and lived on the farm for six months.
He was a singular figure to have on a highland farm: so much a creature of the Sea that it was as if we had had an old clipped albatross with us. He was all broken by the hardships of life, and by disease and drink, bent and crooked, with the curious colouring of redhaired people gone white, as if he had in reality strewn ashes upon his head, or as if he was marked by his own element and had been salted. But there was an unquenchable flame in him which no ashes could cover. He came of Danish fisherman stock and had been a sailor, and later one of the very early pioneers of Africa,—whatever wind it was that blew him there.
Old Knudsen had tried a great many things in his life, preferably such as have to do with water or fish or birds, and had done well on none of them. At one time, he told me, he had owned a very fine fishing concern on Lake Victoria, with many miles of the best fishing nets in the world, and with a motorboat. But during the war he had lost it all. In his recounting of this tragedy of his, there was a dark moment of fatal misunderstanding, or of the treason of a friend. I do not know which, for the tale was never quite the same at the various times when it was told to me, and it brought Old Knudsen into a terrible state of mind when he came to this point of his recital. There was, all the same, some real fact in the story, for in compensation of his losses, the Government, while he was staying with me, paid him a sort of pension of a shilling a day.
All this he told me on the occasions when he came up on a visit to my house. He often took refuge in me, for he was uncomfortable in his own bungalow. The small Native boys, whom I gave him as servants, ran away from him again and again, because he frightened them by rushing at them blindly, head foremost, and fumbling with his stick. But when he was in high spirits he would sit on my verandah over a cup of coffee and sing Danish patriotic songs to me, all by himself, with great energy. It was a pleasure to both him and me to speak Danish, so we exchanged many remarks over insignificant happenings on the farm, just for the joy of talking. But I did not always have patience with him, for when he had once arrived it was difficult to make him stop talking and go away; in our daily intercourse he had, as was to be expected, much of the Ancient Mariner, or of the Old Man of the Sea.
He had been a great artist at the making of fishing nets,—the best fishing nets in the world, he told me,—and here, in the bungalow of the farm, he made kibokos,—the Native whips which are cut out of Hippo hide. He would buy a Hippo hide from the Natives or the farmers up at Lake Naivasha, and if he was lucky he could make fifty kibokos out of one hide. I have still a riding-whip which he gave me; it is a very fine whip. This work spread a terrible stench round his house, like the stench round the nest of some old carrion-bird. Later on, when I made a pond on the farm, he was nearly always to be found by the pond, in deep thought, with his reflection vertically under him, like a Sea-bird in a Zoo.
Old Knudsen had in his frail sunken breast the simple, fierce, irascible, wild heart of a small boy, who burns with the unadulterated love of fighting; he was a great romantic bully and combatant. He was a singularly good hater, always afire with indignation and rage against nearly all the people and institutions with which he came in touch; he called heaven to let fire and brimstone rain down on them, and “painted the devil on the wall,” as we say in Denmark, in a Michaelangelesque manner. He was highly delighted whenever he could set other people by the ears, like a small boy who sets two dogs fighting, or a dog at a cat. It was an impressive and formidable thing that Old Knudsen’s soul should still,—after his long hard life, and when he had at last, so to say, been washed into a quiet creek where he might have lain with his sails slacked,—cry out for opposition and adversity, like the soul of a boy. It made me respect it, as the soul of a Berserk.
He never spoke of himself except in the third person, as “Old Knudsen,” and never without boasting and bragging to the last degree. There was not a thing in the world that Old Knudsen would not undertake and carry through, and not a champion fighter whom Old Knudsen could not knock down. Wherever other people were concerned, he was a black pessimist, and he foresaw a near, catastrophic and well deserved end to all their activities. But on his own behalf he was a furious optimist. A short time before he died he confided to me, under the promise of secrecy, a tremendous plan. It would make Old Knudsen, at last, a millionaire and put all his enemies to shame. He was, he told me, going to lift, from the bottom of Lake Naivasha, the hundred thousand tons of guano dropped there, from the time of the creation of the world, by the swimming-birds. In a last colossal effort he made a journey from the farm to Lake Naivasha, to study and work out the details of his plan. He died in the lustre of it. The scheme had in it all the elements dear to his heart: deep water, birds, hidden treasures; it had even a flavour of the things that one ought not to talk to ladies about. At the top of it he saw, with the eyes of his mind, triumphant Old Knudsen himself, with a trident, controlling the waves. I do not remember if he ever explained to me how the guano was to be brought up from the bottom of the Lake.
The great exploits and achievements of Old Knudsen and his eminence in everything, as he reported these things to me, were clearly at variance with the weakness and impotency of the old man who reported them; in the end you felt that you were dealing with two separate and essentially different individualities. The mighty figure of Old Knudsen rose in the background, unbeaten and triumphant, the hero of all the adventures, and it was his old bent and worn servant whom I knew, and who never tired of telling me about him. This little, humble man had made it his mission in life to uphold and extol the name of Old Knudsen, even to death. For he had really seen Old Knudsen, which nobody else except God ever had, and after that he would stand no heresy in anyone.
One single time have I heard him make use of the first personal pronoun. This was a couple of months before he died. He had had a bad heart-attack, the same thing that killed him in the end, and when I had not seen him on the farm for a week I went down to his bungalow to get news of him, and I found him, in the middle of the stench from the Hippo hide, in bed in a very bare and untidy room. He was ashen grey in the face, his dim eyes were sunk deep back. He did not answer me or speak a word when I spoke to him. Only after a long time, and when I had already got up to go away, he suddenly said in a small hoarse voice, “I am very sick.” At that time there was no talk of Old Knudsen, who surely was never ill or overcome; it was the servant, who just for once allowed himself to express his individual misery and anguish.
Old Knudsen was dull on the farm, so from time to time he locked the door of his house, made off and disappeared from our horizon. It was most often, I think, when he had had news that an old friend, some other pioneer of the glorious past, had arrived in Nairobi. He would stay away, for a week or a fortnight, until we had half forgotten his existence, and he always came back so terribly ill and worn out that he could hardly drag himself along, or unlock his door. He then kept to himself for a couple of days. I believe that on these occasions he was afraid of me, for he thought that I would be sure to have disapproved of his escapades, and that I would now profit by his weakness to triumph over him. Old Knudsen, although he would sometimes sing of the sailor’s bride who loves the waves, in his heart had a deep mistrust of woman, and saw her as the enemy of man, by instinct, and on principle, out to stop his fun.
On the day of his death he had in this way been absent for a fortnight, and nobody on the farm was aware that he had come back. But he himself must this time have meant to make an exception from his rule, for he had been on the way from his own house to mine, by a path which ran through the plantation, when he fell down and died. Kamante and I found him lying on the path as, late in the afternoon, we were going out to look for mushrooms on the plain, in the new short grass, for it was April, in the beginning of the long rains.
It was befitting that it should be Kamante who found him, for, alone of all the Natives of the farm, he had shown Old Knudsen sympathy. He had even taken an interest in him, as one deviation from the normal in another, and from time to time of his own accord had brought him eggs, and kept an eye on his Totos, which had prevented them from running away altogether.
The old man lay on his back, his hat had rolled a little away when he fell, his eyes were not quite closed. In death he looked essentially collected. There you are at last, Old Knudsen,—I thought.
I wanted to carry him to his house, but I knew that it would be of no use to call in any of the Kikuyus who might be about, or working in their own shambas close by, to help me; they would only run away immediately when they saw why I had called them. I ordered Kamante to run back to the house and fetch down Farah to assist me. But Kamante did not move.
“Why do you want me to run?” he asked.
“Well you see yourself,” I said, “that I cannot carry the old Bwana alone, and you Kikuyus are fools, you are afraid to carry a dead man.”
Kamante set up his little mocking noiseless laughter. “You again forget, Msabu,” he said, “that I am a Christian.”
He lifted the old man’s feet while I bore his head, and between us we carried him to his bungalow. From time to time we had to stop, lay him down, and rest; then Kamante stood up erect and looked straight down at Old Knudsen’s feet, with what I think will have been the Scotch Mission manner in the presence of death.
As we had laid him on his bed, Kamante went about the room, and into the kitchen, in search of a towel to cover his face with,—he only found an old newspaper. “The Christians did that at the Hospital,” he explained to me.
A long time afterwards Kamante had great satisfaction out of the thought of this instance of my ignorance. He would work with me in the kitchen, filled with a secret pleasure, and suddenly break out laughing. “Do you remember, Msabu,” he said, “the time when you had forgotten that I was a Christian, and thought that I should be afraid to help you to carry the Msungu Msei? ”—the old white man.
Kamante as a Christian was no longer afraid of snakes. I heard him state to the other boys that a Christian might at any moment put his heel upon the head of the largest snake and crush it. I have not seen him try to do so, but I saw him standing very still, with a set face and his hands behind his back, within a short distance of the Cook’s hut when a puff-adder had appeared on its roof. All the children of my household spread in large circles around it, like chaff before the wind, with wild wails, while Farah went into the house to fetch my gun, and shot the puff-adder.
When it was all over, and the waves had settled down again, Nyore, the Sice’s son, said to Kamante: “Why, you Kamante, did you not set your heel upon the head of the big bad snake and crush it?”
“Because it was up on the roof,” said Kamante.
At one time, I tried to shoot with a bow and arrow. I was strong, but it was difficult to me to bend the Wanderobo bow which Farah had got for me; still in the end, and after long practice, I became skilful as an archer.
Kamante was very small then, he used to watch me when I was shooting on the lawn, and seemed doubtful about the undertaking, and one day said to me: “Are you a Christian still when you are shooting with a bow? I thought that the Christian way was with a rifle.”
I showed him in my pictorial Bible an illustration to the tale of Hagar’s son: “And God was with the lad; and he grew, and dwelt in the wilderness, and became an archer.”
“Well,” said Kamante, “he was like you.”
Kamante had a good hand with sick animals, as with my Native patients. He took out splinters from the dogs’ feet, and once cured one of them when it had been bitten by a snake.
For some time I had in the house a stork with a broken wing. He was a decided character, he walked through the rooms and when he came into my bedroom he fought tremendous duels, as with the rapier, with swaggering and flapping of wings, with his image in my looking-glass. He followed Kamante about between the houses, and it was impossible not to believe that he was deliberately imitating Kamante’s stiff measured walk. Their legs were about the same thickness. The little Native boys had an eye for caricature and shouted with joy when they saw the pair pass. Kamante understood the joke, but he never paid much attention to what other people thought of him. He sent off the little boys to collect frogs for the stork in the bogs.
It was also Kamante who had charge of Lulu.

domain: literature


text:
Role / Organisation
Charles Sturt University
Andrew is an academic and practitioner in the industry.
An international judge, co-director of the Australian International Animation Festival (AIAF), Visual Effects Producer & Supervisor, Adobe Certified Expert (ACE), Autodesk Certified Maya Instructor, with relevant degrees in BA (Fine Arts) (Honours) and BA (Television Production), he established Charles Sturt University’s Animation and Visual Effects specialisation.
His broad experience of over 20 years of research charting the rise of animation in popular culture and latest technologies driving digital visual effects production has provided him with professional expertise while supporting his educational interests in sharing comprehensive artistic theory and practice with others.

domain: artistic


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Agazzano stronghold’s compound is made of two structures and a wide terrace garden, looking over Luretta valley. It represents a refined combination between the defensive medieval architecture and the elegance of the Renaissance noble manor. The Castle, that became the summer residence of the family at the end of 1700, is furnished with old pieces: it is possible to admire beautiful frescoes and ornaments.
Agazzano stronghold is the home of the most importat hamlet of the valley, famous for beautiful hill landscapes and gastronomic products. Its construction began at the beginning of 1200, ordered by Giovanni Scoto, that chose Agazzano as the centre of his several properties. His son Alberto, that completed the constructing process, was the first Lord of Piacenza city and an important political man in Milan.
At the end of 1400, Scotti family welcomed Aloisia Gonzaga in their family, a woman of great will and talent, that wanted the realization of the beautiful loggia, that is still accessible. Around mid 1700, the dinasty of Anguissola Scotti started, thanks to Margherita and Girolamo Anguissola wedding. The current owner is Prince Corrado Gonzaga del Vodice, son of Princesse Luisa Anguissola Scotti. After five centuries, as a destiny game, a Gonzaga possesses this rich and historical place again.


text:
The Book of Saint Fittick
Have any of you "Tullos" viewed the posting of the Book of Saint Fittick at: www.electricscotland.com/books/saint_fittick.htm
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It mentions Tullos around every corner. "Tullos Vale, Tullos Hollow, Tullos House."It would be interesting to know from where "Tullos" originated in this area.
The book contains informatin that goes back about six centuries, long before Claudius Tullos came to the American Colonies.
If anyone in cyberland knows anything about this, please post on this website.

domain: history


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Minte is a story book character created by Monte especially for hilarious stories. He is very crazy and has created multiple clones for himself. He enjoys eating a ton of bacon. His secret identity is a superhero known as Super Minte. He has multiple friends. He has a pet alpaca.
by do u no de wae? January 24, 2018


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With a mass exodus of senior leadership, companies are finding it more and more difficult to find the right CEO. A recent Stanford study revealed that less than four executives—both internal and external to the company—are fit to replace their current CEO. Of note, the one industry growing the fastest (information technology) is the one that finds it most difficult to find qualified CEOs, according to another study conducted by ThoughtWorks, a global enterprise that partners with organizations to transform their business through technology.
To better understand what leaders can do to not only transform their business through technology but also groom CEO talent for the change that technology brings, I interviewed Joanna Parke, managing director at Thoughtworks, who shared a keen insight from their recent study. There’s a unique segment of leaders destined to disrupt their industries for the positive: the courageous executive.
According to the study, courageous executives:
• see the big picture beyond challenges and opportunities
• are passionately curious about technology
• believe anybody can and should innovate
• intentionally incite change
• lower risk by learning fast and frequently
Courage should never be underestimated—and I’m not even referring to courage displayed in the moment. Just the simple act of sharing stories about courage can be enough to compel people to aim higher, do more, be better. Even businesses with a courage brand make you want to share their stories and role model their behaviors.
Everybody likes a good courage story. In fact, Starbucks’ Upstanders series highlights just this—ordinary people doing extraordinary things. Ranging from two Navy SEALs helping wounded warriors through surfing to a woman who drains her retirement fund to save her hometown, the fact is, courage gets results because courage inspires. It teaches. It informs. The results of courage may not be immediate and they may not be readily apparent, but courage will find results.
Here’s what courageous executives do to make courageous decisions:
They get smart.
Sixty-five percent of executives, according to the ThoughtWorks survey, said their top priority as leaders are digitizing and adapting to new technology, and they do so by learning what they don’t know. Courageous executives aren’t afraid to ask questions. They accept the fact that they don’t know everything (after all, they are human) and do everything they can to bridge those knowledge gaps. Courageous leaders make courageous decisions because they ask courageous questions. In fact, seventy-one of respondents believe that what sets them apart from other executives is their curiosity. When you lead with curiosity you set the psychological conditions that wonderment is okay—and wonderment is the precursor to innovation.
Of course, you’ll never have the 100 percent solution, but that’s okay because “perfect” doesn’t exist. What you will have, however, is the competence and confidence you need to make a courageous decision.
The bottom line: business and technology coexist. You can’t be a business leader without technology and you can’t lead in technology (or any industry, for that matter) without being a business leader.
They know their enemies.
It’s difficult to know what to adapt to if you don’t know the threats before you. Competitive behavior serves as the biggest driver behind technology changes, according to the ThoughtWorks study, followed by customers and employees. Dr. Rebecca Parsons, Chief Technology Officer at Thoughtworks put it this way, “Imagine when Amazon, Facebook, or a startup completely disrupt your market and all of a sudden your customers expect you to behave differently. If this hasn’t already happened to your business, it will. This isn’t just a tech problem or a business problem. Leaders need to understand both sides of the situation.”
The bottom line: Know your business but also know your competitors. A full understanding allows you to “zoom in” to granular (customer) issues and then “zoom out” to understand the ripple effects.
Leadership calls for courage. It calls for people willing to make bold decisions in pursuit of a vision and tackle uncertainty with the belief that certainty will be found.

domain: news


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Polymer banknote billed as ‘most secure yet’ against forgery
enters circulation in February 2020
The governor of the Bank of England has unveiled the new £20
polymer banknote featuring the artist JMW Turner as the Bank
continues its switch away from paper money.
Mark Carney revealed the note’s design at Turner Contemporary
gallery in Margate, which is named after the landscape painter.
Turner, the first artist to feature on a British banknote, went to
school in Margate and many of his paintings were of the local
Source: FS – All-News2-Economy
New £20 note featuring JMW Turner revealed by the Bank of England

domain: finance


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Queen scored a top 21 story from March 2021 after they made history once again: The iconic band celebrated the big news that their legendary song "Bohemian Rhapsody" has been certified Diamond by the Recording Industry Association of America (RIAA), for surpassing 10 million or more in sales and stream equivalents in the United States.
The achievement makes Queen the first British band to ever earn a Diamond song award in the history of the U.S. music business. Brian may had this to say, "This is incredible news. At times like this I have to pinch myself to be sure it's real. All those wild dreams we had - this is beyond any of them. Huge thanks to all who have believed in us over the years."
Roger Taylor added, "It's a wonderful and gratifying thought to know the song has reached out and connected with so many people! We thank you all..............onwards." Watch the iconic video for the song below:


In the context of this article, the term “smart device” is defined one that is programmed to be capable of some independent action. We also use terms such as big data, cloud, neural networks, artificial or augmented intelligence (AI), virtual reality, machine learning (ML), digital transformation, cyber-whatever, and any other number of technical or marketing buzz words for movement or interpretation of information and the results of processing it. What this all comes down to are devices and programs developed by humans to manage large amounts of data that can provide decision-making information or speed pre-programmed decisions that appear to be independent of human intervention. The purpose, from a reliability standpoint, is to take in sensor and other inputs to fuel rapid decisions that are, it is hoped, repeatable. This can benefit all aspects of our lives and livelihoods. It brings new levels of convenience, makes the world smaller, and supports faster decisions across the board.
Looking back at the transition of the early Internet from a global connection for government, university, and independent researchers, and hobbyists to today’s crucial World Wide Web, the original idea was to allow communications through a broad server network. In the beginning, whether via phone-line modem, network modems, or other communication means with addresses into servers, accessing and processing information was only possible if a user had a good connection. As systems and memory sped up and expanded, however, the Internet evolved to the point that ever-greater amounts of data were becoming available, i.e., seemingly too much data. This required new methods and systems for processing that data.
Within the reliability and maintenance community, opportunities that go along with avalanches of data and new collection and processing capabilities range from early detection of defects through inputs from a vast array of sensors to the optimal use of a transitioning workforce. This extends beyond our own facilities as the web spins outward to incorporate energy transmission, including smart-grid inputs, to real-time production information and forecasting to know the expectations of production line loading and logistics. For reliability engineers and asset managers, future capabilities could range from obtaining near-instantaneous condition of equipment and projecting Time to Failure Estimation (TTFE) and Remaining Useful Life (RUL), to predicting the impact on the health of a business and profitability through the knowledge of system loading and distribution.
DECISIONS, DECISIONS, DECISIONS
In past articles of this “smart” series (see links below), we discussed smart-grid and smart-cities programs that are in development. As we look to the future (including the future of U.S. infrastructure), the role of the reliability engineer and asset managers will continue to transition from the aspect of Physical Asset Management. Since the early 2000s, the pendulum has been swinging from the concept of human interaction (primary) to “Industry 4.0,” which involved the removal of human interaction, to the new concept of “Industry 5.0,” which involves the interaction of cyber-systems with human decision-making. Why is this important?
In the world of AI and machine learning, data is fed into either a supervised or unsupervised system, pre-processed, passed through an algorithm (or series of algorithms), and some action or data is produced. This is all designed and programmed by humans who use programming and software systems designed by humans. The data used to train these systems, the determination of how it is pre-processed, and the development and selection of algorithms is done by humans. So is the selection of features in a predictive-maintenance (PdM) system, such as vibration analysis.
In the end, we are working with complex expert systems that process data and produce results, be they good or bad. For example, in 2003, the catastrophic Northeast blackout was caused by a combination of improper tree maintenance, hot days, heavy line loads, and a software defect that, in a few minutes, made decisions to NOT inform the operator about unfolding conditions. In another case, a sensor failed on a critical machine bearing (causing the monitoring system to register a bearing temperature exceeding 25,000 F). The system didn’t take into account that, much like components, sensors also can fail. Human interaction, though, prevented the system from going offline until after a technician confirmed the findings. The overall message here is simple: Effectiveness and accuracy of AI and machine learning is determined by human beings and all that implies.
Going forward, as we continue our global journey to digital transformation, Physical Asset Management (PAM) systems will be receiving information from smart energy sensors, production sensors, condition monitoring, productivity forecasting, scheduling, materials availability, logistics, personnel, and much more that we may not currently envision. While some decision-making may be automated, some information will require interaction. With this, the ability to have the system either assign proactive or corrective actions and materials or inform planners will be implemented.
When we add in self-healing technologies for critical systems, the urgency of corrective actions will lessen, and specialists can become involved based on availability. For unusual tasks, personnel will have access to detailed procedures, information, and checklists on personal devices that will normalize repair and general maintenance processes. Skills and experience will still be required, but the work will be procedurally consistent. Specific information will also be broadcast out to suppliers, vendors, and energy producers, which, in turn, will assist in their planning and scheduling. The result will be less waste, lower costs, and a greater capability of on-demand supply that impacts profitability.
Note that The PAM professional is a critical component of the system and related decision-making at all levels, including those involved in a smart grid and smart cities. When problems do occur, such as the COVID-19 pandemic, resilience does not relate to just one company, but, rather, a broad base of organizations that rely upon instantaneous information to make decisions.
The decision-making goes beyond the operation of an organization, but also the placement of an organization. One of the principles behind industrial engineering is the understanding of resource placement, which includes transportation, warehousing, factories, offices, outlets, and many other aspects of an industrial organization. With the concepts behind smart grid, smart cities, Internet access, highway and other transportation access, decision-making can be far more accurate than it has been.
In the future, new operations will be drawn to locations that can provide specific features, including, among other things: solid interaction between the energy supplier and the customer’s microgrid; traffic and conditions information for planning and routing; and smart-city programs, such as smart-sensoring of road conditions to reduce wear and tear and related costs on company, customer, and employee vehicles. New business operations will also be attracted by services through smart cities, such as the public well-being and neighborhood safety, which can help improve employee productivity and attendance. While many current smart-city initiatives are demonstration projects, the results have been significant regarding communities being able to attract new businesses (which impacts the tax-base), as well as support of existing businesses through infrastructure improvements and shared information. Among other things, that includes providing critical information on existing and planned changes to traffic flow, weather patterns, and resources.
CHALLENGES AND OPPORTUNITIES
Challenges for the future include making the workforce more technology-savvy than it is today, from heeding matters of cybersecurity to understanding the capabilities and limitations of smart technologies. (Note that this reference to “workforce” includes reliability engineers and other PAM Professionals).
As the web of information continues to spin internally within operations and outward to local and surrounding communities and energy suppliers, the ability to forecast equipment and production-line availability increases exponentially. As AI and machine-learning systems become more accepted and sensors become more connected, the ability to project the useful life of an asset becomes academic. At the same time, the data produced by these systems provides the reliability engineer the ability to look at opportunities ranging from asset re-engineering, production improvement recommendations, and new equipment specification improvements to expand the life cycles of existing and future plant assets.TRR
Click On The Following Links For Recent Articles On Smart Technologies/Concepts And Electrical Reliability
“What’s So ‘Smart’ About A Smart Grid? (July 3, 2021)
“Electrical Resiliency & The World Of Microgrids” (July 11, 2021)
“What Makes ‘Smart Cities’ So Smart?” (July 18, 2021)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Howard Penrose, Ph.D., CMRP, is Founder and President of Motor Doc LLC, Lombard, IL and, among other things, a Past Chair of the Society for Reliability and Maintenance Professionals, Atlanta (smrp.org). Email him at email@example.com, or firstname.lastname@example.org, and/or visit motordoc.com.
Tags: reliability, availability, maintenance, RAM, smart cities, smart grid, NIST, microgrids, electrical resiliency, electrical systems, electrical equipment, power plants, power generation, wind turbines, wind energy, solar power, nuclear power, geothermal energy, energy storage systems, vehicle-charging stations, portable generators, cybersecurity


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Dear Minister McCully,
There are currently many thousands of Palestinian prisoners, men, women and children in Israeli jails. Some 750 are in prison under ‘administrative detention’ which means no charges, no lawyers, no trial.
I am writing to you about one particular case, that of Bilal Kayed, which is receiving international attention because of, not just the case itself, but the precedent that it sets.
Bilal Kayed, from Nablus, West Bank has been imprisoned since 14 December 2001, when he was sentenced to 14.5 years for his affiliation with the left-wing Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine. He was 19 at the time.
While in prison, Bilal has been repeatedly punished, with family visit bans and solitary confinement. On the day he was due to released, having served his 14.5 year sentence his sister who had flown in from Germany, joined the parents to welcome Bilal home. That very day, the family was told that Bilal would not be released, but would be held under ‘administrative detention.’ Administrative detention, as I have explained , means no charge is made, no trial is held. Bilal, in protest, went on, and remains on hunger strike.
As of this writing, he has been on hunger strike for nearly 70 days. He is still alive, but shackled hand and foot to his hospital bed. Other prisoners are on hunger strike too, in sympathy. The fear is that the Israelis will make a normal practice of renewing arrests after prisoners serve their sentences.
Concerned citizens around the world are holding public protests demanding that Bilal Kayed be released and that the practice of ‘administration detention’ be condemned.
Demonstrations have been held in many countries including Ireland, Spain, France, Australia, USA, Iceland, Turkey, Jordan, Naples has made Bilal an honorary citizen.
UN Official Robert Piper, Coordinator for Humanitarian and UN Development Activities for the occupied Palestinian territory, has called on the Israeli occupation to “charge or release” Bilal Kayed.
Mr Piper has said “I am deeply concerned about the deteriorating health of Palestinian detainee Bilal Kayed, after 67 days of a hunger strike protesting his detention without charge or trial. This is an egregious case, in which Mr. Kayed was placed on administrative detention on the day of his scheduled release after completing a 14.5 year prison sentence.“The number of administrative detainees is at an eight-year high. I reiterate the United Nations long-standing position that all administrative detainees – Palestinian or Israeli – should be charged or released without delay.”
Would you please speak out on this case. Do you agree with UN Official Robert Piper that Bilal Kayed must be released and that the policy of administrative detention must be abolished? Are you, as New Zealand’s representative on the UN Security Council willing to speak out publicly?
ps Several members of the European Parliament have posed behind fake prison bars to raise awareness about the over 7000 Palestinian political prisoners who are currently held in Israeli jails. Of these over 700 are administrative detainees, 6 are elected officials and over 350 are children.


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Tom Glasgow: New York ironweed in NC? Why not?
If you’re looking for some new native perennial ideas for 2016, New York ironweed (Veronia novaboracensis) might be a good one to add to the list. New York ironweed is a large growing, tough and showy perennial that is not very well known by the gardening public, but deserves wider use.
New York ironweed occurs naturally from Massachusetts to Florida, and west to Mississippi. In the wild it is most frequently seen in moist to wet areas, but doesn’t require those conditions to work in your landscape. Ironweed species in general should be grown in full sun, where they will reward you with a nice showing of late season flowers, when many of your annuals and perennials are fading.
New York ironweed may reach anywhere from three to 7 feet in height, so it should be used as a background for shorter growing annuals or perennials. According to a reference note from the Missouri Botanical Garden, deer, insects and disease generally don’t create any serious problems.
Charlotte Glen of the Chatham County Extension office has grown New York ironweed in Eastern N.C. and has also observed it in the wild, and she considers it a “great plant.” She does caution that late season rust and other pathogens can degrade the lower leaves by fall, but with shorter plants of other genera in front, this shouldn’t be a problem for the appearance of the garden.
Glen also suggests that home gardeners consider a couple of other Veronia species. V. angustifolia is excellent for drier soils, and blooms earlier than New York ironweed. V. acaulis (stemless ironwood) develops foliage in a basal rosette with flowering stems growing up to 36 to 42 inches in height. It also blooms in late summer, prior to New York ironweed.
Vernonias are considered to be excellent plants for pollinators, so if supporting the local insect population is a priority for you, be sure to include ironweed in your future plantings.
Your fall and winter vegetable garden may benefit from occasional fertilizer sidedressings, but we need to be realistic about what can be accomplished once we’ve moved into winter. For winter agronomic crops in Eastern N.C., fertilization will generally be discouraged from around mid December to the end of February, and that approach can be recommended for your cool season vegetable garden as well.
The plants may be green and even growing to some extent, but overall plant function is greatly slowed by wintertime ambient and soil temperatures. This results in very inefficient fertilizer uptake and higher rates of nitrogen loss to the environment.
Similarly, as discussed in previous columns, herbicide applications to turf weeds can be very ineffective during the winter months. The weeds may have a nice green color, but uptake and response to the applied herbicides will be greatly compromised by cold temperatures and slowed plant physiology.
If you have plans for fertilizing your vegetable garden, try to take care of that prior to December if possible. Likewise, consider that most of the turf weeds you see in March are getting started by fall through early December. The sooner you address them, the better.
Tom Glasgow is the Craven County Extension director. Contact him at firstname.lastname@example.org.

domain: agronomy


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Survivor Stories 2013:
How did you first find out you had cancer?
Two years prior to finding the mass in my right breast, I felt a marble-sized lump on the top of my right breast. I had just miscarried at three months pregnant. I was very familiar with breast cancer because I had lost my first cousin to the disease when she was 35 years old. Shortly after, my mother was then diagnosed with breast cancer. I guess you can say that it ran in our family, so I immediately went to the doctor. They did a needle biopsy and sonogram and stated it was benign. That didn’t last long because as I stated above a 2.5 cm mass was found in the same place. I went to the doctor and we all thought it was another false lump. I was given a mammogram and sonogram where the mass was located and the doctor at UMC (University Medical Center of Southern Nevada) laboratory came in the room and told me that the mass appeared worrisome to her.
How did you react when you heard the news?
I would never forget that word “worrisome.” It was CANCER. My primary care physician was shocked and so was I. I began praying to God and I began to get in survivor mode. I had so many heroes in my lift that battled this disease for years and still are living. My biggest is my mother, Mary Sowels. I saw my cousin die within six months. I had a close girlfriend die of breast cancer, and my second cousin fought the disease for 12 years. I found out the cancer had returned and she passed a way a year after my first cousin. I was scared. Then my mother told me all the things to expect and the things to do to make me comfortable during my treatment. That helped me regain my faith.
What course of treatment were you prescribed?
I had a modified radical mastectomy of my right breast. I had several lymph nodes removed and had six months of chemotherapy. I acquired several blood clots so I gave myself the lovenox shots in the stomach three times a day for two years. I was then given Tamoxifen. At the time, I was on a mood stabilizer sertraline (Zoloft). I didn’t know that sertraline can give you breast cancer and that it stopped what the Tamoxifen was supposed to be doing, which is to stop the cancer from growing. I did not find this out until the pharmacist wrote in big red letters, “Stop taking sertraline. It will kill you.” Immediately I told both my oncologist and my psychiatrist.
What most surprised you about your treatment?
It was a shock to lose a breast and not see it as you are accustomed to daily, so that was a concern. My head hurt and was sensitive to the touch from my hair falling out so I had to shave my hair before it all fell out. I knew my nails would turn black and I would feel the “Little Cold” the doctors tell you about.
I was most surprised that I had a big appetite. The biggest surprise was the operation to receive a breast reconstruction went horribly wrong. My doctor, who was the head surgeon at UMC at the time, did the reconstruction and inserted a full expander, which is placed behind the muscles of the chest wall before the permanent implant is placed. A hole appeared in the incision and the next day, I returned to the emergency room in excruciating pain. The expander fell out of my chest on the hospital bed. The ER doctor knew it was urgent and had me placed on morphine. The doctor who started the breast reconstruction came and had to do emergency surgery. It was the most pain I had ever experienced. I never received another reconstruction. I lost my breast, teeth, and hair. I had a hiatal hernia in my stomach. I looked in the mirror and was devastated one day. But like I said, stop it! God has me here for a reason.
What would your advice be to anyone who’s just received a cancer diagnosis?
Your family may or may not know how to handle you with this disease. I had good and bad experiences with my family. You will sometimes feel sorry for yourself. But stop and think of the babies and children that are going through this and people who have it worse than you. Stop it! If your family or friends don’t understand you, there are support groups that will.
Visit a nutritionist and psychologist, take yoga, anything you can do to better yourself and be as healthy as possible during your treatment. I went into a depression, my concentration was altered some, and I acquired other ailments that came from the chemotherapy, like problems with my teeth. Trusting in God and having a good network with doctors can solve these problems. Thank God for Smiles for Survivors. When my teeth broke off at the gum from my chemotherapy treatments, I didn’t even want to smile anymore. They gave me new teeth on top and are working to restore my bottom teeth. And they teach cancer patients like me what to do, foods to avoid, etc. to have good oral health during treatment. I didn’t know that I would have problems with my teeth from chemotherapy and learned from the organization that about 40 percent of breast cancer patients will have problems. It even gets so bad that some people have to stop treatment. I am so thankful to Smiles for Survivors founder Dr. Olya Banchik and my personal Smiles for Survivors dentists Dr. Bradley Strong and Dr. Mark Degan.
How long have you been cancer free?
I have been cancer free approximately 7 ½ years now.
What lessons did you learn from the experience?
I found that so many women do not talk about their experiences, they either try to be superwomen or act as if it is doesn’t exist. The dentists and doctors give so much altruistically and people don’t know about programs that can help, what they need to expect, who they can talk to. There is still so much to learn.
If you could send one message to all the Good Enough Mothers out there – what would it be?
It’s okay to be selfish when it comes to your health. Get a good primary care doctor and be truthful about whatever there is in your life, be it physical, mental or spiritual. Know that something you think is little or insignificant has the power to save your life. Finally, just talk, pray, love, and most of all LIVE.
Lilly Gill, 52, is a breast cancer survivor and part of the Smiles for Survivors program. She’s triumphed over alcohol addiction, and stood alongside her mother, two cousins and a great aunt who were silently battling breast cancer. Gill was diagnosed with IIB breast cancer and underwent a single radical mastectomy along with chemotherapy, where she experienced hair loss, severe skin problems and tooth decay. Smiles for Survivors dental staff helped restored Gill’s oral health by preforming necessary surgery to remove broken and decaying teeth. These life-altering procedures have given Gill the ability to smile without fear. Smiles for Survivors is the first non-profit that promotes awareness of the oral health side-effects brought on by cancer treatment. SFS helps Las Vegas breast cancer survivors receive restorative dental care.

domain: medical


text:
HAZARD - The Ultimate Golf Board Game. Play the course and avoid the hazards. 18 holes of exciting golf - whatever the weather.
HAZARD can be played by any number of players in pairs, foursomes, or alone against the course. Players draw five cards representing a 'wood', 'long iron', 'mid iron', 'short iron' and 'pitch, chip or putt'. Each card has a different stroke indicator informing you of distance, hook or slice, and by using the card in any one of four directions allows you unlimited combinations of shots.
As in real golf, mistakes occur. So when the ball strays from the fairway or into a bunker, 'rough' or 'bunker' cards are drawn to continue play.
Each hole ends when the player lands in a hole or on the green which indicates the number of putts to finish.
Hazard can be played against the course par of 72, or 'hole for hole' as in matchplay. Description

domain: game


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[#369 Siren Everlasting Classic: Erotic Cowboy Romance, sex toys]
Ash Peterson falls for her the moment he lays eyes on her. She’s a stereotypical city girl, from her manicure to her high heels. Judging by the sparks that fly between them, he knows there’s a fire burning deep inside the blue-eyed beauty. But department store manager Juliana Meyers is thrown by her attraction to Ash. Everything about this quintessential cowboy sets her on edge, from his Stetson and mutton chop sideburns down to his dusty boots and spurs. All he’s gotta do is walk into a room with those damn things jingling and she’s putty in his hands.
When Ash unintentionally injures Juliana, he feels that it’s his responsibility to look after the hoity-toity redheaded workaholic. He pushes her to reexamine her perfectionist lifestyle, but it’s hard for Juliana because she’s used to doing things her way. Can she learn to relax and let him lead?
A Siren Erotic Romance
Heather Rainier is a Siren-exclusive author.
5 HEARTS: "First off, let me assure you that the cover of this book alone will get your heart racing, not to mention the wonderfully detailed description of our hot and sexy cowboy, Ash. While this novella is short on pages, it is long on character development and hot steamy sex. Full of variety, the author does not leave you guessing as to how these two sizzling characters enjoy each other. Ash is definitely a dream. Not only can the man cook, change a dressing on a wound, love his woman creatively, plans a romantic interlude, but the man can dance! The fifth in the series about the decadent but definitely respectable folks out near the Divine Ranch leads you to want to read the others, but don't worry, if you haven't read any of them it won't prevent you from loving this book. All of the characters are reintroduced, but the main story focuses on Ash's slow destruction of Juliana's work wall that she has managed to build around her. Strong characters, fast storyline, and in depth plot will have you cheering for Spurs and Heels." -- Susie Q., The Romance Studio
5 STARS: "SPURS AND HEELS is the latest book in the Divine Creek Ranch and is my favorite so far! I loved Ash and Juliana as a couple and really just could not get enough of them. Ash sees Juliana at the Divine Creek Ranch and instantly falls for the fiery redhead. He seems to have a knack for ticking her off though, and darn if seeing her pissed off at him doesn't make him want her more. He doesn't let her anger stop him from going after her, although he seems to be doing more apologizing than wooing. Juliana is definitely uneasy about her attraction for Ash, and he seems to be able to make her angrier than anyone else. So, when Ash accidentally injures Juliana, she's not sure that she wants the hot cowboy taking care of her. But as he does such a wonderful job, she's starting to see that maybe she doesn't always have to be in control. Juliana and Ash are just about perfect. The city girl and the country boy. I don't think I've seen a couple that set off such sparks. Underneath all that anger and irritation, it was obvious that Juliana wanted Ash so bad she could taste it. And, Ash's easy going attitude was the perfect counterbalance to Juliana's type-A personality. It was pretty comical though, the way he kept putting his boot in his mouth. He couldn't get anything right when it came to Juliana in the beginning. I'm chuckling just thinking about it. The relationship between Juliana and Ash certainly gets off to a rocky start, but they soon settle into quite the routine together, and it's good for both of them. The love scenes were erotic, steamy, but extremely sweet. You could see the depth of emotion that they both had for each other, even before they said the words. This book is the fifth book in the Divine Creek Ranch series, which follows people who live on and around the ranch. While it is part of the series, it can easily be read as a standalone. But I guarantee that if you read this book, you'll want to go back and read the others. The characters in the series are fantastic and are written in a way that makes you care about them. It was nice to visit with the characters from other books to see how they are doing. There's extensive world building that is fantastic in this book and the others in the series. It makes the area of Divine its own little world and a place that I want to visit again and again. I love when a series revisits previous couples and characters. It gives me a more well-rounded picture and gives a glimpse of what happens after that happily ever after. So, SPURS AND HEELS is another great addition to the Divine Creek Ranch series. With its perfectly matched couple, fantastic chemistry, amazing world-building and great characters, I don't think I could have asked for anything better." -- Rho, The Romance Reviews
"As always, Ms Rainier has succeeded in telling a wonderful story, developed the characters of Ash and Juliana in such a way that the reader feels that they are real people, living just a bit down the road. Their struggles to re-configure their lives--to make some way of reconciling Ash's life as a ranch foreman with Juliana's drive to succeed in a non-ranching occupation, to come to some kind of acceptance that she needs to live unobsessed is the core of the tale that flows beneath all the action and the narrative. As in the other novels in this series, their romance is very erotic and these are two characters who are lively and passionate, who both want to experience a love that can withstand the challenges of any life situation. Set within the context of other characters that have been introduced in previous novels, Ash and Juliana's love story not only stands on its own merits but is a part of this community of people who are connected to the Divine Creek Ranch. And as Heather herself says in one of her interviews, these characters have lives and hearts that are as big as the country they live in. All her characters demonstrate that none of us lives apart from the people who exercise their influence and presence in our lives. And even though this couple are the focus of this book, their love is celebrated as a part of the wider community. One of the on-going scenes in all Heather's novels is the fact that all these women love to dance. Gathering at the Ethan Grant's club, The Dancing Pony, Grace, Rachel, Rosemary, Teresa, and Juliana all love to get out on the dance floor and let the moves loose. Their men love to watch them, too. It is one of the grace-filled moments in these novels that I enjoy as much as any others. It just seems that Heather has filled this and all her novels with men who truly love and appreciate their women, who protect them and surround them with a kind of love that is empowering and heartwarming. This novel is no exception. I am really looking forward to reading the next novel in this series and am curious about the characters whose story will be highlighted--I am sure we have already met them somewhere. And they will, as do all the heroes and heroines, delight and entertain. Don't miss this really wonderful novel!" -- Dr J's Book Place
Juliana stood for a moment gazing at him, clad in heels, stockings, garter and black lace push up bra and G-string. Ash twirled his finger as he sat up on the side of the bed, and she slowly turned for him, her breath catching when she felt his fingertips trace over her hip, gently squeezing her derriere.
Ash drew her to stand between his spread knees. Her breath left her in a rush when his fingertips slid up the backs of her thighs, gliding under the garter belt to grip each cheek of her ass. He brushed his lips over her abdomen.
She slid her fingers into his thick hair, and he tilted his head back and kissed the underside of her breasts. He held her as though she was precious to him, and it made her heart feel like it was swelling and throbbing.
She was barely aware of it when her bra and her garter belt came loose. His fingers were at the lace tops of her stockings, but she was too caught up in the feel of his lips and his facial hair against the sensitive flesh of her breasts. She moaned in anticipation when she felt his fingertips slide down the cleft of her ass, pulling her G-string aside to run a fingertip through the wet arousal between her thighs.
He lifted his face from her breasts, hooked the waist of her G-string in his fingers, and pulled it off quickly then groaned so deep it inspired orgasmic tremors in her cunt.
He held her hips and looked his fill for a few moments, at her in her high heels and stockings.
As he gazed at her clad that way, with her breasts and mons bare, except for her neat patch of auburn curls, she felt a wave of boldness come over her. She trailed her fingertips over his cheek and reached into the night table drawer and withdrew a condom and the bottle of lubricant.
“I’ve wondered all night, since you asked me to model what was under my dress with my high heels on, if you’d treat me like a piece of fragile china, or if you might fuck me the way a man fucks a woman so she knows she belongs to him.”
As she said it, she turned and sauntered to the end of the plush king-size bed, placing the two items on the bed beside her. His eyes were riveted as she placed one hand then the other on the mattress then placed both knees spread wide apart on the end of the bed and knelt there in a sitting position until he rose and came around to her.
He bent down to kiss her as she leaned back and rested her head against his bulky shoulder, looking up at him as he fondled each breast with his work-roughened hands.
“You know what you’re asking for, darlin’?”
“To be fucked hard? Yes. I do.”
“Healing fine. I can take whatever you can dish out, cowboy.”
He thought she couldn’t handle his rough edges? She loved a challenge. Juliana could handle rough with him because she knew he’d never take it too far and would stop at the first word from her. She trusted him.
“Why don’t you break me in gently. We’ll see where we end up.”
She leaned forward and slid her forearms over the quilt, baring herself to him until she was resting on her elbows, the weight completely off her injured wrist.
He stood behind her for endless seconds as she took her time getting into position, smiling at what must be going through his mind as he watched her, dressed only in her stockings and high heels, her ass tilted up to him.
When she was in the perfect spot, she then lowered her shoulders and cheek to the quilt. She arched her back in blatant invitation, her breath stuttering when she felt her pussy lips part with the action, making herself completely vulnerable for him.
Her thighs were already damp, and he could probably see her juices coating her pussy, which was clenching in needy contractions.
Moaning at the feel of his hand on her ass as it slid down to her slick pussy, she watched over her shoulder as he quickly shed his clothes, dropping them all around him in his haste. Her heart hammered as she heard the foil wrapper tear and the bottle of lubricant pop open. Ash groaned as he spread lubricant over his cock. “You’ve got me so hot, darlin’. I’m not going to be gentle with you at all.”
She bit her lip as his declaration caused more moisture to rush to her clenching pussy.
“Damn, darlin’.” His tongue suddenly made gluttonous contact with her cunt. “That’s exactly what you want, isn’t it? Want me to fuck you hard?”
“Yes!” she pleaded, an edge of desperation in her voice as she felt another spasm and wondered if she wasn’t experiencing a mini orgasm every time he opened his mouth. His tongue and lips played with her for a minute until she begged. He teased more juice from her, making her buck against his mouth, his mustache prickling and making her pussy even more sensitive.
“Want me to fill you full of my cock?”
“Yes, Ash, please!” she begged, wiggling her ass at him.
“Mmm, I love to lick this pussy. Know what I love even more?” he asked, sounding like he now stood behind her. She gasped harshly at the sudden presence of his thick cock at her clenching opening.
“Oh, baby, what?” She cried out as the tremors started deep in her cunt and vibrated outward to her lips, trying to grip him and draw him in.
He groaned loudly as though he felt her reaction to him. “I love fucking this pussy, darlin’.” He grasped her roughly and whipped his hips hard, slamming home in one hard stroke.


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Davis Polk partner Jai Massari will be among the speakers at Online Lending Policy Institute’s “Online Lending Policy Summit” program. The third annual summit will convene to share insights, propose standards and provide regulators and policymakers with consensus viewpoints on the regulation of online lending. Massari will speak on the topic, “Regulating a Madden and True Lender Fix.”
The program will be held on October 9, 2018, in Washington, D.C.
For more information, please visit the event website.


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The flagship processor for the Broadwell-E series expected to arrive in the summer,Core i7 6950X, may also break the boundaries of the economy and cost 1,500 dollars
We recently received Confirmation from Intel Herself The reports The numbers about a processor with ten physical cores (and with 20 logical cores using the hyper-threading technology it carries) which is expected to reach the top of Intel's new extreme processors, the Broadwell-E. Recently We even received a launch date: June 2016.
Now these reports tell of another breakthrough that this processor will record, except for a larger number of cores: it may break the traditional 999 dollar limit for the flagship processor of Intel In the extreme series, and reach an unprecedented price tag and not insignificant of 1,500 dollars.
In direct conversion, this is about NIS 6,000, but this is the price (and even more) that we usually see for all the processors The latest Intel products priced in the 999 regionTherefore, in order to give some proportions: its price tag in Israel is not expected to drop from NIS 8,000 at any point, and even to reach the area 9,000 shekels.
The addition of these 500 dollars not only places those who have sought this processor in an uncomfortable economic situation,Core The 7-core i6900 8K is in the $ 999 range, which can seep down towards the entire hierarchy and even give theCore i7 6800K The "simple" first understands a price tag higher than 500 dollars. All that remains is to wait and see.


GREENWOOD, Ind. - A Martinsville woman was arrested Thursday while allegedly doing drugs in the Johnson County Sheriff Department's parking lot.
Around 2 a.m. Thursday, deputies were alerted that a woman was possibly doing drugs in a parked Chevrolet Malibu in the sheriff's department parking lot.
Officers approached the vehicle to find a 7-year-old boy standing outside with a blanket. Inside the car, officers found 32-year-old Melissa Copas, as well as a mirror with a line of white powder laid on it and an orange and white capsule later determined to be amphetamine.
Copas told officers she was there to pick up an inmate. She also admitted that she had driven to the jail on a suspended driver's license.
Copas was arrested on charges of possession of a controlled substance and paraphernalia.
Don't fall for Marion County jury duty scam
The Marion County Prosecutor’s Office is warning Hoosiers not to fall victim to a jury duty scam.
Kids get curious at Zionsville weather camp
Weather camp with Kevin Gregory and Todd Klaassen made its way to Zionsville on Wednesday.
Free rides on Pacers Bikeshare this weekend
If you've been waiting for an opportunity to try out the Pacers Bikeshare Program, then this is the weekend for you.
Report reveals Muncie day care had 86 cats
Many parents know to check if their child’s day care facility is licensed, but it is also important to research a provider’s history.
Formal complaint filed against Ritz campaign
Glenda Ritz's campaign for governor is facing another formal complaint – this one filed Wednesday with the Indiana Election Commission.


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She may be one of the nation’s most knowledgeable nature presenters but there’s only one thing people who send fan mail to Ellie Harrison want to know about and it’s not the countryside.
“’Where do you get your boots from?’, that’s all I ever seem to get” she reveals in an interview in this week’s Radio Times. “And people always seem to comment on how a woman looks.”
It seems as though she’s not the only one being asked about her fashion sense, though.
“I get that too” says Chris Packham. “I refuse to answer those because I consider them trite.” Packham says he’s on the receiving end of quite a lot of questions about animals, with their toilet habits proving one of the most popular.
“I’m also sent a lot of pictures of animal poo, asking which animal it belongs to,” he explains. “I don’t mind, I do seem to talk a lot about poo.”
"I was pleased to get correspondence applauding me for pronouncing a lot of Welsh place names correctly", Harrison adds. "The Llyn Peninsula, Aberdaron, I was quite pleased with that."
Read the full interview with Ellie Harrison and Chris Packham in the new issue of Radio Times, in shops and on the Apple Newsstand from Tuesday October 17th

domain: celebrity


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News & Updates
Cycle North Spain
January 23, 2017
Rewarding Candidates 100 Adventures
If you haven't heard, we are using recruiting for good to create work+life balance by funding and rewarding travel. Do you love to travel and see the world? We love to help you do both. Simply participate in Recruiting for Good, by doing either step to earn any destination;
- Submit your resume for a technical position, and complete 120 days of employment.
- Refer a family member or friend who is looking for a technical job, (they complete 120 days of employment).
Have Questions or Want to Start Today....
We love to reward any of the following destinations;
Foodie Destinations by Epitourean.com
Europe: Belgium Beer Tour, France (Burgundy River Cruise, Loire Valley Cycle, Quintessential Burgundy), Croatia to Montenegro, Greece (Sailing Athens to Mykonos, Sailing Mykonos to Santorini), Iceland, Ireland, Italy (Amalfi Coast, Cycling Tuscany, Hiking Tuscany, San Gimiganano, Sicily, Sorrento, Umbria), Romania, Spain (Cycle North Spain, Moorish Spain, Walk Camino Santiago), Trekking Mont Blanc, Turkey.
South America: Argentina (Buenos Aires Iguassu, Mendoza), Bolivia, Brazil (North Brazil, Rio Carnival), Chile (Easter Island, Patagonia), Colombia, Ecuador, Galapagos, Peru (Amazon Riverboat, Machu Picchu).
Silver Lining Travel (Celebrity Cruises)
Alaska Hubbard Glacier, Bermuda New England, Eastern Caribbean, French Riviera, Israel, Italy Greek Isles, Japan Explorer, New Orleans Mardi Gras (2018), New Zealand, Panama Canal, Portugal Azores, South Pacific Cruise, Southern Caribbean, Spain and Canary Islands, Spain France Italy, Tahiti, Western Mediterranean.
We look forward to rewarding you travel to see the world for good...where would you like to travel to next?

domain: geography


September is Dementia Awareness Month and 21st September is World Alzheimer’s Day. This year’s theme ‘Know Dementia, Know Alzheimer’s’ highlights the need to reach out to people with dementia in their community to let them know they are not alone. Dementia is second leading cause of death and the leading cause of death among females. There are many ways you can become involved in Dementia Awareness Month to show your support. Don’t face dementia alone. Alzheimer’s Disease diagnoses are growing at an exponential rate, and treating it is one of the costliest efforts. Early detection not only improves quality of life, but also can massively reduce the costs associated with treating Alzheimer’s Disease. It is only through a truly global effort that we can raise much needed awareness and challenge the stigma and misinformation that still surrounds dementia, and we are calling on everyone to do something during September, however small or large.
Alzheimer’s is the most common cause of dementia: A general term for memory loss and other cognitive abilities serious enough to interfere with daily life. Alzheimer’s disease accounts for 60-80 per cent of dementia cases.
Alzheimer's is not a normal part of aging: The greatest known risk factor is increasing age, and the majority of people with Alzheimer’s are 65 and older. Alzheimer’s disease is considered to be younger-onset Alzheimer’s if it affects a person under 65. Younger-onset can also be referred to as early-onset Alzheimer’s. People with younger-onset Alzheimer’s can be in the early, middle or late stage of the disease.
Alzheimer's worsens over time: Alzheimer's is a progressive disease, where dementia symptoms gradually worsen over a number of years. In its early stages, memory loss is mild, but with late-stage Alzheimer's, individuals lose the ability to carry on a conversation and respond to their environment. On average, a person with Alzheimer’s lives 4 to 8 years after diagnosis but can live as long as 20 years, depending on other factors.
Alzheimer’s has no cure, but one treatment - Aducanumab (Aduhelm) — is the first therapy to demonstrate that removing amyloid, one of the hallmarks of Alzheimer’s disease, from the brain is reasonably likely to reduce cognitive and functional decline in people living with early Alzheimer’s. Other treatments can temporarily slow the worsening of dementia symptoms and improve quality of life for those with Alzheimer's and their caregivers. Today, there is a worldwide effort underway to find better ways to treat the disease, delay its onset and prevent it from developing.
As the exact cause of Alzheimer's disease is still unknown, there's no certain way to prevent the condition. But a healthy lifestyle can help reduce your risk. The research concluded that by modifying all the risk factors we're able to change, our risk of dementia could be significantly reduced.
Cardiovascular disease has been linked with an increased risk of Alzheimer's disease and vascular dementia. You may be able to reduce your risk of developing these conditions – as well as other serious problems, such as strokes and heart attacks – by taking steps to improve your cardiovascular health. These include:
• reduce smoking.
• keeping alcohol to a minimum.
• eating a healthy, balanced diet, including at least 5 portions of fruit and vegetables every day.
• exercising for at least 150 minutes every week by doing moderate-intensity aerobic activity (such as cycling or fast walking), or as much as you're able to.
• making sure your blood pressure is checked and controlled through regular health tests.
• if you have diabetes, make sure you keep to the diet and take your medicine.
There's some evidence to suggest that rates of dementia are lower in people who remain mentally and socially active throughout their lives. It may be possible to reduce your risk of Alzheimer's disease and other types of dementia by:
• learning foreign languages.
• playing musical instruments.
• volunteering in your local community.
• taking part in group sports, such as bowling.
• trying new activities or hobbies.
• maintaining an active social life.
• Interventions such as "brain training" computer games have been shown to improve cognition over a short period, but research has not yet demonstrated whether this can help prevent dementia.
The latest research suggests that other factors are also important, although this does not mean
these factors are directly responsible for causing dementia.
• hearing loss.
• untreated depression (although this can also be a symptom of dementia).
• loneliness or social isolation.
• a sedentary lifestyle.


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Apart from the standard bars and nightclubs,Cape Town is host to a multitude of sports events, conferences and outdoor festivals that put the Mother City on the world map of the hospitality Industry. We have been fortunate enough to be involved with some of these major events, namely Cape Town 10’s, The Design Indaba, Rocking the Daisies, AfrikaBurn etc -just to name a few of the more internationally recognised events.
Baobar primarily rents out bar infrastructure, equipment & dispensing systems to these kinds of events, but did you know that we also custom build portable bars and infrastructure for many of the bar companies and event coordinators that service the hospitality industry? Whether you are a craft gin or coffee merchant at outdoor festivals, a portable bar service company or a mobile wedding DJ, we can design & manufacture bespoke flat-pack infrastructure from which to run your business.
From standard service counters & welcome desks to purpose-built cocktail & craft beer bars and display units, our focus is on functionality and trasportability with an emphasis on using organic and locally sourced materials. Some of our recent clients consist of Trouvaille Spirits, La Barista Mobile Coffee Merchant, Raise the Bar Events, Galileo Outdoor Cinema and The South African International Tattoo Convention.
If you are a local service provider to the Cape Town events & hospitality industry and are constantly spending money on run-of-the-mill powder coated bar infrastructure, why not invest in an organic bar solution that can be customised to your needs as wellas the look & feel of your brand. Our new range of portable bar units are designed with industry experience, minimal setup & storage requirements,and are manufactrued with high impact edging that will ensure the longevity of your investment. For more informationon bespoke designs, custom manufacturing or pre-designed portable bar infrastructure,contact email@example.com a breakdown of options, costs and turnaround times.

domain: design


DUDLEY BOROUGH HALLS
GREAT LIVE ENTERTAINMENT AND EVENTS IN DUDLEY, STOURBRIDGE AND HALESOWEN
Aace Dance Festival 2018
NETHERTON ARTS CENTRE
Saturday 14 July - 7.30pm
The 'Aace Dance Festival 2018' is a celebration of dance!
Dance of all genres and styles, performed by a selection of dance schools and academies from across the local area.
Hosted by Aace Dance Company (est 2016), numerous dance schools in our vicinity have been invited to join us in putting on a fantastic show!
Please spread the word, invite your friends and join us for an exceptional evening full of amazing talent!
£8 Stalls, £10 Balcony
*Booking fees apply
HAVE YOU CONSIDERED...
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