Knees to my Chin

I'm not even sure how to write about Uganda. I'm worried I can't possibly contain everything I want to remember in this blog. As I compose in my mind, it either comes out like a travel log (boring) or it comes out like a Stephen Covey instruction manual for life (too over-the-top). The conclusion I've come to is just to share five stories from my experience...just a glimpse of some defining moments for me. Here's the first one:

Knees to my Chin (or the Drive to Kaliro Village)

We arrive in Kampala! After twenty-one hours of traveling, we load into the van--four students crowd in the back seat, while the remaining nine of us share the other seats. I find myself on the first row in the center - a good vantage point to see the road. Squished between Carrie (Jesca's 5th grade teacher) and Alex (Shana's Ugandan son), we settle in for the three hour ride. A box of water bottles stashed on the floor in front of Alex forces him to keep his legs bent. My over-stuffed backpack takes up my foot space. We get to know each other very quickly.

I think to myself, "No problem. A three-hour drive. I can do this." Alex passes around our snack - Ugandan chipates (thick tortillas, still warm from the grill).

One hour into the ride: I have lost all feeling in my bum and toes. I take turns stretching my legs, one at a time, careful not to bump the gear shift.

Two hours into the car ride: my lower back aches as though I've been repeatedly punched. I coordinate with Carrie, who is experiencing the same symptoms, to crisscross our legs in the available space. We look like we're playing a game of Twister.

Traffic is worse than expected. At the three-hour mark, we are only half way there. The new projected time in the car is six hours. 

It is now a mental game for me. 

Surprisingly, none of the students utter a word of complaint - I'm not joking here or exaggerating. They are troopers. So I try to settle in. I try to ignore the tingly, achy, stinging sensation slowly working its way down my legs.

Alex distracts me. He points out the window to where a group of Ugandan children play on a huge pile of sugar cane in the middle of a cleared field. They climb and jump as though it is a mound of hay. Some children sit on the dark, plowed soil and gnaw on sugar cane remnants. The sugar cane is thick and green.

And slowly the pain is replaced by pictures and sights: Ugandan taxis with painted signs on their rear windows. My favorite=THANKULORD4DRIVING US EVERY DAY.

A child rolls a black tire along the side of the road. Goats dot the hillsides and graze along the roadside. One man carries a goat wrapped in cardboard on the back of his motorcycle. At first we think it’s dead. But then the goat bleats loudly in protest as the motorcycle weaves between the traffic. 

Alex points behind us. "The sun is setting," he announces. I strain to see the sunset, craning my neck as Alex points to the blaze of yellow dipping behind the towering African trees. The sky burns a bright orange and red. 

The next three hours slip by like the setting sun.

And even though it is dark when we finally arrive, a group of village children cheer and run after the van welcoming us. We emerge into the cool night, stretching our stiff legs. The children come to shake our hands and hug us. Their laughter rises in the night and mingles with the stars.