Why, the Congo? You may ask!

Just a little over a week ago we trekked from seemingly calm and peaceful Rwanda to the Democratic Republic of Congo. Now, Goma, the town we visited, is a complete war zone as the rebels have invaded. People of the town have been evacuated and peace workers have been relocated. We left Goma in the nick of time as it is now declared a war zone.

The day trip to Congo was a spontaneous decision. Once we realized we were only 20 minutes from the Rwanda/DRC border, our adventurous sides led us to plan a day trip to Goma. We had no idea what we were about to see. Not only has Goma been a victim to the intense corruption in the DRC but it is also set at the bottom of an active volcano which has destroyed the city on numerous occasions. When we arrived at the border and got in line for our visas we were immediately whisked away by the head immigration officer and taken into the back office. Being a country of francophones, I struggled communicating but luckily my friends spoke French and were able to translate. We quickly received visas, a shiny certificate proving our trip to the Congo, and were told that the Congo was so lucky to have three beautiful ladies visiting. Everyone at the border seemed confused as to why we would possibly want to go to such an undesirable place. But that didn't stop us and we literally walked across the border into Congo where everything was different, including the color of the dirt. The entire city was black and covered in ashes as a result of the erupting volcano. It really felt like walking through death as there were crumbling buildings, non-existent houses, non-existent life. The only color that could be seen were the vibrant textiles for sale and worn by the women, tightly wrapped around the women holding in place everything including their babies on their backs. UN tanks lined the streets with the soldiers holding machine guns pointed at the road. I didn't feel scared, I felt sad and uneasy. The three of us walked straight down the road for about two hours, not uttering a word to each other, simply observing what seemed to us surreal, but was reality to all the Congolese living in this disaster. Eventually, we reached the extensive local market and entered the maze of goods, stepping over chickens, weaving in and out of aisles lined with everything from bowls of flour and sugar, to mountains of second hand shoes to an array of skin lightening creams. We found the textile section which was the largest and had stalls after stalls of beautiful, bright, deep, rich, patterned fabric. After various sessions of bargaining, we left the market all of us having bought some fabric with intentions of making pillows, dresses, etc. We had, had enough and decided it was time to sit down, process, and eat. We pushed our way back out of the market and hopped on three motos (Congo's version of bodas/motorcycle taxis) and went to Le Chalet, a restaurant recommended by a friend. When we reached the restaurant we couldn't believe that a place so luxurious, green, and posh could exist in this city. We ate on a terrace overlooking the lake as UN planes soared over us, vibrating the table. After a nice lunch, we suddenly realized that maybe we should ask what time the border closed. We were informed that at 6pm sharp the border would close. It was 5:15pm and we quickly payed our bill and hopped on three motos and literally sped through the Congo, weaving in and out of traffic praying we would make it in time. At the last minute, I decided I just had to have a Congolese mask. I redirected my moto with 7 minutes to spare, hopped off, grabbed a mask, threw money at the salesman and jumped back on, now zooming full speed to the border. We made it and were so happy to be back in Rwanda.

When returning many people asked, "Did you like the Congo?". Like is not a word I would use to explain my experience in the Congo. It was extremely interesting and quite a bit of a reality check. I still think about how I felt walking down that road in Goma, it didn't make me feel fortunate or lucky to have come from a "better" place but just made me think about how everyone's reality is so different and how important it is to see that in order to understand how the world functions. I do feel lucky though that we left Congo when we did as very easily we could have been in the center of a war zone.

Rwanda, Here we come!

It was nearly three months ago, when a couple friends and I decided to trek to Rwanda for some adventure during our October half-term break. As we sat in a Turkish restaurant drinking wine and turkish coffee, planted in a man-made park right in the center of Kampala, we for some reason thought it would be an excellent idea to drive. No, we didn't wan to fly, despite the low cost, nor take the bus. We wanted to "road trip" and that was it. The decision was not made with intentions of saving money, but with pure intent on creating an unforgettable journey. And let me tell you, the journey was unforgettable, from the second we set out on the African road until the very end when we dreaded getting back in the car for another nine hours return to our home in Kampala.

At 3:30pm on Friday we piled all of our luggage and our bodies into a rather large Pajero, or so we thought. An hour later, after budging through the chaotic traffic of Kampala, we were just leaving the city and already had numb bums and were dripping with sweat. The twelve hour drive was, well, very long and painful. The entire road was literally studded with pot holes and we began bracing ourselves, getting into position, and ducking cover each time the drive warned us with "Pot hole, get ready". We were in severe pain upon arrival to Rwanda. Speaking of arrival in Rwanda, as we crossed over the Ugandan border into no man's land (space between the two borders that remains "unclaimed") we successfully got our passports stamped declaring our departure from Uganda. To our ignorance and excitement, we thought we were done and ready to enter Rwanda. My friend, the driver, stepped on the gas and we ever so gracefully sped across the border into Rwanda, passing officials not even thinking twice about it. The next thing we know we are being chased by police and immigrant officials informing us that we illegally entered Rwanda. The wonderful driver jerked the car into reverse and we reversed back across the border, got our official arrival stamp and were on our way to Kigali. As we began our trek through Rwanda, we were all stunned by its beauty and perfectly paved roads. Rwanda is surrounded by lush, green mountains with waterfalls trickling down the center of ranges into the small farming villages. Kigali is nothing like Kampala. It is easy to forget you are in Africa and begin to think you are in a European city with posh coffee shops and restaurants.

We spent the first couple of days in Kigali visiting local sites like the genocide memorial and the craft market where I purchased traditional Rwandan paintings made out of cow poo. It's interesting being in Rwanda as you can definitely still feel the aftermath of the 1994 genocide. People are quiet, reserved, and seemingly fearful, which makes it a safer African city but a little creepy. At restaurants waiters refuse to open your drink unless it's in front of you as people are fearful of having their drinks poisoned. The genocide memorial was heavy and absolutely devastating. The general age of the population in Kigali is under 25 and it is not uncommon to see people walking around with machete scars in their heads and arms. After a couple days in Kigali, we headed up north to Lake Kivu and stayed in a magnificent little bed and breakfast right on the lake. Each morning we ate crepes and drank Rwandan coffee overlooking the lake where the fishermen rowed and chanted in their wooden carved canoes. It was so peaceful and a nice break from the craziness at school. That is until we headed to the Congo....

Photobucket Album

Accepting Uganda

I think I may have finally started to develop the Ugandan mentality of "It's just life". I suppose I have felt slightly uninspired to write lately because that's just it, it's my life. The novelty of the obscure incidences that occur here have just become the norm and yes, finally I am accepting it. Every book ever written about living abroad and every person with living abroad experience says the same thing. Adjustment is a simple, yet enduring and sometimes difficult process that consists of the following: novelty, frustration, acceptance. Although, I still sometimes find myself getting frustrated, mostly, when I am in a hurry, for the most part I have accepted my life here in Uganda.

The bodas were for sure a novelty when I first arrived, it was exciting and exhilarating. Then I came to realize the danger of this mode of transportation and I just found myself scared and frustrated with the drivers who are so often nonchalant about oncoming traffic. Now I have accepted it as really the only way to get around this congested city. While I am still terrified of bodas, I use them because they make sense even though the experience means speeding in and out of traffic, ass hanging off the back of the bike, all the while dust flying in and out of your face. The soles of almost every single pair of shoes I own are melted from the exhaust pipe of these death traps and I think I have left finger nail marks in the backs of half of Kampala's boda drivers. However, there is one good thing about bodas and that is they work better than any hairdryer I have used in California.

Now onto accepting the creatures that cohabit with me. It took one day of three different encounters for me to accept my "roomates". It started as I opened the curtains and a gecko fell on my head. It was not but a few hours later when I headed to the toilet and a toad was attempting to save itself from drowning. I carefully scooped it into the dust pan and ran for my life out the front door to release it. Then to top everything off, as I was putting on makeup for a night out on the town a spider started crawling down the exact center of my forehead. It was that moment when I didn't scream that I realized I had accepted our coexistence. I have adjusted my way of life to help our shared space in that I don't walk through my house, I stomp to scare them off and avoid any future encounters. As well as, the whole mosquito net drama. Because for a mosquito net to properly function it needs to be securely tucked into every inch and corner of the bed, getting up in the middle of the night and then returning to bed can be quite an ordeal. So as I tuck in for the night I make sure to bring with me into the net and into the bed everything I think I may need: water, phone, tissue, book, etc. It can get crowded but it beats the alternative which would be spending half the night tucking and untucking the mosquito net.

Now that I have almost fully adjusted, I can almost fully enjoy Africa and everything it has to offer. Teaching at an International school means, celebrating International holidays, which ultimately, translates into many, many days off. As Ramadan recently came to an end, we all learned about EID. Among being a celebration at the end of Ramadan, it also meant a day off; however, was not to be determined until late the nigth before as the holiday is dependent on the status of the moon. At 10pm the night before, I received a text via the school phone tree that read: "Happy EID, Enjoy!" So at 8am the next morning my friends and I headed off to the beach in the neighboring town of Entebbe. We arrived rather early and found ourselves to be the only ones sitting on a picnic table, literally on the shoreline, indulging in cheeseburgers and savoring the taste of a cold beer on a rather hot and peaceful day. As the day progressed, we continued to bask and indulge. Slowly people, very happy people, very happy people celebrating the end of Ramadan and a month long fast, started flooding the beach. People watching became our number one priority and we watched nearly everyone dressed in their traditional Islamic clothing get into the water and dance as though they were at a disco, waist deep in Lake Victoria. It was amazing. However, we were restricted from taking photos as Muslims are not allowed to have their photos taken. There must have been 500 people in the water ranging in age from 2 yrs-80 yrs. We payed a midget the Muzungu price of 3000 shillings to have our photo take and then printed out on the spot. But despite the fact that we were cheated or as we concluded did not get the "EID Special" price of 1500 shillings the memory was so worth it.

So that's my life and despite it's inconveniences I've accepted it!

Photobucket Album

Click on the photo...its an album not just one photo!

Goat Races

Photobucket Album

The Real Nile Experience

I really had no idea what I was getting myself into when I signed up for the "Real Nile Experience". Spontaneously, I agreed to trek down the Nile in an inflatable raft through monstrous rapids. Now, I have had previous experiences with whitewater rafting, or so I thought. Vacations to Lake Tahoe usually included a leisurely trip rafting trip down the Truckee river, but that consisted of hardly any paddling, a cooler of beers, and no real rapids or rapids at all for that matter. I had thought my school trip down the American River was real whitewater rafting, as there were real rapids or what I comprehended as real rapids. But now after having survived the "Real Nile Experience", I know that until yesterday I had never been whitewater rafting.

The world-renowned rafting company, whom by the way has taken Prince William down the Nile, instructed us that they would promptly pick us up at 7am and drive us to Jinja, the source of the Nile, where we would begin our journey with death down the most beautiful, more powerful, most famous river in the world, the Nile. It was almost 9am by the time we reached the starting point of our expedition where we were enthusiastically greeted by our rafting guides and given a detailed safety talk. The safety talk had me terrified and I began to question getting in the raft. I ignored my fears and reluctantly hopped into the raft, trying to block out the rumble of the rapids in the distance. The journey began quite peacefully as we gently sailed down the Nile, as our guide ran through every possible situation that could occur. After some quite intensive scenarios, I stupidly asked about crocodiles, hippos, etc. He looked at me as thought I was insane and responded, "It's the Nile, of course, there are hippos, crocs, and cobras in the water. But don't worry they are creatures of habit and won't bother us". Why does everyone in Africa consistently tell me not to worry? At this point, not only am I worried, but I am absolutely terrified. But I've already paid $100 for this experience and we were approaching our first rapid. There was no turning back. So, I put my game face on even though my heart was nearly pounding out of my chest. Fortunately, we successfully made it through our first rapid. Everyone in the boat let out a huge sigh of relief and confidently told our guide, "That wasn't so bad". His response, "Good. That was only a grade 2 rapid, the next one is grade 5 and it's the biggest rapid that is rafted in the world." An overwhelming silence dominated our raft, and we were no longer feeling confident. Once again we had all become instilled with fear. It was only five minutes before we approached the grade 5 and in that time our guide, with genuine seriousness, informed us how important it was to follow his commands and if our raft were to tip it was crucial to hold onto the rope on the side of the raft and ride it through the remainder of the rapid. Of course, our boat flipped and of course, I went flying and was sucked under the rapid, spinning around as thought I had been trapped in a washer machine. I managed to stay calm and remembered the guide's words of wisdom: "count to 7 and then the rapid will spit you back out. I promise you won't drown". I got to 5 and sure enough the rapid spit me out. However, the raft was no where in sight and I found myself whirling down the rest of the rapid solo. I was desperately looking for the rescue kayak and once I found him I grabbed onto the handle on his boat so violently that I nearly knocked over his kayak. He safely brought me back to the boat and I jumped in, now eager for the next rapid. I was beginning to have fun. We fell out a few more times, and I got sucked under and spit out again, but was able to keep hold of the raft and refrained from having any more solo sails through the rapids. The approach to the rapids still remained terrifying but I came to enjoy the intense adrenaline rush.

Beyond the excitement of the day, it was also calming and relaxing. After lunch we cruised down the Nile, absorbing the powerful rays of the equator sun, for about an hour. No rapids, no fear, no stress--just us and the green trees blanketing the riverbank, the many, many different birds perched on rocks, drying their wings, children bathing, and men fishing, hoping to catch enough Nile Perch to sell in the market. I began to have confidence in myself and in nature itself. I started to believe the guide when he said animals are creatures of habit and wouldn't bother us. It was beauty and serenity and so naturally life. Honestly, and not in a cheesy or cliche manner, while yes my Nile experience was terrifying, it was also bliss and really made me realize what's important and why I chose to live in Africa for two years. That being life in it's most natural form is the most meaningful and I suppose that is why I constantly find myself being drawn towards Ugandans and their simple lifestyle because now I realize that that simplicity is really just natural. Our experience down the Nile showed all of us in our most natural and honest forms, fearful, happy, genuine, and content. It was amazing and even though I am fried from the sun, sore, and can barely walk today, I experienced, truly, the most amazing thing in my life thus far, the power of the Nile and humans.

The International Experience

Honestly, what the hell is a goat race? This is the question all of us teachers had when we were given free tickets to the goat races. Eager to find out what this event was all about we all got dressed up and headed 30 minutes out of town to the stunning Munyonyo resort to experience the goat races. When we arrived we found what seemed to be a parody of the Kentucky Derby, women in ridiculous hats, extravagant tents with lights and champagne, and a pathetic "race track" in the center of it all which apparently was for the goats. We all received a betting brochure with stats on all the goats and after a few glasses of champagne found ourselves betting on goats with names like "Goat with the wind". With the announcement of the first goat race we crowded around the track cheering for whichever goat we chose to bet on. Not surprisingly, the goats stubbornly refused to run when the starting gun was shot. But it wasn't much of a problem because a man approached behind them, pushing a mattress on wheels which then pushed the goats around the track. Occasionally they ran, but mostly, they spent their time around the track stopping to eat grass. It was absolutely hilarious and the more free champagne we drank, the more hysterical it got. All in all, it concluded as just another crazy experience in Uganda.

We successfully completed our first week of school. My students are bright, wonderful, and beautiful. Our classroom represents over fifteen different countries (Uganda, USA, South Africa, Sudan, Eritrea, Trinidad, Belgium, Wales, England, India, Denmark, Finland, Nigeria, Zimbabwe, and more). It is truly an International classroom. I cannot even begin to express how excited I am to teach my myriad of students and all the while, learn so much from them. It is going to be extraordinary. That's all from Uganda for now!

My Typical Life

Truly, I don't think the proper words even exist to explain the situation I have just endured except to say it was "typically African". To understand, appreciate, and see the hilarity of it all some imagining must take place. Okay, so imagine four muzungus (2 Americans, 1 Brit, and 1 German, ranging in age from 25-34) who have just come from work, dressed in skirts and blouses of the sort, jump into a taxi to the one and only shopping mall in Uganda. After refraining from all the temptations of consumerism, I walk out with some pizza, a can of tuna, and a bottle of wine. My friends didn't have as much self discipline as myself and purchased shopping carts full of lamps, batiks, statues, and other obscure items to decorate an apartment. Due to my lack of purchases, I headed to the taxi stand with intentions of collecting a reliable, decent sized taxi to carry the goods and my friends home safely. I opted for the hatchback, yellow, metered taxi and strictly instructed him to pull up to the very front of Garden City Shopping Mall and wait for my friends. I ensured him it would only be two minutes. After three arguments with the security guard over blocking traffic and twenty minutes later, my first friend appeared with a shopping cart of goods. We carefully filled the taxi nearly taking up all the empty space. The taxi driver anxiously started up the engine and stepped on the gas. I screeched STOP and informed him that we were still waiting for my other two friends. Ten minutes later they appeared with carts stuffed to the brim, nearly overflowing, filled with lamp posts, shades, light bulbs, and of course, cases of wine, all essential to survival in the pearl of Africa. The taxi itself was now overflowing with items literally hanging out the window. The taxi driver a.k.a Captain Asia, as he called himself, headed out of the chaos of the shopping mall parking lot only to enter a more chaotic traffic jam. He had told me he needed to stop for gas and I agreed as long as he didn't start the meter until after he filled up. On the way to the petrol station, as they call it here, we found ourselves in what we thought was the worlds worse traffic jam, really it was just a red light. My friend spontaneously decided to buy a newspaper as she saw the 9 year old boy pass selling them. The second he handed her the paper the light turned green and off we went. The problem being she had not paid the paper boy yet. He started running alongside the cab in crazy traffic and her anxiety caused her to just start throwing coins out the window. This was the beginning of the craziest taxi ride I have yet encountered in Uganda. As we made our way around the round about and up a small yet significant hill towards the petrol station, we, of course, ran out of gas. The taxi driver was afraid to enlighten us of our reality, but we already knew and we thought it was absolutely hilarious and so typically African. All four of us were eager to jump out of the cab and use all our strength to push the damn thing up the hill. Now this is where the imagining, visualization, needs to take place. Here we have four muzungus pushing a taxi, dressed in work attire, with lamps and what not hanging out the windows up a hill in the middle of downtown Kampala. We are barely able to do the taxi driver, who is trying to steer, any good as we are all laughing so hard we are nearly pissing our pants. All the while bodas, matatus, and every other form of transportation are honking, swearing, yelling, and everything else you can imagine at us. After about five minutes we all practically fall to the ground due to exhaustion and laughter and we had barely moved an inch. The greatest part of it all is none of us felt frustrated or angry. In fact, it was one of my greatest experiences in Africa yet. Captain Asia, who must be used to the situation, calmly walked to the gas station and returned with hardly any gas. As he returned to the taxi and poured only half a liter of gas into the tank through a rolled up newspaper, we asked him if it would be enough to get home. He ensured us that if we took the route home that was mostly downhill we would be fine. We eventually, nearly two hours later, made it home safely and were left with a fantastic memory. What seems like an awful situation is really the most desirable experience a traveler can ask for. It was incredible and I will remember today forever.

As far as, the rest of my life here in Uganda, well I have found myself at the gym a lot as I have committed to climbing in Mt. Kilimanjaro in Tanzania. In addition to the gym I have joined a running club on Monday nights all in part of my preparation for the big climb. My newly found friends and I have also agreed to drive to Rwanda at the end of October for the purpose of seeing Rwanda, but also just for the shits and giggles that will accompany three muzungus driving through Africa. Tomorrow I am off to the goat races which I am sure will lead to more unforgettable memories and interesting blogs.

Oh yeah, and school, the reason why I came to Uganda, is going extraordinarily well. While I do have to adjust my teaching style, slightly, to the National English Curriculum, it has all been a positive learning experience. We have spent the past two weeks planning curriculum and preparing our classrooms. I am also in charge of running an extra-curricular club, free to my choice where I have chose "Creative Writing for Change". My intentions are to run a creative writing club where at the end of the year we produce a "publication" which we sell to parents, etc. and donate the profits to a local organization. It should all be interesting .

Living in a new country always means enduring a series of highs and lows upon arrival. I have definitely experienced both thus far and can predict that there will be a series more of highs and lows. But really, the highs greatly outweigh the lows and that is why I am addicted to my gypsy lifestyle. Uganda, Uganda, Uganda, for now it is my home and it all feels so natural. I couldn't imagine being anywhere else.

Anxiety, Excitement, and Adoration

"Any international move goes together with higher levels of anxiety"
~ Anonymous

As most of my experiences thus far in Uganda have been associated with some level of anxiety so have my reasons for writing. There have been numerous reasons for why I have not written in some time, which I will explain, but the top being anxiety. In fact emotions of anxiety, nervousness, and insecurity have entirely overwhelmed me. It was not until recently, very recently, merely 24 hours where I have started to feel myself again, confident, and secure about my knowledge, abilities, and crazy, life-altering decision to live in Uganda for two years.

After counting 46 mosquito bites, a quick scare with malaria, and an ultimate discovery that I had contracted salmonella, I finally feel "normal" again, as normal as an expatriate can feel in the middle of sub-Saharan Africa. Really though, the salmonella drama was quite traumatic. I woke up one morning with a quick sprint to the toilet; translation: "the runs". It proceeded to be a sprint to the toilets nearly every 4.5 minutes with intermittent vomiting, sweating, chills, and some tears. In other words, I felt like I was dying. But I was determined to power through and dragged myself to the "Welcome BBQ" for all new staff. As I sat at the table covered in white linen amongst the beautiful gardens of the country club staring at my delicious food incapable of even tasting it, all I could dream of was being in the comfort of my family in California. I had not been that sick in a very, very long time. I think since I had mono in Spain where I balled to my mother at three in the morning about my discomfort. I did not want to be the complaining new teacher so I kept my cool. But fortunately a fellow colleague noticed my state and insisted I go to the hospital. I put up a slight resistance due to my ego but then agreed to go. It didn't take much convincing. The school bus promptly, well Africa's version of prompt, nearly two hours later, "rushed" me to the hospital where I was poked, pushed, pulled, and tested for EVERYTHING. I really had no clue what was going on but was given 12 tablets of medicine and received confirmation that I did NOT have malaria. However, by this time my fever had skyrocketed and I was shaking uncontrollably. The doctor refused to let me go home and insisted that I stay the night in the hospital with an IV for hydration. I couldn't imagine anything more horrible so I locked myself in the toilets using all my mental power to stop the shaking and convince the doc that I was stable. An hour later she let me loose with oral rehydration salts and antibiotics. The next day I woke up feeling the same and almost immediately received a call from the hospital with the news of my salmonella diagnosis. Fortunately, I already had the antibiotics and was reassured that after 24 hours of the meds I would feel great. Sure enough, 24 hours came, and well, I felt great. It's been almost 48 hours now and I feel really, really great.

With that said, I can now aim my full attention at work and forming social relationships with fellow colleagues. I have to admit since my arrival I have had moments of questioning my decision, predominantly due to uncertainty. But since we have started our week of induction at the school not only am I entirely confident in my decision but I am extremely excited about the reality of it all. I have come to realize some important elements, especially after reading cover to cover my "Essential Guide for Teachers in International Schools" and having conversations with numerous staff members. The most important being that I have not just committed myself to teaching for two years in Uganda; but, I have committed myself to a career of lifelong learning. Being in a new country I am vulnerable to relearning simple and basic life skills, as my students are learning in my classroom. We have a common union as co-learners and it is truly a beautiful thing, a creation of unity that couldn't possibly exist teaching in my home country. You cannot imagine how fortunate I feel for being given this experience. It represents everything I believe about teaching: celebrating diversity, coexistence and a community of learners--all essential components to a productive educational environment.

OK, enough of the education talk. One more component about life in Uganda and I will leave it at that. Of course, every need feels like desperation when you are living in a country of inconvenience. Thus explaining my desperation for water at ten o'clock at night. I mean I can't drink tap water and I have been dehydrated from salmonella. Yes, I qualify that as desperation. I trek to the shop to find it's closed, then am directed in nearly every direction where I am continuously denied bottled water, well not just bottled water, but service because all the shops are closed. Eventually I find myself at the main road pleading with the security guard of a major supermarket to let me enter as the shopkeeper is fastening the locks on the front door. Denied, Denied, Denied! I move onto the shopkeeper and guess what: DENIED. I don't give up and eventually am let in and able to purchase my much needed water and am surprisingly served with exceptional service. This is why I praise Uganda. Yes, at times Africa offers the worst service but when it matters, hence discovering salmonella in less than 24 hours and the water, it offers the best service and always in those times of need. My love-hate relationship with Uganda is slowly shifting to pure adoration.

Love Hate Relationship

It is easy to find yourself constantly complaining in a country where everything about life is entirely unpredictable. Every morning I wake up to find myself trying to plan out my day, the North American organization trait I never knew I had. I jump into the shower hoping for hot water contemplating how long it will take me to get to the city center. I know that I will call a taxi and he will tell me he will arrive to pick me up in 25 minutes but really that means 45. Then I give myself another 30 minutes to sit in a jam and another 10 minutes for the "short cut". Eventually I know I will reach my destination but it may take hours. I never realized how much I cared about time until now, where I have become hostage to it and truly have absolutely no control.

Just the other day I arrived at Garden City Shopping Centre after having nearly lost my life on a motorcycle taxi, boda, when the driver dramatically swerved into oncoming traffic because a cow started pissing on us, with a dying urge myself to use the toilets. I had no idea where the toilets were so I rushed to the security guard pleading for directions, hoping I wouldn't have to pay for them. After figuring it out, penniless, and then finding them I ran in and found myself trudging through water nearly three inches deep. The toilet had overflowed. Now disgusted and not sure I am going to make it I shuffle up three ramps to find another set of toilets where upon my entering I find a man in the woman's restroom peeing all over the seat with the door wide open. I start dancing and shoot him an evil glare. He hurries and I find myself just making it. I was relieved despite the fact that there was no toilet paper and I had lost twenty minutes of my day finding the toilets. It's Uganda and it's unpredictable. I suppose that is why I love it and hate it. We definitely have a love hate relationship right now.

It feels so good....

At 12:59pm I disembarked San Francisco International airport on a seemingly endless journey of flights and layovers to eventually arrive in Entebbe, Uganda. The first ten hour flight to London was bearable yet filled with bittersweet emotions as I was sad, a bit hungover, and nervous for the adventure ahead of me. Cramped in an economy seat next to two eight year old twins, I was forced to contemplate and mentally prepare myself for the next two years of my life which will be spent living, breathing, and experiencing Uganda and its culture to the fullest.

By the end of the flight I was overwhelmed by sensations of numbness and shock. I can't believe I am actually doing this.

For no reason other than instinct, I hurried off the plane in London disillusioned, no concept of time, and hungry. It was 6:30am and my connecting flight to Dubai did not depart until 8:30pm. Clueless as to how to pass time, I treated myself to my last Starbucks and checked into a lounge where I attempted to sleep on a leather love seat. Time crept by slower than ever; but, I managed to pace myself with breakfast, lunch, beers, and coffee. Eventually, it was time to go to Dubai and I was pleasantly surprised by Emirates airlines as the wine was free and the food was actually delicious. After two glasses of wine and some chicken curry I was able to get some shut eye and before I knew it the plane was touching ground in Dubai. As I exited the plane I was nearly knocked out by the sauna like heat, suffocated, and having difficulty catching my breath. This is when I first started to feel excited about Uganda. It suddenly felt real and I could not wait to get to that tropical heat where you feel like you are constantly blanketed in sunshine and life.

The final flight, Dubai to Entebbe with a stopover in Addis Ababa, was filled with anxiety, anticipation, and excitement. The pure adrenaline high I seek when traveling. I was on my way to Uganda, so close, and I was yearning for it, the bodas s, the matatus, everything. Take me to Uganda and take me there fast.

I endured my flight, despite the Ugandan woman who was seated next to me and subtly attempted to convert me to Christianity the entire four hour flight. I did not realize her motives until the end of the flight when she handed me a small book called Living with Prayer, that had all her contact information on the inside cover. She kissed my hand and told me to call her if I changed my mind.

After waiting in line after line for customs, visa, etc. I left Entebbe International airport with my life packed away in three suitcases, and inevitably started to cry as I entered Uganda. I was back and couldn't be happier. The familiar smells and sounds of Uganda: burning garbage, barbecued goat, sing song horns, made me forget about my exhaustion. I took it all in on the taxi ride from the airport to the hostel and as we pulled up the red dirt road to Red Chilli I knew this was it, this is my life now, and I made the right decision. I left a part of my heart in Uganda and now I am here to reclaim it.

Here is my new cell number: 011256775875539. Feel free to call it, text it, send love!

My love to all and I will miss each of you very much. Keep in touch!

It Wasn't Random....

It wasn't random....

For magnificence, for variety of form and color, for profusion of brilliant life -- bird, insect, reptile, beast -- for vast scale -- Uganda is truly the pearl of Africa.

~ Winston Churchill

It was not but three years ago when I returned from my one year venture in Spain, literally depressed to be basking in the California sun, a place, a state, a lifestyle so many people yearn to be. I ate and drank my sorrows away reminiscing on my time which was better spent in Donostia. My life seemed so dull and boring. As much as, I tried to relive my experiences in Spain by befriending every foreigner I met, it just wasn't the same. There were many times I procrastinated on school work searching the world wide web for cheap flights to well, anywhere foreign. Had I had the money I may have just jumped the gun and took off on another adventure. But I think now, with my more mature head, I subconsciously knew that my life needed to exist in Santa Cruz, California, where I was finishing up university and working towards a Bachelor's Degree in Sociology and Education.

It was only eight months before I graduated college when I met the most beautiful, intelligent, and intriguing human being I have yet to encounter in my life. He happened to be from Uganda and he happened to make me the happiest person alive, quickly jolting me out of my state of depression. I never forgot about Spain, but I was now satisfied here in California sharing it with my new love.

Throughout the years, Leuben has been everything for me, my mentor, my teacher, my love, but most of all my best friend. He has taught me so much about everything from life to love to Uganda to the world as a whole. I am forever grateful.

Six months ago I decided it was time for me to endeavor on a short journey to his land of origin, Uganda, which I had already fell in love with. My love for the country just grew the second I stepped out of the airplane and could see nothing but greenery framing beautiful Lake Victoria.

I did my very best to experience everything possible while in Uganda, despite my short stay of only five weeks. While I enjoyed my first week staying at the Red Chilli Hideaway, a traveler's hostel, it was my excursions to the local nightclubs, restaurants, and markets, even the chaotic taxi park, where I was always the only Muzungu (white person) that I enjoyed the most. I appreciate the air of authenticity and realness that exists in these "tourist forbidden" places. For I did not travel all the way to Uganda to reinvent my life in California just with a change of scenery of different soil. I was in Uganda to learn about Uganda and Ugandans, and through that process, inevitably I would learn about myself. The process proved to be successful as I did learn more about Uganda and its culture, as well as, myself.

When I reached the Dominican Republic after my five week stint in Uganda, I began to realize that my curiosity about the country and the culture had not diminished, it simply had grown stronger. I have so much more to learn and experience in this East African country that is so small in the realm of the world, but so greatly rich and dense in culture and significance.

My life changed when I was in Kyetume (small village in Southern Uganda where I spent five weeks volunteering) in many ways. But the most significant being, my purpose and understanding of my role as a teacher became clearer. Teacher has become my identity. Even before I traveled to Uganda I was more likely to identify myself as a teacher, than say a woman, an American, or even Kelly. I still identify as a teacher, but it means something different to me now. Before I saw myself as a teacher restricted to the limiting walls of my classroom. Eventually, I saw myself as a teacher in the community. But now being a teacher has become so much more than a label or an identity, it's become my lifestyle in all that I engage in. I am a woman, a daughter, a sister, a friend, a graduate, a traveler, a writer, an American, a student of the world, Kelly, and all of these things make me the teacher that I am. I no longer see myself as a teacher with restrictions of limitations. I am a teacher in this giant world, that is really not so giant at all, exploring, learning, and endeavoring of a collaborative journey of knowledge. Uganda made me realize this and that is why I knew I must return.

Bored as hell for seven days in Santo Domingo, awaiting the arrival of my mom and sister, I had a lot of time to sit, think, and reflect upon my time spent in Uganda. I sat in an internet cafe for three hours one day, searching for ways in which I could return to Uganda realistically. Volunteering was not an option and neither was working in a local school as neither could provide financial stability. I stumbled upon the website for an the Kampala International School, Uganda. I proceeded to haphazardly click on staff vacancies and then what seemed like subconscious now, sent my resume to the principal. Within three days my correspondence with the principal began and nearly three months ago I received confirmation that I had been offered a job as Primary English/Language Arts teacher. Three weeks ago I signed and faxed the contract committing myself to two years of teaching and living in Kampala, Uganda.

I could not be more terrified, more nervous, but most of all more thrilled to have this amazing experience and opportunity. There are so many people who have inspired and motivated my decision and I truly cannot thank them enough. Life is tricky and challenging. One thing I have learned thus far in my mere 24 years of existence is that you just cannot wait for life to happen, you must go out and make it happen. Well, I suppose you could wait, you just may remain a miserable person for the majority or all of your time here on Earth.