There is nothing like a hot shower. When you’ve slept in a tent for a week, when you’ve made it an hourly practice to empty the sand from your shoes, when your toilet is a hole in the ground that you’ve dug yourself, when you start noticing the fresh scent of shampoo on total strangers, there is nothing like a hot shower.
I love Africa. I love studying the maps in an effort to keep my inner backseat-driver in check as we bump along this road-less land. I love glancing up just in time to see an enormous kudu prance across the road and leap into the bush. I even love Logan’s random diatribes, where he uses his professor voice to teach me something entirely out of the blue: “Do you know how four wheel drive works? Well…”
Emerging from the communal campground shower, scrubbed clean of negativity, I can appreciate these things again. Sometimes I get caught up thinking of the comforts of home, things like our pillow-top mattress and not having to keep a roll of toilet paper in the glove compartment at all times. The steaming water rinses away more than grime and muck, my bad attitude swirls down the drain as well. Wet flip flops smack my heels sending up plumes of red dirt and I’m startled by the beating hooves of a zebra herd racing through camp toward water. This ritual cleansing is a good reminder: no one ever got anywhere being perfectly comfortable.