Months passed and cynicism crept in, how long would this last? No break, just day after day of seemingly endless operations. The squadron motto, 'Viribus Vincimus' (Strength Conquers), was said, in reality, to translate as 'Working Weekend'. There was no escape from the routine, even the squadron emblem signified that they had a firm grip of a sensitive part of our anatomy. African wars tend to be brutal, this was no exception, a brutality illustrated by the sickening actions of the Kenya General Service Unit towards the local Somali population. I began to silently question whether we should be there, actively supporting a government that condoned such conduct? "Ours was but to do and ....". My two and a half year tour of duty had been involuntary extended to three by the time I next flew back to Nairobi on rotation. Had I unwittingly become a latter day Flying Dutchman, destined to forever wander the plains of Africa until....... "Pack your bags son", said the CO as I stepped from the aircraft, "You're going home". Panic! Barely thirty-six hours before departure, no time for a final ' bash' or even a 'top up tan'. My meagre belongings thrust into a suitcase, a few quiet handshakes, a truck ride to Nairobi airport and my flight to London. Three years in Africa had altered my perspective. England now seemed cramped and crowded. Life had changed, the hideous M4 motorway marched across west London on concrete legs. The Beatles assaulted the eardrums. Mods and Rockers battled on the streets of Brighton each weekend, and friends once known now found little in common with this returning traveller. Six years later and the Kenya Government acknowledged our assistance with the award of the Kenya North-Eastern Region Campaign Medal. Mine never arrived, but I didn't pursue it. Many years were to pass before I returned once more to Africa. Nairobi was barely recognisable; colonial buildings replaced by glass towers thrusting themselves skyward. Uganda, that pearl of Africa, torn apart by countless wars and inter-tribal conflicts. Amboseli, Marsabit, Serengeti and Tsavo, game reserves where I once I found solitude teemed with zebra painted vehicles full of camera clicking tourists who, by their presence, spoiled that which they had come to see. Further south and independence had not treated Swaziland kindly, its towns and villages appearing 'down at heel' with shops and offices boarded and shuttered. I never went back again, perhaps I should never have returned at all, allowing its image to remain unchanged within my memory; for in common with so many who go searching for the gold of youth, I returned clutching little more than a handful of small change.