Orange or Mandarin

Half of the town seems to have gathered to see us off. There are so many, they completely fill the frame provided by the rear window, even spilling into adjacent but less photogenic ones. As the bus takes off they grow smaller. A silent fade-out, the crowd of smiling faces, waving hands protruding from chuba's, the glittering reflection of cool stone sunglasses local youngsters wear, until finally only little specs of those vibrant, crazy colors the women don are visible, standing out against the dreary, desolate plains of Gansu.

I flashback to our arrival. It seems we've left civilisation behind quite some time ago. "In summer my homeland very beautiful!" explains our young guide Tenzin enthusiastically. But now no grass, no flowers, only the bitter cold and the biting wind sweeping up grimy snow. Not a very welcoming place, or so it seems.

Tenzin hasn't been home for over two years. He lives in Lhasa, studying Tibetan medicine. His family has been waiting eagerly for the return of their prodigal son. They solemnly put kathas around his neck, kiss and hug him gently. Only after this they discover he brought company.

We met in Xiahe, near the Buddhist monastery of Labrang. Our evening ended with his unexpected request to join him on a visit to his Tibetan hometown. We left early next morning, with no way of letting his family know of the strangers tagging along. "No problem!" said our ever cheerful guide.

We are hauled out of the taxi. We are reeled in like celebrities. Kathas thrown around our necks, hands are shaken and firmly held on to and finally we are ushered into a little shop, past the counter into the tiny living space. We sit on a couch, our hosts busy preparing a festive welcome, one of many to come. Tenzin smiles relaxed and says: "You see? Everybody happy to see you. No problem!"

The evening of our goodbye feast a more solemn Tenzin, not the eternal optimistic daredevil who dragged us over frozen plains, motor wheels spinning over icy river crossings, sings us songs of freedom that reflect hope, but also betray a fear he’s so adapt in hiding. Being one of the town’s only two to study at university he is hell-bent on setting an example. “If I succeed, people will say: “Look at him, you must study hard!” If I fail, all will say: “Look at him, study so hard, for what?”

Final fade out, Gansu in turmoil. I still hear in my mind our exit music, the soundtrack to his life, a song of hope and freedom.