On the way to Sipi falls we passed through Graduation day at the nearby Islamic University. Proud graduates in gaudy outfits that peeped out from beneath their gowns were having their photos taken in portable photo booths resplendent in shiny back drop, flowers and tacky signage. Photographers were plying their trade by showing framed protratits of previous graduates to anyone of the hundred or so people that walked past. It was a colorful and busy scene and I felt like an observer to a totally foreign world.
The chasm between our world and theirs is wide. It can be heartbreaking to walk past such poverty and to repeatedly hear the appeals for sweets or money, to see young boys whose trousers are more holes than anything, whose shoes are broken plastic. By virtue of necessity our hearts form a thicker layer as we pass their mud huts where they tend chickens and goats or carry firewood to cook their one meal of the day. We live here so we cannot afford to be sad everyday, and we cannot fall into the trap of handing out shillings to each and every child. It is complicated; this us and them reality is something I face every day.