“I try to avoid the kind of reportage that looks out of a railway window and notes down fleeting impressions with a rush of satisfaction. But I can’t.”
— Joseph Roth, The Hotel Years
Ka-dunk. The rhythmic bounce of the padded seats and powerful shock absorbers are momentarily disrupted by a notch in the asphalt beneath us. This registers as a small jolt in the consciousness of its passengers, but the Land Cruiser roars on undeterred. It’s sturdy engineering is so inoculated against such interruptions, that for the most part (and on good roads) the environment outside is largely reduced to a slide show for its passengers.
We’re in Tanzania on assignment and it’s the end of a long day in the field. A good day. A day of shaking hands, exchanging smiles and formalities.
A day of being welcomed to the region, welcomed to the community, welcomed to the village, welcomed to the work… welcome to my home, this is my son, this is my grandaughter, these are my worries, this is what I have achieved, I am proud, these are my challenges, have some tea, join me, have a rest in the shade, away from the bright sun, let us talk a while.
