This Time for Africa

Educating the mind without educating the heart is no education at all — Aristotle

We are the world, we are the children, we are the ones who make a brighter day, so let’s start giving — Michael Jackson

Life’s antidotes come in funny packages. My now, rather confined life is annoyingly yet beautifully juxtaposed to my Ever-on-trot partner. My life-essential in health and in sickness.

From the period 2011 through 2015, tasked with developing the African market, he was giving the continent regular visits. One incident narrated then forms the cornerstone of today’s post. Tale-telling as was recounted.

This time It was Ethiopia:

Armed with the imagery of rickety, famine stricken, skeleton-y , ‘human- like’ figurines from this seriously underdeveloped country, I took to Google to brush up on a subject I long left in school. The search threw up some surprises. Ethiopia is the fastest growing country in Africa, with education and health care making the kill,among government priorities. Intrigued by my recent findings, I prepared to explore this picturesque Country.

Serendipity

Chanced upon a serendipitous break, we, a team of three, set out to explore the virgin beauty of Lake Assal.The surround-quite engulfed us.Standing by the desolate lakefront, the arresting stretch of turquoise in view, we soaked in the moment.The lilting harmony of water touching the shore, the travelling breeze, fluttering our attire stretched like rubber bands while starching our tresses, broke the quite, sporadically.We lost track of time…… And, a whistling murmur brought us back.

Tsamina Mina eh eh Waka Waka eh eh —

The murmur grew loud as we located a collection of hazy, little, dark silhouettes running towards us, forming sand clouds, as their feet touched the loose sand.The blurry, quivering vision took form, when the crowd pulled near.

A big group of scantily clad kids carrying big transparent packets, filled with whitish granules, swiftly fenced us, leaving no room for escape. Mis-adventurism ticked right, we instantly repented not having a local guide with us.The kids clamoured all at once, as we started to secure our back pockets, for obvious safety measures.

Speaking in their local dialect and using interesting sign languages, the boy-band communicated that a complete buy-out of the packets is expected from tourists like us.But our raised hands and rotating palm signalled unavailability of any local currency needed for the purchase.

Dark, disappointed eyes glued on our taut smirky visage, minutes passed in silence.

And then it happened.

A lanky teenager, seemingly the band conductor, slowly collected six of those packets, and handed them to us in broken english,

“This raw salt of lake. No find anywhere. Our gift to your.”

The thunderous, sand-cloud dissolved in the distance, as we stood there, holding our gifts, dumbfounded. This raw salt, unique to this region is a vital cog in the meagre hand-to-mouth existence of the locals.The packeted salt, we robbed the kids of, is actually their few days of earning, which they gifted us, believing we have ‘nothing’, without batting an eyelid.

Yes.

Gift from the Horn of Africa.

From kids to us.

Call it the perks of under development or investment in human indices.

Disturbingly silent, our vehicle wheeled out, as the stereo inside crooned: Tsamina Mina eh eh waka waka he ae e Tsamina mina zangalewa This time for Africa…..”

🎼🎼🎼

Thank you Dr Mehmet Yildiz Carol Price for the opportunity.