When I arrived in Africa in mid-January, I wrote to my friend Oliver that I felt a strange familiarity, a sense of calm and gratitude that I hadn’t felt in previous travels, even to the land of my grandparents.

“I feel more at home here than I did at times in Sicily,” I wrote.

“You are walking on the birthplace of humanity,” Oliver replied. “You are home.“

Every morning and every night, at Siyanfunda Endangered Species Reserve in South Africa, I watched the sun move across the magnificent Drakensberg Mountain Range that circled our camp. The shadow of an impala or nyala might walk by. A hyena might cackle in the distance. An elephant might break branches nearby.

And Mfundo might join me for breakfast. We became friends, Mfundo and I. He is a 25-year-old university student from Newcastle (about 160 miles southeast of Johannesburg) who came to Siyafunda as an environmental science intern to gain field experience working with the rangers. Mfundo is a kind young man given to big smiles and bigger laughter. When he spoke Zulu with employees at the reserve, the words were conjoined with big bouts of laughter and song. I wished I could join in.

While my time in Africa was to be primarily about the animals, it became much more than that as time passed. I made what I hope to be lasting friendships against a backdrop of dramatic skies, warm earth and mighty, mighty animal life.

My relationship with Mfundo was among them and developed in small, yet profound ways. I passed him my tube of sun screen in the jeep. He carried my backpack while we hiked. I made him sandwiches for mid-day snack. He dried the dishes while I washed. I talked to him about his future plans. He revealed his dreams.

There were many other people: David, the photographer from London; Elise, my roommate from France; Sholmi, the young musician from Israel; Felipe, the student from Brazil; Art, the retired nature enthusiast from San Diego; Diann, the retired airline pilot from California; Columbus, the world traveler from Alaska; Joseph and Evan, the east-coast high school graduates on gap year; Charlotte, my other roommate from France.

This land linked us. And while only Mfundo could legitimately call it home, we all did so to a degree. When it was time to say goodbye, we exchanged email addresses and telephone numbers. We shared photos and just-made memories. We promised to keep in touch. Some will, some won’t. But all are linked.

After saying goodbye to everyone, Mfundo and I hugged. He whispered a request: “Don’t forget your African son.”

“I won’t,” I promised. And I will not. I went home to the birthplace of humanity. And I found my son.