The other day I found myself washing my muddy sandals and feet with equally filthy puddle water on the side of the road in Kampala... low point? This isn't exactly the first time I've tried to bathe in Kampala's Holy Waters but it is the first time this semi-embarrassing habit has coincided with my current state of homelessness.
I've decided normal, everyday acts are somehow more pathetic when you're homeless. Take, for example, sitting on the side of the road- I normally find that a nice shady spot on the side of the road is the perfect place to sit and watch life go by after a long walk. But when you're homeless you realize that shady spot isn't really just a nice place to cool down; It's your living room. And that fly, the one that won't leave you alone despite your very best swatting? The type of swatting that is so enthusiastic, innocent passersby encircle you with the mistaken assumption you're demonstrating some sort of drunken martial arts from your homeland? Well that fly is your annoying house pet. And even if you could, you don't need to turn on your laptop to watch movies because evidently you're a real life action/comedy to everyone around you. Children with wide eyes stop and laugh as you interact with all your new house pets and no matter how much you want to, you can't slam the door and crawl under your covers because your finest linen option is a gathering of matooke leaves.
I should say I started writing this post before I travelled east to Bududa and saw actual homeless people living in displacement camps as a result of a recent landslide, people without recurring Peace Corps paychecks or with friends scattered throughout the country willing to take them in and feed them fancy care-package candy canes (only five months late, indicating improvement in the Ugandan postal system). So now I feel like a bit of an ass. Luckily, I'm becoming quite used to the feeling.
My version of homelessness hasn't been without challenge. I mean don't let the candy cane, Christmas in the tropics image fool you. The worst part by far is the travel. I know, you may have romantic images of African safari-style travel... wind in your hair, binoculars in hand and wearing some sort of impractical yet adorable Banana Republic khaki dress with a woven leather belt. Perhaps the Circle of Life is playing softly on the radio or just floating by on the wind from an unknown source. Or... maybe that was just me.
I can't really describe what it's like to actually travel in Uganda. I guess Ugandan travel is somewhat like Buddhism; it's meant to be experienced, not read about. But even Buddha himself, assuming he looked anything like the round-bellied (kwashiorkor?) depiction gracing t-shirts worldwide, would have had a hell of a time fitting into a matatu (taxibus). Matatus, by law, are required to hold no more than 14 people including the driver but even on a good day it's rare to find a taxi travelling any significant distance with less than 18 people and a chicken. More often the number is upwards of 23. Whenever I find myself annoyed at being squished against the roll bar with a small, possibly abandoned child on my lap, I like to think of the extra people as safety devices who will hopefully function as airbags in case of collision. In fact, I have to think of the extra people that way after seeing one matatu driver's first-aid kit fly open (after a particularly large run-in with a particularly large pothole) to reveal absolutely nothing inside. To the left of the empty kit was an empty holster where the fire extinguisher should have been. And to the left of that were the graffitied words of a possibly terrified or hopeful passenger: Jesus Can Brave. Encouragement?
Yes, travel in Uganda is less than glamorous. Two days ago I was travelling to the capital in a matatu which hit a cyclist not even ten minutes into the trip and then two hours later, when my heart rate had finally normalized, abruptly swerved to just barely avoid a head-on collision. I really don't know why every matatu driver in this country drives like they're on the final lap in MarioKart with no red shell and mom yelling "Dinner!" in the background. Yesterday's driver could be the MarioKart Champion of Uganda. The world. I'm not talking about a 100cc, Flower Cup, silver metal kind of guy. This man was 100% Special Cup, lapping people on Rainbow Road. You know, the level with bright confusing lights and no side rails? That's Uganda, just add goats. Just realized I'm a nerd on top of being an ass. Ah, self-discovery.
