I would never have imagined dedicating nine years of my life to Africa: nine years spent travelling, taking photographs, joining field projects and sometimes truly risking my life, not only alongside wild animals but also together with the people who live on the edge of this immense nature. In 2016 my friends kept talking about “deep longing to return to Africa”: the smell of earth and smoke, the endless skies, that sense of nostalgia that hits you the moment you step onto the plane home. I, on the other hand, loved the turquoise sea, collecting shells, the occasional hike in the mountains and trips to discover new cultures, and I couldn’t understand why I should face 24 hours of flying when Sardinia, Calabria and Greece were so close.
As a child, though, I had already breathed nature deeply, even if I didn’t realise it at the time: my father would take me with him to lakes, forests, snow and flowering meadows, in summer and in winter. Then came his extreme journeys: Elbrus 5,642 m, Pik Lenin 7,134 m, Kamchatka to see the bears, and other peaks still to conquer and deserts to discover, and I believe that time with him, when I was little, imprinted in me the idea that real life is found where adventure brushes up against madness and freedom is almost frightening. I was only a spectator of those extreme trips: I stayed at home, went to school and watched him leave from afar, knowing how dangerous those expeditions were; sometimes he would disappear for months and we even had to look for him with rescue services, following the helicopters with bated breath, without really knowing where he was or whether he was safe.
In 2018 the same friends convinced me to go to Botswana: a tough, long, cold trip, with no sleep… and in just seven days Africa conquered me forever; the vastness, the scents, the human silence and the music of nature became both my downfall and my home. The call of lions roaring kilometres away, yet you feel them as if they were sleeping on the bed next to you, and the hippos that come out of the water at night and chew grass without stopping, making such a crazy noise that it seems impossible to sleep… and yet, with time, you get used to this strange soundtrack of the savannah. I remember the first true silence: no city noise, only the rustle of the grass, bird calls, the heavy steps of an elephant in the dark, the breath of the wind on the tent; the smell of dawn in the savannah, the light splitting the horizon, a distant roar that reaches your stomach before your ears. In that moment I understood that I would never be the same again.
Since then Africa has become my sweet obsession: on the flight back I am already planning the next journey; I study maps, seasons, parks, migration routes, searching for new corners of wilderness to live in. I have visited eight different countries several times and I still feel I have only seen a small part of what this continent holds. I miss Africa the way one misses home: I have the feeling that someone is always waiting for me there, with a smile, with love, with a warmth that is not only that of the sun, but of the people, the animals and the land itself. I have travelled and taken photographs elsewhere for work, but every time the plane lands in another place, I feel it is only a temporary detour: my real home, the one that calls me when I close my eyes, is and remains Africa.