I am travelling now with Mary, Megan and Jami, three fellow volunteers. we spend the night in Keetmanshoop, a dry, dusty town in southern Namibia, then begin our journey, crammed into the Mary’s bakkie and head to Kalahari Gemsbok Park, in South Africa. Just outside the park we stop to visit some Bushmen that Jami knows. They are the last of the original Bushmen in the area, and their home consists of a few thatched huts that lean precariously next to some rickety tin shacks. We are greeted by a wizened old man (one of the last great chiefs) who sits cross-legged on the ground. He is tiny, wearing an old brown suit and a fedora over his thin skeletal frame. He speaks no English, but waggles his gnarled fingers merrily at us. Anna, his wife, leaps around, hugging us whenever we come near, and makes us all dance in a circle while chanting her name. Anna, it seems, is very happy to see us. She keeps crying, “Hello! Hello!” at the top of her lungs and grabs whoever is closest so that she can kiss us all over. She comes up to my waist but as she clutches my arm, she has surprising strength. Anna decides that we must take her to the park with us. She determinedly starts looking for her ‘orange bag’ to pack, but is gently dissuaded by her daughter. Anna then decides that the family will dress up for the visitors and bullies everyone into putting on their ‘traditional’ Bushmen outfits. When we ask if we can take a picture, Anna eyes glints and she says, “No, not until you come back with cigarettes and meat!!” For the first time in my life, I regret that I don’t smoke. Amidst much more dancing and kisses, we bid Anna and her family goodbye. Anna stands stooped, clutching her orange bag in one hand, and blows us a kiss as we pull away. Our dust billows around her, making her seem like a hazy dream.

Seville