Africa can mean many things to many different people. For some, it may bring up scenes from movies such as "Hotel Rwanda" or "Blood Diamond," depicting countries wracked by civil war and violence. For others, thinking of Africa may conjure up scenes from "The Lion King," complete with songs and talking animals.

When I think of Africa, I think of my friend Meleji. I met Meleji this spring during the three months I was spending in East Africa in the country Tanzania. I was staying at a community center in a rural area near the city of Arusha, a tourist hub near the Serengheti, the setting of "The Lion King," and Mt. Kilimanjaro, the highest mountain in Africa.

Meleji is a Maasai tribesman. The Maasai are a semi-nomadic tribe who live in northern Tanzania and southern Kenya. They have resisted outside attempts of modernization, and have largely held on to their traditional ways of life.

I met Meleji in a club called Maasai Camp, which is an odd name because there is nothing camp-like about the club, and few Maasai ever go there. His brother had told him about the club, and he decided to see it for himself.

The setting must have been an odd one for him. Between the loud, thumping music, and all the white people together in one place, he was apparently a bit intimidated. Yet who wouldn't be, if you had grown up raising cattle and goats in the quiet, spacious countryside?

So Meleji didn't stay long, though long enough for him to invite me out to his village the next day. I jumped at the chance to get away from noisy Arusha and the familiar, if comfortable, community center.

The bus ride out to his village takes a cramped and bumpy 45 minutes. When you travel in Tanzania, and outside of the United States in general, personal space is something you leave at home. With the many bus rides I took in Tanzania, I had many opportunities to get nice and cozy with the complete stranger sitting next to me.

We ended up having to walk the four miles from the village to his mud hut after our ride broke down. I didn't at all mind: the scenery was unbelievable, with lush green trees and rolling hills stretching out for miles.

We arrived at his mud hut, or Boma, just after sunset. I could have really used the sunlight to navigate the minefield of cow-pies and ant nests. Meleji, being unmarried, still lived with his father and his father's wives at the Boma. At 96 years of age, Meleji's father has had a prolific life, fathering more than 60 children with the help of his six wives.

We sat in Meleji's rectangular-shaped mud hut, and drank steamed cow milk and roasted corn. Having fresh food is not problem for the Maasai: the milk they drink comes straight from the cow, and the corn they eat is right off the stalk.

We sat and talked much of the night. He told me the history of the Maasai, and asked me questions like, "How many cows does it take to buy a Western wife?" Too many, I replied. After more cups of milk and ears of corn than I want to remember, we retired to our sleeping quarters, a cow-skin mat on the mud floor.

He woke the next morning fully refreshed and ready to go, and I woke feeling and looking about 50 years older. I had to get back to the community center, so I left before noon, although we had time to visit the market near his Boma.

I wanted to thank him for letting me stay at his place and for his hospitality. I knew he liked meat, so I decided to buy us some. I could not find any beef, so I had to settle for freshly slaughtered goat. I bought a leg of goat for about $2.50, had it boiled, and ate the goat leg out of the plastic bag it was given to us in.

I was heading back for the United States the next day, so we had to part ways. The few days I spent with Meleji were the highlight of my time and Tanzania, and seeing him is the first thing that comes to mind when I think of returning.