The worn wheels of the green Land Rover groaned in protest as they slowly climbed their way up the rocky hillside with Dik-Diks scattering into the scraggly Acacia bushes that our guide Nissia cleverly described as “Unfriendly plants.” For the hundredth time my feet left the dusty jeep floor as I flew into the air and got jostled back down to the blanketed seat with the rest of my family. We kept going up and down until it became a vibration we were used to. Next to the worn path a herd of cows grazed on the rough ground scrounging for a bite of something to eat while the herder’s hand shot up to wave as we passed and a large toothless grin spread across his dusty face and I immediately raised my hand and vigorously waved back until he became a dot on the horizon. We were currently on our way to a isolated Samburu Village in the Kenyan wilderness during the summer of 2010.

The gravel road seemed to evaporate and immediately we were on burnt orange dirt filled with crevices that flung us up into the air and back down again. Suddenly, on the side of the road, small circular huts made with mud started appearing with wooden sticks making a fence around it. As we approached, little kids no older than 5 sprinted out of the huts grinning their wide grins and waving their hands in the air as they chased our jeep down the road. I smiled along with them and leaned out of the open side of the jeep and waved back until they too were lost in the distance. Honestly, one of my favorite parts of this trip was the people waving because they seemed so friendly and compassionate every time they waved even though we were complete strangers. We bounced over the land for ten more minutes and we passed more and more huts, each with little kids dressed in dirty rags running out to wave. My favorite was when they waved with both hands in the air and jumped around at the same time and shouted, “Jumbo, Jumbo, Jumbo!” like we were long lost friends.

Finally, a large circle of sticks appeared on the side taller than us and the jeep idled to stop in the shade of a large tree. We jumped out of the vehicle and stretched our arms and legs and surveyed the land in front of us. Suddenly, I heard a scratching noise against the tree and saw about 10 goats climbing on the tree as if they were monkeys. They bounded off and landed at the base of the tree and climbed a little again and again. I had never seen a goat climb a tree but I guess there’s a first time for everything. Out of an opening in the stick wall, a man dressed in vibrant red came out covered in cloths and beads he spoke loud and with pride as he told us that he would be our guide to show us the village. He motioned down the slope next to the village wall and he took off so we followed down into the shrubbery.

He showed us ways they did many things including hunting, fighting and how they set up beehives to get the honey. He taught us how to shoot bow and arrows even though I did horribly both times along with the rest of my family. We all laughed about it as we walked back up the hill and into the actual village. Immediately a line of women started singing a song and took the hands of my mom and me as we joined into the dance. I was extremely nervous I was going to mess up the beautiful dance and held my breath the whole time. They too were dressed in vibrant colors and patterns and lots of beads. Little children came out of huts curious about the new visitors. A mother sat by the fire cleaning a milk barrel with fire and on her back, a baby wrapped in cloth clung to her shoulders as flies buzzed around their faces. This experience was so different from anything I had seen before and I realize now how lucky I am. But I also realize how even though these people didn’t have as much, they were just as happy as we are. This village will always hold a special place in my heart and I will do everything possible to get back.