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I decided that I had better write a post in an effort to cut short my streak of eulogies to two, hopefully there won't be another any time soon. I've also been advised that the best way to deal with certain events is to express them through some outlet - seeing as this blog has been an outlet for several years it's probably a good time to make use of it.

The plan is to describe in an unspecified level of detail the somewhat life altering events of the past two months so as to piece together (for myself as much as anyone) what the hell has just happened. So this may be quite a long post, or it may end shortly in a fit of bewildered shrieks.

Cue shimmering fade to flashback:

Thursday June 26, 3 days before my flight home to Australia.

After finally being finished with the concreting of the footings for the accommodation block and health clinic it was time to start cutting and bolting on the 4"x4" muruka (type of timber) support posts that will hold the building off the ground. Earlier in the week Daz and I had done all the measurements for the post heights and he was now spending most days in town bargaining with suppliers and picking timber in preparation for the arrival of an additional carpenter or two and the final haul to finish construction by September/October.

So Thursday was spent with a spirit level, chainsaw and drill (the you-beaut new power drill we'd just got) as I put the first 15 posts up. It was one of those exhausting days that makes you love being alive. The men (our local labourers) were working efficiently, the weather was perfect, Aggie had cooked a great lunch and the progress towards the finish line was tangible. The only thing missing was a lunch time chat to Daz (in town shopping) and I was required to listen to Elvis ramble on about 29 different topics while trying to ask a simple question.

After arriving home that afternoon I began working on the June monthly accounts, the system of tracking who spends money where was working well and things were looking good at the time I stopped for some dinner. The next day was a bank run and shopping with new volunteer leader Georgina - sometimes a tedious experience for me when the shopping hasn't been well organised. Luckily George was an organisational maestro and had little snap lock bags with each person's money and shopping list. The bank queue was non-existent ($6,000 withdrawn as per usual every couple of weeks) and shopping was done in a jiffy - and off home we went. And back to monthly accounts I went. By dinner time my head was about to explode, the numbers just didn't add up - we were missing almost exactly $300! Was I going mad? How could I lose this much money? Then Darren asked whether I'd counted the money they had in their safe? Miscommunication - I thought there was none left in their safe, in fact there was $300 - problem solved, beer had, off to bed with the June accounts slowly trying to travel from my outbox into cyberspace and off to Australia.

Saturday morning came around and I hadn't done the weekly wages for the labourers yet, so I didn't go to the building site. Work usually finishes at 1:30pm on a Saturday, but Darren came home early frustrated with the labourers who had just cut through the power cable in the brand new (and not hand-threateningly dangerous like the previous one) circular saw he'd just bought. So around midday I toddled up to the building site with my little packet of pays to give the men. Roughly $15 a week each for their weeks work. Not a bad salary, although most of it would go on soda, beer, cigarettes, hash and phone credit. My idea to offer a matched savings plan for the labourers to buy tools or other equipment to earn an income or benefit their household was taking a long time to get the green light - so for the time being it luxuries that it was spent on. I said my farewells to the men (I was supposed to be away for 4 weeks) and went home to pack.

My previous post - 'Q: have you ever used recreational drugs' describes some of the moments and thoughts then leading up to my flight out of Nairobi.

Nairobi - Doha: 7 hour stopover in Doha - very boring and cold airport. Most of the time was spent walking laps around the terminal or trying to sleep lightly in the Prayer Room.

Doha - Singapore: 7 hour stopover in Singapore - amazing and entertaining airport. The baggage carousels have gardens planted in the centres - the suitcases going on safari through the jungle. The queues were dwarfed in the vast tranquil spaces - serenity was everywhere. Then there was the showers, movies, rainforest walks (and probably good shopping, I wouldn't know). I emailed Heather again - no reply, which was odd, I half joked to myself that perhaps the computer had been stolen.

Singapore - Sydney: With Qantas. Better movies, better food.

Sydney- Brisbane: Change of terminals for a domestic flight, yummy cheese and herb breakfast scroll. A light sleep until touchdown.

My head was racing with excitement, the stories to tell of Tanzania, the building, the labourers, the kids, the volunteer village. Mum and Dad would be visiting in 2 months and I wanted to tell them all about it and discuss the Rabbit Breeding plans with Rob (aka Dad). I wanted to tell them about the other volunteers, Darren in particular as he was looking forward to meeting Mum and Dad. I'd lost nearly 10kg, hair was longer than it had ever been. We'd joked about them recognising me. The wedding would be great fun and I was going to do some building and other work on the farm with Rob.

I walked out of the tunnel and saw Mum and Dad waiting - wearing their cold weather clothes. It must be cold I thought. They looked a bit tired, and something else, I couldn't pick it. We hugged each other, not much was said, then as we turned to walk towards to exit they stood either side of me, holding tighter than usual, making walking a little bit awkward. After a few steps they slowed their pace, looking at me with eyes wider than usual. "There was an armed robbery at the volunteer village, Heather is okay, but Darren was shot and killed". Their eyes widened and grip tightened. I stared ahead, mind spinning with lack of sleep.

Wasn't I supposed to be telling them about Darren? They spoke like they knew him, he couldn't be dead if they didn't know him. What was going on here? I could imagine a robbery happening, and checked to make sure that Heather was definitely unharmed in any way. But Darren couldn't be dead, if it were possible for anyone to be invincible it was Darren, he was like superman. Hours later I was still trying to believe it. How could my two worlds - Tanzania and Australia - collide so devastatingly? Caught in a limbo between which world was the real one. What was going on?

In this slight daze, worrying about Heather, with grief occasionally slipping through the cracks, I went through the motions as visitors arrived for the wedding, and then the wedding came with more people offering condolences. Emotions were high, tears were plentiful, there was beauty and love and joy in abundance. I swung like a pendulum between my two realities, and two poles of emotion.

Dashing out of the reception for a few hours I collected Heather from the airport. Relief. Reality - a connection to Tanzania. This had actually happened. Was happening. We returned to the reception and poured alcohol into ourselves like everyone else.
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I've now returned to writing this after a couple of weeks, so the following will be more brief.
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Plans had been made for Darren's funeral and we made our way down to Sydney to convene with all FWS and Stratti related people. The entire event was gut wrenchingly sad for everyone involved. The more you try to 'celebrate' the life of someone the greater the sense of tragedy and magnitude of loss is felt.

Heather and I made the drive back up to Brisbane again on Saturday 19th July. Exhausted from travelling and grief we were looking forward to some quiet time on the farm with Mum and Dad (aka Rob). We had our flights back to Tanzania booked and were thinking constantly of Sinon, FWS, Daz and Beck. I went to the gym with Rob on the Tuesday, amazed at how a 66 year old man could still heave such heavy weights. I think he was also enjoying himself, realising the pleasure of loading up a bar and pushing or pulling with all your might until the muscles fail. I was also a little concerned that he was over exerting on some of the exercises, pushing too hard can raise the blood pressure very high during the exercise and maybe lead to a burst vessel and possible stroke. I planned a new routine that would help rehabilitate his shoulder, continue to improve his fitness but not require such a monumental effort.

25 July. The date is loaded with meaning now as I type it. Rob knocks on my door to enquire if I was coming to the gym. I dragged myself out of bed and lurched into the kitchen. Rob was just coming out of the pantry, I walked over and placed my forehead on his chest. "tired". He stroked the back of my head and said he usually is out of the door by now and on the way to the gym, but he was running a bit late this morning and would probably be another 20 minutes before he was ready.

20 minutes later we were on the road to Beaudesert and talking about the honesty that politicians seldom produce. Into the gym and first up was a the rowing machine for a few minutes and the bike for a few minutes.

Going through these motions in my head now I can't detect anything abnormal in his demeanour or actions - but my mind screams for him to stop, lie down, get to a hospital.

The first set is a warm up on the dumbell bench press, he uses the 15kgs for 15 reps. "I probably could have done about 30 reps to extinction with that one". The correct term is working 'to failure', but Rob had adopted the term 'extinction' instead - a more vivid and entertaining description - a Rob trademark.

The next set was a rotator cuff movement - 2kg dumbell. "I can feel it working the joint but it doesn't hurt". I was full of optimism that some rehab would return the shoulder to full working order and improve his gym and work capacity. But now I am full of dread as I recall that moment, seconds from the end. The six or seven paces back to the flat bench. Picking up the 15kg dumbells again, holding them close to his chest as he lies back down on the bench. I am standing near his head, just to the right, checking his form. He presses the dumbells up.

"Oh dear". The last words.

Now he's putting the dumbells back down in an awkward fashion - I'm thinking "he's hurt his shoulder, he shouldn't be putting the dumbells down that way". But he's looking up at me while the dumbells roll from his fingers, wide eyed. The same wide eyed look as he told me about Darren, now telling me about himself. Then he was gone.

The gym employee and I performed CPR until the ambulance arrived.

Rob died shortly afterwards at the Beaudesert hospital while Gini and Christian were desperately making their way here.

We spent the rest of the day in a small room with him. His presence still so tangible - just having a snooze while we wept into his hands and on his chest - right were I'd put my head that morning.

It seems like grief is the status quo these days, in fact it is just that every day all over the world. But we try to balance grief with happiness and find joy wherever it may reside.

I've been working on the farm since then. Tracing Rob's steps that he had walked and was soon to walk again. Listening to his advice as I estimate the correct concentrations of fertilisers and chemicals, or which tool to choose for the various little jobs that keep popping up.

We return to Tanzania on October 22nd. Will Darren be there? Will Rob be an email away with an anecdote from his African adventures? It is a road that must be walked in order to silence the part of the mind that still hopes for the answer to be yes. Another small shift in our internal world as it tries to realign itself with the external one.