Africa my love

For Jac Botha

Donovan Gay

The dust is slowly starting to settle now, evening traffic has subsided and the light of the setting sun turns the dreaded red dust into a fiery aura over the land.

I sit back on my shaded stoep and watch the world recede; peace slowly starts to cover this harsh environment as the cooking fires begin to send their orange smoke stacks into the golden sky.

The stark beauty of Africa slowly fades from my sight as I turn my thoughts to the landscapes of my soul, as turbulent and staggering as the reality of the world around me.

Time passes over this continent with the slow patience of the earth making its long journey around the sun; the visible and transient are in constant flux, but that which lies beneath remains unchanged, constant. My inner landscapes reflect these eternal qualities as I scrutinise the vistas of my life. So many years have passed and yet the milieu remains the same. I sit and reflect and am astounded, as always, that I am here again.

My retreat has always been you, my beloved Africa, here where my soul can soar in your beauty and find itself in the dry veld or the green kloof. If I did not have you to return to I would have withered away and become just another soul left in constant battle. You listen to my desperate cries and stories of pain again and again; yet you are always there with your beauty and wisdom.

The story I have come to tell this time is as the last one and the one before and the one before that.

Always the same story and yet always different, set in far away places with foreign names and multitudes of strange people.

This time I will tell you no names, not allude to exotic locations, not mention the wine or the fine foods; I will tell you only the story you know, stark and blinding as I now see it. Like the bleached bones that lie in the veld after all who have made use of them have left (I will tell you what you knew the first time it was told).

It is a story of love, deep and passionate. It always has been, yet there is more. A longing so deep it reaches into the earth, into your very heart. This time is was the same, yet it was different. This time it was mutual.

It rose without warning and made us dance under the heavens, stamping its primitive rhythm into the earth. You must have heard it. It was truthful, so uncluttered by social protocols and idealistic thoughts, it just was. It happened in the blink of an eye and thereafter nothing was the same. I felt something new and invigorating. A reflection of souls that hinted at eternity and promised forever.

Life was filled with hope and joy, with contentment and meaning, with solace and peace, in short, all my deepest needs and fears wrapped into one. I was so happy; I felt for the first time in my life that if I were to die I could bear this beautiful gift with pride to my Lord on judgement day. There life was, before me, filled with family, work, love, holidays, fights, reconciliations and all that I could ever hope for, in one.

As you already know, it did not last. It was transient; it never became all I wanted. It never materialised. It did not even happen. It lasted a moment and yet lives in me still.

This is where the story has changed, my beloved Africa: I meet my soul mate, my beginning and my end, my all, my everything, and nothing happened. Not a single portion of all I have told you. For I had finally learnt the difficult lesson that I had avoided for so long; and yet I feel no pain. No tears were washing stains of sorrow from my soul.

"Why?" I hear you whisper in the warm evening air.

It is simple: I chose not to disrespect my Beloved and chose not to force myself on him as I have done so often before. For the first time my love was filled with respect and moral courage. I was in love with all my heart and I decided not to bully my beloved with my needs. I walked away and returned to you, Africa, my love, my constant companion, and I will stay with you now, as you have always stayed with me.

My Beloved knew the depths of my soul and I left, to be with you. For now I know, even if not lived, what love is. I should have seen that you always knew. I now have a love in my soul like yours: eternal, everlasting and unfettered with thoughts, like your love of all life that lives and finds shelter in the warmth of your arms. Just love!

I will sleep every night under your skies and I will love my Beloved as you love the land and I will find happiness in the simplicity of life. Each day will be like yours, filled with beauty and splendour, perfect in itself.

That is why I have returned, to live like you and with you. I will carry my love and you yours.

My thoughts return to the now, and I see the last glow of the day slipping behind your vast landscapes. The glowing light of yet another dying day in Africa, harsh and tough, yet vital.

I gather my things and slip quietly indoors and lie on the bed with cool crisp sheets that will soon feel too hot to be in contact with.

Sleep drifts around me like the buzzing of the night insects as I slip into and out of slumber. Night has arrived and the world turns to dream time.

Later. I am startled by a wild cry in the night and smile knowingly; I turn and hope to glide with ease back into dream time. I throw my arm over the bed to avoid contact with myself. The heat is suffocating. It does not fall on cool sheets but on a warm torso which gently heaves with the slow breath of sleep and I smell its sweet scent. Slowly, in order not to waken my bed companion, I move closer, dismissing the heat, and wrap myself around My Beloved.

Dream time returns leisurely with the knowledge that Africa, my love, has blessed me and we three will all grow old together.

 

Donovan Gay has led a varied life, living in South Africa, England and Wales. Jobs have been many from being a Teacher in Snowdonia, a Chief at Harvey Nichols in London, an Accounts Executive in Johannesburg and at the moment self employed as a Horticulturalist. Writing has been part of life since his early teens and continues to be a source of joy. Donovan now lives in Roodepoort and gardens, reads, writes and paints.

LitNet: 17 March 2005

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