MESSAGE FROM THE EDITOR
Some of my very first memories are of seeing a bright white flower as it glowed in the early morning light from its perch on a trumpet-thorn bush. Or of the feel of a shepherd tree’s bark under my fingers. The most visceral memory is probably the ice-cold sting of the early morning air biting your cheeks on the back of the ancient Cruiser bakkie as it dips and weaves along the two-track path through acacia bushland. Many of you, many Namibians, know that sting well. The cold so invigorating that it ignites a fire inside. For it is the best kind of wake-up call. Better even than the dramatic hues of red and gold that accompany the sun rising to the east. The one that ensures you that you…