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doing nothing of great consequence: playing the piano, swimming and reading the news-
paper. More of Helen's friends dropped by and we all sat around drinking tea and chatted.
When they left, I returned to my room, shaved and got ready for the 6 p.m. mass. I left the
houseby5:30andwenttomyfirstEnglishmassinmonths.ThemasswasnotlikeinZaïre,
it was quieter, shorter (50 minutes not 2½ hours), there wasn't any dancing, and, for quite
some time, I wasn't the only foreigner in the congregation. After mass, I walked back to
the house and met the Kopparts as they were getting ready to go out for dinner…and I was
invited.
Since the dinner was at their friend's home and it was semi-formal, Helen gave me
one of Keith's dress shirts, a tie and a pair of shoes (I already had a pair of his trousers.)
Their friend, Jack was an Irish surgeon and worked in Zambia for years. He was a great
storyteller and told the story of Dr. Livingston and the New York Herald Tribune reporter,
Sir Henry Morton Stanley who found him in Zambia. They met when Dr. Livingston was
attempting to trace the source of the Nile. Dr. Livingston was also to locate and describe
Lake Ngami (1849) and the Victoria Falls (1855) for the first time to the outside world.
Jack concluded his story with the death of Dr. Livingston in 1873. His two servants
found him dead one morning. After they cut out his heart and disembowelled him, they
placed him in a hollow log and carried him for thousands of miles eastward to the British
Embassy in Zanzibar. The two servants and the body of Dr. Livingston were then taken to
London England for a state funeral in Westminster Abbey. During the funeral procession,
those two servants helped to carry the coffin.
The dinner was the best I have ever had in Africa. Since everyone at the dinner
table knewthat Icycled fromLondon,theyturnedablindeyetomylack ofetiquette atthe
table. Don't get me wrong, I was polite and cordial but I over-indulged in everything that
was offered (perhaps embarrassing the Kopparts in the process.)
The next morning, after breakfast, I went with Keith to the chimpanzee orphanage
run by Dave and his wife Sittle close to the border of Zaïre. Jane Goodall spent a lot of
time there with National Geographic and the BBC. They had many orphaned chimpan-
zees whose parents were killed by poachers or were confiscated by border guards. There
was even a baby hippo named Louie who followed Sittle around everywhere as its adopted
mother. I must admit it was interesting to see but I did not share the same convictions as
they did about these animals. There were far too many pressing issues with the human be-
ings in the region.
On the way back, Keith took me to see the multi-million dollar open-pit copper
mine that he managed. He said that each of the 88 trucks cost $800,000. The cranes and
scrapers were the largest I had ever seen. He also told me that they had a woodworking
shop that spent a lot of time building coffins for workers who had died. I stared at him in
disbelief when he said this. He quickly clarified his point sating that they didn't die from
working at the mine but from AIDS. He added that to mourn someone's death took about
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