THE MEMORY OF STARS

I think it not a coincidence – the word ‘nature’ in all its forms. I am certain nature brings out the true nature of a man. Of a woman. Of me.

I feel more me here. Here in this place I’ve stood countless times before, yet never before now, tangibly. Africa. The very feel of the letters A, F, R, I, C, A leaving my tongue is familiar and magical and thrilling. As I pull up to my safari camp for the night I am greeted with a felicitous “Welcome Home!” Yes, my heart agrees, I’ve come back to you, my beloved dream!

It was a child’s dream. The Great Rift Valley. I knew then everything I needed to know – the exact shade of the earth, the distinct markings of the inhabitant animals, the shape of the trees, the path of the water. What I didn’t know, didn’t need to know, was whether it fell within the lines on the map of the country colored in yellow or in pink. Lines didn’t matter then, countries didn’t matter. But one is faced with a great rift when living a child’s dream in an adult world – one which left me embarrassed and silent. There was so much an adult was supposed to know to which I remained ignorant. Until lines and countries were placed point blank in front of me, I had no idea I was to fly right over, a 10 minute flight from my destination, this Great Valley. All I knew was the fantastical, untouchable, miracle that was Africa.

Untouchable even with words. I’d love to tell you of, to place you in, the land where my senses luxuriated. But I cannot cause you to know the odd sense of comfort that envelops you when lulled to sleep by the sound of lions roaring just beyond your unguarded bed sheets. Or why it is so very fitting that this continent, with its history of turmoil and suffering, grows the world’s only thorn free roses. But it is.

It is a land of contradictions. A land which at once evokes the deepest sense of sadness and the purest sense of contentment one can know. And I would know. There’s a wildness in me, a fire that burns as hot and intensely as the African sun. But my wildness comes from a root of fragility that would break a young lion’s heart.

That was my fear. I didn’t want Africa to break my heart. To arrive finally only to see cell phones and road rage and community lost. And all this I saw but its redemptions were not lost on me. Its moments of greatness when, as one writer put it, you can glimpse the very face of God. In fact there were moments I felt I could have reached out my fingers and felt him through the heavy African air.

I remember the complete stillness in the air, at my feet, as I moved over the land, over the backs of migrating beasts, over monkeys flying through treetops. There was not even a breath. There was not even a thrust the moment the hot air balloon lifted off the ground. Rather, it was that all movement was at once – lacking. Ending my time on the continent, the Serengeti left me the same way. At a moment, it was simply no longer beneath my feet.

There were tears in these defining moments. Tears because I was happy. And content. And, Me.

I remember the warmth. No, not warmth but rather the utter lack of chill. The feeling that comes from the inside and warms your soul. The Memory of Stars. Consteltions I was too young to know. Wrapped in an old blanket at 6 years old. Furious wind that has swept my face before, tangled my wild hair. It was a knowledge, a knowing a friend was close. A knowing I’d be alright.