As an African there’s no greater attack on ones senses than that of returning home to the motherland after a lengthy period away. As I’ve become accustomed to over the course of the past twelve years on my travels abroad, there’s nothing quite like coming home. May your home be in New York City, the wilderness areas of Alaska, a small town in North Dakota, or who knows where else around the world – home is where the heart is.
For each one of us traveling home means something else, for me personally it’s the African sunrise on my first morning back home, the sound of the Jackal howling in the distance or the grunt of a lioness as she tries to locate her pride after the nights hunt. Then of course by 6am it’s the sound of my kids starting to stir – Dad’s back after weeks away. Could there be any greater privilege on this earth than the bonding with one’s family as Africa rises to another beautiful day?
And then it’s off to “see” what all has happened in the six weeks we’ve been away. Proudly led about by my three-year old, and my oldest and most experienced tracker, Gray, whom my son has now claimed to be his own and greatest companion on this planet. The muttering away in Xhosa, both as excited as the other to tell me about the biggest Waterbuck they’d seen in years, or of a certain Buffalo that has been acting somewhat stroppy towards them of late. Wow… So much has gone on while we’ve been away.
By midday it’s time to hit the office, the show must go on, there’s hunts to be confirmed and friends to thank.
But a couple of hours in the office fly by as ones view is constantly indulged with that of two giraffe bulls making the most of the good weather outside my window. The warthog sows together with their new-born are tearing up the lawn, and soon my work is once again interrupted by Gray and my son, Brett, chasing off the sow and her piglet’s with my Jack Russel in hot pursuit.