At the conclusion of our Safari, we climbed aboard a tiny single propeller plane, rumbled down a dirt airstrip, and took flight over the Serengeti, dappled with light and clouds in a pattern that looked like the skin of a giraffe. We reversed course over terrain that took our eleven hours to pass last time, this time in a speedier minivan with working windows, no road goat, and no food poisoning from strange sausages.

(With its dirt runway, I think this is an even worse violation of Rule #10 of Mama’s Rules for Success than the coffin and tourist transport plane in Vanuatu!)

Back in Tanga, we made a beeline to our respective ships, where our beloved Tiny Cats awaited our return. There, Sonrisa greeted us with her usual well-behaved cheer (nothing aboard being amiss), and Andrew confirmed he is still indeed a Cat-Man. Then, we relaxed back to enjoy a few days on anchor with no where to go, and nothing to do but to enjoy existence.

Not so, for Pete and Jen

Steel Sapphire and her crew had a decision to make. If they were to sail North through the Red Sea, they must go immediately to time the season just right. This meant diving immediately to pre-passage repairs and preparations, huge provisioning runs, and multiple shore runs to fill jerry jugs with enough diesel fuel to motor upwind for several weeks.

We’d all weighed the prospective advantages and disadvantages of both this Red Sea and the Southward Cape of Good Hope Route a million times over the last three years. Boat construction and repair projects, then Covid border closures busted our "passage destination spreadsheets” with departure dates and destinations crossed-off and replaced three or four times over. We’d all tried to figure the best way to catch-up our delays, repair our leaking sail-kitties, and shorten the miles and hours it takes to get to our ultimate destinations - homelands, families, jobs, circumnavigations completed. But, no clear and easy route ever emerges from these debates. There simply is no way to shorten ocean miles.

“Sail south, sail south, sail south,” Leslie whispers at random intervals, hoping to redirect Steel Sapphire’s back to the Oddgodfreys’ planned route.

“If you sail South, maybe we’ll sail to the UK with you next year,” someone suggests, “Year 7 in Norway!” The Oddgodfreys’ exclaim together, a throwback from miles and friendships formed in the South Pacific, year 1. Back then, this threat was always said in jest given Norway’s relative proximity (or distinct lack thereof) to our circumnavigation line. But as the option of sailing to the UK alongside friends gelled into something more tangible, it started to seem we might accidentally “Manifest” Year 7 in Norway to being.

One morning, after having texted Jen and Susan from Erie Spirit to suggest a run to the veggie market, Andrew sent out an anchorage-wide announcement:

September 10th, 7:42 a.m:

“Pete and Jen have gone into conclave to make a decision about North or South. If you see red smoke, they are going to the red sea. If you see white smoke, they are going to South Africa. If you see black smoke, their boat is on fucking fire, and go help them.”

We all trained our collective Nosy Neighbor Binoculars on Steel Sapphire, and waited.

…