When we pulled out of the Namibian capital of Windhoek in an oversize pickup on an assignment, photographer Melanie and I met endless stretches of remote highway – and countless Namibians seeking a ride. Despite our abundance of space, we agreed we wouldn’t pick up anyone, even though we hated that choice.

Then came Claudia, Jennita, Uetuu, and Mbakondja. As we were filling up our tank ready to leave the remote town of Palmwag, a man approached us with a question: Could we take his children? The man turned out to be their uncle, and the children were trying to return to their school about 30 miles away after holiday break.

Mel and I looked at each other and nodded. The four threw blankets and pillows, backpacks, and duffel bags into the truck bed. It was only then, as they piled into the back seat, that I recognized them. I had been wandering around Palmwag the night before when they smiled at me from their one-room home. I had introduced myself and asked about school. They told me it took the whole day to walk.

Maybe that’s why their uncle approached us. Or maybe he just sensed he could trust two women with lots of extra space.

The kids chatted excitedly in their native Otjiherero and blew bubble gum. They politely answered questions in English about their favorite classes, foods, animals, and after-school sports. Two want to be doctors; another a lawyer; and little Uetuu, age 7, a police officer.

When we arrived, their friends ran up to hug them and helped them carry their bags across the dusty schoolyard to the rooms lined with bunk beds, where they’ll board for months at a time. As we waved goodbye, Mel and I looked at each other again and smiled – sad that kids like our four friends routinely face daylong treks to school, but glad our massive vehicle finally found its noble purpose.