I live in a town called Amanzimtoti, which is a Zulu word meaning "sweet waters." The town is about a 15-minute drive from Durban, which is on the east coast of South Africa in a province called Kwa-Zulu Natal. My husband and I are originally from the UK, and our families and friends are spread throughout the world. I have lived in South Africa since I was eight years old; my husband came here when he was 27.

This continent is a place of great upheaval. AIDS is a major threat to the future, and starvation is very much in existence. There is a great deal of violence amongst the different sects, tribes, and races, and like the Middle East, problems seem to be based on religion and politics. And yet in the midst of all this exists another side of South Africa: its natural splendor. I never cease to marvel at it through my window.

At the moment, it is the beginning of spring here, and the days are absolutely beautiful. The sea is a never-ending source of delight -- so moody, sometimes as calm as a lake, sometimes terrifyingly powerful -- and the color is never the same. It can change by the hour from almost navy blue to a grim grey.

Looking at the sea always reminds me of our winter. The yearly migration of all the sea birds and sea creatures heading north away from the Antarctic is quite a site to see. The "Sardine Run," as it is locally known, is the time when literally millions of sardines (they are actually larger than an average pilchard) seem to head towards the shores of southeastern Africa. Of course, all the game fish -- sharks, blue marlin, and the like -- follow suit.

The "non-fish" -- the dolphins (in schools of hundreds) and the whales -- are loveliest of all. The dolphins seem like such fun creatures; they literally jump for joy. And the whales are simply awe-inspiring. From our house, you glance out to sea and suddenly spot this spurt of water, and the next minute another, and then the whales surface and seem to splash their tails. The enormity of these creatures is absolutely breathtaking no matter how many times I see them.

In the middle of all this, the gannets (gull-like birds) dive into the sea to catch the sardines and get so full that they end up in thousands, just floating together. They look like huge white islands, and as the sun sets, it just seems to pick out these white masses of birds on the sea.

All the birds I see -- the yellow weavers, African robins, tiny glossy-colored manikins and, in summer, European swallows -- are amazing. But other than the Malachite kingfishers, which love to swoop through the yard, most impressive are the ibises (their heads appear in the Egyptian tombs as the heads of some of the Pharaohs). The ibis is a very large bird with a very long pointed beak. We have a family of four who wander around the shallow pool of water in the yard. The fascinating thing is that this one ibis leaps in and swims right across it. But not being "waterproof" like ducks and other water birds, it suddenly realizes it is sinking and, with great flaps of wings, lifts itself out, only to shake itself again and get back in for another swim!

The view out my back window reminds me not only of this country's diversity and richness, but also of the glimmers of hope I witness here. In the midst of the suffering, I've been inspired by very impoverished families who have battled and succeeded in finally seeing their sons or daughters graduate from university with degrees in medicine and education. I am amazed when these sons and daughters then go on bringing enthusiasm to those children in this country who have only ever imagined a bleak future. When I reflect on their accomplishments and how they will work to make life more hopeful and beautiful for the generations that follow them, I gain a whole new perspective on the view from my house, the birds beyond my window, and my own place in this complicated world.