I miss living in Cape Town, South Africa. I miss lots of things: planting seeds in soil as deep and rich as chocolate pudding; the way the ocean curls around the land like a cat; being able to look up to Table Mountain’s shoulder to see the weather coming in from the south. Where I live now, memory has been scrubbed from the land. In South Africa, the land sings with memory, you can feel it through the soles of your feet. Whatever the many and copious sins the apartheid lovers committed, they were also Africans because their feet also hummed with the songs of the land. There’s always that connection — with people, politics, and the land.