My journey home to Namibia was a safe, (alhamdulillah) if difficult one due to my unfortunately injured foot. It is much better, I am now walking with a cane and no crutches (yay!). It was wonderful to see all my family after so long, (I haven't returned in 4 years) and I was amazed at how different they all looked. I missed them terribly and, while I had some wonderful experiences in N. America, I'm very glad to be back to "the motherland." I am now in Capetown, S.Africa, visiting some old friends and schoolmates, and the beauty of this country never ceases to amaze me. I have been to S.Africa many times, but had never had the opportunity to do the one thing I have wanted to do for a very long time: visit Robben Island. For those of you who are not familiar with Robben Island, historically, in the 1600s, it was used as a lieu of imprisonment for Dutch rebels and leaders, who were exiled to S. Africa from other Dutch colonies. It later was used as a leper colony and eventually became a prison once again during Apartheid, housing some of the anti-apartheid movement's most important figures, the most prominent of course being, Nelson Mandela. In the late nineties, it was declared a World Heritage Site, and has become one of S. Africa's biggest tourist attractions.

I decided that now was the time for me to make the trip to R. Island and I knew just the person to accompany me: My father. I called him, as he was going to be coming to Cape Town on some business, to see if he would be interested. "Of course my child!" He responded enthusiastically just as I knew he would. My father, the history fanatic, had been to R. Island before, but he would not pass up an opportunity to do so again. He has always encouraged in his children a sense of curiosity and a thirst for knowledge, and so he was naturally pleased that I would take the initiative and invite him on such a journey. So a few days later, when my father had arrived, we headed over to the Robben Island museum in order to catch the boat heading out to the island. The boat ride itself was amazing, as you get a wonderful view of Cape Town. We landed on the island and got on a tour bus which took us around the island, all the while we were
being given the history of the island, from the time before the European settlers arrived to the days of apartheid. We were given a tour by a man named Phinneas, a former freedom-fighter and prisoner duirng apartheid and he took us around the prison showing us the ins and outs of the prison and giving us a detailed description of the life of an apartheid-era prisoner.

It was an incredibly moving trip and I felt emotionally drained by the end of it. Somehow, the spirit of all those who were imprisoned for so many years (sometimes decades) for fighting against a regime that debased and dehumanized them and treated them as inferior beings simply because of the colour of their skin, was still palpable. You could hear it in Phinneas' voice, feel it in the walls, see it in the prison yard. So much had happened there, so much history had taken place in between those walls, spirits were broken as well as strengthened and it was wonderful to be able to take part in such a tour. My father was a lovely companion, interjecting quietly every once in a while with some tid bit of information he felt I should know. He was quiet and lost in thought as always, and as we were leaving the island said to me: "My child, there are those who come here simply because the tour books tell them to do so and leave with nothing, and then there are those who arrive with curious hearts and minds, and leave with them more full than ever because they carry forth what they have seen and experienced here. I know you are in the latter category, I saw it in your face." That was all the closure I needed.