Free A Man from Another Land: How Finding My Roots Changed My Life by Isaiah Washington

pieces of carry-on luggage.”
    “South African Airlines used to only allow two pieces at a time,” the woman snorted. “It couldn’t possibly be safe with all
     this extra weight!”
    I was very excited and looking forward to my time in Africa; finally I was going to step foot on the very soil I had been
     dreaming of, protesting for, studying about for so many years. I could barely contain myself. I was anxious with fear and
     anticipation of the unknown.
    When I finally boarded the plane, there was an announcement over the PA system that the trip would take thirteen hours and
     fifty minutes. I thought to myself, “How interesting. It took fourteen weeks for the slave traders to get my ancestors to
     America via the Middle Passage and will take only fourteen hours for me to return to Africa.”
    A stroke of good fortune found me seated next to a very interesting man: Ivahn Van Niekerk, a native Afrikaner (a white South
     African), a fine ostrich leather dealer, and a zoologist who worked to protect the antelope. He seemed to recognize me from
     my movies and was quite well informed about the film industry.
    During our conversation, he mentioned that his sister was steadfast in filmmaking in South Africa. He seemed like a nice enough
     chap. He was very proud to be an Afrikaner. He swore that he would never live anywhere else. “My country is one of the most
     beautiful countries in the world,” he said proudly.
    I reflexively thought, “His country?”
    I was so anxious I found it hard to sleep. “God, let me sleep!” I wanted to arrive feeling rested and refreshed so that I
     could take in all Africa had to offer. I ended up reading instead. As I looked out the window, I could see the deep orange
     hue of the morning sun beginning to rise over the horizon. I kept checking my watch, wondering what Jenisa was going to do
     that day, her birthday. I sent her silent wishes, “Happy birthday, my dear Jenisa.”
    I looked at my watch again, six more hours to go. There was a show on the airplane’s TV about Namibia’s wildlife. My mind
     wandered to thoughts of my trip. Ivahn leaned over to say something, and the sound of his voice brought my thoughts back to
     the present.
    “That beetle they are talking about is called a dung beetle,” he said. He went on to explain that the insect ate cow excrement
     and was very important ecologically to the region. After breaking chunks of it open it rolls the dung over and over and then
     deposits its eggs. The hatchlings devour the larvae of flies and other parasites before they evolve. As I stared at the screen
     it occurred to me that this dung beetle was in fact a “scarab,” an ancient symbol for the Egyptian pharaohs, once highly revered
     as a god and a source of power and good fortune.
    I checked my watch, two hours to go! The flight attendant served plates of assorted fruit, with tea and coffee, and the sleeping
     passengers began to stir and awaken. The sun was now completely up and shining brightly through the windows, illuminating
     the cabin and flooding it with a glow. Ivahn suggested I take a photo of Table Mountain as we passed over Cape Town. He also
     allowed me to take his photograph before we disembarked. We shook hands. I reached for my carry-on bag, and when I looked
     up Ivahn was gone.
    My first impression of Cape Town was that it looked very much like many other cities I had traveled to. If I hadn’t known
     for sure I was in Africa, I am not sure I could have guessed it. There were tall buildings and the city was busy with activity,
     cars, and people rushing here and there.
    I was delighted to find, despite the warnings of the old couple in Miami, that all my bags had made it to Africa. The producer
     of the movie was the former wife of the great playwright David Hare, Ms. Margaret Matheson. She was a very tall and sturdy
     Englishwoman with salt-and-pepper hair. Margaret waswaiting there at the airport reception area along with my driver, Thami.