I knew it, from the first week. This year was not about learning about 'Africa'. This year was learning about people. The way they see themselves, the way they see others, what in fact an 'other' is.

Indeed, 'Africa' itself brings up these same questions, in the concept's construction. Who belongs? Who doesn't? Who has power? Who has a lot of power? Who has only a little? Who has enough money to free themselves from trivial everyday questions? Who uses every last ounce of resilience to enjoy the glory of every day?

People everywhere seem to engender conflict -- and yet at the same time recognise that it engenders pain, suffering, and misery. Maybe it's inevitable. Maybe it's always there.....maybe there will always be a "social entrepreneur" ready to stir it up....if only the state is "prone" to attack.....

And yet, we can communicate in such beautiful ways. We can weave words and melodies, rhythms and beats, thoughts and visions. And we know that though we are ultimately alone, we can have some company on the way.

Talking to a larger audience sometimes. Singing our song to the world. Stirring up the minds of hundreds, thousands swaying together in the colours of one flag, with one symbol, one word.

And yet there is that smaller audience. The hardest audience of all. The face-to-face that reveals the intricacies of honesty and deceit. The personal devils doing battle on the sidelines while other forces hang in the air, perhaps missing each other, sometimes, occasionally, embracing.

Those embraces feel rare sometimes. And their lack makes me feel cold. Why is it that we can stir up crowds and yet in private not look each other in the eye? Why is it that we can sing an epic song of our history and not answer the simple question over breakfast? How is it that we can throw a spear form afar and not inspect the scar on our neighbor's wrist? How can we weep over the ocean flooding our kind and yet not see the tears falling just there, on the corner of the street?

Speak quietly. Think carefully. You're in a community, whether you like it or not. You can't run away, you can't leave it. They follow you, from miles away, their voices echoing in your heart, tapping softly and then just before midnight hammering so loudly you might choke.

And so I say choose to look each other in the eye. Tell what you see on your faces. Speak those thoughts that otherwise drip through the floorboards. Take them not to decorate a faraway wall or for the community gossip ring, set them there on the table. Pass them round the table. Feel the intricacies, feel the bruises, the chips.

Don't throw the paint on my wall. I can't take all of it. I can't take these public dances where you embrace only to slide the knife in deep.

Please talk to each other.