I’ve spent a lot of time lately staring at the big map of Africa on my wall, retracing journeys and sorting through memories.

I’ve tried to share these experiences through this column and my website, www.themarksperience.com, but there’s no way to fully convey my time here without kidnapping you and doing it all over again.

Don’t think I won’t do it.

As my last month in South Africa starts to wind down, I’ve been trying to figure out how this place has changed me.

At OU, I was “obsessed” with Africa for about two years. I studied its countries, donated time and money to its causes, convinced others to do the same and spent uncountable hours showing documentaries, trying to spark interest in this continent.

Then I came here.

I find myself still dedicating time to most of the same things I did before, but with a new motivation.

The funny thing is, I can’t find the words to explain this motivation.

It comes down to things that can’t be recreated.

It comes down to the intangibles; conversations, relationships, aggravations, jokes, arguments, joys and sorrows.

Full experiences can’t be quantified by words, or as hard as I try, even videos.

My experiences are my own, and no matter how many times you watch my videos or read my writing, they will still mean immeasurably more to me than they will to you.

But the extrovert in me still wants everyone else to have these experiences, too.

This predicament has left me with two options

The first involves time travel.

Although I could probably build a time machine and kidnap a few of you to relive these past months with me, building one big enough to fit more than four of you is just unreasonable.

Think of how many flux-capacitors I would need.

Only one option remains.

I have to convince you to come to Africa.

Now, I don’t want the plane tickets to sell out too fast, so I’m going to start with the negative things to weed out the bandwagon folks.

The Internet on this continent is awful. Even the fastest is slow compared to what it is like at Panera Bread.

Free wi-fi is unheard of. There’s always a catch, and if you aren’t paying for time at an Internet café, you are paying for the amount of megabytes you can upload or download.

Forget YouTube. The fastest Internet café blocks it.

Also, no one ever shows up on time for anything here, and just when you start to plan on things starting late, they start on time.

I just missed the first few minutes of “Quantum of Solace” because we showed up on African time.

If only we had driven there like 007, in his speedboat, (will someone please tell me how he got into the boat and why?), it would have been different.

If you want to travel across the continent, expect crammed mini-buses, super-crammed old charter buses, bicycle taxis and riding in the backs of trucks.

My most recent back of the truck experience featured about 14 people with one wet blanket and hail hitting us in the face.

Here, there is no football, or at least not real football.

There’s some game where they kick around a ball, but I mean, yeah, enough said.

Ughh, this place is so aggravating.

(Pause)

Did, it work? Did you stop reading?

Did I make Africa sound annoying and uncomfortable?

That lack of football comment had to get you.

Hopefully, my rant scared away the faint of heart.

OK, now that it’s just those left reading, you don’t have to worry about being followed to Africa because it’s “cool.”

Here’s the rest of the story.

Yes, the Internet is slow, but who cares?

What better way to break your obsession with Facebook than having to pay for slow access to it.

Less Internet means more time talking in person. It’s pretty awesome.

African time is quite nice. You can’t be late when everyone is late.

Life is a lot less stressful when you just sit back and let things happen in their own time.

Travel across Africa has to be the greatest thing ever.

It’s incredibly cheap, and there’s nothing in the U.S. that compares to being on a mini-bus with 22 people, some babies and blaring house music.

One time in Malawi, this guy hung his fish on the bus windshield wipers for the journey.

I might start fishing just so I can do that.

And that ride in the back of the truck? It is something I will never forget.

In conditions that would make most Americans cry, the large smiling African women in the back were leading us in song, laughing the whole time. The painful hail was an afterthought.

In Africa, joy prevails.

I do miss our “football” a lot, but the “football” they play here — soccer — is pretty darn exciting too, and it is the whole world’s game.

They also have rugby, which is really intense, and cricket, which is...I have no clue.

Maybe you have wanted to come to Africa for a long time, or maybe you just need to break a Facebook addiction, but as my Nigerian roommate would say eight times a day, “You are most welcome.”

Consider this an invitation to share my experiences by creating your own.

I’ll give you a bear hug if you get here before I leave.

Mark Nehrenz is a journalism junior. His column appears every other Friday.