Crossing the cracked earth still sparkling with white salt residue, we once again reached the narrow road. In a field, women and children were squatting, gathering up cow pies. Immediately, lots of happy children ran up to greet us asking in English “What’s your name?” One of the girls had a pile of fresh dung in her hand. We reached into our pockets and gave the children some little prizes including matchbox cars, candy, and whistles. From the looks on their faces, you would think we had given them treasures. A small reservoir of water, now nearly dried up, was a source of activity. Water buffalo cooled themselves. Birds with stilt-like legs stood in the shallow waters. Young men formed bricks out of mud. Older women carried bowls of dirt on their heads. In a small clearing between thorny Acacia bushes, a mother and some children gather twigs, placed them in piles near their campfire pit. Judging from the presence of some cooking bowls and a crude tenant made out of sticks and plastic, I presumed this was their home.
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