If you’ve ever glanced at a map of Africa, it’s easy to imagine colonial powers treating the continent like a cake to be divvied up in a boardroom:
“I’ll have this slice, and you take that one. Deal?”
“But I want that little corner,” one fat, greedy unelected King might say
“Alright, let’s swap.”
And just like that, with the stroke of a pen, a town finds itself Namibian rather than Angolan-or was it Batswana?
National Identity: A Puzzle on the Map of Life
National identity is a strange concept, isn’t it? On paper, I’m a proud Brit. My father hails from Barbados, and to me, this blend is the essence of being British-more than just the stiff upper lip or queuing etiquette while buying tea. But dig deeper, and I find myself aligning more with the notion of being a “citizen of the world”-as long as there’s tea involved, of course! (Just kidding… or am I?)
It makes me wonder: Are Americans in northern towns all that different from their Canadian neighbours just a mile away? Does a border truly change us? Are our values so disparate simply because of an invisible line or the religion stamped on our birth certificates?
Borders have always fascinated me-the way they shape identities, divide communities, and sometimes even determine our life’s trajectory. I’ve been the “black” guy in one place, the “not black enough” mixed-race guy in another, and recently I was “coloured” in South Africa. Here, the labels shift with the borders, as fluid as the sand dunes of Namibia
The Road Less Traveled: Navigating Namibia’s Northeastern Arm
Currently, I’m wandering through Namibia’s northeastern arm-a narrow strip bordered by Angola to the north, Zambia to the northeast, Zimbabwe to the east, and Botswana to the south. The borders here are practically ruler-straight, a testament to colonial-era map-making. I’m on a road that stretches nearly 500 kilometers due exactly east. My mind wandering as i look at much as far as the next phase of this adventure.
A few weeks ago, my thoughts were consumed by the skills I’d honed over years-how to achieve set goals efficiently. But here, in the vastness of Africa, much of my so-called “Value” from the City feels, well, irrelevant.
Today’s mission is to make it to the Zambian border before it shuts at 6 p.m.-a task i fear is more complicated than Google Maps’ optimistic 4-hour estimate. But the good news is that I have the full day evident from the warm sun which is gently edging above the horizon.
The Joys and Trials of African Travel
After a safari filled with lions, elephants, and rhinos in Etosha, we arrived in Rundu late yesterday. The journey here was an adventure in itself-Google Maps said it would take 3.5 hours, the bus driver said 4.5, but it was closer to 9. Two hours were spent waiting for the bus to fill up, and the remaining seven hours were a test of endurance for both passengers and the old Toyota engine that seemed to wheeze at every hill. Yet, there was a strange joy in the chaos-something i cant explain i words.
Upon arrival in Rundu after sunset, I found myself at a crossroads-literally and figuratively. The couple I’ve been traveling with decided to stay, enchanted by the town’s modest charms. I, however, felt the pull of the road. There’s a whole world out there, teeming with fascinating, unique individuals-each with a story to tell. Somedays I wake up and literally think that I want to meet them all. Today is a bit like that. This is a little surprising as I didn’t sleep that well, but I’m surprisingly fried up to move forward. And while I don’t have 7 billion lifetimes, I do know that the next encounter, the next adventure, is just around the corner. As I leave the lodge, I am again reminded that Travel isn’t just about the places you see; it’s about the people you meet and the fleeting moments you share.
Saying goodbye to my travel companions was unexpectedly emotional. Maybe it’s the distance from home or the Malarone, or the lack of sleep over the past few months, but either way, the goodbye tugged at my heart and my eyes welled up turning to tears as I blinked. -was this for joy or sadness? I couldn’t say. There must be a word for this feeling in some language, maybe Japanese. But whatever it is, it’s real, and it stays with you long after the hugs are over.