Excerpts from a Prolific Thinker

  When moving between cities and regions in Africa, you leave tarmac (and sometimes dust) to meet the prominent nature, a green decor that imposes itself to the few who dare confronting it. A luxurious nature that can only partially be grasped, even by the most famous painters, from Van Gogh to South African John Pemba. The natural rhythms of Africa’s rural areas seem to be altered over time by the penetration of the urban way of life. Traditional houses are progressively transforming, with cement and steel rooftops being marks of an unstoppable evolution towards modernity, if one subscribes to the dichotomic comparison between tradition and modernity. In actual fact, tradition and modernity remain intertwined in the wooden boutiques selling essential staples from local produce to telecommunication recharge cards, even deep in the dense forests. City dwellers bring their gadgets and services in response to emerging business opportunities. Mechanics are now established across the ...

Diving. Deep.  As deep as explorers eager to discover what lies within. Within the deep seas, those that impress and scare by their outstanding calmness. Or is it that their movement is so vast that it is unnoticeable to the explorer that ventures in their midst. Diving.  To discover or be uncovered in front of this giant, Self. Uncovered, yet undercover, where the mind becomes a refuge. The magnificence of the black moving yet unmoved reality that lies within. Or is it a foundation. Abysmal lifeform, dwelling as deep as the deepest oceanic trench. Almost 11,000 meters below the surface, the Mariana Trench reminds us that, just like our mind, what one could consider a hostile environment can prove a fertile soil for particular lifeform. Diving.  Acknowledging and naming the assumptions that are yet to be understood, and thus giving them a life. Where fears, doubts, anxieties, become part of a known reality and cease to have their mystical handle on our real...

“Start writing, no matter what. The water does not flow until the faucet is turned on.”   — Louis L’Amour Why I write? Well. Good question. Probably because it is easier than screaming my thoughts from my backyard and expect people to hear them and engage in discussions as a result. More seriously, I started writing to give my thoughts a wider and more structured space to blossom. I remember the first lines that came out, by the lakeside (not the worst view to get inspiration isn’t it) after a very early morning swim. With music in my earphones, taking advantage of a work break, I opened a blank word document and let my mind coordinate with my typing fingers on how to organize the many words, battling to come out. I wasn’t thinking while writing. As if the thoughts had been rehearsing the moment they would be jotted down on paper (or screen in this case). Few minutes and a couple of pages later, I stopped. As relieved from an unknown pressure. From that day I would look forward to ...