I Dream Of Africa
And How Walt Disney Assuages The Pain of Separation
When it comes to the things that I value in life, I feel incredibly wealthy. I am not hungry. I have shelter, good jobs, healthcare, and access to more modern amenities and creature comforts than the vast majority of the world. Most of us living in the United States are in the same boat, and very often we take that for granted.
I am also wealthy because I experience myriad opportunities to offer prayer to Creator through art and photography — a hobby that fuels and expresses my personal growth and passions for life. Florida is my stomping grounds. Louisiana is the place of my birth. I love them both dearly and wouldn’t trade an ounce of my experience, nor where I make my home.
But I will admit that I dream of Africa. Oh yikes! Another admission to zen failure — longing to do something in the future rather than completely appreciating the present. I know, I know…
I’ve never been to the birthplace of our ancestors, and with every click of the shutter and challenge to capture photographs of animals in their natural habitats, the siren calls me. Lately, she has started to scream.
I think my father had something to do with this. Years ago he gave me a book entitled Death In The Long Grass. I remember the incredible stories about the wildlife — stories that made me feel like I was there with my heart pounding in my chest, listening to the sounds in the night through a thin tent wall. The tales have remained with me for decades. The lions, the elephants, and the infamous black mamba, of which I’d formerly known absolutely nothing — came alive in the pages and helped birth my desire to see them all (except the black mamba — not jonesing for that).
I’ve read just one too many stories about a black mamba tapping on a vehicle door, face to face with a human shielded only by the glass…inches from death. No thank you, even if the chance is remote.
I long to see the wildlife of the savanna and bush. My feeling is that before I die, I want to see a male lion in full form, roaming free. I want to hear him roar.
I fully expect that the first time I am able to see a lion or an elephant in their natural habitat, my knees will weaken and my breath will get stuck in my chest. Someone will probably have to remind me to breathe.
So I’m saving money for my bucket trip.
In the meantime, the closest that I can come to animals of African origin are sanctuaries, or Disney’s Animal Kingdom, in my hometown of Orlando. I click the shutter and attempt to share their beauty in an artistic way. Conservation is of crucial importance, and one of my life’s purposes is to contribute to the celebration of other species and their preservation. That’s not something that can wait for me to save money to take photos on site in Africa.
Animal Kingdom does a great job satisfying the muse while I stack my dollars for a trip to the mother land. There are so many educational exhibits and programs, and their conservation fund has helped make significant strides for endangered species and resources of our planet.
When I am there, I invariably migrate to the “Africa” section. Just the feel of it reaches into my soul. I’m an introvert who doesn’t much care for crowds and noise. And while I run around with the camera most of the time, I can feel relaxed sitting sipping my coffee amidst the hustle and bustle of the African culture shops and entertainment in the “Port of Harambe.”
The Festival Of The Lion King live show is to die for — absolutely stunning. I’ve seen this show in its Broadway version, and though it was a stunning production, nothing comes close to the live experience at Animal Kingdom. It is a tribute to the artistic ingenuity of our species.
I can’t tell you how many times on Florida trails I have been asked about Africa — as if the siren has agents sent along to continuously remind me that I must make her a priority. I’m told that I look like I’ve been. And when I’m at Animal Kingdom, I am consistently asked if I work there. Maybe its the khaki. Maybe its the hat. Maybe its a combination of all of those things and the camera. Or maybe it is the mother calling me back. Many scientists suggest that once we came down out of the trees, humans evolved in open, grass-like areas of savanna, rather than dense forests, so maybe the genes of my ancestors are talking to me.
Standing at Gorilla Falls with my tripod, people from all over the world have approached me and inquired about my photography, shared stories of their native lands, and talked to me of their interest in conservation.
I’ve reveled in those conversations that teach me that I do, in fact, share some common traits with other Homo sapiens. Typically, I am a human who is so much more comfortable with animals, feeling isolated and odd even around around those I love. It’s nice to meet folks sometimes who teach me that I’m not as much of a unicorn as it sometimes feels.
I don’t expect this blog piece to rock anyone’s world. I don’t expect it to go viral and show up featured. It isn’t about making a bunch of money or climbing a corporate ladder. It isn’t about bettering myself.
It is just an admission. A statement. A glimpse in time.
This one is for me. This one says I am a human who once lived. And this was my dream — to see Mother Africa.
FB: @artofeliewolf
