By AMANDA NGUDLE

I will never forget the first time I got off a plane in Blantyre, Malawi from Johannesburg back in 1996. Wide-eyed as most 22-year-olds sometimes get, I knew not what to expect given that it was my very first time out of a plane and my country. The first feeling was the warmth from the bosom of the foreign land before thoughts of the distance between where I stood against where my umbilical cord lay, took over.

 But before that, I watched a magnificent show of the most magical sunset of orange hues and nightshades before I was nestled in the hospitality of my hosts. And I decided on the spot I would become an author and tell the world about the proverbial beauty of Africa. It is in her pristine waters, her fertile soil and in the abundant smiles of her children who know not how much they lack because love is their wealth. Needless to say, I enjoyed a very good night, feeling for the first time an alignment with my ancestors, known and unknown.

They call Malawi the heart of Africa and Lord, did I feel her heartbeat in the morning! My eyes still get misty from nostalgia. So memorable was the moment that like a drug, I knew I would have to keep doing this; travel and explore my continent whatever it took. A few years later, a former colleague would beat me to the game and she travelled the entire continent and wrote about it, albeit to a smaller audience of her Sunday newspaper readers. We owe it to the entire world to talk about Africa. We finally have platforms to tell our own stories and first about why this is not a “dark continent”.

The word safari, a widely used and misunderstood word for game-watching expedition, is in fact, a Kiswahili word meaning a journey. And it tells us that as African people we are natural wasafiri (travellers). History books attest to this, telling stories of how Africans explored the continent on foot seeking the proverbial greener pastures as well as education. Trading was also a big motivation.  So whether in groups or solo, travel is a part of Africans. And so apt they are at it that stories are also a big part of this excursion whether the trip was for business, family responsibility or leisure reasons. I remember that my grandparents reveled at the stories after each trip by my grandmother.

Over a shared pot of tea between the old couple, I heard well-thought-out and crafted stories of a woman who almost gave birth in a rickety bus full of men and traditional healers, and a woman whose luggage could have disappeared forever were it not for the generosity of another driver who noticed with interest a certain mischievous look on some youths carrying a rather heavy bag of groceries and heading the other way. And I must say, because the stories did not involve feasts and sweet festivals, I genuinely thought of these stories as dire and therefore associated travel with strife as a result. In hindsight, I realise there is no trip without its lessons and that safari alone offers education unattainable by any other means. Really, you cannot stay the same after travelling.

Take for instance my trip to Mozambique, years later. I had been reluctant to make an online booking for a hotel on an island called Ka-Tembe, hoping I would just pay for my helper, my daughter and myself on arrival. Little did I know it was a hotel of choice for many travellers around that time of the year. Thankfully, an old man who had befriended us after asking for a slab of chocolate my daughter was eating on our ferry to the island, had decided to accompany us to the hotel. When he witnessed our rejection dejection, he quickly offered his home as shelter for the night. We arrived at the dimly lit Portuguese-style double-story house with plumbing problems of decades, from the smell and the woman of the house screamed blue murder. The argument went on and on until she relented we could not be sent out in the belly of the night. The following morning, the woman having managed to calm down, offered us warm water for ablution and tea.  It was here that I decided to pay her the equivalence of a hotel stay and you have never seen such magical countenance transformation.

With the man of the house gone to work in the morning, the woman started calling us her sisters and promised to visit the next time she was in Johannesburg which happened every ten years or so, she said. We proceeded with our journey back to town because the island stay was meant for a day or two and after the bitter taste in the mouth by the hotel in Ka-Tembe, all enthusiasm to explore it was quickly discarded. There were many places to explore in our destination town of Xai-Xai, 300 km north of Maputo. But first, breakfast in one of popular restaurants known as Impala. The food was a blast. As the heat rapidly progressed, leaving us drenched in sweat, we slowed down our pace and decided to take things easy and try leaving in the evening. There are few things as challenging as finding yourself on a bus, driving through a stretch of three hours.

Other than cab drivers who charge illegally exorbitant fares and have no problem keeping your change even after you have agreed on their fare, Samora Machel Drive is a lovely laid-back street in Maputo. Although there are no hawkers on the street, it is still a lovely street for window shopping, shopping and dining. And guess who we bumped into as we loitered the streets? None other than our reluctant hostess from the previous night, pushing a trolley full of groceries with an ear-to-ear grin. It’s still one of my favourite travel stories. There are much more of course and they will come with more destinations over time.

For now, I just want to say, if you do not collect enough stories to inspire you to write, consider the possibility of meeting new friends as I have. Consider the possibility of learning new languages and thereby feeling more aligned with the core of Africa!  Please lookout for the next articles about my travels to different African Countries.