Five months and seven countries later, I am still in Africa. It seems I have adopted the African philosophy of "time" — a mere word which holds absolutely no meaning. There are no schedules; the bus leaves when it's full. A 120-mile ride can easily take eight hours. And appointments revolve around generalities such as "meet you in the morning," "around lunchtime" or "sometime next week."

      In the rare event that an exact time is given, it is never to be taken literally — to get the precise time, add three or four hours. It doesn't take long to figure out that Africa beats to a different drum. With a bit of patience, a thirst for adventure and a desire to do things the African way, I am learning its rhythm.

      Often we ventured out into the unknown with nothing more than a few vague directions: "Take the mini-bus for five or six hours until you see some kind of brown sign on the side of a road, walk down a dirt road to the water's edge, stand next to a tree, yell across to the island and wait for someone to collect you." Crazy, yes, but these "perfect" directions led us to a night on a private island and a friendly owner who became the first person to show us the true meaning of the African philosophy "there's always room for one more!" Delicious food, Namibian beer and a ride on his boat at sunset — all generouslyin return.

      Public transportation in Africa is an experience not to be missed. Just when you think that a bus is filled to capacity and there could not possibly be room for another passenger, in walks a family of five. This is when you think there should be an exception to the rule: "There's always room for one more." The door is opened. People shift. Things are rearranged. Space is forfeited. And discomfort is inevitable.

      Patience is the key as laps are shared, jabs to the ribs are ignored, pushing is accepted and bodies are sometimes pushed halfway out the windows — all to make room for "just one more!" One more man, one more woman, one more child, one more piece of luggage and, yes, even one more animal.

      Traveling allows me to be free. For the first time in my life I have no set schedule, no detailed plan of action, no responsibilities. I am enjoying the opportunity to experience different cultures and to meet new and interesting people. I am constantly meeting other travelers along the way and the greetings are predictable: Where are you from? How long have you been traveling? What did you do back in your home country?

      Sometimes the conversations stop there and sometimes, well, there's no predicting where they will lead. Discussions can be as simple as a recommendation for a great backpackers' place to stay, or conversations can move into more serious topics like the meaning of life.

      And you meet others who have somewhat different stories. Thorsten from Germany fell in love with a Zambian woman dying from AIDS. Every night he drinks himself to oblivion in order to ease the pain. John is from England and had a depressing childhood. He has come traveling in hopes of finding something as simple as friends. We learn to be friends and confidants to complete strangers. We offer advice when it's necessary and keep silent when it's appropriate. With each encounter we walk away a different person.

      We travel through Africa and enjoy the sights, smells, tastes and sounds that make this continent unique. We marvel at the women who carry babies on their backs and huge bundles on their heads. We engage in games with the young children who sell us the eggs, shine our shoes and tempt us with baskets of bananas. We watch them move from their role as adults back children again, even if only for 15 minutes. We indulge into in exotic foods like zebra, ostrich and crocodile but never once forget that, to some, food is not an experience but, rather, a matter of survival.

      We watch the children of a village dance with rhythm that can only be found in Africa, and we can't help but wonder if we grew up here, would we be able to move like them? We are left speechless when we witness the awe-inspiring migration of 2.5 million wildebeest across the Serengeti Plains. We see the smiles and laughter that a simple camera can bring and understand that real communication can exist even without a common language. And then, quite simply, we learn to appreciate the graceful gallop of the giraffe, the warmth of the Indian Ocean, the beat of the African drum and even the African bus rides.

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