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On a February day as my wife and I were crossing from Tanzania to Zambia, I found my pockets were heavy; I had forgotten to spend our remaining Tanzanian coins. Our driver was going to be busy with our passports and the immigration office for the inevitable hour or two. We were left to entertain ourselves, and to mingle with the throng of vendors selling everything from clothing to auto parts.

At this particular crossing, there were countless women dressed in traditional clothing clamouring to get close to our vehicle and show us their handmade jewellery. I generally don't like to accumulate things as I travel; I prefer to gather experiences. So, not wanting to lead any of them on, I decided to leave our vehicle and take a walk around the grounds of the immigration office, to buy a drink or something with the coins I had left. Some of the women chased me for a few feet, but then returned to other, more profitable customers.

Seeing as there was nothing I really wanted to buy, I decided to put these coins to better use. Among the sellers there were a few who were very old, and I wondered what their lives must be like, competing with all the younger women. I looked at the coins in my pocket and counted out the equivalent of about $4.75. Not a lot, but not insignificant here.

As I watched the women struggle for position, I managed to catch the eye of one of the oldest women in the group, and asked her to come over. She looked exhausted from the heat, and the competition. I placed all my coins in her hand, and then clasped her hand with both of my hands to tell her that it was hers. She opened her hand and looked to see what was there, then looked at me, confused. I gestured to indicate that I wanted nothing. She understood, and as she walked back to the crowd, she turned her head and gave me a beautiful smile, then disappeared. That should have been it.

About 10 minutes later, as I sat on the steps of the immigration office, she emerged from the dust and walked towards me. In the same way as I had asked her, she motioned for me to open my hand.

And then with both hands, she placed something in my hand and then clasped my hand strongly and smiled from ear to ear. It was a bracelet, made from a piece of thin wire, likely twisted with needle-nose pliers. All along the bracelet, there are alternating pieces of black and white wire insulation.

In itself, it's not remarkable at all. Yet it's still on my wrist today, a memorable souvenir worth far more than I paid for it.

Special to The Globe and Mail