Pride Rock

Sitting here atop Pride Rock, I am embarrassed and ashamed I cannot capture the true beauty of this place with my camera. The sheer magnificence of it all is simply amazing. The nearby waterfall provides a steady backdrop sound, accompanied by birds and the leaves falling from the great tree that now protects me. The glint of tin roofs off in the distance look light stars in the night sky. The green surrounds me, other than this stone that keeps me clinging to earth. Off beyond the green are Lake Victoria and the mountain range of another side of this world. I can see moneys crossing the falls, tiny people looking up to this place. This is as close to God I have been in a very long time. Now silent, I am alone on the rock. Usually it is filled with children and our students, loudly chatting, quietly reading, braiding hair, taking pictures and enjoying each other’s company while they share this edge of our earth. Jutting out from just behind the clinic, there is nothing below for a great distance. You can feel the peace and sturdiness of this place. It is splendidly breathtaking and every good descriptive word I have ever learned has fallen from me here. This is something I so want to share with you all, but fall far short. Perhaps you can visit this place yourself and look out across this corner of the world. And find peace.

We all get away at some point to go to this place. Later in the day I hear our “dignitary” Joell tell about her experience on the rock. As she went there for some quiet time alone, a small boy approached her. After a little chatting she asked the boys’ name and he replied – Nelson Mandela. I guess if you had to share a rock overlooking Africa with someone, not a bad choice.

I did get to venture off the rock, and down a side path to take a closer look at the waterfall. Along with a small group of students taking a well-deserved break from clinic work, a dozen or so children soon joined us as well. They would race past us, then return to keep close as we made out way down and up over the rugged terrain. The children would jump across large gaps of rocks, or scamper up the fallen tree without the fear I had. At one point I took a break and felt a small hand on my back, picking away briars than had grabbed hold. It seemed any time I would stop to enjoy the scenery, or just catch my breath, some little one would be behind me picking away. It was a great climb up to see the muddy waters falling to the earth and we got to venture around this place until the call of duty had us return.

The crowd of people seeking help at the clinic begins to grow longer as the workday grows shorter. A rain storm approaches and washes off the plateau and valley as well. All the patients crowd into the church for shelter and care. In the corner, up front is Dr. Lisa Baker, known to the community as Mama Lisa. She is planted in a blue plastic chair as she has been for the past days, looking over each and every patient. She is surrounded with students, taking notes, fetching medicine and offering their help as well. They hang on her every softly spoken word. She sits at a doorway with her back to Pride Rock, so to have the breeze on her as she works though the day and litany of maladies. She is a fixture in her spot, as the faces of her helpers come and go. The sun is to her back as well, casting her students in much better light. She knows many locals have come for help, and are waiting; yet she spends precious, caring minutes with each and every one that is brought before her spot in the corner. She will often go without taking a break for lunch and while only less than 50 yards from the edge of Pride Rock, she has yet to find a moment in her days of working the clinic to enjoy the splendor of the view. I am truly stunned to discover that in the two years she has lead this clinic project she has never gotten a chance to look out and admire the world from the plateau. She is just focused on the hundreds of patients she sees while up here and has no time to look down.

The students take note and offer up similar comfort to all who come. It is amazing to see all of the caregivers at work without the aid of running water or electricity. They seem to understand the impact this visit has on this community, but are always stunned by the determination, generosity, graciousness and faithfulness of the people seeking their treatment. I think we all come to realize this is a special project and a special place.

Back at Pride Rock I have visited several times to share in the celebration of togetherness and the solitude it provides. I nearly lose my trademark blue flap hat here, but some children find it on the rock and return it to me promptly. I see students hugging children and sharing a final view over the world before the clinic is closed and we all must leave. I am not sad about leaving here, as I feel I can always return. I will always remember seeing the beauty of the valley at my feet. I will always have the security of the rock under me.

My final day on the plateau I hope to take one last visit to Pride Rock and perhaps a get a souvenir. My plan is to chip off a small part to bring back and keep forever. But the time slipped past. And although my pocket is empty, my heart will always hold on to this magic stone.

On our final drive down, back to earth, we take in the usual custom of the daily parade we host. Our collection of somewhat whiter than we are vans pass slowly downs the road to the valley, inching out way home. People, especially children, will call out with the sweetest sounding greeting the region offers. “HOWAREYOU?” (And to get the full effect, end the ‘you’ with a higher pitch and greater emphasis then the other words crammed together. It also helps to use a singsong approach and have your heart filled with wonderment and glee. Go up an octave if you can.) And the wave is a thing of beauty. Some like the simple single hand wave, but many go for the much-more-excited two-handed wave, like they just washed and are drying their hands in the air. And just to be fair, we don’t exactly blend in around here. Mzungu is the name we are given and if I ever forget I am a pasty white guy, I will just drive up here again to be reminded. We must really look like the circus coming through town. The look of surprise on their faces is always wonderful as we cruise past. And when I say cruise, I mean the following things typically pass us: walkers, bikes, each and every boda boda, running water and I once even spotted a butterfly go past us as we tried to go over some rocks. Most places I ride my dirt bikes aren’t this rugged. But tonight we are headed down this path and the children are running from their homes to give this parade a final salute. You can see the smiles coming at you while we creak along over another muddy patch or rocky pass. I thrust my hand out at every opportunity to say my goodbye to the wonderful people of the plateau. The sun is painting its final strokes of light across the canvas of green below and Lake Victoria is shimmering. Pride Rock hangs above us now, as it has for the millions of years before. And my parade moves on…

Walk this way

After making our way to the local school to help teach the daily lesson, I am approached by some school officials. One is insistent that I must leave immediately, as there is something very important I MUST photograph. She dispatches two young boys to be my guide for this trip and they lead me off into the woods. We walk past some goats. And some cattle. And some huts and simple homes. We stay on a path that winds from tiny community to tiny community. Our conversation is quite limited, as I ask some simple questions of them and they giggle and smile back at me. After about 15 minutes of walking they slow their pace and every once and awhile I am nearly leading, with no idea on where we are headed. We see people washing their clothes. We see all sorts of plant life. All sorts of terrain. Occasionally we spot children running out to see our three-person parade. We see lots of nothing. And still all they can muster is an occasional giggle. About one half hour into our journey I begin to ramp up my useless interrogation of the pair and now ask if they know where we are going and when we might arrive. Puzzled looks and silence, except for the sounds of our plodding footsteps through this jungle.

I began to replay the conversation at the school. Why would I be lead off and how could these two miss so much class time on my behalf. WHERE ARE WE GOING?!?!?

And then I heard the drums.

Off in the distance, but distinct and growing louder you could hear the steady beat from just beyond us. Each puddle we jumped over, every step we took brought us closer to the source of this sound. My tiny tour guides now began talking among themselves and laughing much more than before. For some reason one takes off his belt and hands it to the other, who now puts it to use. I have no earthly idea what is going on and begin to shoot photos just in case I must find my way back alone.

And then I hear the yelling.

Much closer now, I can hear a crowd of people are soon to be in our path and they are yelling. Chanting. Along with the drums, now clear to me. The rhythm is strong and steady, and I begin to have some wild thoughts I begin to blame on my malaria medicine. After walking for nearly an hour and finally on a road of sorts, where are they taking me… so close to lunchtime?

You might imagine that if I had seen a plume of smoke I would have just started running in the other direction. I sort of imagined I would come upon a site with hungry locals and one tasty tourist.

Instead, just beyond our last turn, drums beating fast and furious and loudly, shrill yells filling the air, we approached the tiny town. My guides are sent away when we approach a women looking to be in charge and I am to go to the main office for my instructions. There I find drummers drumming, dancers dancing and a small gathering lined along the roadway. At the office I am told that some dignitaries are coming to visit and I am needed to document this grand occasion. As I stand there still a bit confused (but relieved that I am now off the menu) I see a little girl holding a little pillow with some little scissors on it. And notice a woman stinging up a yellow ribbon across the bright blue door before me.

Yes, it now seems oh so clear. I walked for about an hour just to be called to the greatest event of this community. I was needed so urgently to photography their ribbon cutting.

Turns out the “dignitaries” were Dr. Able with the Baylor Pre-Med group and incoming visitor and prior traveling companion Joell, who I left behind just a day before in Nairobi. After she snipped the ribbon (and yes, I made a photo of it) we had some cold drinks offered to us (Fanta and Coke) and enjoyed the singing, dancing and joy of celebration for their safe arrival.

I just hope they can find someone else to shoot photos of their next party…

Thanks for listening!

Some might get the impression I am on vacation. (And I do enjoy how they call it holiday here. Sounds so very festive!) But if less than five hours of sleep daily, tours of slums, meeting street kids and orphans AND shooting the same number of photos as I would at a BIG football game (The sound you just heard was Matthew gasping, knowing he will eventually be stuck editing through all this…sorry) are your idea of a vacation, then I am on your vacation. Don’t get me wrong. I totally and completely understand I am working. This is not the first time I share an airport waiting room with three orange traffic cones, alone in my lime green plastic seat. Waiting. Alone. I love the chance to go where I go, see what I see and share. I just go a little crazy when someone (and I know it is only about one or two people) thinks I am just sitting in the garden, typing away between massages and trips to the sauna. Most all of you know this is hard work.

Just give it a few hours and once again I will be thrust into a crowd, somewhere. But before sunrise here, the traffic is manageable and the lines are short. And I like the moment of silent. Sometimes it is better than sleep.


And I appreciate all your love and support as I hit the halfway mark of my “working” journey. Because if I didn’t have this blog, I would be talking with the traffic cones…

The past few days have been every cliché I have every heard. Overwhelming. Life changing. Deeply moving.

So I will feel free to use some more. Our tour of the Kibera Slum was a total assault of my senses. You don’t quite realize you are standing on a heap of trash until you look down and see a collection of shoe soles, zippers, mud, human waste, waistbands from underwear and a litany of other items under your feet. The earth is about five feet below this I can only imagine. The smoke and smells overload your mind, wondering what each may be coming from. And the sights are too many. I blink more just for a tiny microsecond holiday away from this place I am now in.

Our host takes us to his home. The journey to his place takes us off the main path, behind the leaky water collection system and along a tiny stream of running “water” and on a trail I can imagine goats having a hard time negotiating. We duck under the hanging laundry and past the neighbors calling out at us. We walk past the small wooden door covered with bar locks and into the home, lit in red and green like Christmas. It looks more like a fallout or storm shelter, with just enough room to keep you safe during a passing threat. But for this family, this is home. Their furniture collection is very brief. Their only real comfort I see is a stereo, as music fills this tiny cavern. We see only one of homes and know there are few hundred thousand more, all crammed into this piece of land.

But we are welcomed and made to feel safe. Our hosts and all we see know we are just passing through, as do we. I hope we do this just to gather some mutual understanding, to learn more about each other. Perhaps it is not to feel bad about a place like this, but to feel better about ourselves. How truly blessed we are. And I am still and always will be taken back by their strength and faith in God, much stronger and living than mine. I cry out when I am wronged, or my life seems to take such a wild turn. They are living on a dollar a day and tell me about the love of God. I struggle on how to be peaceful, obedient, strong, loving, caring, but they provide our security and care while we continue through the slum. Past crying babies, people hurting and truly struggling, but least of all with their faith. But we get to leave here.

All of this is in passing, as I am now comfortable in my green chair, watching the sunrise and waiting in a now crowded room for our next flight. My recollection of my visit to Kibera is so intense I didn’t notice my current surroundings. Somehow, and I can’t quite get a grip on this, I am still there. Living daily to just get water, stay healthy, find a little to eat and be thankful for so much. To genuinely care for others.

I know my next bed will be comfortable. My driver will be pleasant and ask about me and my family. My next meal will be filling and delicious. My next adventure will begin and end quickly. And I will sleep little, complain too much and move on. And I hope to be thankful for this all.

Hello to Ms. Greer's 2nd Grade Class!

The blog will be quiet for several days, as I have traveled to Sondu, a village on the Nyakach Plauteau in western Kenya. The nearest city is Kisumu, which is about 52 km (32 miles) away, and I have to travel there to get Internet access. Baylor's medical students are working at a medical clinic in Sondu, and I can't wait to share their stories.

I wanted to say a very special hello to Ms. Greer's 2nd grade class at Hillcrest PDS in Waco. Enjoy your last few days as second graders! (Give Carter 22 hugs from me.)

Blog vs Blog

So I am flying out in the morning, still yet to pack and post to this blog, so forgive me for stealing from my other posting, but I think it is well worthy of a read and look:

http://baylorinafrica.blogspot.com/

Pretty, pretty

The lion sleeps tonight

A nice little nap on the flight to Nairobi (between looking for lions) and a long walk up a stone stairway to heaven gets you into the terminal. Inside it looks like a storm shelter, with packs of people on the floor waiting to leave, or maybe just living there. Either way, you have to pick your footing around them. I did overhear one not-from-here tourist ask an airport worker if the air conditioning could be turned on. He was hot.

The passport stamp looks nice, with some man-eating kitty on it of course. And the folks behind the counter where more like tour guides, giving me some good travel tips (“You must eat the fish in Kisumu”) like a fortune cookie. Good to know.

Better than a sign with your name on it is hearing your name called out and seeing a friendly face. Joell gave me an official greeting and then we were off – me in the front seat just for the thrill factor – into Nairobi traffic. Yes, we were immediately into a driving “Circle of Doom” (for the record, they MIGHT call it something else) and the beloved/dreaded boda bodas did seem to come out and buzz by, but it seemed just a slight bit more civilized. I’ll give you it was still much like getting into a filled parking lot, finding the center spot and then realizing you are really in a compactor. The trucks/vans/cars all seem to be closing in on you. Sure, it IS a nice way to meet other people and exchange intimate details, like who has scars where. It’s a bit like stadium parking right after a game that held about half a million people. And does not end.

But there is a bit of variety here. Instead of just people walking, now you add in some people peddling stuff. You know, I am really not in the mood to buy a cheese grater (really) in this kind of traffic. And the guys selling the hazard signs were thinking way ahead. And all the while Joell is quizzing me on how to properly say hello, I am fine and thank you so the locals can understand me. And IF I survive this ride I will learn how to say thank you, all right.

The hotel here is great. Staying at the GraceHouse Resort, where I got a warm welcome. The ladies at the front desk seem to fight over who gets to carry my bags, as I see all my stuff head off towards the room. The handle of my roller bag seems to be broken for sure, after a repair in China (beating it into the ground at the airport, that made the guys with the guns kind of nervous, judging from there expressions) and in Africa (EXACT same thing. Just change the faces) so its rolling days are limited.

A great treat of American food (Philly cheese steak and fries) at the nearby Ya-Ya shopping googolplex, along with a Krest, and starting to feel more at home. Returning to the hotel got me some great Internet access and…

TEA TIME!!!

Under the canopy of trees, just off the lobby and in the garden is an array of teas waiting for your sipping pleasure. Yes we are in the middle of everything, so this little oasis is indeed a nice getaway. You can pick your sweetness – honey or local cane sugar. And then the server unveils the treats – and thoughtfully suggests the ginger cookie.

And IF it all works out just right, you can drag out your laptop as the wireless just barely reaches this spot. Had a great video chat with my sweet baby, while Walter, a waiter, was in awe of this additional sweet I brought to my tea time.

Belly full and the promise of sleeping in late is dashed with a 7:30 a.m. bus departure to start my day. Headed to bed and while looking around in the room, admire a giraffe painting over my spot. The bed has netting to keep me covered during the night. Just before I close up my laptop for the night, I turn around and notice a painting of a lion right at the foot of my bed.

And he looks hungry.

Good kitty…

Cameras and cobras

Sunday brings us to Lugogo Baptist Church in Kampala. The music reminds me of favorite churches and favorite contemporary songs – all very familiar. I know I am far from home, but this place now seems not too far. The children fill this place, scattered about in red or yellow smiley face plastic chairs. We sing, praise and lift up prayers. The church concerns are mostly similar to what I am used to hearing on a typical Sunday morning. Heath concerns, financial worries, seeking comfort and peace. And then a few are new to me. One church member crashed her new-to-her boda boda and another came across a large cobra outside their home.
You know I could totally support the mission of a church that lifts up in prayer boda bodas and cobras.

Lunch brings some great food (I did enjoy some goat… wrapped in a pita-like flat bread) and the church director’s family sharing the table. His wife begins to tell our group about her three children seated with us then goes into some pretty good (depending on your stage of the meal) detail about the delivery of each child. Seems her first came without labor and a month early. Not even near the hospital. Next one was similar - no pain, no signs of anything and no hospital, again early. Third one? She did happen to be near the hospital, but still a month early. I wonder why she would be telling all this to us, until she gets up to get some food and I notice she is about 40 weeks along. My first thought is if I should just keep an eye under the table.

We had a great time with all the children and took a group of them to lunch and an amusement park. At the park we took over hut number three. Some people were playing cricket while we took a ride on a kiddies train and enjoyed a birthday party for a sponsored child, Josephine. We shared some green cake (it was yummy, and of course mine fell to the ground, but I figured the five-second rule still applies in Africa, right?) and said some goodbyes to our friends, before heading out for the cultural center for dinner and a show. On tap was the Ugandan equivalent to Jerry Seinfeld – telling jokes along with stories of Uganda. There were dancers, drums and all sorts of local instruments and great laughter.

After another full day, we load up into the bus for the last wild ride of the day. Our UCU students fill the bus with song, only skipping a beat when we hit some bumps. We pray together and the devotional for the night was focused on finishing strong. There trip is half over, but for me, I am leaving in the morning. We hope our stay in Uganda brings renewed hope and positive change - to all involved. Sometimes we realize just how much we receive when we make the simplest of efforts to give.

And on this night, filled with traffic, smoke, and darkness I begin to understand why I am here. And now I must move on.

Practice makes perfect

After a delay headed to Nairobi, we are all aboard and enjoying the smooth ride via Kenya Airways. I almost forget I am in (or, for the moment over) Africa until I see the napkin covered in lions. I look out the window and see puffy little clouds that remind me of Carter's friend-that-happens-to-be-a-girl Abigail's birthday party cotton ball fight. (Franci can explain in the comments section) Then I wonder if I should worry about being eaten by a lion. So many things to do are swimming through my head when I realize to focus on the basics. I keep watch out the window to see if lions are eating the tourists.

While my unnatural-natural fears get the best of me, the pilot comes on to apologize for the delay. The Nairobi airport was "practicing" to be closed for the holiday next week.

You need to practice for these things?

Other things I have noticed...

Having your socks washed and delivered to the room, on a hanger - 2,000 shillings/pair

Ordering a Krest (it's like Wink/Squirt, but SOOOOO much better!) from the
scary mini bar creature - 1,500 shillings


A butcher than can power lift your dinner, while holding a bloody cleaver - Priceless

A Ugandan tale

There are two very good friends in Uganda, a donkey and a dog. One day while stolling together through a park, the dog looks at the donkey and says, "Follow me," as he takes a shortcut off the path.

"There is no way I can fit under that bush," the donkey insists.

And he was correct.


Yet another sleepless-rambling provided for your enjoyment...

Odd things collection, Part I

While stranded in Entebbe airport waiting for my flight to Nairobi, with the Eagle's Hotel California playing over the P.A. system, here are some random images, if I can get into this free wireless...

Wonderful Sunday

I am less than five hours from leaving my hotel to return to Entebbe, then a flight to Nairobi. Have yet to pack, post to this wonderful blog...or sleep.

We had a great day that was filled with children, church and joy. I promise I will find the time to share the story. I just have to close my eyes for a moment...

Compassion photos

Compassion

So the day starts out without the rooster (guessing he made it for dinner) outside my window, but a sunrise scene of a family washing up, little children with their yellow water jugs, rinsing off and grandma, with a deadly aim, hitting the runaway goat with a rock from about 30 yards. Smoke is beginning to fill the air again as does the heat.

Today's adventure was a trip to Jinja, about 90-minutes away to visit the Nile Baptist Church, (Plot 18 along Oboja, just in case you are in the neighborhood) part of Compassion International. The building was filled with children and music. The children were wearing uniforms (except for the newer ones, as budget had not allowed buying additional uniforms for the moment) and we wear all wearing our matching shirts too. In addition to helping feed them breakfast (a cup of oatmeal, a banana and one hard boiled egg) and lunch (some rice, broth and a few pieces of meat) we also got a chance for some fun and games. Sack races, bubbles, stickers (not too sure why they all LOVED the turkey stickers) and some jump ropes made the field grow with laughter. We were a bit overwhelmed by it all - the great number of children, all reaching out for just a touch. The true joy in their hearts, filled. Yet they seem to have so little in the way of possessions or opportunity, they do have hope. The UCU students along with us were all part of similar Compassion projects, not too many years ago. Today they are studying and planning for the future, but for the hundreds of tiny faces we saw, it seems all too far off.

The soccer ball was worn through, with just a trace of skin clinging on. The reminders hang on the wall to avoid Malaria, TB and HIV. One little girl has a piece of straw keeping her ear piercing company. They orphans have watched siblings die and some are HIV positive themselves. Yet, somehow, they still can sing and praise life and the Lord. Without reservation.

In the office, along with Dora and Spider-Man, are posted the rules of this modest child development center's selection process. Rule Number seven hit me for some reason - "We do not mind what religion you belong to."

We also got to visit the homes of these children. While we delivered a small gift of sugar and rice, we got a gift in return of bananas. We also hear the stories of faith, struggles and determination, while we are all crammed into the single-room home for nine. Or the open-air home (much like a single-sized carport) with a small fire smoldering fire as the wash hangs on nearby bushes to dry. Their chicken walks into the home and pecks at the tiny puddle underneath the tin roof. But the example of the UCU students, and the promise from Compassion to help keeps hope alive.

And inside the one tiny home we visited, with nearly all their possessions covered with linens, hangs a sign, covered with tiny shells. "A successful marriage requires a deaf husband and a blind wife."

Afternoon fun

OK. So I was even impressed enough being along the Nile that I took a photo of myself. It's not everyday you can get on a bus, pray (because of the traffic, wizzing boda bodas and other things dodging in front/beside/under us) and sing (because it was kinda of cool singing praise and worship while cruising through the beautiful countryside) for 90 minutes. The scenery was spectacular once again, going through forest, tea and sugar fields (and one heavy flood would make some really sweet tea in that region) and mountain range. Still love looking at the villages plopped along the roadside, ever so close into the path of traffic. Got caught in a few improptu parades, with local political officals campaining, bringing out thousands to rally...along side the road. Made for a nice break along the way.

The image of the Baylor accounting students in the Nile, are NOT looking for a lost contact lens. Story goes you can walk to the exact point where the nile begins, right at the egde of Lake Victoria. Just a few slippery stones and you are there. Well, turns out those stones are under about three feet of water, due to the recent rainy season, so the trip to the point made for some interesting treking. Our hardy crew of adventures had to reach down to feel for the stones as they made their way across. And yes, we did end up with some soggy students.

A boat ride to the headwater point also includes a similar fear much like the roadways, as our boat was narrow and full. We did spot some giant lizzards and a mounument honoring Mahatma Gandhi, his ashes immersed in this river.

Sometimes while working I forget I am in Africa. This served as a gentle reminder that I am very far from home. That and I already forgot NOT to eat food offered to you. The street vendor seemed to have a clean spoon as she handed me samples of roasted soybeans, corns and something else I don't really know what it was. I'll let you how this all works out in the next 24-48 hours.

And now...a word from our sponsor

It's official. EVERYTHING in the world has some sort of sponsorship. You would figure natural wonders were safe, but not so here. It was a LARGE welcome to the headwaters of the Nile River, and you do wonder where they get their water for Bell beer.

Guilt sets in, and so I write...

It's nearly midnight here (eight hour difference than Waco, for those keeping tabs on me) and just a few thoughts before the rooster outside my window starts in...

Today was hot, dusty and rocky here. For some reason they put the university we visited (http://www.ucu.ac.ug/) on the side of a steep hill. It seemed like I was always going uphill too. We did get yet another death-defying ride on the local "streets" (you can insert any other name you wish, as the lack of paving, rules, access and anything else that reminded me of a road was not to be found) with the group. I do love all the scooters (boda bodas) here and get MANY chances to examine them up close too, as they skin past us. I also love when the scooter driver (whatever... maybe I should put the front projectile) is wearing a helmet, but the mother holding the baby, riding sidesaddle on the back decides to forgo such safety gear.

The taxis here need to be redefined also. I am not sure a Toyota van should really hold 14 passengers, not including livestock. We did spot a drop off that, as you might figure, most everyone has to get out to let out the one guy in the back of the van trying to breath/live/get out, when a woman was armed with a chicken that drew some looks only from our group. Everyone else is ok with it, I guess.

READER ALERT - The malaria medicine has yet to make any weird (wow, that need to be better defined too! Let's just say weird-for-me) dreams, and I still instist I did NOT have any visions other than the imaginary dog in our driveway, my not-yellow hand, and other things I did NOT experience as a side effect.. And I swear there is a rooster parked outside my window (that has a charming view of barbed wire and my neighbors), but the point is...


I must be really tired.


You guys figure out the scary box of bunny frosted flakes, ok? Just check out the fists on that crazy rabbit!
And also really enjoyed finding girlfriend lotion. Do I really need to say more?

All this just to say how amazingly beautiful it is here. Lush and green, with mangos and banana plants on the campus. The people are friendly and love to reach out just for a touch. The smiles are all around me and the skies seem an unreal depth of blue. Everything seems so vivid, like when you get rid of your old black and white TV to get HD. I know Matthew is going to kill me when he finds out I shot about 2,000 images today. We can just edit.

The pace is diferent, a relaxed time-almost stands still feel. No real rush to get anywhere and no need to keep on schedule, whatever that may be. Except we all do make it to tea time promptly.

I am thankful for Skype that can bring Franci and Carter into my little world, if even for a quick video call. I am amazed at the people and places I have seen in just the firts day, with so much ahead.

And I do indeed fear the humps.


Goodnight from Mukono.

STILL too tired to write...