I've always loved music and have often had a "soundtrack" of sorts to my life. Certain albums remind me of places I've been and different times in my life. Since coming back to the U.S., I have a theme song and since I'm feeling pretty exhausted and word-less tonight, here's the song. I recently discovered JJ Heller and highly recommend her other music too!
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.
Earlier this week I felt stretched thin and spent. I found myself thinking “I can’t give out anymore. I’m just too tired to keep giving and giving.” In this place, a day does not go by without several people knocking at our door making their requests. It can range from kids asking for playing cards to people needing money to start a new business or transport money to get to a relative’s funeral. It quickly becomes exhausting to sort through each one and know how best to say yes or no.
Anyway, on this particular morning I found myself asking my Father for strength and energy for the day, including its requests. And I threw in a little “and please surprise me with some kind of encouragement too”. I went to the health center and met up with my friend Bahati. After volunteering there, we walked back together and she invited me into her small shop where she sells everything from sugar to permanent markers.
We had a great time chatting and she offered me two Ugandan “pancakes” her sister had made. They were made from cassava flour and banana and then deep fried—definitely different from American pancakes. But they were tasty and we shared a mango juice box too. As I sat there, I realized the joy of receiving from a friend. I never thought I would be so happy to have someone offer me fried pancakes, free of charge!
Even more than the pancakes and mango juice, I think I was also especially blessed by a real relationship. A friendship free of demands or requests. I left Bahati’s shop encouraged and renewed to give of myself again and thankful for God’s answer to my quickly breathed prayer earlier in the morning.
With Bahati in front of her shop.
Today was my 22nd birthday; not the first birthday I spent away from home but the first celebrated in Africa. In many ways, a typical day but also made special by those who love and care about me. Just a few of the special parts of the day:
Waking up to fluffy pancakes made by Chef Anna. While meeting with Bundi Nutrition workers, Amy came to the door and sang a Happy Birthday solo. Opening a HUGE pile of cards that had been stacking up for weeks at the Bundibugyo Post Office; reminding me of the many loving friends and supporters I have in America. Discovering a waffle maker the Clarks had left behind, after Anna and I had been lamenting our inability to make waffles on Sunday morning. Birthday text messages from family at home; my 4 year old nephew suggested buying me make-up for my birthday and my 1 year old nephew distinctly said my name. Piling in the car, bumping our way to Bundibugyo, for a night out on the town. A true Ugandan feast at the Vanilla Hotel with more plates than could fit on the table. Good dinner conversation with team plus a new friend. A phone call from the Clark family, complete with a beautiful rendition of Happy Birthday as well. Chocolate cupcakes, a firework candle that shoots sparks which is probably illegal in the U.S., and yes, even plastic animals (a childhood cake tradition). To top it off, cheesecake made possible by the Jello company and the postal service delivering it from America. Beautiful gifts and a pair of elephant earrings to add to my growing collection. Piling back into the car, one last birthday phone call from Pat. A cool-ish breeze comes through the windows as we bump back to Nyahuka; Aidan’s little hand finds mine as he falls asleep in his carseat.
A great day thanks to friends and family in America and my new family here in Uganda. And what is the perfect end to a great birthday? A rat running down the hall while Anna and I hop and scream, shutting him into the back office and baiting him with a banana stuffed with rat poison. Bundibugyo Birthday complete.
