The Re-entry

And, so, after what really was the perfect trip home, here I am, back in boda-boda land. Back where the sun rises at 7 and sets at the same, never stretching much further than a 12 hour day. Where mud-splattered pants are a small price to pay for rains that will vanish just as soon as they came. Where traffic officers make more of a mess than a means, and hawkers at roundabouts sell air time and jeans. Where security guards walk affably, laden with guns, and trucks overflow with matooke or nuns. Where women sweep streets with bent-over backs, and men slash grass with machetes to restrain the expanse. Where chickens peck unattended on the side of the road, and the power, it comes, and the power, it goes. Where life is much simpler and much more complex, where most of my days are spent speaking of sex. Where I’ve become Jeni or Jenfer or Jane, and spell like the British and abridge the refrain. Where I buy everything fresh and bleach my veggies with Jik, store my milk in a cupboard and, well, often get sick. Home will always be home (have no fear, you and you), but here’s to Uganda, because here is home, too.
*Happy anniversary to me! While I’ve been back for a couple weeks now, today is the one-year anniversary of when I first flew in to take up residence as one of Uganda’s newest boda-boda fans.