Africa

Africa, everyday unconscious teacher. It shows you the world under another light, waiting patiently that your eyes get used to it. The axioms turn upside down, the calculations lose their meaning. The only thing we can do, it is to sit down and listen to it. And it is at this point that Africa drives you. It takes your hand, and together you walk toward the truth. Amazed by walking you find the essence, yours and of the world. You scratch and compress the mountain of roses, to extract that unique pure drop of perfume.

Africa is a book. It is your story, that writes itself day after day. The present broad like the sea. The past and the future in a corner, so small and far that you will forget their importance. Africa can always surprise and amuse you. It is free from any logic and rules. It snears hidden beside the door, fortasting your scare, but then it reveals with a belly laugh. It seriously discusses about politics and finances, but if a butterfly passes it runs away to catch it. Africa does not knock, it just enters and takes what it wants. It is a phenomenon of wonder and astonishment. Africa didn't study the mathematics. You cannot understand it, only you can flow together with.

Africa is a brush stoke of colors. It is beautiful and true like a corncob. It has a big orange sun sweet like a mango, a virtuous heart beating at the sound of drums.

When it becomes irritatingly absurb you cannot do anything else than smile... and it is already past, that shrivels up quickly, smaller and smaller again...