Three days from now, the 4th of May 2012, marks
the one year commemoration of that one time, in George, South Africa, when I
was hit by a car while jogging. I bet you’re dying to know how I’ve progressed
throughout the year, but let’s get one thing straight first: this post,
although recompensing for a 7-month void in activity, will be devoid of any and
all theatrical recapitulations, morals learned along the way, and themes that
hint at the “end of an era.” This post simply serves as a potential, natural
conclusion to Renee on Ugandan Time, because this post, unlike any that can
follow, will actually take me back to Uganda, a place in which I should not
think to find myself again for quite some time.
Two and a half weeks ago I was on a plane from Chicago O’Hare
International Airport en route to Entebbe, Uganda. My 25th birthday passed
in a haze of faux-darkness-induced slumber, an 8-hour time change and a 2-hour
layover in Istanbul: we left on April 13 and arrived on April 15. I didn’t
mind, though, birthdays aren’t my bag. A most unlikely companion sat next to
me, the very person who disdained my willful persistence in joining Peace Corps,
employing every tactic imaginable to inhibit my departure (I won’t tarnish her
benevolence, but picture my pack and a baseball bat): my mother. But I was
thrilled to have her with me as a travel buddy. This was the opportunity to
show her the country I grew to concurrently love and hate so intensely!
And show her I did. She experienced Entebbe with its
botanical garden rife with vervet monkeys; Kampala with its traffic, humidity,
only Baha’i Temple on the continent of Africa, crumbling infrastructure, swarms
of people, and foods hailing from the Middle East, Asia and Africa; the
Southwest with its hills, crater lakes, cool breeze and face-upturning
sunshine, fertile earth, exquisite fruits, slackened pace, and familiar faces
and names of people and places that I’ve recounted dozens of stories of over
the past 24 months; Queen Elizabeth National Park with its lions and grazers,
muddy warthogs and herds of elephants, the Kazinga Channel demarcating Lake
George from Lake Edward, the Equator, beautiful four-star lodges, alarming
safari vehicles and pleasant boat rides; Fort Portal with its air of a bygone
prime; and Jinja with a serenely beautiful sunset over the Source of the Nile
and African drumming late at night to conjure up fantasies of tribalism and
bush warfare. She met Peace Corps friends on their way to further adventures
across the globe, kind Ugandan strangers, my students and fellow teachers at
St. Thomas Secondary School, the villagers of Bururuma, many of whom, one year forgotten,
are still family to me, and dozens of other people that made America appear
small and far away, an island nation inhabited by a minute subset of the
population. I’d like to think she learned a few things along the way, but I’ll
leave that testament to her.
As for me, I learned a buttload (Fools! Your thought you
were free from any educational musings on my part, but I suppose you can’t escape
a good finale…). I realized that I had been unhealthily idealizing Uganda for
the past year. I was ripped from my home and work with no notice or hope of
return, unable to say goodbye, missing out on final projects and kids’ growth, forcing
my dear boyfriend to clean up my mess and wander the same dusty roads without
me. I existed in a fantasy state; I needed desperately to return to Uganda, if
only for 10 days, to say the goodbyes that I never got the chance to say.
Yet I worried that “hello” and “goodbye” would be difficult
to undertake within such a short period of time. But, luckily, Ugandans live quite
transiently. Immediately upon disembarking from the plane, greeted by Arwen’s
frantic jumping and Brennan’s curly blonde mop poorly hidden behind a dais, it
felt more akin to a two-week absence than a 12-month expanse. The feeling continued
throughout the trip. Sure, some things have changed. Three of my closest
friends/teachers have welcomed little bundles: Enid with 4-month-old Alicia (Keys),
Winnie with 1-month-old Cleverly (hilariously sounds like Clifford when said with a
Ugandan accent), and Sanyu expecting in 5 months (she married Robert, the
father and the man who so kindly buzzed my head so many months ago, this past
weekend!). St. Thomas Secondary School has 250 additional students whom I know
nothing about, as well as 2 new buildings and a new gate (gates are such an
important part of Ugandan schools; I suppose because they not only keep out the
riffraff but serve as the first glimpse of the potential within). But old and
new welcomed my mom and me wholeheartedly. We received beautiful crafts, two
trees planted in our honor, and numerous foodstuffs; we gave candy, presents, 60
new boys’ and girls’ soccer jerseys and our tears of happiness. It was comforting
to witness everyone’s health, happiness and determination, and even more so to
learn that I wasn’t forgotten.
I definitely will not be forgetting anytime soon. But I am
finally capable and content with moving on (literally, I’m off to spend a few
months in California soon), and in California I’ll be writing more about
Uganda. I suppose that means that I will actually not be moving on... This definitely is not the last
you’ve heard from me, so if you thought this was my conclusion, you were wrong!
I fooled you again!
But thanks for reading.
