Dusty Hills

Winding up the dusty hills of Southern Tanzania, I finally see the worn sign to the local campsite I found in our battered travel guide. I signal to the bus driver and haul our bags off the cramped bus and into the scorching heat.

I am surrounded by bright green tea fields, women work the fields hunched over filling the baskets on their backs. The scenery soon turns into makeshift houses, mud and corrugated iron are the building blocks of choice and no house looks the same, back yards with stretched wire lines strewn with clothes drying in the hot breeze.

The local children quickly catch sight of me and a cheer goes up, ‘MUZUNGU!’ they shout, a phrase I know well as my pale skin attracts attention everywhere I go. I respond with a big grin and wave a friendly greeting as they rush to join me.

By the time I make our way to the campsite behind me is a trail of curious children all with shaved heads, bare feet and well worn clothes. A small knee high fence surrounds the campsite, chickens pecking in the dirt, a big white hall in the center with a locked door and a note cello-taped to the wood with a phone number which doesn’t work but saying they will be back.

Slumping on the bench seat in the shade of the veranda, the kids line up in front of me, eyes wide staring up as I dig around in my bag. I pull out a bag of balloons and meet confused looks.
I tear open the bag and select out a big red one, put it to my lips and start to blow. The kids shrieked with delight as I blow them up one by one and hand them out. BANG I turned to my left and saw a boy no older than three, his watery eyes wide with surprise. I tense as I wait for the tears to start but in a second he burst into laughter.

Still waiting... No bother I am on African time.

I pulled out my bright pink bubble container, As I exhale and a cascade of bubbles shower the kids and as the wind whips them into the air the children scramble clumsily, bumping into each other trying to pop the most. My container runs dry and I look up to see we have acquired more kids eager to see what’s coming next.

I rummage around for my final toy, a football. Setting up a somewhat orderly game of soccer was difficult and the kids start showing off their skills, a young boy scoring a faultless goal with a bicycle kick.

The long forgotten camp workers finally return from their errands, apologizing for the wait and unlocking the hall usher us inside.

No no no, I shake my head and smile, I have had the best day.