A Blessed Escort

Bleep. Bleep, bleep. Bleep. Bleep, bleep. Augustine honks his horn in a rhythmic pattern. It means we are in Katwe. Children swamp the car singing. Girls swayed in their yellow skirts, some overlaid with traditional grass skirts - African tutus.
Dozens of children ran ahead of us. They sang native-language praise songs, some ran alongside our car. Eventually, two of our vans pulled ahead and passed us, their drivers eager to reach the compound. Augustine said, "I can't leave them. They've been waiting for us here since 2:00." It was 8pm. "No, please don't leave them," I replied. The children sang and performed their choreographed dances their ankle bracelet bells ringing in delightful unison. We hung out of the windows waving and photographing them. In about fifteen minutes we turned off the road onto a grass track where adults greeted us with smiles. Our blessed escort dispersed to their homes and we arrived at our home for the next 5 days.