In 1990, I was traveling through Tanzania with my family.  On a long drive up from Ruaha National Park in the Southern part of the country, we stopped at a gas station for petrol.  As is commonplace in Africa, children and hawkers crowded around the vehicle, curiously eyeing the mounds of provisions and, even more curiously, the blond children inside.  Hands reached out dangling seed necklaces, beaded keychains, the odd “would be” ebony sculpture in the style of Makonde.  “Hapana, hapana,” was the automatic response, not for lack of interest or empathy but simply to prevent hurt feelings and what could easily occur, a scramble for coins.

A skinny little arm angled up through the window and thrust a wooden statue in my face. Glancing quickly at the  figure of strange proportions and angles – who was not unlike the human one that proffered it – I said, “He’s ugly..he looks sick!”  The boy became very agitated.  “Shillingi moja,” he said – one shilling. We tussled verbally some more until I heard him say, “Adees! Adees!”

I looked at the figure which he dropped in my lap, and it suddenly clicked.  This man had AIDS, the “thin disease” as it was often called in Africa in those days.   I had not yet heard locals mention AIDS,  and this was the first time I saw it in East Africa’s vernacular art.

Of all my treasures collected around the world, this figure is my most precious.  And I often think of that little boy and what he must have already seen.