When Carl Jung arrived on these shores he said, “I found myself haunted by an impression I myself would not understand. I kept thinking that the land smelled queer. It was the smell of blood, as though the soil was soaked with blood.”

The history of Africa is indeed soaked with blood. It is the birthplace of the warrior, the cradle of all humankind. And that humankind, moving up north across the great grasslands and deserts of this continent would continue to spill blood in all countries on all continents.

Africa assails the senses. It assails the sense of smell, the sense of sound. It assails moral codes, codes of etiquette. It assails feelings of safety, feelings of security. And it assails the concept of the individual.

How then did my ancestors feel, arriving back on these shores thousands of years after their forefathers had left this land behind. Arriving back to soak their genes and their DNA once more in this soil.

They came from all over. From England, France, Germany, Holland, Russia, Scotland. And their stories are all within me, somehow. How strange it is, that here I am, in the very place where it all began, now a melting pot of Europe. Assailed by Africa.

Song for Fani:
Why this song?
Because it comes from a movie, made about a beautiful book by Alan Paton: Cry the Beloved Country.

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