Gretchen's Post--July 1: We're Not in Kansas Anymore

We arrived last night after a long but lovely, uneventful flight. Thirty hours without sleep made the drive from Entebbe to Kampala (traffic going both directions have to share a small shoulder and one lane) even more interesting. However, I went into writer's mode making as many illegible notes as possible in the dark of my car: wood smoke fills the air, earthy and sweet; unfinished buildings loom in the dark as if taunting people to finish them; no streetlights, it's midnight for as far as I can see aside from the small groups of people huddled around a single, deep yellow bulb in their rooms; small flames on the side of the road invite people to gather and talk; we are halted by a traffic jam caused by two men pushing their car up a hill.

Doug is out on his second walk for the day, trying to get his bearings and looking for a place to exchange money as well as a grocery store to purchase bottled water. Upon arriving home from the first walk at 9:00 a.m. he declared, "We're not in Kansas anymore." Then he proceeded to elaborate about the African stork he saw on the lawn and other birds that were unfamiliar to him. Knowing Doug, I am sure he will come back from this walk with a wildlife book—ever the learner.

Elizabeth and I slept for ten hours and are now having tea out on the veranda of our charming little hotel. The owner, Guido, a lit up Italian gentleman, has settled in Uganda with his wife and daughter after living through Tanzania, Ethiopia, Sierra Leon, and the civil war in Liberia. He speaks highly of Uganda’s beauty and the warmth of its people. His remarks make me even more eager to discover what awaits us.

He and his wife work with an organization called Watoto. It builds villages and schools, the goal being to create homes for the many orphans. I met a woman on the plane last night who works for the International Rescue Committee up north. The IRC works with children in areas of conflict around the world, improving education, sanitation, clean water, and health care for children. She shared her phone number and email so that she could provide me with contacts for my research.

Elizabeth sat next to a Ugandan man named Daniel on the plane. He inquired about our visit and provided us with his phone number in Kampala. He wanted us to call him so he could arrange for his wife and five year old daughter to host us in Jinja, a striking town he said we must see. As we landed in Uganda, Daniel smiled and said, “You are so welcome to Uganda.” And yes, when I awoke this morning I thought, I am in Africa.