Acacia

Let me tell you about the Acacia trees that grow all over Kenya and Tanzania. The ghastly yellow allergy-inducing atrocities taht I'm accustomed to seeing pop-up along any Santa Cruz roadside bear no ressemblance to these beauties tat draw almost as much fascination from me as teh animals tat co-exist with them. They are the quinessential "African" tree. Practically the only flora on the vast dry plains, looking at one conjures up nostalgic childhood memories of alone cheetah relishing in its shade or a family of giraffe enjoying its fruit as the setting sun is interesected by its gnarled trunk. Through they are fairly tall, its a squat-looking tree with a concave plate of a canopy, always tilting precariously as if threatening to slide off the circus performers stilts if not regularly spun. The leafy roof rests on the branches trhat seem to buckle out into hinged elbows and sprawl outward as if struggling to support the akwardly distrbuted weight. The ochre earth in the Ngorongoro crater is thrown up and coats half the tree, leaving it and the brown landscape uiniformily dusted like a messy flour fight, substituted with paprika. Some varities grow menacing, two-inch-long-needled vines to protect against afofmentioned giraffe and which leap out to attack thuroughly distracted tourist; natures watchdog. Iridescent birds I only expect to see amongst enormous vibrant flowers of the Amazon make peculiar homes in other varities still (there are tons) below the acacia's bowing canopy. The branches sag under the weight of the nests as they stack on one another like furry beads on a necklace. I could easily gush in this manner about many other plants here, but I must go. You see, Zanzibar awaits.