Coming Home

Yesterday I reentered Uganda via the Entebbe airport, arriving on a flight from Kenya. My friend Megan and I took a quick three-day vacation to Nairobi over the weekend and while the trip was refreshing and fun, it was surprisingly uneventful. Nairobi is more western than any city I've seen here in Uganda. But most surprising wasn't Nairobi's stock of foods I haven't had in six months or the fun I had relaxing at a beautiful conference center, it was how I felt when I stepped off the plane in Entebbe and breathed in the Ugandan air. The smell of burning trash and diesel fuel flooded my nose as I stepped out of the plane, onto the stairs leading to the tarmac. Warm twilight air greeted me and I immediately regretted the socks, sneakers, jeans and long sleeved shirt I had worn to ward off goose-bumps in Kenya. Familiar smells and warmth reassured me that nothing had changed in three days. The comfort I've felt upon arriving into the San Jose airport at the end of a long trip or long time away from the Bay Area rushed over me—I really was home again.

Over the weekend I said many times, "I live in Uganda." I even told some Kenyans that we were from Uganda. I knew they assumed that I wasn't claiming Ugandan nationality, but it was true in a sense—we'd come from there, and that was where we were headed. While Megan leaves in a few weeks, Kampala is my home for at least the next six months and I'm comfortable here. 'I'm used," as the Ugandans would say. I'm used to waking up at 5:30 a.m. to the morning call to prayer from a nearby mosque. I'm used to checking both ways 30 times before crossing the street to keep from being flattened by bus, bike, or boda. I'm used to being called "Mzungu" and watched as I walk down the street. I'm used to seeing women carrying bananas on their heads or selling fresh produce on the sidewalk. I'm used to seeing four-year-olds carrying six-month-olds on their backs. I'm used to (but not taking for granted) the beauty of the seven hills on which Kampala is situated. I'm used to my routine of work, working out, dinner alone or with friends, relaxing with a good book, going downtown to meet up with acquaintances, going to different churches every Sunday, running errands around the city, and taking Matatus or boda-bodas to the other side of town. I'm used to seeing men pushing awkward loads, like a bed frame, on a bike. I'm used to seeing children beg on the street, imploring me for money. I'm used to going places without directions and having to ask for help. I'm used to having no plans, just ideas. I'm used to throwing out any agenda I set because Africa just doesn't run on a schedule. This is normal. I'm used.

Pictures of my July adventures, like my friend Phoebe's visit, my hike in Eastern Uganda and my trip to Kenya, will be coming soon! Check back in the next couple of days!