Crossing the Time Zones

I’m sitting here in the London Heathrow airport with another 3 hours of my layover to go. I enjoyed the luxury of having two seats to myself on the flight from Kampala to London and my first action of re-entry into the Western world—buying a cup of Starbucks coffee. As I have traveled over the last week my movement from one world to another has been gradual; thank goodness.

First, the trip from Bundibugyo to Fort Portal. We exited the blazing heat and humidity and after the jaw-rattling 3 hour ride, we arrived in the cool of Fort Portal. Well, relative cool anyway. We moved from the road that has sharp rocks jutting out by 6 inches to the smooth newly widened gravel road and finally to tarmac and speed bumps. We moved from the place where we make everything from scratch to a place where there are 4—yes 4!—restaurants available. Anna and I enjoyed a morning adventure walk through the tea fields wet with dew; a walk that was free of stares, yells, and other people altogether.

From there, Pat and I entered world #3 as we traveled to Kampala. A city able to offer just about anything I could want and yet inescapably African. Pat and I enjoy pedicures at a fraction of the American cost and travel through the legendary “jams” on a variety of transportation including motorcycles, matatus, and her own personal car. I go shopping and we both meet with a politician for lunch. His desire to improve the lives of those living in Bundibugyo is encouraging but the stories of behind-the-scenes corruption is discouraging. Being surrounded by a group of 15 white tourists in a small craft shop is overwhelming to me  and I hope my cultural tact is a bit better than theirs. I stifle the urge to yell “Mzungu!!” and am thankful I don’t have to travel in a herd in a white tour van.

From there, Pat and I enter the Entebbe airport, where the white face ratio increases yet again. I get on a plane and now find myself here—back in the 21st century, surrounded by the cultural diversity of Heathrow airport along with a good dose of consumerism. Hmmm. Currently, I feel mostly jet-lagged and frumpily rumpled next to fashionable London types.

It is strange to realize I sat in this same terminal 6 months ago, also jet-lagged and rumpled but also slightly terrified as I faced the reality of moving to an unknown and faraway land in East Africa. Now I sit here missing that place a bit already, excited to see family and friends, unsure of how unfamiliar my previous home will feel. I am praying for a smooth transition back into this modern world while realizing that I have changed and hoping that a large part of me will long to return to Bundibugyo. For now, I think I’ll finish my coffee, brush my teeth, and read my book until I take that final step back into the world of America.