All Other Places Are Tame

Africa

The fascination Africa has always held for those who have visited her shores has hitherto been the fascination of Mistress, never of the wife.

She held out no lure, for she was no courtesan. A man came to her in his eager youth, asking, praying that she would give him that which should make life good, and she trusted and opened her arms.

What she had to give she gave freely, generously, and there was no stint, no lack. And he took. Her charm he counted on as a matter of course, her tenderness was hid due, her passion his pleasure, but the fascination he barely admitted could not keep him.

Though she had given all, she had no rights and, when other desires called he left her, left her with words of pity that were an injury, of regret that were an insult.

But all this is changing.

Africa holds. The man who has known Africa longs for her.

In the sordid city street she remembers the might and loneliness of her forests, by the rippling brook he remembers the wide rivers rushing tumultuous from the lakes, in the night when on the roof the rain's splashing drearily he remembers the mellow tropical nights, the sky of velvet far away, the stars like points of gold, the warm moonlight that with its deeper shadows made a fairer world.

Even the languor and the heat he longs for, the white surf on yellow sand of the beaches, the thick jungle growth gently matted, rankly luxuriant, pulsating with the irrepressible life of the tropics.

All other places.... are tame.

- Mary Gaunt 1910