Kudus and Kudon'ts.

Looking for something else.

Uis, Namibia – Topless Himba women, painted with butterfat and ochre, stand roadside – thick red dreadlocks falling from their heads.

Scattered amongst them, children with impish grins and loose checked blankets or loincloths scramble over a crooked tree branch. One sports a thin, closely cropped wedge of hair that courses over the centre of his head. A few conical and thatched huts lay conveniently behind tables of handicrafts.

Tourists flow from a line of trucks, shutters clicking at bare-bottomed children. Fifty Namibian dollars per photographer, please.

Billed as authentic, I can only imagine why, with countless miles of open space behind, we will pass several tiny villages at the side of the dusty highway. Uncomfortable with the spectacle being orchestrated I, and a few others, stay behind.

Privilege is very real. To me, it’s just too much of a human zoo: 'natives on parade.' This isn’t the way I wish to support the local economy.

To each their own, I suppose. I'll just watch the kudu and giraffes.