Tana

 

There’s a lake in Ethyopia, in which the river Nile takes its rise. The Blue Nile. This is the lake Tana. Seen from above, it’s heart-shaped. The river takes its rise from the tip of the heart like the navel-string from the placenta.

There’s a dog here at hand, always near at my hand. My unquenchable-undamped devotion and love for dogs and for the rhodesian ridgeback breed takes its rise from her. She is Tana. Seeing her from above, she is the mere will, the mere sense and the mere Africa. On her back, the typical backwards growing hairstripe, the ridge, like the blade of a sword. Stony individuality, real friend, a real woman. I wonder as she grows, changes and addles day after day.

African lion dog. Not just because she’s a lion hunter. But because her fur is as gold-red as the savannah, her eyes as fiery as amber, her heart as brave as that of a lion, and from the tip of it, love takes its rise like the Blue Nile from lake Tana. My Africa.

That’s how she looks, nowadays:

 

Worthy riff: