Baobab tree, at last out of the pages of books and smack dab in front of my eyes. Massive ancient trees, some of them.

The African dust is washed from my clothing. The jet lag is easing. The 800-plus photos have been culled to 500 or so. But the sense of wonder and gratitude that filled my heart for three weeks will never go away. My mind will not stop, the sense of wonder lives on. There are so many things I want to imprint in my memory forever.

Elephants in a mango grove that they attained for themselves after daily forays that terrorized the villagers who once lived beneath that shade. The villagers relocated their homes down the road, under the sun.

This male lion has been dubbed Ginger for obvious reasons. Genetically, he lacks the black pigments that normally mark a lion’s mane, tace and tail. Pretty rare.

I thought of my mom every time I saw giraffes. She would have loved this.

The animals were marvelous, glorious creatures. But of course it was the human connections that most touched my soul and will live with me forever. Malawi is truly the “warm heart of Africa.” And the Zambians, too – beautiful, sweet, and welcoming people, every single one of them.

One of several groups of seminary students who met with me, just to share. One group talked of some of the tribes of Malawi, telling me about the culture and traditions. Another filled me in on Malawian political history and elections. The writers group read exquisite short stories and poems. In the center here is Peter, who organized each session and served as emcee extraordinaire. At left is Valentino, who asked if he could write a story about me, and then did so. In it, I am written as the kind soul I still only strive to be each day. Such a gift, Valentino.

I was only 7 or 8 when I first dreamed of going to Africa. On my bi-weekly Saturday morning visits to the bookmobile, I sought out books about Africa. There were many times over the years when I believed that dream was dead. But I guess it was meant to be. There were many, many moments over the past few weeks when I found myself thinking, oh my god, I’m in Africa.

There were quite a few “deathbed moments,” – the moments and experiences that I believe will be with me in my final hours. On my return, I told one of my sons it was “a feast of learning.” Truly.

Mary is holding a fly whisk, shared by the Ngoni dancers as we danced. She explained the honor later. The fly whisk is wielded by leaders, kings, chiefs.

My dear friend, Mary Furlong, one of the women I admire most in the world, helped make this dream a reality. She blessed me with her African friends as she has blessed so many people over the years with her world view and her tolerance and her unceasing questions – questions designed to stimulate critical thinking and analysis, and always, a recognition of our common humanity.

My last day in the village of Chikome. Zikomo kwambiri..Thank you very much.

When I travel, my goal is twofold: to discover new people, new and different ways of doing things, different foods and clothing and lifestyles. But also, to see the things we all have in common. Everywhere, people love their families, cherish their children, and just want to have enough food to eat, a safe place to live, education, the means to earn a living.

In many places around our world, those things are hard to come by. And yet, they welcome a stranger, they kill one of their precious chickens for dinner, they open their home and their hearts. I am so humbled and so endlessly grateful.

My family loved the dominoes.