Footsteps in Time

So there I was, standing firmly on rugged ground, watching a world move around me, one familiar and exotic, both alien and near. Travels in Africa are born of a simple human desire to connect more deeply with the earth we inhabit. We all just want to see the Milky Way when we look up [...]

The Path of the Nile

"...And now your eyes see it... layers of memory are ushered away to reveal kingdoms tasted in dreams long ago... Canyons of orange and beige roll down into empty dells of rust and bone; dusted staircases and shattered statues licked with gold. Pillars of alabaster split the horizon and strange mountains rise like chiselled breasts, mocking the sky. Kingfishers glide across braided ripples of copper and blue; crown of Ramses emblazoned by the fire of a sleepy star. Finally this land reaches out a hand to you, as time itself stops... a secret mark passed from the heavens kisses your brow. You have held all of this within your heart from the earliest days of boyhood. Even you had forgotten! This magical place. Land of kings, sand and stars. Your dreams upheld, an offering to the righteous sun; arms quivering. Swollen and full, you gasp. This is really happening. You are really here. The inner river finally reaches the outer shore; all tributaries aligned with the wide arms of the great valley..."

The Voices of Ancestors

Deep, in the Bush, this kind of Africa still lives, where children run barefoot in the dust to the pounding of stone and millet, where the voices of ancestors still echo across the sunburnt hills, where the red sun hums like a glowing ember behind the billowing grey choke of campfires, blades are sharpened each morning to the tremble of the dawn chorus, arrowheads are delicately rolled in poisonous weeds by thick cracked hands, and grounded bark and pollens remain the cure-all for every disease and ailment. Here, fading gently with time, the cradle of mankind's legacy on earth waits, waits for hungry passengers of the cosmic drama to dine on its forgotten nectars and deliver its message to a world bereft of a spirit...

Dear Desmond…

Dear Desmond. My little Desmond.My perfect little fragile boy. It's me. I can see me there, reflected in your eyes.A black shadow... colour faded... I think about you every single day.I remember the smell of your afro hair, the sound of your giggling voice, the feel of your skinny legs wrapped around my shoulders, your hand [...]