It was a steaming hot Tanzanian afternoon that drew François and Neil to the oceanfront. They, like many other townspeople, lounged in the shade under a row of palm trees. The waves were coming to the shore in a caravan of lines, escorted by thundershowers that could be heard miles away. The sky darkened and the gentle sea breeze whipped itself into a wild frenzy as the storm approached. Beachgoers eagerly anticipated the imminent downpour, which would bring relief from the day’s ferocious heat. Black, white, yellow skin yearned for this comfort.

As the rain arrived, Neil and François moved out from the trees so that their bodies would be directly bombarded with the cool drops of fresh water. Their bodies were briefly freed from the unbearable heat. It was not long before the sun reclaimed its domain and set their faces aflame once again. François was darkened more, his face looked like the night, and Neil was olive tanned and his color turned redbrick. Only the sockets of his eyes, protected by round sunglasses, remained white.

Neil and François were middle aged, but they hardly looked it. They are both fond of saying that the African soil has given them youth, and their work has vitalized their souls. François returned to his native Tanzania two years ago to start a school, bringing with him his best friend, Neil, an artist of sorts transplanted from Idaho farmland.

How did these two lives of such different origin, merge so effortlessly? The catalyst was Cambridge, Massachusetts, a town that was native to neither of them, but whose international population, academic and cultural focus, and healthy supply of coffee shops, encouraged just this sort of interaction.

Occasionally, while returning from the oceanfront in the early evening, Francois and Neil reminisce about Cambridge and the others they knew there.