I guess this is it; I leave for home in three days. After 16 weeks, three national parks, two countries, and countless lessons, it’s all over. I’ve lived out of my suitcase, slept on the floor, and taken approximately ten different forms of transportation. I’ve eaten grasshoppers and chicken ovaries. I’ve fetched hundreds of buckets of water, gone a week without showering, and used all of the baby wipes I’ve brought. Sometimes I’ve been really scared; other times I’ve been so unbelievably happy I’ve cried. The people I’ve met along the way have touched my heart forever, the memories I’ve made will last a lifetime. I’ve figured out a lot about myself, life, and love. The one thing I haven’t figured out though is how to leave, or how to say goodbye to the country, people, and friends who’ve changed my life.
Right now I’m sitting next to my best traveling buddy Nick, waiting for our bus to leave Kabale and begin the very long and bumpy ride to Kampala. While the ride is only around 160 miles, it somehow takes a whooping 8 hours of tortuous starting and stopping. At one point, there are these thick speed bumps, placed every 50 feet, for about 5 miles. In the middle of nowhere, you suddenly find yourself flying though midair as the shock-less bus hurtles over them. It’s always a favorite part of the journey. Ladies, if you ever travel to Africa, pack your most intense sports bra; it comes in handy if you don’t want to be smacked in the face by God’s blessing while you travel over the precarious roads.
We’re returning from our whirlwind two week adventure through
Rwanda and southern Uganda. Tents and backpacks heavy, we even cooked our own food at points, shivering over our burnt rice and a pitiful fire. In the equatorial rainforest, it’s the wet season, meaning it rains at least once a day a drizzling cold rain. All of my clothes are varying degrees of dampness, as the persistent cloud cover prevents anything from ever drying.
But Rwanda was amazing. Such a different culture! Within a hundred yards of the Ugandan border, the yelling stopping, men stopped harassing me, and the children beggars disappeared. The smoldering piles of rubbish that decorate the Ugandan roads were absent. I suddenly felt underdressed in my baggy pants and tank top since women and men clicked around in shiny shoes and smart looking clothes. I got on the bus, the conductor actually gave me the correct change back- go figure! There is definitely more to say about that cultural adventure, but the bus is getting bumpier and passengers are gawking at my tiny computer, so it’s probably best to put it away.
I’ll be home in three days; I still can’t believe it.
