The wind had pressed down the grasses below, resembling the matted fur of a cat. A village had grown around the dirt strip that formed the airstrip, like villages at the edge of the sea. Children appeared from the circular mud houses, completely naked and caked in dust. The early morning sun reflected off the particles, giving them a white, ghost-like appearance. Everyone wore Western clothing, each probably only owning one piece as it hung on their body like a fishing net thrown over a pier.
Weston, the USAID expert, deplaned with his five pieces of luggage. I wondered how long he would stay. A large SUV pulled up, and a few Sudanese helped load the luggage into the back. One of them greeted him, either having seem him or his name before. He turned to take a picture of our plane, and I had an amusing mental picture of a white man taking a picture of me, surrounded by Sudanese children all looking at him as the oddball in their midst.
Why did this man bring all those things with him? What could he possibly need all them for? Were they gifts to others? Would he be seen again before the plane arrived to take him away? How long would that be? And where did all this money come from? Was he some rich king from afar? Where all white men kings?
These questions I asked myself, wondering what the children were thinking. Looking back at them, they had suddenly grown clothes, save one. He was the least self-conscious of them all. His eyes met mine and his smile cracked his head open, triggering a crack into my world and face. He began to dance, and I mimicked his movements. Turning to one another, he and his companions burst into hardy laughter. I smiled back.
The plane began to rumble, the tension mounting, twisting the metal craft into a spring ready for launch. Dust swirled around the Sudanese, and they shielded themselves by closing their eyes and turning their heads aside. When the dust had settled, we would be gone, save for the distant hum of our craft. The show was over, folks. Back to regular life.
Wait, where did our visitor go?
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