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A long time ago, in a far far away place from my home town, I was travelling around the great wonders if ZIMBABWE with my family when I decided to go my own way and take a sailing trip around the sacred place within Victoria falls ways. It wasn’t that we’d fallen out, but one had to work in zvishavane and the others had a flight to catch back to malawi, and I was determined not to let their plans stop me from seeing everything that God had created for us. I started the trip casually taking photos of the gorgeous turquoise seascapes, rather than risk being labelled the weird hanger-on lady. Any external stimuli was a great excuse to occupy myself, and seeing a lush island crop up behind us I walked to the back of the boat to get my shot. If only there was something to lean on I thought… and hey presto I spied a metal box with a lovely slanting lid perfect for steadying my forearms on. Only the metal box was not a container: it was a lit barbecue that had been heating up all morning, ready to cook lunch. Unfortunately it wasn’t a round of tasty kangaroo burgers that got burned, but the flesh on my arms. Screaming in pain I removed my arms immediately