Africa

Eight days to cross two lands and a thousand stories. Africa begins under the skin: dry light, steady gazes, the scent of clay, livestock, and burnt sugar. The roads stretch long, sometimes cracked, sometimes broken. On the horizon, mountains rise, bare, unmoving, vanish into dust. Nothing announces itself, everything asserts its presence. Geoparks here are rare. Not for lack of geology, geology screams in the rocks, the craters, the footprints. But elsewhere, urgencies take precedence: water, hunger, health. Few structures, little state. Territorial management remains a distant dream, often crushed by conflict. And yet, something endures. A standing wisdom. A memory in each gesture. Elephant tracks in the dust, carvings on the plateaus. Africa speaks softly, but speaks true. It is not yet organized around its stones. But it has lived with them, always.