In the afternoon after the heat of the day the Sun lowers over the horizon with orange, red, purple back lighting the sky, the suurgras grassland bushes where the Dorper sheep lie down to rest for the night, and the tall Kameeldoring trees silhouetted against the glowing darkness, and at the Boma the fire for the evening flames red and orange, logs cracking in the heat, and later under a deep blue black summer sky in Namibia the rich, smoky aroma of lamb sizzling on the braai with the big bonfire alongside lighting up the Boma and the sound of voices in conversation, murmurs, chatter, and sporadic laughter, while outside in the bushveld with a talcum dusting of stars far heavenwards, and nearby the occasional distant sounds of night animals, and the sparks of the fire sprinkling onto the ground, illuminating the faces of those present, old and young, and the taste of red wine on my palate, and covering my wine glass with a lid to stop the big Emperor moths crawling into my glass, and enjoying myself and relaxing after a year in another country where anxiety and paranoia can consume your life if you let it, and feeling the sense of freedom and peace, and then the braai’d lamb chops, chewing the tasty wild grass fed meat with a slight curry flavour, dry and crispy, and eating the potatoes and salad, and knowing that this was a moment that would not be repeated, being there, experiencing it, holding onto it, hoping to remember it, like I do now on this cold winter night years later and thousands of kilometres away.
