In the mind, in the heart, I was always home. I always imagined, really, going back home.

And I believe that it becomes a troubled continent because there are those who must always cause confusion so that we do not keep these natural resources.

In the West the past is like a dead animal. It is a carcass picked at by the flies that call themselves historians and biographers. But in my culture the past lives. My people feel this way in part because death does not separate us from our ancestors.

I have one thing in common with the emerging black nations of Africa: We both have voices, and we are discovering what we can do with them.

I kept my culture. I kept the music of my roots. Through my music I became this voice and image of Africa and the people without even realising.

If given a choice, I would have certainly selected to be what I am: one of the oppressed instead of one of the oppressors.

In the mind, in the heart, I was always home. I always imagined, really, going back home.