Tanzania

I've visited the Olpopongi Maasai Cultural Village north of Arusha in Tanzania a few times. It's lovely to be recognized by these warm-hearted greeters who noticed when I change my hair style.

I've shared tea with "Bibi" (grandma) who readily smiles for a camera, but doesn't speak a word of English. Bibi was 82 when I first met her in 2010.  When I returned in 2012, my translator told me said she was 87.  I didn't ask at my next visit.

On my first visit, I watched the locals slit the neck of a goat and bleed it to death, catching and drinking the blood without sharing. We had goat for dinner, then danced around a bonfire like we all came from the same parents. We sang until the fire burned out. We taught them Kumbaya and they taught us Sigogo. 

My sleeping quarters were inside a traditional elephant-dung hut with a bed of branches covered in goat skins, and a clean sleeping bag.

Our guide Freddy walked us away from the village on day two, over dry ground for a bush tour to show us ant hills and plants that any medicine man would covet. He slashed spiny branches from our path and made spear-throwing look easy. He insisted I try my hand at throwing his spear, then in the sweetest voice you've ever heard, said the village would starve if they had to rely on my hunting skills.