As I write this post, it’s been a few months since we left Cape Town for South America, and I find myself overcome by a familiar sense of nostalgia. It’s a nostalgia born from past travels and a nostalgia traced to our first visit to South Africa some 17 years ago. A trip in which Africa cast a spell that forever holds us in her grasp. Africa is a special place to us. It’s a place that captivates us like nowhere else on earth. The six months we recently spent in Africa was far too short. Yet, it was more than enough to once again leave intoxicated with the people, wildlife, and landscapes that make the continent so beautiful.
That said, Africa will be an ongoing area of focus for Wander Libre. As Wander Libre gets underway, we look forward to sharing an ever-expanding collection of photos, videos, stories, and travel tips. It's content derived from our passion, which we hope will convey a little of Africa's beauty and what makes it so unique.
To kick things off, we’d like to share 10 reasons we long for Africa. We’re only scraping the surface here. Our list is an organized stream of consciousness that attempts to put into words some of our thoughts on why we love Africa so much. For us, Africa isn’t about any particular place. It’s more about the rich tapestry of experiences, which form the basis of our emotional connection with the continent and the nostalgia we feel
today. We hope our ramblings make sense.
We long for wild Africa
We long to live in the African bush. To share our camp with lions, hyenas, hippos, and elephants. To be immersed in the call of the wild. To hear the cry of a fish eagle calling from a perch high atop a nearby tree or the excited chatter of wild dog pups as the pack returns from a hunt. To sit quietly at night listening to the sound of croaking frogs or the eerie cry of one, then five, and then a dozen jackals somewhere off in the dark. We long to spend our mornings diving with whale sharks and afternoons lazing on a quiet beach. We long to search for gorillas, forest elephants, and chimpanzees on foot. Or to sit inside a small hide, covered in ants, as a troop of mandrills approach. We long for the raw emotion that accompanies bearing witness to a successful hunt, or the giddy excitement of discovering an elephant stepped over our ground tent last night. In a word, we long for all that’s wild in Africa. Wild Africa is the Africa we dream of most.
We long for the culinary odyssey
We long for meals served in tiny mud-and-thatch huts, lit by oil lamps or a light bulb strung to a car battery. Simple restaurants with impressive menus but only one dish. Restaurants where placing an order triggers a trip to the market to fetch ingredients. Restaurants where we're kept company by a little boy eager to cash-in on our empty Coke bottles. Restaurants where meals sometimes come with a fly swatter. We long for dishes like fufu, red-red, and fried plantains. We long to buy chicken-on-a-stick from a colorfully dressed woman cooking alongside a bustling dirt road. We long to shop in markets where picking out groceries can be an adventure. Markets where we've seen shop-keepers slap baguettes against wooden stalls to evict ants residing inside.
We long for a night spent sleeping under the stars
We long to camp in tiny mud-and-thatch villages, between Saharan sand dunes, on deserted beaches, in dense rainforest, at catholic missions, and in the middle of muddy roads. Places where modern convenience like wifi and HDTV are unavailable, replaced by the faint sound of drums beating in distant villages, lions calling in the darkness, or waves lapping on a deserted beach. We long for places where unexpected visitors are expected. Where hunters happen into camp, villagers drop by for their evening entertainment, or a hyena emerges from the darkness - curious about the plates of food sitting in our laps. A place where it’s possible to wake up to a pristine sunrise, or an elephant grazing on branches above our tent.
We long for African hospitality
We long for the hospitality of strangers, a hospitality that’s yet to leave us without a place to stay. A hospitality where we’ve shown up unannounced at villages, schools, missions, and private homes, always to be welcomed with open arms. Once I remember arriving at a small border post between the Democratic Republic of Congo and Angola. It was late in the day, we were tired, and it was pouring rain. We were also on edge as there had been heavy fighting in the area. When we arrived, officials closed the border so that we could shelter inside a tiny immigration hut - safe and dry. It’s this type of hospitality that never ceases to amaze us. A hospitality where people, sometimes with little to spare, often share so much.
We long to traverse the Sahara
We long to get lost in a dune sea's endless expanse or the moonlike landscape of a rocky hamada. We long to make camp under an impossibly brilliant canopy of stars. To navigate where there are no roads. To find ourselves stuck along the edge of a high dune only to realize we’re caught on a camel carcass. To awake to a gentle rustling of fabric, only to find a Berber perched atop his camel staring through the window of our tent.
We long to spend a day with an African bush mechanic
We long to spend a day at the bush mechanic’s shop. A long day in a shop, possibly without walls, where vehicular surgery is likely to be performed on an oil-stained patch of dirt on the side of the road. We long for the uncertainty that accompanies our visit. The type of uncertainty derived from past visits, where minor repairs can become big problems. An uncertainty tempered by a simple truth. No matter the shortage of appropriate tools or spare parts, bush mechanics almost always find a solution. Solutions I'm inclined to believe are rooted in magic. A witchcraft like magic where making repairs is akin to resurrecting the dead. It’s the type of magic one shouldn’t - but can’t help - watch. Magic that involves hammering parts into submission and applying welds where once there were bolts. A magic born from necessity and defined by ingenuity. The sort of magic that keeps Africa moving.
We long for Central Africa’s rainforests
We long for pristine old growth rainforest. Rainforest that’s home to western gorillas, forest elephants, mangabeys, dwarf crocodiles, chimpanzees, and giant rock pythons. Steamy, dripping, rainforest that’s alive with the deafening din of insects. Dense rainforest where tracking wildlife means going on foot. Rainforest nurtured by rainy seasons so wet that dusty tracks morph into impassable rivers of mud, short drives turn into two-week slogs, and getting stuck can mean sleeping in the middle of the road.
We long for an unscripted adventure
We long for an adventure. A real adventure with uncertainty and risk. The type of adventure where a short ferry can result in a long rescue and where a day at the park can include six hours digging our truck out of the mud. We long to wake up in the morning with no idea how the day might turn out. A day where it’s possible to be hauled down to the police station in the morning and end up at the officer's house watching Nigerian soap operas in the afternoon. We long for the type of adventure Africa is only too happy to dole out.
We long for a simpler life
We long to travel to places where access to shopping, modern hotels, and high-speed internet are in such short supply that one day we wake up no longer wanting. We long to appreciate simple pleasures like a hot shower or cold coke. To appreciate what we have rather than long for what we don’t. Where shopping involves selecting the only option rather than picking from one of many. We long to be disconnected; to travel to places like the Sahara where our sat phone is our only link, where we can drift beyond the burden of 24-hour news, and get past the phantom ringing of a mobile phone in our pocket. In short, we long for Africa’s ability to take us back to basics, where travel means living in the now - void of want - and connected to our present experience, not someplace else.
We long for the self-reliance Africa demands
We long for that visceral feeling that often accompanies the opening moments of a developing problem. That feeling that comes with the realization there’s no AAA to lend a helping hand, and the realization that solving the problem is something only we can do. It’s a feeling Africa is capable of serving up in spades. It’s the type of feeling we get when our transmission breaks in nowhere Nigeria, and it’s getting dark. Nothing heightens the senses faster or sharpens the mind more. Quite simply, it’s the feeling of being alive.
