The Ancient Home

Here I am, sitting in Johannesburg, and I think to myself "Wow, I really am in Africa!"

The view from the flight was not what I expected. The city looked almost European, with wide, modern highways and several large clusters of townhouses. It was only on the outskirts, in the farmlands, that the sub-tropical Africa of National Geographic was recognizable. Out there it looked as if someone had carelessly daubed a few faint smears of faded green over a dull brown grass-scape.

At the airport the first thing that struck me was how cheerful everyone looked. I have to say, there is nothing quite as beautiful as a smiling African. Their faces seem to glow with a rich inner radiance that I wish I could share.

Joburg was unfortunately just a transit stop for me. So I did not even get to set foot on the soil of the mother continent. I just sat with my nose pressed to the airport window where I could see out beyond the tarmac and the small twin-engined aircraft parked in the outdoor lot behind the main runways.

The land stretched out flat and brown until on the horizon I could just see the hazy outlines of the highveld. And in my mind I could imagine looking beyond the ridged highlands, soaring over mysterious tropical miles, swooping through the Great Rift Valley, all the way to Luxor and Alexandria.

I wish I could have gotten out and headed out into those grasslands of legend. Where Mother Nature and human nature have met each other in their rawest form for millenia.

I'll be back one day. I know I will.