Rain falling by the bucket-loads, insisting that I skip this country altogether and move on to browner, dryer pastures elsewhere. And so I sat in my room in Tlokweng, thinking about Namibia. But when you travel for years, not months, you can’t let seasonality get in your way. And I’m glad I couldn’t, not just because of Jacky’s poetry and the lushness of the Delta, but also because of the little coincidence that landscaped my path across several other countries over the months that followed: that road trip through a bunch of memorable stories in Namibia, the return to Botswana and the intimacy of these rural villages and Peace Corps outposts, the waterfall wedding in Zimbabwe, and all the little in-betweens.