The man found me.

Some time after the end of my journey I was asked to give a presentation at a conference on non-racialism. He heard me speak about uBuntu, ignited with passion for our country.

He came up to me and introduced himself. We spoke for a while, though I can’t remember about what. There was much calmness emanating from him. At one point we fell silent. This is when he told me that I have an African heart.

‘An African heart? What does that mean?’

‘Well, see, it’s like this,’ he said. ‘Here we are meeting each other. And what happens is that when we meet I create a space for you in my heart. That space in my heart is yours alone. It doesn’t belong to anybody else.’

I think of the 150 uBuntu families I carry in my heart.

He continues. ‘And what happens when you leave is that you leave a hole in my heart. That is your hole in my heart. It can never be filled by anybody else.’

A wave of sadness washed over me. I felt like bursting into tears. ‘Does that mean we’re all walking around with holes in our hearts?’

He was a bit puzzled. Then he threw his head back and exploded into earth-shattering laughter. ‘No, man! An African heart is like an African taxi: there is always room for another one!’

His words were pure. They held the key that unlocked my journey. This is why the road had called me!

I looked at his chest.

And there it was.

My hole in his heart.

A hole through which a white line began to appear.

One line connecting us all.