He was (and still is) always the adventurer and almost always in danger. In the Eastern Highlands, he drove into tribal fights to negotiate peace and over several years, amassed a fortune in bows, arrows and traditional weapons from tribal conflicts. Each bearing its own rich tale.
He nearly left me fatherless one day when he almost drowned. His wicked sense of humor never failing before he jumped into the river that day. I’m told he said jokingly: “Give this watch to my love if I die.” Many years later, I met the man who was supposed to have made that trip, he still remembers and is eternally grateful.
He was the colonial government officer with a rigid sense of right and wrong. He took personal responsibility over those wounded in tribal wars and pregnant women who needed medical help in the government stations he ran.
His was a typically colonial household with a well stocked kitchen and at least one loaded weapon in the closet. His quiet time away from work highly valued and his children, his wife, his life.
His eyes saw some of the most beautiful places on earth. We saw only a glimpse of what he saw through his numerous paintings and sketches.
To those deserving, his wrath was explosive. Yet he is the kindest, most gentle and patient of people I know.
Here’s to a hundred more years, Dad!