I am sitting here, bored to be honest. There aren’t a lot of things to distract you in Africa. There isn’t social media or Netflix that really works (trust me, I’m trying). People don’t need to be working quite as hard as they used to be, and so there is a lot of sitting around. We left at 6:00 this morning. We got home at 9:00 pm last night. Yesterday I had to go to the bathroom, was starving, and extremely thirsty, and I am realizing when you are any of these things in Africa and not close to home, you are uncomfortable for a very long time. I am becoming overzealous in my bathroom search (what can I say, I love a good toilet that actually has water connected to it). I am stingy with my water bottle (it has to be a perfect balance of quenching my thirst, but not drinking it all too early or too fast, lest I’m thirsty all day or not around a bathroom). I have to mentally go someplace else—often. We were in public transport for a total of nine hours yesterday. And those nine hours weren’t a quiet train or metro ride, or even a carsick-inducing bus. Instead, it is in a little twelve-passenger van (even though they are licensed to carry 14 people, lol, sometimes it’s more than that). The upholstery is nasty, for lack of a better word, and you are shoved in there for however long it takes. The taxis honk their horns at every person they see on the side of the road. A simple outstretched hand indicates that someone wants a ride, and then a conductor (a person who sits right behind the passenger seat, controls the door, and gathers the pay), screams the destination. “Kampala! Kampala! Kampala!” It’s pronounced more like “comp-awl-a”, well not quite, but I’m not sure how else to describe it. You move and squish as needed. The best seat is either in the front passenger seat or in the very back corner by the window (surprisingly). I dreaded riding public for the first time because you see people squished in their like sardines. It is surprisingly more comfortable (I can’t bring myself to say spacious) inside, but the middle rows are the worst because you could have four people squished in there and you constantly have to move with other people. I still hate riding public, but after riding it for a total of nine hours (that is longer than Logan to Las Vegas in case anyone is wondering. It is also about my same flight from Amsterdam to Salt Lake), I think that I can handle it a little better.
I was reading a book the other day (my Kindle app is easily one of my most prized possessions at this point), and I had the strangest feeling of zooming back into my body. I haven’t read for escape in a really long time. Or maybe really ever? It hasn’t ever been a purposeful method of escape. But now? I do sometimes read to escape. I close my eyes on long car rides and in the public transportation. I realized that part of is it self-preservation. Yesterday was what I deemed a ‘high-alert’ day. We were riding public transportation all-day and walked around busy sections of the city. I was on Laynero’s heels like a puppy, constantly looking around and being aware of everything. At the end of the day, my arms ached and I was exhausted. I read or close my eyes and try to nap to prevent sensory overload. It is overwhelming to be here, and overwhelming to be here by myself. I have never been so grateful for books and the ability to check out. I completely forgot that I was in Uganda, and I sometimes need to give my mind that break.
I have realized that none of my usual vices are here. I can’t shop online, eat a lot of food, watch Netflix for hours, scroll Instagram for miles, drink a lot of Diet Coke, or anything else. I am pondering what I am like, here without my usual weapons. It’s good. It’s also very boring since I can only reread so many books before I feel like I’m going to lose my mind. I am realizing what I actually miss amongst those things, and what I am ok with giving up. If anyone ever needs a tough-love deprivation camp, may I recommend flying to Africa by yourself for two weeks?
I do miss my independence. I miss being able to walk outside and go pick up whatever I need at the grocery store. I miss knowing how to work the public transportation system. I was so proud of myself this winter for ‘conquering all means of public transportation,’ but Africa has humbled me. Yesterday in the two-hour ride home, I was in the front of the taxi (side note: I really think that they give me that seat as a preference because I feel like I’m thrown in there often, but it is the most comfortable). Laynero was in the very back (the other best seat in the van), and I couldn’t see her unless I turned all of the way around. The first hour was very tense, partly because the driver kept changing gears and I had to hold my leg away from the stick shift, but also because I was terrified I was going to get separated from her. I realized that it was the perfect example of faith for me. I know God is in the back of the van, just waiting and sitting, but the entire time I am terrified that He has evaporated into thin air. Of course Lanyero didn’t leave me, and even though there isn’t an official stop, I knew exactly where to get off on my own, and I met her outside the van. Yes, very similar to God.
Speaking of God, He is with me. Very tangibly. I have been praying, nearly constantly while here. I pray for big things, like time to develop wings and fly. I pray for little things, like the traffic jam to clear up (ok, sometimes that is a very big thing). I pray that I won’t hear the mouse. I pray that I will find a bathroom. I pray that I won’t panic. And yesterday was actually really hard for me. Really hard. And I just prayed the entire time. I want miracles in my life. I am learning that God is a God of miracles, but for me, He is continually a God of tender mercies. And that is very different. It is hard sometimes because I just want that easy miracle, you know? But honestly, very few things have made me want to cry in gratitude as the toilet being full of water so I could flush when I woke up on Sunday (why can I not stop talking about the bathroom? I apologize). I am counting my tender mercies in full gratitude because I would not have emotionally survived without them. The sunset tonight, the pineapple soda on Friday, the full nights sleep seem so small out of context, but in the moment they seemed more like oxygen—enough breath to get my into the next moment.
A lot of my least favorite parts of myself have been manifested in this trip. I am selfish, snappish, insecure, low on patience, and uncomfortable. I considered myself a great world traveller who could adapt to cultures, but man, Uganda is teaching me lessons. I am practicing grace, maybe too much, but I am practicing grace because it is hard to be here alone. As in really hard. I am used to being alone, but this is a different level. So I am practicing grace in my insecurity because it really stems from fear of not knowing how to act or to be. I am hoping to carry this home, so next time, when the circumstances aren’t as dire and I feel insecure, I will have practiced more patience. I won’t snap or be too quiet.
I have learned that time is not money in Uganda. I have measured time as money for so long, I am not even sure how to change my paradigm. It is utterly confusing to me as we circle the city, navigating traffic jams and bad roads, when an email would suffice in the U.S. I am flabbergasted by having to meet in person or wait for letters of introduction. When telling Lanyero that we had five hours to wait for a response, she said that it wouldn’t take us five hours to get to our location. It took us four hours (trust me, I was counting them). When I told Lanyero that, she looked at me in surprise. I always ask what time I need to get up in the morning, but I am typically waiting for an hour before we actually leave. I still can’t wrap my mind around this way of life. I am finding that I am infinitely more partial to my system (see what I mean by the worst parts of myself? I am full-fledged, head-over-heels in love with America these days).
I feel like I have been putting myself in situations where none of my talents are showcased. It’s a little disheartening to be honest. I am taking an art class, failing at working in development, and struggling to learn a language. In some ways I’m grateful because I am continually crossing things off my list of potential futures, but man, I need to sign up for something that I’m great at one of these days. Or maybe that’s what college was? I’m really proud of myself. This stuff is hard, and I am not shying away from it. I am also exhausted because you can only handle so much of trying to be brave before you would like to just order a 24 oz. Diet Coke with lime and a sugar cookie to celebrate finishing a slide deck while driving away listening to Taylor Swift (literally what dreams are made of right there). My dad told me that what I learn here will give me strength for the future, and I think that’s true.
Additionally, I am a little surprised at just how low-maintenance I am. I mean, I always prided myself on that, but my eyebrows look like I am in fifth grade (you know, kind of the ragamuffin stage?). Also, my hands are slightly sunburned because of the malaria medicine and my face is SO oily because of the daily sunscreen situation. And sponge bath situation. Have I mentioned that? I am learning whole new levels of what I care about. I am actually surprised at how relatively good my complexion has been? I feel like a hag most days, actually every day, almost all of the time.
It should be noted that this entire thing has been written whilst listening to the EFY CD because Ugandans are very into that and we are waiting for a phone call at 8:00. You know how it goes.
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