Written at 36,000 ft on the flight between Johannesburg’s OR Tambo Airport and Schiphol Airport in Amsterdam

The image on the flight tracking information screen says we are flying over Brussels. On the map I can see Calais and Amiens and Cantebury. Names out of stories and fairytales and books. I find myself struggling with the idea of Europe. The idea of landing in a European city.

I studied Africa. Europe was, particularly once I reached university and was able to focus my studies, a sort of background noise. Europe became important only in so far as the histories of the African places I was studying were impacted by Europe. It’s funny; it’s fairly common to study African history from the premise (and misconception) that Europe and Europe’s own troubles, shaped Africa. African historians and history departments struggle against this. In the determination to see Africa for itself, I didn’t realise how far I had moved from European history.

It wasn’t until I started working on this hastily planned trip. I know so little about Europe. I can differentiate between Togo, Ghana and Chad, I can chronicle the history of the conflict in the Eastern DRC, I contrast different explanations for the underdevelopment of Mozambique and I can converse intelligently on the relative chances of re-election for Malawi’s Banda and Zambia’s Sata. But I couldn’t tell you what the neighbouring countries of the Netherlands are.

Yet, here I am, coming in to land over the perfectly even green fields of Holland on a fairly ordinary Tuesday morning. Small fields laid out strip on strip. Bodies of water – lakes? canals? – silver under the clouds. It looks cold out there. The little bit of sunshine disappears with a final sunbeam of light through the airplane window, and we plunge towards a day European autumn day.

I keep trying not to let anyone on the plane see how enchanted and disconcerted this trip is making me. I doubt they would understand. I’m not even sure I can explain it. Europe does excite but it also confuses me. I am African. That is the touchstone of my identity. But I’m also a white South African with a European heritage (especially if the UK is included). I come from a country and a continent with a long and difficult history of conflict and contest with this place. Particularly with the Netherlands, that started all the development and complexity, the good and bad of colonial and post-colonial state-hood for South Africa. I didn’t intend to be here – my travel dreams are African, not European – but now that I am, I am excited to find out, to explore, to see first hand. At the same time, I remain apprehensive. It’s not a fun history. Coming here feels a little like walking directly into that contested space, walking into an emotional and intellectual storm.

The plane comes in to land.