I have had the privilege of visiting South Africa many times since my January 1990 move to the USA. I have gone most to KwaZulu Natal, where I have family, and, in more recent years, to the Western Cape.
I drive a lot.
It is as if I am looking for something, searching for an item left behind, that I am sure, with enough exploring, I will ultimately find.
Alas, I do know it takes more than renting a car and hours on familiar and unfamiliar roads to journey into the heart of my search.
I have never questioned my move and nor did I ever believe Lady Liberty’s grass was greener.
On rare occasions I listen to South Africans who have made the move and some recurring observations make me smile.
Others, not.
“I miss ‘my’ maid, she was part of the family,” regretting having to pump your own petrol, wash your own clothes, manage your own kitchen are observations that drive me crazy.
Moments of absolute fulfillment, perhaps marking the end of my search, flood me on encountering the sheer goodness, love, acceptance in the nation of my birth, coming from a people who could legitimately regard me with contempt.
Thank you, South Africa, I love you, too.
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