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....and if I knew a thing about Africa, it was that she was not mine, but that my soul was forever a part of the places my heart and feet once had tread..

It is a thousand heartbeats, some pounding in the ribs and some so full and heavy it feels like your heart has paused for the beauty of the moment.

It is in the glint of the Mica that catches the light in the colourful stones of the dry Namibian riverbed,

or the red dunes that catch fire in the morning and evening light, yet exude cruel dry intent by the heat of the day.

The empty, melancholy stare of a head held low over the open plains of grassland,

and the tawny grass that ripples and sways with the breeze, hiding countless eyes and russet tails tapping away like metronomes.

It's the sound of the leaves being pulled from the tree and the content rumbling from the other side of the canvas,

or the 4am steam of the filter coffee into the brisk fresh air while the rumble of the safari trucks gets louder.

The rattle of cubes in a crystal glass held in an expectant hand, while the mirage of colours splash across the sky and the evening lights starts to dim the day that just was.

It is the dusty feet that stamp to the beat around a fire whose embers glow to the audience of the stars.

It’s a thousand vacant stares as a hundred memories float by, different for everyone but all bound by one thing.

It's the secret club of knowing smirks when one mentions the word Africa

Africa, she is something that once you feel, you cannot forget.

by Erin Meally c 2020

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