It is a sun-drenched evening following another dark and cloudy cool day. The warm breeze feels amazing—it sweeps through my mind, clearing out all of the cobwebs of my brief afternoon nap. Jake is bathing in the light and wind, the birds are singing, the flowers are glowing, and I can hear the laughter of school children beyond the edge of the gate. I want to package this moment and open it every time I get frustrated or angry or sad….
We spent the day in Kampala yesterday, starting out under a heavy threatening sky…..Fading in and out of sleep as our vehicle cruised through the papyrus lined road from Masaka to Kampala, finally waking as we entered the outskirts of Kampala. Outside, the rain pounded down, creating rivers of thick red mud that rushed through streets clogged with the commerce of human life….
First stop was Garden City, a glittery “modern mall”, a mirage of development rising from the poverty that surrounds it…a watering hole where wealthy Ugandans and sunburned ex-pats go to bathe in the familiarity of well-stocked grocery stores, expensive boutiques, and coffee shops, where drivers of “safari vehicles” wait while clients sip on tall iced lattes and discuss the best way to “develop” the red-caked world beyond the mall boundaries, the best way to “bring God” to those less fortunate, the best way to “experience Uganda”…..I write this with disdain, but also with the guilt that comes with being one of those people enjoying every sip of my $3 iced latte while our driver searches for a quick, cheap lunch before he takes us shopping for souvenirs…..Sometimes, it makes me hate myself. But I am who I am and I am comparatively privileged and there is nothing inherently wrong about it. At least that is what I keep telling myself.
The rain clouds evaporated, revealing the intense familiar steamy heat of our first 2 weeks in Kampala and we moved on to the craft village to pick our way through mountains of “Ugandan crafts” and haggled over mere coins, experiencing annoyance as we are charged $.25 too much for one particular item or another. I still love the craft village in Kampala and the familiar baskets and masks and trinkets…I looked for little things this time like cheap scarves that reminded me of the colors of the country, ones that I can use to wrap myself in the imagery of a drive through the Ugandan countryside. I also enjoyed picking out small household items with Jake, knowing that these items will populate the space we decide to call home….
Hours passed while we lazed around like sleepy lions, sipping on exorbitantly expensive coffee and coke at a shady table at a fancy hotel until it was time for dinner…A feast of Indian we had been dreaming about all week in Kalisizo…
By that time, the sun had faded, taking away my serenity and filling me with dread. I knew we had a long drive back to Kalisizo and I have always been scared of the roads here at night, especially the road that runs between Kampala and Masaka, the original trans-African highway. I pretty much ruined the dinner we had waited all day for by my anxiety. The streets of Kampala were, as always, jammed with people….but moving around here at night is like moving around in an entirely different world. In the dark, dusty, smog, there is movement everywhere—people and bikes and goats and bota-botas and buses competing for space on narrow roads that are flooded with roadside vendors selling sticks of meat and vegetables and cell phones and shoes….there is so much noise and smoke and dust and chaos and people…so many people, so many kids….I feel as if we are not going to be able move through this dense human sea. We finally escaped Kampala and started out on the terrifying drive home. It was like an obstacle course in darkness—large, dangerous areas of broken road alight with the flickering headlights of old, rusted trucks weaving in and out of cars, disappearing in clouds of black exhaust so thick that they obliterated the world around us so that we were in total blinding darkness. Somewhere in the darkness, people were walking along the side of the road, dogs would run out in front of the car, and herds of cattle threatened to wander into our path. I alternately clung to the car and to Jake, and then I slept (it is what I do best in times of stress, waking only when my head hit the window after particularly large road bumps). I blocked out the rest of the drive and said a little atheist prayer when we pulled into the guesthouse driveway. Although I would not choose to be on the road late at night here, I am kind of glad we made the trek…..the landscape and life of a place is not fully known until you experience it at night.
Globe Napper 