There was a program on the CBC early this week about the shrinking snows of Kilimanjaro. The documentary took place in the town of Moshe, which lies at the foot of that twin-peaked mountain. During the year that I spent crossing the continent of Africa, I lived for three months in that very spot.

We had travelled down from London in a Volkswagen Kombi that we had bought in the U.K. We began our trip in September of that year and it was March by the time we crossed the border from Burundi into Tanzania.

We traversed the Serengeti Wildlife Reserve with some difficulty. At one point, the dirt road was so muddy that my partner got out of the van and, while I steered, he assisted our passage through the mud by pushing the struggling van a kilometre to where the road was a more solid surface. It was only later that we heard the stories about rogue elephants attacking vehicles and lions who occasionally snacked on unwary humans.

We had not drunk milk since September, as there are very few dairy cattle in western Africa. So, as soon as we came into the town of Moshe and saw a "milk bar", we rushed in and downed glasses of fresh milk. It tasted like heaven. That was our first moment in Moshe, our introduction to East Africa.

We purchased a few essentials from one of the grocery stores and went looking for a place to camp. As we were driving along a dirt road, we stopped to speak to a European lady to ask her if she knew of anywhere we could park for a week or so.

"There's no one living on the land where I keep my horse," she told us. "You could probably camp there as long as you like."

Her name was Dorothy. She had been born in Tanzania, in this very area to German parents, who were part of a family that had immigrated to Tanzania two generations ago.

They had owned plantations of tea and coffee and lived idyllic lives. However, when independence came to the country and Julius Nyerere became president, they took advantage of being offered British passports and moved to the U.K.

Having been born there, Dorothy found it extremely difficult to be away from this beautiful land. In order to have a reason to return to live in Moshe, she studied nursing in the U.K. and obtained contracts with the Tanzanian government to work in the local hospital.

It is hard to explain the power that Africa holds over those of us who have been there for any length of time, but let me try to tell you.

Unlike Europe or Asia, there are not large numbers of physical evidence of the history of the continent, although it is generally accepted that mankind was born there, in the Rift Valley, which runs through Kenya into Tanzania.

But there is a good and rich smell in the earth that one never forgets; there is the sweeping scenery where four kinds of weather can be watched from a single spot, scenery that finds a place deep in one's memory; there is the presence of the large animals which one sees very often, always with a thrill.

Africa never lets go; although I only lived there for a year, there has never been a time in my life since when I did not long to return.

The property on which we camped beside the barn where Dorothy's horse lived suited our needs very well.

It was that first day Dorothy invited us to dine with her, and it followed easily that we shared our meals with her every evening.

She lived simply enough in a small house. Her cook, a tall slim young man, Omari, came every day with the shopping to cook for her and now us. He taught me a little Swahili and a few recipes - I still make fruit salad in his way.

Then there was Arusha, Dorothy's horse, an Anglo-Arab, a gem, a treasure.

Bless her soul, Dorothy shared him with me. What a treat that was. Arusha was the type of horse that loved to be ridden. He would positively come to be bridled and saddled. He took me on rides through the Chukka villages, along the paths through the tea bushes, here and there ñ I was completely lost but Arusha always knew his way home.

It was paradise, pure and simple, for dominating everything was Mount Kilimanjaro.

The snow atop those elegant twin peaks shone in the sun; the power of the mountain was a reassuring and stupendous presence. What is strange about the area is that Kilimanjaro stands in a flat plain, without foothills, so, somehow, it is always a surprise.

Of all the days in the months that we lived at the foot of Kilimanjaro, the most amazing moment came one evening after dinner. We wandered out of Dorothy's home to walk back to our van, happy with each other's company, cheerful in that wholly satisfying way that a good meal delivers. We turned to look at "Kili" as it is called.

There was a full moon overhead, lighting the world in silver.

In the distance, the ground was dark but the snow on Kili gleamed in the moonlight, floating as it seemed, alone in the darkness.

It was magical.