almost a distant memory. How often do you, as if by accident, in November of three years ago. The color of the people, stalls and small shops along the street. And then Mumbuni, this farming village just twenty kilometers from the town, reached along the road of red earth inerpicantesi on hilly areas, among rocks and glades, where life is just existing. I stayed there a month, then we went back. It 's so far away, now! But nothing is lost in memory. The red brick house with no water or electricity, the wood on the fire for the ugali or chapati, the violent downpours that keep you awake at night and that humble bed, behind a blanket hanging by a thread as a kind of wall . And, above all, the hospitality of the poor people, who welcomed me as a Messiah, but also the small tricks to retain and use, marriage proposal included. I'm in Italy now, but has no time nor place, nostalgia.
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