The day had been hot and long in the heat of the desert like country of Southern Sudan and we were heading back home from a small community for what Life magazine had called the "Lost boys of Sudan." It had been joyous but strenuous working the heat of the sun, with not much shade around. The Landrover was chugging over another huge rut in the so-called road as Akot my Sudanese escort from the SPLA spoke and said "tonight we will have to celebrate and have dinner at the Lynx." "It will be fun, there is music and a disco there also, and lots of beer."

The sound, or rather thought of a cold Tusker’s Beer sounded so inviting that night. The idea of sitting at a table enjoying some food and discuss the day with my friend was appealing. For a moment my thought turned to the bulletin I had read declaring the Lynx off-limits to UN associated personnel, but then I loved adventure and had always dared to go where no white man dares to go.

After a nice shower pouring from a make shift 50-gallon oil drum suspended from a platform, heated by the sun, we went to our dinner restaurant? Night had fallen quickly, as it does around 7 PM in Africa and we stumbled across open fields, trying to avoid the thorn-bushes that were so abundant there.

We were in the northern most portion of Kenya, in a place called Lokichokio, where exteme heat was the daily portion, where most of the inhabitants where from the Turkana tribe and many of the women and children walked around naked. Men would often wear a tunic and carry their head rests, a sort of wooden pillow, carved of wood on which they would sit and sleep. Most people survived keeping goats and cattle, all the while adding new members to their flocks through rustling in nearby Southern Sudan. This was the wild west of Kenya. Where men used AK-47's to guard their goats. What a sight it was, to see a Turkana tribesman in just a T-shirt with a rifle or submachine-gun slung over his shoulder guarding his goats.

But now it was night, and we were heading for a light in the distance, sort of stumbling along in the dark. Soon the sound of music penetrated my ears, tunes of Zairian Soukos Music and American songs rang home. Akot smiled, his teeth shining in the dark. "Soon we will be there." I had heard that in Africa so many times and hours later we would still be traveling.

Soon, thankfully so, we reached a compound that had lots of lights, I could hear the hum of a generator, music was blaring and people standing all around the entrance. We made our way through to the gate where we were greeted with a term familiar to places like New York, or Vancouver, BC, "cover charge my friend." Yes, even here in the desert of northern Kenya modern enterprise had arrived and we dutifully paid a 50-Shilling cover charge and were properly stamped with a date and allowed to enter the inner sanctum of the Lynx.

No words could describe what I encountered in this modern restaurant and so-called discotheque. Chic, would be most inappropriate, raw would be more like it.

If one could imagine a large, cleared area of red clay, a few benches on the edges, 4 tables, a barbecue made from a 50 gallon drum. The bar was located in a small building made of wood, iron bars across the front. Akot motioned and we went to the bar, I was ready for a cold beer, delighted to taste one. At the counter and said "tuskers baridi sana." The old, one toothed woman smiled and said "tuskers moto." I had just been informed that the beer was warm and not cold, true to the style that most Africans like it. No problem for Akot, but I ached for a cold drink, thinking that even Bud-light would be OK, as long at it was cold, as I gulped on this heated beverage called beer.

We settled at one of the tables, looking at the scene in front of us. The dance floor was crowded with young men and women gyrating to various tunes coming forth from some antiquated system that somewhere in another life had seen better days? No one seemed to care, though, enjoying the moment dancing away in typical African style. Most were dressed in nice clothing gotten purchased at the second hand markets nearby. Nearby, being a day away by bus in Lodwar. A place my son had called out of National Geographic, being totally astonished as to what he encountered on a trip there with me.

Akot got my attention and pointed to a young woman dancing near us, seemingly alone, caught up in her own world, a beer bottle in one hand. It was a fascinating sight as she moved with the music, seemingly one with it. Her movements were different, there was a purpose in her step, a sense of fluidity that one could not help but admire. She turned to us and smiled, beckoning us to dance with her, but with a wave of hand and smile we declined.

She continued her movement of grace and poise. She was dressed in almost Western Style, black pants, a black short T-shirt revealing her slim midriff and a baseball hat that was black, a rather unusual sight. Just then she took the beer bottle in hand and placed in on her head. Akot smiled knowingly, the bottle on her head seemed to take a life of its own and she was able to balance it. Our food of roasted goat arrived and we ate, watching in fascination, the woman and bottle in perfect harmony, moving together in total graceful balance. It was an amazing sight.

She was a striking woman, coal black skin, tall, almost six foot in height, her body slender. And yet she did not attract the attention of the crowd, she seemed to dance just for us. I thought that the bottle, half filled would drop at any time, but it never did.

Her dance took her closer to us, and now she was only a few feet away, when she grabbed the bottom of the T-shirt and sensuously moved it up revealing her breast. Akot turned and asked, "You like?"

Like was not the right question. It was a rather unusual event and brought different emotions to my mind. Thoughts that roamed through my mind on my walk back to my tent after dinner.

I had been raised in a pietist Lutheran home in Germany. A place where sexuality was a no, no. It had been the forbidden fruit. In America people talked about sexuality, but it was something in ads, it was not part of most people. Most people I concluded were uncomfortable with their own sexuality and saw it as a separate entity.

This young woman seemed to be at home with who she was. She did not have any inhibitions, something I had so often seen in Africa, where people took a sensual approach to life. An approach that allowed them to taste, to touch, to feel life around them, to be at one with themselves including their sexuality. They did not see it as something separate but as part of who they were.

My thoughts turned deeper into this and the why's of it. I thought of various religious traditions, the Song of Solomon in Judaism and Christianity, the sensuality and almost hedonistic approach of Hinduism, the approach of Buddha, the return of Homer to his wife and the bed he made. I thought of ancient Greek Gods and their comfort with their total identity.

For the next few days my mind chewed on these thoughts, my mind went to the ancient dances from every tradition and found that this Turkana woman was only a continuation of a long tradition.

I also came to some personal conclusions about sensuality, one's personal sexuality and approach to life. I came to understand that sensuality was not just about sex, but an approach to life. To taste, to touch, to feel, to sense all the things that come our way. Not to approach life surgically, but to immerse oneself in the moment.

As a young boy, I stood on the 10-meter diving board and was ready to climb back down when I decided to jump, the result was, I enjoyed it. I came to the conclusion that I had missed so much of the essence of life, of the joys of the tastes, the scents, the sounds of life.

I decided to join the dance, the ancient ritual, falling in love with life, with the gifts of life - to keep the bottle balanced between the sacred and the profane - to love - to enjoy the moment - to keep dancing.

Practically what does this all mean to me? Does it mean an open lifestyle, does it mean to give every feeling and sensation venting, does it mean promiscuity? Not at all.

Sensuality, is not something to be expressed any way. Like with any river there are boundaries for this stream, this approach to life. It brings us to a celebration of two people, who are walking together in harmony and purpose. This is not about immediate gratification, but about being comfortable who I am, including my sexuality, and having a person in one's life with whom the ancient ritual of the dance of love has significance and purpose, as an outward expression of the inner heart.

Two years later, the young woman in Lokichokio has taught me something. She taught me to dance again - to live to the full - not a Hugh Hefner style of life - but an approach that that enjoys the gifts given every day...jon