Picture by Stephanie Urdang
Steph was in training to go into Guineau Bissau with the PIAGC freedom fighters and needed to walk to pactice so we took her to the Rift Valley just beyond the Ngong Hills and then headed out towards another set of hills in the distance.
I decided I would carry a big rock in my ruck sack and prove how tough I was. I carried the rock for a few miles while Mom and Dad and Steph chatted up ahead along the dirt track. But after 15 minutes climbing up the ridge I couldn't take it any more and abandoned the rock.
When we got to the top of the ridge we were elated. Dad suddenly almost burst with happiness and energy. He surprised us and it was catching. He had been travelling a lot for Oxfam and he was home and he was in top shape we were in the most precious place to our family of all, together with all the hope of the revolutionary and anti-colonial possibilities in us -inspired by Steph's intrepid, intelligent bravery.
On a ridge overlooking the great rift. Space, acacias the smellof it the feeling of expansiveness and freedom and possibility and home. Remember, in 1974 the war in Vietnam was still on Portugal still controlled Mozambique and Angola too and South Africa was 15 years away from the end of Apartheid.
But we were not alone. There was a large buffalo blocking our way. We stopped. It looked at us, perhaps 30 yards away. Don't move. Stay calm everyone, Mom said. I think Dad might said Futsack, man! But not very loudly. Before any of us could panic the buffalo turned and headed, knees bending, down the hill.
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Your'e just a Buffalo soldier, dreadlock Rasta
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