Because I remember it clearly. Driving on a bumpy narrow dust road fringed by high golden grass and asking Him to stop so I could quickly take a picture of this windmill as the light hit it.
Because I remember thinking how stately, how solid and dependable yet beautiful this lone twist of metal looked in this big golden open space with the purple mountains rearing away into the distance.
Because I miss Africa, I always will and I always have, and no matter all its problems.
Because home is home and its the only place I’ve come across in the world that makes me feel truly, dazzlingly alive.