I am awake before sunrise at this time of the year and often am opening up my office and assuming the desk position as the sun rises.
This is what greats me every morning as I open the curtains on the dawn.
So it was yesterday: Africa day.
I do love the sunrise glow on the aloes and plumbago in our mostly indigenous, waterwise front garden. The Aloe ferox in tubs and which will be replanted when they have finished flowering, and the quiver tree (kokerboom)has become the feature we planned it would when we planted it 10 years ago.
I didn't spend much time contemplating Africa yesterday, but did this morning when I started this post. There's no place - continent - in the world I'd rather be. I had to leave it to find that out. That happened more than twenty years ago and when I landed back on African soil, I knew I was home. The languages around me, the people and the friendliness. That same sense was reinforced on a short trip to New York. We had a Senegalese cab driver who drove us from JFK to our hotel on Madison Avenue, Manhattan. He was thrilled to have a bunch of African visitors and gave us a private and generous tour of his adopted city. I've never forgotten either his pride or his genuine delight.
Africa has her problems. Profound and seemingly insurmountable. We are, though, resilient and, I have no doubt that somehow, Africa shall prevail.
Finally, and absurdly, after contemplating the content I call home -
Comfort food pasta at the end of another long day. The sauce was very basic: fresh tomatoes, skin off, chopped and reduced to a pulp with a pair of bay leaves and a clove of garlic. It was finished off with crispy bits of bacon and a dollop of Tzatziki. Speaking of whom, I was torn: her dishes for the pasta or the salad?
The salad won!
Until next time, be well
Fiona
The Sandbag House
McGregor, South Africa
Photo: Selma
Post script
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