When I returned to the Drifters Inn, I met the other seventeen tour participants, an interesting mix of nine nationalities, ranging in age from eighteen to fifty-six: American, Australian, Austrian, Belgian, Danish, English, Finnish, Spanish. After Nigel gave us our safety briefing, he told us a tale of a crocodile dragging a camper's tent into the river with him in it. I went to bed feeling apprehensive; I worried about what it would be like sleeping in the bush with wild animals lurking about. I lay awake for three hours reflecting upon my tour of Soweto and all the events in my life that led up to me taking a trip to Africa by myself. At 5:30 a.m., I finally gave up hope of getting any sleep, so I took a shower and went down to join the others for breakfast. My African adventure was about to begin.

As we stood in the dark, packing our gear into the truck, I saw our guide for the first time. Standing six foot seven, with long, blond hair neatly tied back, his no-nonsense attitude impressed me, and he seemed, though young, quite capable of leading our group. As the sun began to rise, we made our way north. As we enjoyed driving on the tarmac, the paved roads of South Africa, we read, dozed, listened to music, and ate biltong, dried beef or game that we call jerky. After crossing the border into Zimbabwe, we began taking bush stops instead of rest stops. Chris, our guide, would stop and direct the ladies to the left of the truck and men to the right. I never minded the procedure but finding adequate cover was sometimes difficult.

As we drove the long stretches, I enjoyed watching the children from the villages as they came running to the edge of the road to wave to us. Men would ride bicycles along the road, often with a women sitting sidesaddle behind him with a child wrapped around her back. Children would guide cattle along the road, and some men walked along, holding hands in friendship. The women impressed me the most though: they carried sticks, packages, bananas or water on their heads or performed a chore, usually with a child slung over their backs and still managed to walk with such incredible dignity. Watching the beauty of Africa and enjoying the soothing smell of fire as it wafted into the truck, I already felt that Africa was an extraordinary place.

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