(As written in my journal that day; grammar and minor edits only. Italicized portions are additions written after the trip.)
The further we get from Dar, the more we get stared at. Then Paul's famous shouts of "mzungu!" begin. In Iringa, this is a bit less - but in the small, dirty settlements by the roadside (how did they get there? why do they stay there?) the people gape at us. Frankly, it feels good. I feel so alien that it is a relief to be stared at like one.
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