I am happy to see tourists walking through our community. They do not disturb us, and the development money they bring helps the school buy materials.
I run a campsite in town. My wife cooks for visitors together with other village women. Most of those women also work as nurses or teachers, but my wife and one other woman have more time and therefore do most of the cooking.
When a large group arrives, the women share the income. If only two visitors need a meal, the person who cooks keeps the payment. This system allows several households to benefit.
Tourism income reaches our family through the campsite and cooking, but it also reaches the whole village through the school.
We are building a new house, although tourism is not paying for it. The money comes from our children, who moved to cities for better jobs. Many people—especially men—leave for the same reason.
Tourism provides a good living for those who find work in it, but there are not enough jobs to prevent migration. Our house therefore tells two stories: local tourism creates some opportunity, but nevertheless, wages sent from the city are still needed to support much of village life.
Children enjoy meeting people from different countries and quickly copy their language. They now say jambo like tourists, when the proper local greeting would often be ujambo, or shikamoo when addressing an elder. They also say “bye-bye.”
A tourist may simply say jambo, but our children should still learn that greeting an elder with shikamoo expresses respect.
I do not expect visitors to speak our language perfectly. Their simplified greetings are friendly. My concern is that children remember the deeper meanings within our own language while enjoying contact with outsiders.
Tourism has brought useful income and enjoyable encounters, but the house rising beside us still depends on children who had to leave—and even a small greeting shows how easily tradition can drift.