The story takes place in three continents, but the visions behind my eyes remain most vivid by the images of Africa, where most of it was written. I still see the hazy sea grey as flint, the laterite ground hardened to brick emanating heat, eternal palms rustling, and people with white smiles everywhere. To this land the three main characters of the story intruded innocently and almost did not survive. Their rather narrow existence has been transformed by an extraordinary experience. Or was it transformed?
