I am here and it is lovely. Oh, how I have missed this place so much. If one was to somehow have a second home, Uganda would be mine. Coming in from the airport, Kampala seemed both busier and more polluted. And yet, everything was still the same – the precariously perched tomatoes on the side of the road, an old man smoking a pipe as he leans against a cement wall, the blue paint ragged behind him.
That said, I am somewhat filthy. I have been wearing the same shirt for four days. My luggage is lost somewhere in the hinterlands of the Nairobi airport, complete with about 7 kinds of French cheese. I expect it to be a tad on the smelly side when it finally returns, if, it ever returns. But it’s a blip really, and I am so happy to be here that inconsequential things like shirts and toiletries seem unimportant.
I am so happy to be here. My face hurts from smiling.