Reflections of Myself and Snowflakes

On September 17th I met my 20 year-old brother, for the first time.
He is a sophomore at Clemson. The call was a pivotal moment for me, I felt such intense love for this complete stranger, a young-adult I once new and share DNA with. He was so mature, asked me thoughtful questions and seemed genuinely interested in learning about his half-sister he knows so little living on the west coast. My heart literally felt like it was going to burst, hearing this human's excited voice on the other line, asking how my business was, what I did for fun, where I lived... I had no idea he would even care, or have been interested in knowing me. Talking for almost an hour and a half, into the middle of the night for him, I felt an immense connection to this virtual stranger thousands of miles away.

The last time (before this) that I spoke to Jackson was about 8 years ago at a family reunion. He's lived in another state since the summer I turned 17. My dad and his wife decided to move to Minnesota that summer to live closer to her large, mid-western family.
She was pregnant with their third child at the time, and Jackson was five.

In high school I carried the copies of pictures of Jackson as a baby and toddler that I managed to recover from the doubles in their family photo album, sliding them into the clear sleeve of my binder. I loved that child.
I wanted nothing more than to have siblings and a lifelong, forever connection like that.
But from the moment he was born, things changed dramatically in that household.

While visiting I would try to hold him, or play with him, and moments later some excuse like 'bath time' would come up and he would be taken from my arms. I remember one time during a dinner party, he needed his diaper changed and I took it upon myself to do it. K was livid.
She didn't want me touching him. (She didn't want me around, at all.)

I'll never truly understand how a woman in her thirties can be threatened by an 11- or 12-year-old. Now that I'm in my thirties, I cannot fathom treating a child the way she treated me. I'd like to leave the memories in the past where they belong, but I know they've had a monumental part in shaping the person that I am today. This is where 'the work' comes in.  I know I've developed thick walls to protect myself from people hurting me. I know energetically this prevents me from having connections at times with people because I am guarded, which in turn can come off as uninterested or even cold.

I'm actually a swirling ball of emotions. I wear my heart on my sleeve. It's a miracle I am able to even work in sales, seeing as I am so sensitive to the actions of others. I've had to learn to not take things personally (still completely, fallibly working on that.)

Today I went to the mountain for a snowy hike with a new friend and our dogs. Over the goofy antics of the dogs frolicking and freaking out in the snow, we tromped down the path to a frozen Trillium Lake. It was a nice change in scenery for my typical Sunday.

On the way home we stopped at a Taco Shoppe in Government Camp to wait out the apres-weekend-warrior traffic shitshow. He asked me alarmingly personal and insightful questions and poked at my vulnerability. (Which made me increasingly uncomfortable.) I answered the deeper philosophical questions, positing my two-cents about what it means to be human, and squirmed when he tried to get me to put my hand on his to test the heart-communication theory. I didn't want my heart to say anything that wasn't ready to come out of my mouth.

After getting home, I was already feeling weird inside. I called me mom on the way to run a final errand and was soon crying over an hour long talk with her, explaining that I wasn't sure if I was upset because I was disappointed that I wasn't immediately in love/lust with this person, felt like my ego was being over-reflected back at me, and I didn't like what I saw, or am just disillusioned and worn out with the idea of dating and trying to find this person that's supposed to match you and bring out the best in you...
to no avail...

I am hesitant to let someone see my inner world and know how terrified I am of being hurt again in a relationship. I question whether I will even be able to love someone with the same intensity and feeling as I did M. I'm afraid I'll never even feel that way about someone ever again. He was so close to everything I wanted to find in another person. And the timing was all fucked up. And I made mistakes. And so did he. And then he moved on right away, and I... am still a work in progress.

I just finished writing my dad a letter tonight that I've been percolating on for months. It's super personal. I got tears all over it by the end and was a snotty-nosed, hot mess. Seems like I should probably now share it with my 10 readers on the internet. They've lived in South Carolina for like six years now.... I have never seen their home, boat, toys, lifestyle.
I have barely spoken to the three kids and the last time I ever saw them was that family reunion in Michigan.

Dear Dad,

At first I was pretty surprised not to hear from you after our last conversation [in June]. Then it just fortified my hurt feelings and gave me continued reason to no longer communicate with you...
I asked for the money to pay for the final leg of my flight last summer because I wanted to see you, see where you live, and have a relationship with you. I can't even fully explain in a way you'll understand how sad it makes me that we have no relationship and I'm not a part of your family. It would have been good for me to come when your wife was away because the entire situation is a lot for me to process and take in, and taking it in pieces would have also been more comfortable for me. [and the airfare to Nashville was already purchased.]
But rather than encourage whatever effort I make, you told me that you were "done coming to Portland," you had "no reason to come to Portland anymore," and asked if I "expected you to take care of me financially as an adult/in my thirties."
This is incredibly offensive to me on so many levels. I have worked very hard to support and take care of myself and I still do. It's very sad and heartbreaking that visiting your oldest daughter in and of itself isn't reason alone to ever want to come to Portland again. I feel that I've made many efforts to try and be a part of your family, but this final conversation just left me tired and disheartened. Thank you for the Christmas gesture, but I'll respectfully decline your money. Merry Christmas.  
                                                                                                                                                Holly

p.s. I cried on my birthday after getting an eCard from you. Its too painful to want to have a relationship with someone and not be allowed to. I can't help but feel that I wasn't good enough to be loved by you. I know that's the hurt child in me but when you hurt me now, as an adult, it just reinforces this deep-seeded believe I have created. All I can do is continue to work on trying to love myself, and accept myself, and try to believe that I have value and deserve to be loved. Maybe one day I will still be able to have a loving family of my own.


And so it was written. And my face is now dry, and tomorrow is a new (rainy) day and life goes on. All we have is hope for the future and lessons of the past to guide tomorrow's choices.
Wearily she smiled and closed her computer after narrating the end of today's story in the 3rd person.

Broken heart. It's time to start writing again.

This is a dream.
It's after 2am and I've woken up with nothing but these thoughts and pressing urge to put it to paper.

All I want is someone to sing this song with.

In spite of ourselves
We'll end up a'sittin' on a rainbow
Against all odds
Honey, we're the big door prize
We're gonna spite our noses
Right offa our faces
There won't be nothin' but big old hearts
Dancin' in our eyes.

I can't believe I've left this behind for 3 years. Almost to the week. I think writing is what's missing. My creative outlet. My source of comfort and conversation with the universe and a couple others that choose to tune in.

I'm surprised this has happened. I don't know if I've ever been smitten like this or heartbroken quite so quickly. And it's all about timing.

Camping in Maupin over Labor Day weekend. I was invited by a friend who I've known for over 4 years but I came to realize this weekend that I still don't even know him at all. It was a group trip where I ended up being the only girl with 4 guys, all old friends from the Navy.
I was the odd woman out... but it was easily one of the best weekends I've had, in a long time.

This person... we can call him Tony. We used to play softball together, and had been camping before, same area, Summer four years ago. He had already well-developed a reputation of being a slut, passing along among women, being unreliable, etc. And I realize now that certain people who talked to me made sure that I knew this about him. After the season and this epic rafting trip, we all had a great couple months developing a group rapport... there was a house of roommates and the three of us that got mixed into the fold. I loved having people to hang out with like this, play silly drinking games, wander around town, celebrate birthdays. Unfortunately, Tony's girlfriend was young, more insecure than she seemed initially (she was beautiful and witty and fun,  I actually had a mild girl crush on her...) But she began to perceive me as a threat to her guy (at this time any attractive woman could have been considered a real threat, he had a wandering eye) but I wonder if he'd have actually cheated on her...?
I realize I was actually super attracted to this Tony person, but I had also helped instigate a spin-the-bottle game that was the beginning of him dating this girl in the group. This girl was my friend and I was on her team,  I told her as much and I meant it. I would have never participated in something to betray her.  Tony and I did have our spin-the-bottle kiss one night after others had gone to bed... which was sly but still due from the day it was earned a couple weeks prior. It was chemical when we started kissing, he pulled my hips toward him and I knew I had to leave immediately lest I participate in something I would greatly regret. I think he would have slept with me that night. And he shouldn't have wanted to. That made it bearable to shake it off, because I never wanted to date a man that would cheat on me.
I biked home that night, 7 miles, at close to 3 in the morning.
That should have been a clue that there was something there, but it's hard to trust your body when your brain is in conflict.

And so it sat for years. And then there was Manny. Who I loved with all my heart. And still love today, in spite of myself. (And probably always will.) And since he left almost a year and a half ago, I have had this patchwork game of dating and hoping, feeling despondent and taking a break, saying fuck it and trying again, getting onto Match.com for a month, trying MeetUps, saying fuck it and taking a break, getting back on Tinder... you get the picture. I had a guy enamor himself of me one night in Nashville and follow me home. Literally home. Across the country. The problem was he turned out to really just be a puppy, and I already have a dog. A really super awesome one:

Benny, Maupin up some sun spots.

And the strange part is I really have no desire to have any sort of relationship with him anymore, really actually do not want to hear from him at all. I feel like he misrepresented who he was and someone being a liar is not at all a fit for me. I value honesty, open communication and personal clarity to the highest. Know Thyself. Mother trucker.

I realize at the same time that I don't really know this "Tony" as well as I could, and whatever I'm holding in my mind at the moment is a big projection of my thoughts and feelings. But I loved these guys on this trip. I loved all of them in different ways. I loved Kevin's eccentricities, and we had a great conversation on the drive to the site. I loved his whole-hearted laugh and clear vibrant zest for life. He told me things about him trying to make his last five-year relationship work that deserve huge admiration. Any guy willing to go to couple's counseling for over a year, that is a devoted man. That is someone you want fighting for you. I loved Mike's quiet, sweet nature. I loved that he knew how to play Gin Rummy, and had brought cards. He had every candy I needed, Reese's s'mores, voilá, Reese's appeared. Red Vines came in handy as a tool the next day. He was a great listener. Shawn too. So quiet I kept trying to draw info out of him, requesting to know more of his life. I saw him in the hammock when we got back from rafting and immediately jumped in on top of him and joined the cocoon. He taught me how to throw a football and I realized I was actually pretty good. We all threw knives and hatchets at trees to try and make them stick. These guys made me feel accepted and honored and trusted. I had kaleidoscope eyes for the first time. I saw "Tony" in his element, I saw who he was beyond a story of a player, or someone who I didn't really trust from the get-go.

And when it was time to pack up camp and we scatted into three cars, I asked him if I could ride with him. He quickly agreed. I don't know if that pissed off his roommate that I had ridden up with, but I HAD to have a conversation with him that wasn't in front of his friends. In the car we weren't even fully out of the campsite before I looked over and told him I really wished he didn't have a girlfriend. He said, "I know." I told him I had been thinking about him all night and couldn't even fall asleep until after 3am. I wanted to crawl into his tent but knew that would be a bad idea.

We had subtly flirted but no more than could probably even be recognized by his three closest friends... I felt the chemical attraction to him again, only this time, it was as if a veil had been lifted off my eyes and I saw who he really was. Part of what kept me thrashing around in my tent for hours was the weed... my active swirling thoughts that wouldn't shut off, and the thought and realization that I was actually in love with this person. How had I never realized this before?

Back to the car-- I turned to Tony and told him that I liked him. A lot. I liked everything about him- his music, his style, his sense of humor, who he WAS. I asked all kinds of questions. Why had we never dated? Why was the timing off always, what the fuck!?
He chuckled a lot because I was so blunt I think I made him uncomfortable.
I told him I wanted to touch him so badly. I told him that he made my stomach hurt, in a good way. I asked him to hold my hand (friends can hold hands, right?) He was surprised at my request and got weird about it so I kind of pushed his half-ass offered hand back at him.

At some point his hand found its way to me again, and I brushed up against his arm. I would touch him in any platonic way I could, starving for his touch. His hand sat on my thigh and he squeezed it repetitiously, I grasped his wrist both preventing him from moving his hand anywhere neither of us could be able to resist this feeling anymore, and so I could hold onto him. I was literally drooling. I had to take deep breaths to keep my head from spinning.
I wondered aloud how compatible we were, and I said we'd either get along great, or fight. But if we fought, then we'd just fuck after, and it'd be amazing. I actually said that out loud. I don't know what mind I was in.
He did admit a few things, but I realize now that sometimes it's just a strong desire for sex and women can easily thread emotion into that.  I asked him if he liked me too, and he said he did. He said he also wanted to come to my tent but wasn't sure which tent was mine, and then the whole girlfriend thing. He said he wanted to grab my butt all weekend. I said he should have. But then I said it was good that he didn't. Our conversation went on like this. Teasing and imagining how great it would be if we could just cave in to this long awaited desire.

I haven't felt this way about anyone in a long time. I just don't even find most guys that attractive in the first place, and if there's chemical chemistry, it's on. Or at least it should be. And of course, just like 4 years ago, he's not unattached. Which is sort of a pattern with this guy. I don't think he stays single for very long. He's Tom Selleck in Magnum PI. He's soft spoken and doesn't need to be the center of attention, but can easily do something ridiculous like throw on a full body Sasquatch costume and come out in the dark to try and scare everyone after day drinking and eating drugs. He finds the coolest pieces of clothing at Goodwill. He knows how to have fun. He is the fun.

And tonight he told me simply, "I like the girl that I'm dating and it's just not good timing." She lives in LA. I don't think they've been dating for longer than a month. It's super disappointing. I felt a tiny pin-prick of my heart, and the subsequent deflation.
From what he said, it's hard not to hear she's better than me or prettier or more interesting...
but really it's just, I'm already invested in something. I want to see where it goes.
And I realize it's ethical of him to tell me this now, so that I don't hold onto hope that he changes his mind and realizes what's being presented right in front of him, already in Oregon, already in love with him... me.

Timing is fucking everything. And this is "what is true."

Home at Last

This whirlwind of a “goodbye” tour as it may is finally drawing to an end. I think I’ve about approached my limit, as I considered murdering the sarcastic old asshole in line in front of me in the security line, who held up 30 people while he and his 20+years younger wife unloaded their life’s possessions and packed a double stroller slow as can be into the x-ray belt.

I’m on the final leg. Salt Lake to Portland. What the hell put me in Salt Lake, you may ask? Was I considering a conversion to professional hobby skiing and Mormonism? Nope, just the really awesome connecting flight I was forced to change to thanks to my terrier of a supervisor in Kampala, who clearly failed to understand why extra connections, hours spent waiting and purchasing more overpriced food and baggage checking (gotta love flying now-a-days) wasn’t worth a $50 discounted ticket.

Alas. I ran my ass off from the gate to get to my connecting flight, and find myself sitting next to another entity with sickeningly sweet breath, wafting in my direction as he sleeps mouth open, faintly reminiscent of cheerios (granted, he’s probably 6 years old) which is only a slight upgrade from the last guy who just needed to learn to floss, and lose a few so his overbearing presence in a middle seat doesn't automatically share with both flanking seats. I really need to start to fly first class.

Grandma’s house in San Diego was good for a visit, I put in valuable face time, and acquired an antique watch fob, no less. Inside are pictures of her grandmother, Esther, and Esthers’ parents (my great, great, great grandparents), and her two sisters and one of her two brothers. The pictures are probably circa 1890 or so… and Grandma passed it on as she thinks I find family history fascinating (she is right), but also mainly because when I was 16, I completed a family tree project in US history that required months of geneology research and scanning microfilm in the creepy dusty canals of the Portland public library. I re-read part of what I had written, surprised at the breadth of detail. I used to be a damn good student! What happened in college? (not like I bombed out, but damn!)

Back in the time of WordPerfect and gluing cutout graphics on printed computer paper, I wrote of Esther’s family history, as this was the most information readily available to me. Her father, Saul, was a first-line immigrant to the US, where his given surname of Krotke was changed to Marks. He was called “Uncle Sam” by Roseburg, Oregon residents, as he was highly regarded and ran probably the main (or only general store) as well as helped develop and found the town. I always knew I was an Oregonian, and have felt a certain pride at this fact among the fake-bespectacled and tight pants-ed transplant hipsters cruising around town on their fixed gear, custom painted bicycles… but it was interesting to be reminded that I’m actually a 5^th generation Oregonian.
(Albeit one that tends to run away from time to time for periods of 6-10 months).

I have already internalized the excitement to spend the rest of the summer in Portland, my home. My preoccupation and curiosity instead lies in how long it will take before I become restless and itinerant again. I have tried to warp my head around a plan to continue work with Volcanoes within some other capacity, in fact, I think I somehow managed to convince my boss that I would be a solid investment and valuably worth considering in a management, alternative position, to be proposed entirely by me. The problem is instead the age-old adage, “Careful, you might get what you wish for.” And I’m not sure if I want to go back to living in Uganda right now. Part of me wants to take a breather and settle into life in Portland, maybe plan a trip for the middle of the winter as a break, and work for myself in Mary Kay, where the outcome is measurable and tangible. I’m looking forward to finding a rhythm that makes sense again, no doubt involving various degrees of soccer, yoga, laughs with friends, outdoor time, peddling Mary Kay, illegally downloading episodes of True Blood and new music…. it’s hard to make a plan right now to disrupt all that again come winter.

I’m not sure if I’ll keep this blog thing up. It’s nice to throw thoughts out there, but maybe it’s time to retire myself to plain old, boring occasional journal writing and bitching with friends. I do hope to keep a hopeful sense of wonder in my surroundings, not fall back into the dangerous pull of depression, staleness, and negativity, and a general disgust at American consumerism, greed and ignorance. It really is a beautiful place to live, if you create that place, water the lawn, pull the weeds and fill your yard with people you love.

Until next time. 

Back n the Saddle

What day is it? I’m currently on a flight out of Portland. Yes, that’s right, and confusing. Wasn’t I just in Uganda like 2 days ago? Yes, that’s right…. And still confusing.
Let me break it down a little more logically. Kampala, to Dubai to NYC to Portland, overnight, run around town all delirious for a day, pack for Mary Kay Seminar in Dallas, back on a plane by 12:50am. So technically it’s Saturday. That answers my question.

I barely made it onto this flight, however. Jen was so kind to drive me to the airport after an IPA at Ron Tom’s. Bad beer, rad friend. (“Hop Envy,” fail.)

I got to my gate on time, only to discover that I am completely retarded. I no longer had my ID and boarding pass, of which I had been holding in my hand out of the security point and somehow had since disappeared.  I searched my bags, getting slowly more and more anxious. It was gone. I figured finally I had set it on the counter while using the restroom before the flight. I ran back to the bathroom, and searched frantically in each stall. It didn’t help that I wasn’t entirely in my right mind thanks to the Ron Tom’s trip beforehand and general complete exhaustion and deliria.

I ran all the way back to the check-in gate, got a new boarding pass printed, then realized that I had my OLCC card on me still (state-issued) and plenty of credit cards, one with my picture on it (thanks, Costco!) Then back through security, pleading with TSA, then literally running, one shoe on-foot, one in-hand, to the gate. One of the agents actually came to check on me at security and got me to the gate. I am sitting on the plane as I write this. My computer clock says 4:36am, but I think that’s East Coast time, and it’s three hours earlier. A baby is crying frantically. I don’t ever want to travel with a little baby, unless it’s an angelic sleeping baby. It would be so stressful!

I feel surprising new bouts of joy throughout the day. I’ve been like this ever since deciding to come home and even more so now that I’m back on planes and trying to take steps to better assemble my life. 

I actually got a (non-standing) ovation getting onto the plane. It wasn’t because the other people on the flight loved me, rather the opposite, they were clapping for my holding them up and being the last to board.  I played it off like it was genuine applause, and through my shoe into the row with my bags for effect.

If I were an attention-whore, it would have been a great entrance. I’m just glad I made the flight. Two minutes after sitting there and getting settled, a flight stewardess walked over and handed me my ID and boarding pass. I told her openly, “I love you.” (She told me I didn’t have to.)

It would have been nice if someone had actually walked it to the gate so I could have boarded the plane like a normal person, however!

En-route

1am Dubai time... and for some reason everywhere I keep sitting is lovely and peaceful and there I am minding my own typing away or something and then in about 20 min I attract some annoying person all up in my business. The first was an Irish guy who tripped on the extended seat footrest and almost ended up in my lap.

Then I walked all over and moved to a new place, only to be joined by an Amazonian blonde German girl who proceeds to have a loud German phone conversation right in my ear. Not to mention that her clothing detergent/perfume smell is seriously making me nauseous. And I'm only 1/3 of the way done with my trip, It's going to be a long next couple days...er week plus.

I am going to be in shock by all the stuff when I get home. I am already appalled at people's behavior, general rudeness, flaunting their money and ill manners.... and I'm only in the airport.

I also realize that if I ever have a daughter, she is not going to be leaving my house looking like that! Those shorts are more like a dish towel tied in the back by some string. Oh dear.

Medications for Worms/Meditations on Life

Twas an eventful day.

First, I roll out of bed completely hungover, change into workout pants and experience full vampire-effect, coiling in terror as I attempt to walk out the front door into the morning sunshine. Re-emerging seconds later, dark sunglasses stuck on face, I bike to work.
Yes, work.
It's Saturday.
Ridiculously pointless to have to go all the way to the office to essentially check my email and half the time send one or two holding messages about needing to wait to check gorilla permit availability on Monday with the Uganda Wildlife Authority (which like any sane company, is closed on Saturdays). But hey, those are the rules. Thanks big boss in London. Really appreciate you in my heart every Saturday morning.

Anyway, I get back home around 1pm. To which Moses, our day askari/gardner tells me Indy has worms. :( yyyyyuk.
I hate little alien parasites that live in things and eat them/their food.

So, today was the day little Indy got her first trip to the dog doctor. Monica went with me and held her on her lap in the car. Turns out Indy has more serious worms, and not your regular tapeworms (although she probably has those too) but these nasty coiling clear spaghetti-shaped ones called Askari worms. The vet said it was a good thing she was a Bansenji-type breed, a real African dog, because purebred dogs like German Shepherds would die from the same quantity inside of her. She looks nothing like a Basenji, but I'm glad she's a bonified African street dog, who can handle some serious worms and tough it out like a trooper, little ribs protruding above her ballooned stomach. She didn't even make a peep during the antibiotics shots. Little love, so sweet, so brave.

I just pulled Indy onto my lap and cuddled her while I type this and she's making baby pig grunting noises out of sheer contentment. This is going to be one sharp, intelligent and fantastic dog. I wonder how big she will become in the end.

We went to the vet at the USPCA, an amazing (and unique!) organization that works to save the lives of street dogs and cats, and abused or neglected animals from around the city. Now I'm watching the videos about Hope and Lucky and the staff and getting all emotional. So many things need our help in this world!

Rescued dogs at the shelter... just bein' dogs. 

For example...
What I originally started this post about, is that on the way to and from the vet, Monica and I got to chat in the car about her life... and fuck. I'm sorry, but holy shit fuck goddamn. Like if you can paint a picture of someone who has the heart of a survivor, that is this woman. She doesn't know how old she is, since she was orphaned as a child. But since she thinks she had her first child at age 16, it would make her almost 32 or 33. Having her first child at 16 was also thanks to being raped by an older man who manipulated her to gain her trust, and then forced himself on her one day when her aunt (who "cared" for her after her parents died) wasn't home.

Her aunt basically treated her like Cinderella, so she was a houseslave, and had no way to tell anyone or find justice for how this man had treated her. She wasn't living in exactly a caring, compassionate and empowering environment. Monica told me she stayed with this man, because she didn't want to be the type of girl who has children by different fathers and a mixed up history, but she discovered within a year that he was not suitable father material. They had another child, a daughter, but the man was never around---sleeping with other women and basically being a complete asshole.  She said he would leave her 2,000 UGX for the entire family (the equivalent of like .80 cents) and she was doing all the housework, feeding and clothing the kids, and completely having to support herself.  

Then in 2004, her sister died of HIV. So her niece essentially became her third child. She had now been directly affected by the HIV virus by watching her sister die from it, and she wasn't about to let a philandering loser infect her and ruin her and her children's lives.

Monica left the loser husband, and openly disclosed her situation to her current boss, my neighbors Tracy and Anders (also some of the nicest people I have met here in Kampala), and that's how she came to live here full time. And she and her children love Indy, and she's already sleeping in the downstairs storage room where Dan, Monica's son, sleeps on a simple mattress on the floor.
Gnut and Pepper (Tracy and Anders' dogs) love Indy too, and bite her playfully and let her follow them all around the compound. She is one little happy dog. Minus the whole creepy worms thing.

I bought the de-worming medicine (including a stop to a pharmacy on the way home for people de-worming tablets for everyone who's been letting Indy lick his or her face) and settled home again for a lazy rest of the day. I was already planning on leaving most of my clothing here for Monica or Lucky (our maid that comes three times a week) and now I am planning on also leaving some money for Monica to buy a bicycle for her son. He asked me for mine when I go, and not only do I think it shows a lot of character that he would be brave enough to ask me, he's a really good, hard-working, and seemingly shy kid. But so is Moses, (the 20-something askari) and I want to give him my bicycle. I guess the moral of today's story is that I think it's pretty great that people can try and do things to help the "greater causes" of the world, or feel empowered working for some big-vision NGOs or whatever.... but I find the most powerful things we can often do are already in our own back yard.

(Especially if it's an African back yard. The rest of you may have to take a short walk. )

Driving say what!

 What's new? One of my roommates went back to the UK to be there for his sick mother, and was planning on returning this week, but things have since worsened. His situation once again reminds me that if we have good health, we truly are fortunate. I can't imagine seriously contemplating the approaching death of my mother, or any family member or close friend for that matter.

On that super depressing note, he was kind enough to allow me the use of his car while away. Which has now become a chunk of time. 

Driving in Kampala is kind of like playing bumper cars with an imaginary bubble around you that you try not to pop...while in a video game involving suicidal boda-bodas coming at you from all angles, street sweepers and oblivious pedetrians you must avoid running over, not to mention the errant goat or chicken.

The other fun part is that his car is a manual, and the steering wheel is on the right side of the car, while I now drive on the left side, shift with my left hand and attempt to remember which way to enter on rounda-bouts and turns. Needless to say it's been eventful. I still occasionally turn on the back windshield wipers in an attempt to signal to traffic. (Why is that thing on the other side!?)

Kate, the pic above is dedicated to you... not sure you can see why!

Most of the time driving is spent sitting in stop and go traffic. So frustrating--and wasteful. And this is why I choose to ride a bicycle. I take every opportunity to get away from the city madness and pollution, and had the pleasure of running away to Jinja last weekend for two days. I stayed at my friend Celia's place (whom I met while at the Karibu Travel Fair in Arusha). 

She and her husband Jacque are South African expats who live in the countryside (all of Jinja is basically countryside with the exception of a small central downtown area). They also have three enormous dogs that can knock you over, or drag you down the road should you attempt to run with one of them on a leash (which I learned the hard way when I took Mickey the giant hound out upon my first visit to their place three weeks ago).

The other family members are Jack a Husky/Shepherd mix, and Otis, a Great Dane. I love going to visit these guys. Not only is it a chance to breathe fresh oxygen, go outside, and play in the beautiful scenery, they've made it a point to welcome people into their homes, making the culture shock I've experienced in this country melt away. We had a proper South African braai on both of my visits to their place, which is basically a BBQ but better. The meats are supposed to be cooked over wood I believe, but we make it happen with a coal grill nonetheless. And we also enjoyed giant avocados in salad, and braai brekkie, basically a delicious S. African version of grilled cheese. YUM!

This last visit was especially special, since Celia found out she is preggers. I'm so happy for them, they are lovely people and deserve nothing but the best.

Then this is how I spent the rest of my Sunday, which is basically how I would like to spend most Sundays--or in some approximate variation involving sand and margaritas.

Bye Jinja! (For now)