Includes publications received in terms of Copyright Act no. 9 of 1916.

"The Complete Travel Guide Series" offers a comprehensive exploration of diverse destinations worldwide. Each book provides detailed insights into local culture, history, attractions, and practical travel tips, ensuring travellers are well-prepared to embark on memorable journeys. With vibrant illustrations, beautiful pictures and up to date information, this series is an essential companion for any type of traveller seeking enriching experiences.

Years ago, I met a friend in London I had not seen in many years. He posed a very interesting question to me. He wanted me to give him a statement on Jomo Kenyatta, who was then incarcerated as the leader of the Mau-Mau uprising in Kenya. Though I did not have an answer for my friend, I kept his question in my mind. Then, years later, my wife and I decided to visit Kenya on Safari with friends, which I recount here, vividly in this book. They were like two birds set free, hoop the coop, flew away from their prison abode, caged for decades, until Februrary 1990, on that sunny day in Capetown when I saw Nelson Mandella, live on CNN Television with his wife Winnie Mandela. They strolled through the gates of pollsmore Prison, away from 37 years of incarceration by the Apartheid Regime. That experience intrigued me enough that my wife and I decided, with a group of friends, to visit South Africa and see what would happen to us as a group of African Americans; it was while there that I touched yellow, Ebony Gold, as detailed in my book.

My endeavor here is to validate and document In Winters Eye what causes me to reflect, and try to recapture, in retrospect, my experiences--events propelled then by my pervasive apprehension of frost. This symbolic cold weather chills me to the bone In Winters Eye, which has now resurfaced in this brooding, but stark and detail reality. Yet, though the metaphorical winter weather doesnt bother me that much anymore, but when I accidentally get onto that slippery patch of racial black ice that camouflages the asphalt Thrue-way as passable, then, it would hit on my wheels and send me careening into a chaotic irrational verbal spin. My meeting with that icy patch on lifes roadway to somewhere, or nowhere for that matter, freewheels my sense of direction as it throws me off my intended course of normal human progress; after which I would struggle to maintain control of myself and the vehicle of my life I am driving down the road, if not to somewhere in the future, but to obliterate the past, where my wheels would swerve and skid helter skelter, luckily, into the shoulder of the Thrue-way for my ultimate survival. It became a necessity for me then, after meeting head-on the pronounced differences intoned by the assonant and dissonant sounds that racial preference plays out with acrimony, compared with the personal autonomy of my parent culture and the restrictions based on race in anothers. My endeavor to be accepted by my peers saw me struggle to adapt and to assimilate the new culture I enter, of which I wrote about In Winters Eye," or simply to remain, not just as an entity, but preferably that of a functional individual, as in the following. It is in such an ethnic arena that one jazz-dance to the subtle tempo from the racial nuances afoot, as one tries to keep time to that unique racial beat, sufficient to make one assess ones common experiences with others, keeping in mind, meanwhile, how it was in the countries, I lived and traveled over the years. In the fall of 1967, it was not a dream I had awakened from, and found myself living a life, akin to that of a spectator perched on a ledge in the balcony, gawking at the happenings taking place below in the arena. My consciousness held sway as I ogled at the vibrant milieu of racial politics happening then in my New York. I was not dreaming either when I found myself living in an apartment in Corona, Queens, as it was my natural evolvement within the trajectory of my migratory, path to the Big Apple. Neither was I having an-out-of-body experience that spirited me from Jamaica to London, then whisked me off to Toronto on a tidal wave, and finally being carried aloft by a big silver bird that landed me in the New York, slab-dab in the middle of the Civil Rights struggle. It was a vast struggle then, and remains so today, though on a higher level as still a living, breathing, a phenomenon that, in the 1960's, had elicited a mad rush of water to ooze from fire hoses manned by assiduous, if not sadistic, law and order protagonists that swept their fellow American brethren off their feet, and tossed them several yards from the offending fray.