LET THE PANIC BEGIN

I know I’m a bit... different. And I’m not talking the “trendy” kind of different that’s cool. I’m talking the “weird” kind of different. I’ve known it since I was a youngster and would have spring cleaning day in my barbie doll house (even in the winter). I never actually played dolls like normal girls. I just cleaned and organized their living spaces.

My point being, is that I’ve got one week remaining. And while normal people might panic to leave the comforts of home, I panic to return to it. I guess that makes me feel weird. Even though I love so many things and people from home, especially Christmas... there’s nothing and no one there that makes me REALLY want to go back, not to say that there is anything or anyone here in particular either. It just seems like a hell of a lot of effort to travel another 2 days when I’m not ready to go. I am just getting oriented here. I’ve got my trusted boda boda (motorbike) driver, I know the boys on the corner, the internet cafe, the chapati place, where to get batteries, I can take the bus to Bugembe, Bujagali, Bugiri and Wakitaka without getting lost (major accomplishment), and I’ve become quite fond of Surj and Danyne, the owners of my guesthouse, and their 2 adopted daughters. They say it takes 21 days for your brain to get accustomed to a new process, a new pattern. Well it’s barely been 21 days, and I’m not sure that my brain is too keen on reversing the process. This trip has been short for me. But I’m going to have to put some faith in my own philosophy: Everything happens for a reason. That philosophy tends to be more annoying then comforting at times, yet nevertheless, I deep down do believe it. So then there must be a reason for me to return.



MISC thoughts

(each thought not enough for their own blog, but worth mentioning)

I miss dancing

I dont miss ECRI (Institute), but I do miss the girls

Everytime Rose plays Sade on the radio downstairs it makes me feel peaceful

The motorbike rides are scarier than Vietnam

I’m not fond of the African food

Posho has no nutritional value

The guesthouse I am living in has a Mexican restaurant, and I order guacamole everyday

The chef at the Mexican restaurant is Indian, and sings as he cooks

There’s something very fun about walking down the street in Africa and hearing the song “Africa” by Toto in a nearby stereo store... until it starts to rain

I’m not as tan as I thought, I’m just dirty

Robert (my motorbike driver) borrows my Ipod while I paint. His favorite songs are from e Bond’s World Mix

Tree frogs are VERY loud

African Queen is the favorite song of the kids of El-Shadai

I’m thankful for Danyne who sat with me on the porch when I was sad, and especially thankful that she didn’t ask why

Smells that I will associate with Uganda are burning trash and hibiscus flowers. Sizzling fajitas will remind me of the guesthouse

The night sky is as beautiful as the night skies from Jaco beach in Costa Rica. Orion follows me wherever I go

I had an Indian dinner last night with 6 members of the US military special forces

There are 600 schillings (25 cents) in my pocket. It is enough for 15 minutes at the internet cafe.

At the internet cafe, it takes 2 hours to upload my photos onto a blog

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