The country of Nelson Mandela, of Nadine Gordimer, of Steve Biko, of Desmond Tutu, and also of Gandhi. It was impossible not to feel excited as the aeroplane did a broad sweeping turn and lowered itself gently on to the tarmac. The airport at Johannesburg, or Joburg—as the locals call it, presumably to save breath—could have been anywhere in Europe. Men and women of European descent and clothing hurry along to catch flights or taxis, the boutiques overflow with expensive fashion products, and the aroma of good coffee wafts out of stylish cafes.

Upon arrival, another guest and I are driven to Glenburn Lodge, and the address sounds pleasingly exotic to my ears—Kromdraai Road, Muldersdrift. The drive takes nearly an hour. The roads, lined with the most magnificent jacaranda trees in bloom, are wide and smooth. One sees very few people on the streets and the houses, with red begonia, are well spaced with plenty of land surrounding each cluster. It is evident that, with 35 people per km (India has 350), one shortage that South Africa does not have to contend with is land.

Glenburn Lodge is far removed from the bustle of Joburg. Its lodgings and conference rooms are interspersed with brooks and wilderness; and from one's window on a quiet afternoon one can see springboks grazing, and, on lucky days giraffes silhouetted against a clear blue sky.