ON A PLANE HEADED FOR ACCRA, GHANA, WEST AFRICA

The first entry in my travel diary: Feeling restless. Not excited. Not scared. Just restless. I really did expect a torrent of tears and emotions that have not hit me yet, I am cautiously aware that they soon will.

I have no idea what i am in for. I imagine Africa to be a place where time ticks slower. I hope for a certain stillness. The sort of stillness only possible in big, open, empty spaces... I imagine Africa has lots of those. I want to be lost for a while. Lost from my life in Sydney, lost from the people there, lost from my obligations, lost from my routine, lost from myself. I wonder if I can ever be satisfied. I have this insatiable drive for more - to know more, to see more, to do more, to be more.

I am drawn to Africa for a multitude of reasons. First it is poor: Has my guilt around white privilege turned me into a traveling-masochist? I am seduced by all the images conjured up just by the word 'Africa': From vast plains filled with exotic animals; to famine; to silhouettes of lone traditional warriors in red dress and rainbow beads, in a red desert in front of a red sunset; to the images of boy soldiers and war-ravaged villages; to African drums; to apartheid; to the Congo, ever shrouded in mystery and an air of doom. The beautiful and horrific compels me to see it for myself. I just hope I survive. I want to live to tell the tale, but I also want it to be a good tale. I just hope my guardian angels have packed their safari suits and are prepared to work over-time... hopefully they are taking up the two otherwise empty seats beside me.