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 eagles of the Ngong Hills look out for me?
“In our 101 days in Africa, Meryl shot on 99 of them. Everybody got sick but her. She has the stamina of a stevedore & total dedication. Meryl played perfectly a scene that was filmed in one very long take. Calm, dignified, completely in character. The instant I said ‘Cut!’ she smashed her fist against her chest & yelled, ‘Get this thing out of here!’ We tore open her dress, and out fell an enormous insect, crawling around in there. She had forced herself to ignore it.” ~ Sydney Pollack