"No matter where my feet walk or how many oceans I cross, the rhythm of the red earth stays in my chest; my heart remains anchored beneath the vast African sky."
It's like a homecoming for me whenever, or wherever I set foot on the continent. The feeling is visceral, a strong automatic reaction that comes from deep emotion. I visit a country or a part of the continent I have never been before, and I immediately identify with it.
I'm usually self effacing, modesty and humility are qualities that were inculcated in me from my upbringing, and I'm grateful for it, but in saying this, without bragging, I have, in fact, travelled around a bit, and I still intend to do quite a bit more travelling for as long as I'm able. Travelling to new places is one of my favourite things to do. But nowhere else among the myriad places I have been to outside of Africa — in South America, the Middle East or wherever else, have I had that strong feeling, that powerful emotional reaction that Africa gives me. Africa itself is quite diverse, but the feeling is the same whether in Kano, Nigeria or in Kampala, Uganda.
Geography can map the physical coordinates of a person’s body, but it can never chart the boundaries of the soul. For those who carry the dust of the African continent in their bones, displacement is merely physical. You can cross vast oceans, adapt to the frost of northern winters, and learn to navigate the grid-locked streets of foreign metropolises, yet the internal compass never shifts. It remains unyielding, always pointing back to the place where your story began. This connection is not a fleeting sense of nostalgia; it is a permanent anchor, a quiet and powerful gravity that pulls at you across thousands of miles of open water.
To live away from the continent is to exist in a state of beautiful duality. On the outside, your feet walk through new landscapes, learning the rhythms of different cultures and the cadence of foreign tongues. You build a life, you progress, and you survive. But beneath the surface, a different pulse dictates your days. It is the memory of the red earth—rich, warm, and heavy with history. That vibrant soil leaves an indelible stain on the spirit, a reminder of a land that doesn't just sustain life, but demands to be felt. It is a rhythm that beats in tandem with your own heart, a steady drumbeat of identity that grows louder in moments of silence.
Ultimately, home is not defined by a roof or a postcode; it is defined by the sky that holds your memories. The African sky possesses a unique, sweeping vastness that seems to swallow the horizon whole, offering a sense of clarity and scale that stays with you forever. No matter how many oceans you put between yourself and that horizon, the sky follows you in your mind’s eye. It becomes a sanctuary you can retreat to when the world feels too small or too cold. Your heart remains anchored there, safely kept beneath that endless blue expanse, ensuring that no matter how far you wander, you are never truly lost.
"My heart is in Africa" means having a deep, emotional, and spiritual connection to the African continent, even when you are far away. It is a deep emotional attachment to the continent that I have felt for all of my life.
No matter where my feet may tread,
On distant paths or foreign loam,
Or how many endless oceans spread
Between my shadow and my home,
The steady pulse, the sacred hum,
Of ancient, sun-drenched, heavy clay,
Beats in my chest like a quiet drum
That miles can never wash away.
Let city lights or cold seas rise,
Let new horizons claim my eye—
My heart remains forever bound,
Beneath the vast, unmoving sky.
