On Wednesday evening I will set off on my journey to South Africa. A country I feel connected to and yet have never seen. I expect to experience an instant recognition of my parents’ hometown, partly from inherited memories, imprinted on my DNA ( I do believe in this no matter how fanciful it might seem to others) and partly from the stories I was told as a child. My mother had talked of South Africa most days. She cried most days. I started out loving to hear her talk of her beloved father and her comfortable, happy childhood, but by the time I was in my late teens, and realised that my mother had not lived in my present, but took me to her past instead, I started to feel resentful and slightly irritated by her stories. I wanted to know my family first hand or not at all.