33 Reasons Peter Durkin Could be the Most Interesting Man in the World

1. When you drink, you drink beer. And when you drink a full glass of something new, you write it down.
2. Your list of different beers you’ve drank is over 1,500.
3. You have wanted to live in Africa since reading, Peter Matthiessen's “The Tree Where Man Was Born.”
4. You lived in Africa…twice!
5. You love fishing so much that even when your parents told you if you go fishing in the pond alone, they would beat you, you still went fishing in the pond alone. And when you came home you said, “Bring it on.”
6. While living in Florida in elementary school, your parents couldn’t find you because you were hidden by a big African American woman hauling in all of the carp. You hoped by sitting so close to her, you could drop your line exactly where she did and reel in some too. But no, not a one.
7. You still talk about how your dad killed the sea turtle you brought home and put in the swimming pool.
8. You still talk about how your parents wouldn’t let you buy a spider monkey…still and it’s been like 48 years!
9. That when your parents called to check on you and your brother while they were at a party, your answer was, “I’m fine, Mike’s fine, and the duck’s fine.”
10. You didn’t mind sleeping in a hammock the days you went fishing in the Keys because it was better than being stung by scorpion at night.
11. And we won’t even get into the fishing hooks in your face stories…no.
12. That when you would come home with something cupped in your hand, your wife never knew if it was going to be a cute and cuddly or a slimy and dangerous thing you had found outdoors.
13.  You knew better than to tell your wife during your honeymoon that the vivid dream she had where you were a Roman soldier and she was a maid caring for your wounds, was the exact same dream you had just awoken from as well.
    
14. That while in the Peace Corps in Botswana, the local guys wouldn’t let you drive because you kept swerving away from the antelope crossing the road instead of trying to hit them so that you could all have meat for dinner.
15. That while in the Peace Corps, waiting on the side of the road as your vehicle's flat tire was being fixed, a black limo pulled up, the passenger rolled down the window, asked if you needed help. The car drove off after you gave him the thumbs-up  sign. “Do you know who that was?” your language teacher asked. The five of you PCV’s shook your heads. “That was the President of Botswana.” And you got to tell him that story face to face 20 years later.
16. You named your daughter after the single malt scotch you and your wife drank on an amazing fishing trip that resulted in her birth 9 months later.
17. Four years later, you didn’t name your son Bud as you promised your father-in-law.
18. You flew falcons to ward off geese at JFK airport and got to scream, “I love my job!” as 747’s flew overhead.
19. You managed a game reserve in Africa with tame cheetah, trained elephants, wrangled an escaped croc, removed a 12 foot python from sunbathing across the road, caught a boom slang, spitting cobra and monitor lizard coming after your daughters rabbits.
    
20. Bushmen put two vulture feathers on your vehicle to ensure a safe journey.
21. You’re known as the guy who walks down bad neighborhoods, sees a place that looks dangerous for white people to go in and that’s where you’d get your lunch.
22. While in Botswana, you told a future president of a country “No”.  It doesn’t even matter what he wanted, just the fact that you said no to his idea was a huge deal.
23. While camping with a Kennedy, you told him no, too! “That’s my daughter’s juice, you can’t drink that.” Remember? (smh)
24. You told then President George W to sort out Zimbabwe, with secret service pointing rifles at your head.
25. You filled in as salesperson at your wife’s store, not minding too much that customers always asked why there was a man working at “Women’s Work”.
26. You took one look at your wife who just came from a trip into the Kalahari Desert and asked, “What happened to you?" then proceeded to devote the next 12 years to supporting her efforts with the San.
27. Your daughter takes Wildlife Conservation Biology, is a board member for the school’s fishing club and is a card-carrying falconer, apprenticed by her dad.
28. Your son at 16 can out snowboard you…and you’re proud of him for doing so.
29. You tried to get a TV show of your family’s adventures produced, twice!
30. You get up at 6am, catch a train then a subway to your engineering desk job every day so that your wife can write her memoirs.
    
31. You’ve hauled countless boxes of crafts in and out of your SUV for hundreds of craft shows so that your wife can help women around the world earn a living, while she did not.
32. You stood beside your wife as she was written about in magazines, newspapers, interviewed on TV and on the radio, received accolades and awards while you quietly provided the funding and the physical support for all of her efforts.
33. And because you look around you and say on a daily basis, “I’m the luckiest guy I know. “       If you’re not THE most interesting, at the very least, you’re the coolest.

Happy Birthday, Peter, the most wonderful, kind, smart, funny, handsome, husband and father, I know! 

Coming Full Circle: My move to Africa revisited

Moving to Africa for me was very different than it was for Peter. For him, this was a dream come true. But I had never wanted to live in Africa. I liked animals, but unlike Peter and Macallan, that wouldn't have been a reason for me to relocate. What I would learn later about myself is that this trip was as much about me as it was about Peter. In many ways, my moving my children to another country was like my parents moving my siblings and me to the USA. This trip would bring me full circle.

During that year that my parents spent in the USA without us, my sister had learned to talk, calling our mother’s sister "Momma" instead of her true mother. She also took her first steps but fell and badly scraped up her face. My brother, the oldest son of the oldest son, the golden boy, was playing on the top of the steps when he fell. He cut open his cheek and was bleeding profusely. They rushed him to the hospital but the Dr’s there did such a poor job of stitching him up that he wore a scar across his face for the rest of his life - a constant reminder of my parents’ abandonment, or so we all thought.

It wouldn’t be until I was in my 30’s that my siblings and I would find out the truth. Our parents wanted us with them during that first year in the States. The pictures of them holding other children, playing in the snow, at parties with their new friends were not joyful times as the photos portrayed, but frustrating, anxious and regrettable weeks that became months and then a year, with our mom begging our grandfather to let us come to America.

When we did finally board the plane for the two-day journey from the Philippines to Japan, our grandparents and our mother's youngest sister accompanied us. It was 1968, our first time to travel in an airplane. Back then, airplane travel was a big deal for everyone, not just three young Filipino kids who were going to emigrate to the United States. People dressed up to board the planes. Think Mad Men International, that's the timing for this leg of my journey.

On the plane, the three of us, aged 5, 4, and 2 were fussy. The food was unfamiliar. There was a big slab of meat on our tray, something we'd never seen before and the milk in the containers tasted funny. We cried and were irriatable on the long transatlantic flight. When we were disembarking in Japan, I remember a finely dressed women with a handherchief around her perfectly quaffed hair having to help me up when I fell down the aluminum stairs onto the tarmack. I was groggy when the plane landed in Japan and don't remember much more than this.

I remember spending the night in Japan. There was a time difference or we slept on the flight and weren't sleepy so we jumped on the beds and created a ruckus. Our grandfather was quite annoyed and kept telling us to go to sleep. We must have finally but I have no recollection.

As I said, it was a two day flight and when we finally landed in the USA, I'm sure my grandfather and parents were relieved. Was the flight supposed to take two days? Were we supposed to stay the night in Japan? If it was an unexpected layover, would our parents have known or were they waiting at the airport only to finally give up and go home alone? Back then, remember, flights were rare and communications entailed switchboards, expensive long distance rates, unreliable service and ungodly lag-times...thinking about the whole ordeal, it must have been a nightmare, really...

But we would eventually land. We were going through customs at JFK when our grandfather instructed us. "When I tell you, run to your parents." he said. As we made our way, we wound up in a long corridor where way far away people stood looking for their overseas guests. We stopped to collect ourselves. Maybe our Lolo wanted to find our parents' faces. When he did, he instructed my brother and me to "Go. Go now." our grandfather nudged us and typical Filipino, pointed down the hallway with his lips and nodded his head. "Run." So my brother and I looked at each other, shrugged and ran. But, I wanted to know, "Which of those people were our parents?" We had forgotten what they looked like. But we ran, I guess, hoping someone would step forward to claim us.

At some point, my brother stopped running. He told me years later that he had to pull up the zipper in his pants. In any case, I got out ahead. Searching the faces of the people who were standing still as I whizzed by, I was caught by a man kneeling down with his arms outstretched. I could only hope it was the right guy, because to me, he was as much a stranger as the next one.

He hugged me and picked me up and kissed me on the cheek. My brother made it and he was embraced by our mom and after a few seconds, they traded us off. When my aunt arrived carrying my sister, Carolina wouldn't go to her. She clung to our aunt, refusing to let go. These people were strangers. She began to cry. Our mother began to cry. At the time I didn’t know why.

Years later, in 2003 in Cold Spring, NY, my mom was helping me with the kids, with the packing, trying to spend as much time with us before we left. My father had died several years before. She was alone, but doing well on her own. I was very proud of her.

I didn’t think for a moment, how our move would affect her. I didn’t see how.

Teary eyed, she helped me seal a box that would come with us on the plane. “Why would you move your kids to a third world country,” she began tentatively, “when your father and I sacrificed so much to get you out?” I honestly never thought of it in that way. I wanted to say, ‘it’s because you gave us so much, that now we could afford to give back.’ But I didn’t say anything. I glanced at her and we moved on.

Our Flight to Botswana

We boarded the plane and our new life had begun. 

On the plane, the kids couldn’t be happier with their own TV screens with new movies, games, music. Peter and I were so lucky the kids were entertained. 

When we arrived at Johannesburg, a young man took care of us. He helped us through customs. He escorted Peter to check on Oz. He left me with the kids saying he’d be back as soon as possible. It should be fine because there was a three-hour layover. While he did have to leave the international port, the young man assured us they would be back in plenty of time. So, the kids and I waited and waited and waited. A clerk came up to us and said, where are you going? I told her Botswana. She was alarmed. Botswana! You missed your flight! What?!? She urged us to gather our things and ushered us towards the gate. ‘But my husband.’ I stammered. ‘He won’t know where to find us.’ ‘Ma’am, you must go now. This is the last flight today. If you stay, you will not be able to leave again until tomorrow.’ She told me.

Oh my god! Where would I go? Would we get a hotel? Would Peter be able to find us? How could I go on without him? 

She pushed us onward. We lugged our carry-on bags, one per child and I had two because I also had Peter’s.  Trying to get us to the gate, she pushed us past the other passengers. ‘They will miss their flight!’ She shouted in order to get us ahead of everyone else. Macallan kept saying, ‘But what about daddy? I don’t want to go without daddy.’ And I felt the same way. But what could I do? What should I do? 

At the bottom of the escalator, as they took our tickets, I could hear a commotion. I turned around just in time to see Peter making his way toward us. He told me later that he felt like OJ running through the airport. The kids hugged him so hard and we were indeed the last people on the plane. 

When we arrived in Botswana, we were told that the crew from the game reserve had been waiting for hours for us. Shocked and worried when the entire plane had disembarked but we weren't on it, they didn’t know what to do. I didn’t realize there would be people waiting for us. In any case, we wouldn’t have been able to call them  - our cell phones didn’t work in Africa and we didn’t have their phone numbers. Just one of many things we hadn’t thought through. Communications would be a huge issue and something we just took for granted. Our families in the States would have no clue about our ordeal in Johannesburg or even that we had landed safe and sound, including Oz. 

While he was let out a few times, once we finally got to Botswana, he let out a pee that has never been equaled to this day by any of our animals. He held it because he’s such a well-behaved dog. He held on until he knew he was safe to let go. Oz. The only one of us that would never leave Africa. Oz. How we miss him.

I Had a Farm in Africa

I had a farm in Africa…is how Karen Blixen’s book, Out of Africa starts.

Ours was a 50 acre farm in Botswana that we called home. We were struggling to find somewhere to stay since I really wanted to continue working with the San and the family was enjoying our laid back life.

On Tuesdays, Peter would stand in line with the Afrikaner wives waiting for the vegetable truck to arrive. “They have cabbage and onions today.” He would call to tell me. 

Macallan caring for one

animal after another, a baby ostrich, then two more, a day old baby goat, chameleon and tortoises that we had to make sure the Bushmen didn’t eat on us. “These are our pets.” Was a conversation we would have with some of our “gardener’s” friends. One time, one of the Bushmen I worked with at Gantsi Craft told me, “When you look at this, you see turtle, when I look at this, I see lunch.”

And then there was Markham. He would spend the entire day playing with boys, not one speaking the same language as the other. He could shoot an arrow better than most of the kids he played with and that kid didn’t have shoes that fit him, basically because he never really wore any.

We had left Gaborone, the capital, although we didn’t want to leave Botswana. Unfortunately, we couldn’t find anywhere to live in Ghanzi, until Peter, by chance, met a woman who was moving to Namibia. One person after another had compared us to this family. Our children were the same age, her husband was an engineer, they drove a land rover...people kept remarking that we were stepping into their lives, taking over where they had left off. They hadn’t sold their home, so it made sense for us to replace them in it as well.

And because we were so desperate to stay, we wound up agreeing to this outlandish business deal that gave us partial ownership of their property, that we absolutely loved calling our home.

Again, we were never going to leave…until never came around again and we had to say good-bye to Botswana, for what we hope would only be for now, and not forever.

Just as we were packing up to leave Ghanzi to move back to the USA, I said to Peter, “The one thing I regret is that the kids never really got to know Bushmen kids.”

And wouldn’t you know it? (And I swear this is true!) The very next day, there were 10-12 people lined up along the outside of our interior fence.

I sent Peter out to see what they wanted, but when he came close to them, they scattered. He returned and so did they. From a distance, you couldn’t tell. But once I saw a few of them run, I realized they were children. “Go back.” I told Peter, “They’re kids. Bring Macallan.”  And when she got close, one of the girls called out to her, “Muck-Ahl-len! Muck-Ahl-len!”

We were not sure who these children were. There were children that roamed the streets of Ghanzi. They were definitely homeless. Some others were very poor children who most likely had families and homes to return to at night. One day, while Macallan played in the Ghanzi Craft yard, a little girl came in. She and Macallan started to play. The girl learned Macallan’s name quickly. From then on, whenever she would see Macallan, she would call to her. With other children around, many of the kids learned her name as well. Maybe that’s how they knew Macallan, but how did they know when to come, that this is what I wanted and this would answer a question I had asked a long time ago?

The children played for a few hours. I thought they would just run around, but they seemed to want something to do, so I brought out paper and crayons. Then we pulled out some toys we hadn’t yet packed up. The moving company would be here in a day or so, which meant we would have to leave shortly afterward. But for now, we still had some things for the kids to use and somethings we had planned to give away. 

After a few hours, Macallan and Markham came inside and shut the door. “What’s the matter?” I asked Macallan. “Nothing.” she replied. “Why aren’t you playing anymore?” I asked her. “We’re done playing.” was her response. There was only so much they could do together, I guess. Seemed odd since on other occasions even if they couldn’t communicate verbally, they still spent a great deal of time with one another. Why not now? She couldn’t explain it and I couldn’t understand it.

So, after the moving vans came and went, we packed what was left and headed out, at the gate. As we got to the gate, we saw one of the older boys. He opened the outer gate for us. I asked Peter to stop. We had some food and other things that we put aside to give to some of the Bushmen families that we knew lived down our road. I hopped out and gave him the things instead. Did he come to see the kids? Did he come for work? As he watched us pull away, he waved and shut the gate behind us. ‘Yet another Lekowa (White People) family leaving Ghanzi.’ I bet he was saying to himself. Did he wonder, ”Why do they get to come and go, and I must stay here?” Or did he ask, “Can I leave too?” or “When will I leave?” or maybe “Why would you ever want to leave?” I wondered if he questioned, “Will I ever see them again?”

Isak Dinesen, aka Karen Blixen, loved her time in Kenya. When she tearfully said good-bye, did she know that she would never return? In 2008, we did return for a brief visit. But it is 2015, I wonder if we’ll ever go back?

I pine for Botswana, but not just the country, but the Botswana we once knew. I’m afraid, it is no longer there. As the money from the purchase of the remaining 25 acres of our plot trickles in, I have mixed feelings. I am relieved because I didn’t believe we’d ever see that money again. I am thankful because we really could use that money now. But I’m also so very sad that there truly is nothing that ties us to Botswana.

I had a farm in Africa. I always thought I knew where I would be by now. But now, I wonder, where will Peter and I wind up and what adventures will we have over the next 10+ years?

“If I know a song of Africa, of the giraffe and the African new moon lying on her back, of the plows in the fields and the sweaty faces of the coffee pickers, does Africa know a song of me? Will the air over the plain quiver with a color that I have had on, or the children invent a game in which my name is or the full moon throw a shadow over the gravel of the drive that was like me, or will the eagle so Ngong Hills look out for me?” – Out of Africa

Leaving Cold Spring Part II

Peter, for a time had worked as a falconer at JFK airport where they scared geese from the runway using birds of prey. He also was a hard-hat diver and would inspect bridges in and around Manhattan. After the things we'd done in our past...moving to Africa was a natural progression.

We raised a baby chick into a rooster who came indoors to watch TV with us, crowed when the kids left for school and crowed again when they were to return. We found him a home as a pet for a Peruvian woman in town. Years later, when we returned to the USA for a visit, we went to see Fried. And you know what? He came right over to us. Stood next to the kids as he had done so many times before, as if no time had gone by.

And then there was Oz. When we moved out of the city, my husband wanted an English setter puppy. There I was with a toddler and a puppy in the middle of the country...I was going out of my mind!

But come time to move to Africa, there was no question that Oz had to come with us. His airfare was it turned out was more than each of ours and he had to get a series of shots that cut it so close to our departure that we wondered if they would even let him into the country.

As it turned out, his paperwork would take so long that a fax arrived the day before we were to leave and we hoped customs would accept it in lew of a signed document. As we were boarding the limo for the airport, the nurse from the Vet’s office personally drove the paperwork to us, making Oz’s official documentation legal by a matter of minutes.

How difficult was that limo ride? My mom, brother, and some friends were at our house to say good-bye. We were too excited to be sad. As our town disappeared from view and we waved good bye to Miss Connie’s Montesorri, the playground, the view of the Hudson River, I felt a surge of gratitude to the many people who made this move such a natural progression. It would be this part of the journey that made me take note of each and every step, misstep, side step and leap of faith that progressed us from one stage of our life to another. How easy it is now to look back and see where we were going all along.  

Arriving at the airport, our baggage handlers were so kind. They asked where we were going and why so much stuff. We’re moving to Africa. This is everything we own in the world pointing to the thirteen boxes and our dog. We had sold just about everything else including our car and soon, our home.

At the ticket counter, they also handled us. Charging us for just a few of the extra bags and paying close attention to our dog. It would be a 22-hour flight to Johannesburg before Oz could get out of the crate.

I had gone to my friend’s astrologer. Hey, I was up-rooting my family and everything we knew, I had to consult someone! And the astrologer knew things, intimate things, and she was very precise.

Early on in our relationship, Peter and I were killing time, walking around Philly. It was Friday the 13^th, near mindnight when we stumbled upon a palm reader. She took Peter’s hand and went on and on, enthusiastic and enthralled with his good fortune. She was very specific with dates and just as she had said, the sun and water would be very important to Peter. After all, he was leaving to go to Botswana with the Peace Corps. And she said, be careful of your health in November. And that’s when his back gave out and he had to be flown to South Africa, then released from the Peace Corps and returned to me.

This astrologer told us to travel with the dog. We asked if he could be on the plane with us but he was a tall dog, not a lap dog and the airlines said no. Heeding her warning, I worried that something would happen to him. Nothing bad could happen to any of us or that would prove this decision was a wrong one. Nothing bad better happen, I prayed to no one in particular. Please don’t let anything bad happen to us.