Africa would always be there - deep in the heart. How I longed for the african skyline. The beat of Africa was always there, and like a drum, it contined to beat on and on. Repetitively, and in synchronisation with the calling of the african bird. The stories of Africa were many - they held their own weight and value. The common story of an african experience was one of, well, tragedy. With the full sun, heat and bliss of a life lived closely co-existing with nature... came a familiarity with sacrifice and heartache. A stone tossed into the water, in Africa, would alert ceaseless ripples. A ripple that served as a catalyst for a never-ending ripple. Something magical and enigmatic lay at the very epicentre of Africa.
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