Sheltering Sky
"He did not think of himself as a tourist; he was a traveller. The difference is partly one of time, he would explain. Whereas the tourist generally hurries back home at the end of a few weeks or months, the traveller, belonging no more to one place than to the next, moves slowly, during periods of years, from one part of the earth to another. Indeed, he would have found it difficult to tell, among the many places he had lived, precisely where it was he had felt most at home". PAUL BOWLES
Under the violent rains of southern Africa
Published 15 December 2007 by G.M. ERADES | E-mail this post
It’s rainy season in Zambia and I can hear the streams of water battering the windows of the lodge. I lie in bed, the book I picked for this trip down next to me. The air-conditioned is rattling, not that it’s hot outside, I’m only trying to keep the moist out of the room. I look at the ceiling and suddenly start thinking about this long year that is coming to an end. Somehow it seems logical that I come to reflect on the changes and surprises of 2007 under the violent rains of southern Africa.
Together with the thrill of the new job and life that start in a few weeks I feel a sort of nostalgia. The nagging thought is that I could have postponed my entry into the EU, enjoy more the whole African experience with ActionAid. These last working days in Ethiopia and Zambia are finally getting Africa into me. It’s the conversation with Adarbert late at night in Addis, drinking beer at the hotel bar and listening to the stories he brought from Congo. It’s dinner at the Ethiopian restaurant, sitting next to Anna, who comes from south Ethiopia and hopes to get a scholarship for the University of Antwerp. Next morning it’s Carol giving me a lecture on Zambian politics over breakfast. Already in Lusaka it’s Anderson’s huge smile while he is driving me around pointing at buildings and talking about Manchester United. It’s the people who in these day-to-day situations reveal themselves to be so close. I see a new Africa, beyond the BBC short flashes, beyond ActionAid’s blurred image. It’s the Africa of Adarbert, Anne, Carol and Anderson. And I feel sorry that these are my last days of it.
Next morning I’m going to the office and still raining. The roads are muddy and red, and the air is so clean that I feel high. We ride spacious avenues, full of green; the city a giant park of bright colours. “Lusaka is beautiful”, I tell Anderson.
Of course 2007 was the year I finally made it to Brussels. It’s the end of the road, and as I start my EU official life I can’t avoid a feeling of "this is it: adult life starts here". In the end it had to be this city of the permanent rainy season. Brussels, dear home, may your air and water be as pure as the violent rains of southern Africa.
Together with the thrill of the new job and life that start in a few weeks I feel a sort of nostalgia. The nagging thought is that I could have postponed my entry into the EU, enjoy more the whole African experience with ActionAid. These last working days in Ethiopia and Zambia are finally getting Africa into me. It’s the conversation with Adarbert late at night in Addis, drinking beer at the hotel bar and listening to the stories he brought from Congo. It’s dinner at the Ethiopian restaurant, sitting next to Anna, who comes from south Ethiopia and hopes to get a scholarship for the University of Antwerp. Next morning it’s Carol giving me a lecture on Zambian politics over breakfast. Already in Lusaka it’s Anderson’s huge smile while he is driving me around pointing at buildings and talking about Manchester United. It’s the people who in these day-to-day situations reveal themselves to be so close. I see a new Africa, beyond the BBC short flashes, beyond ActionAid’s blurred image. It’s the Africa of Adarbert, Anne, Carol and Anderson. And I feel sorry that these are my last days of it.
Next morning I’m going to the office and still raining. The roads are muddy and red, and the air is so clean that I feel high. We ride spacious avenues, full of green; the city a giant park of bright colours. “Lusaka is beautiful”, I tell Anderson.
Of course 2007 was the year I finally made it to Brussels. It’s the end of the road, and as I start my EU official life I can’t avoid a feeling of "this is it: adult life starts here". In the end it had to be this city of the permanent rainy season. Brussels, dear home, may your air and water be as pure as the violent rains of southern Africa.
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