MY TRIP TO AFRICA

In Tanzania, Africa, males who are friends hold hands. In Tanzania, Africa, children are told that white people suck blood. In Tanzania, Africa, it is impolite to laugh in the presence of one who has just done something which might be considered embarrassing to oneself.

So there I was in Tanzania, Africa on top of a high ridge overlooking a beautiful valley that resembled 'Land of the Lost' surrounded by thirty or more unquenchably curious and terrified children who were all staring with fascination and anticipation at us (I was with a friend). We had picked them up along the way to our lookout spot like a bar magnet trailing iron filings. As the trail wound through each village, they would come streaming out of houses from all directions yelling "Wazungu! Wazungu! (White person!)" and join the ever-growing trail of wonder. Any time I, wearing a beard, dark sunglasses and baseball hat, stopped and made any attempt to greet them and make contact, it was the same reaction. They would halt, cluster together at a safe, unreachable distance and stare in wide eyed anticipaterror. They were extremely excited, afraid and friendly all at the same time. You could tell they were having fun because they were all smiling but not a one of them could overcome their fear of this hairy wazungu enough to shake hands or even reply to my greetings.
We walked ten safe paces ahead as clusters of children pushed and stumbled and giggled their way around us. At one point, unable to resist, I just stopped, turned and lunged back at them making some horrible vocal sound. They dispersed, screaming in all directions. My partner did this several times along the way. Such actions probably did not help our efforts to make contact or gain their trust, but they were laughing as they ran screaming because they were having fun and it was a game and I kept thinking that after a while the fear would wear off and they would at least reply vocally to a hello or something. Nope.
We reached the top and after a brief period pointing out various villages and other sites of interest, we sat down on a large rock to just soak in the scene in silence. The children followed suit and there we sat, in silence, us looking out, them looking at us from a safe distance.
After a while of letting my mind wander over the hills, I became aware of the stare again. Though I continued to look out over the distance trying to appear as though I were ignoring their glances, I was all too conscious of the fact that I was beginning to feel a little like a safari animal. I remembered how we had come across the cheetahs looking out over the distant plain at a herd of gazelles slowly migrating toward them. We had pulled up as close as we could without invading or alarming them and just sat and stared at them as they, after briefly acknowledging and assessing us, returned their attention to the business at hand. Now we were clearly on the other side of that fence and though I was not altogether uncomfortable, I was getting a little sick of being stared at so intensely (the cheetahs finally got up and walked away after it became clear we had fouled their hunt). I started to think of some way these people might be reached. What could I possibly say or do to gain these children's trust? There must be something. I thought if I had a drum or something that sounded good, I could exchange some patterns. After all, they say music is the international language. Perhaps a musical medium of some sort might have helped here.
Then it came. A musical solution. An undeniably international vernacular. As if up from the very rock beneath me, it rumbled and stirred. I leaned a little to the right and with great abandon and added effort, I unabashedly shattered the silence. I then slowly turned my head toward the children and grinned a great grin.
It was the moment of truth. The little girl directly in front of me who was the oldest and clearly the one the other children clung to and looked to for support did not turn her face. She continued to stare straight at me. I could clearly see tears welling up in her eyes as she tried desperately to adhere to what she knew was the polite thing to do. All eyes were on her. Her lips were tight and the corners of her mouth just beginning to give way when I made a very slight, nasally, chuckling sound and then she broke. At first it was not clear whether she was crying or laughing and then it became clear that she was laughing so hard she was crying. Tears rolled down her face as she fell on the ground holding her guts. The others followed suit. It was one of the most amazing releases of tension I've ever felt.
From that moment on there was trust. We got up to leave and all the little girls who on the way up had been distant and silent were jumping and clapping, slapping my hands and running. They were slapping me five, high fiving, giving the thumbs up. There was much rejoicing and celebration in the air. The boys, who even at that age were trying to display more cool about the whole situation showed their approval by simply walking in a close group around us the whole way down - easily within reach and making no attempts to jump away when we would occasionally bump into each other stumbling over the same rocks in the trail. The bravest of them at one point simply walked up and took my left hand and we walked the rest of the way down the hill like that together. Friends by Tanzanian standards."