A glimpse into a not so distant past (part 1)

It’s funny how in a single moment everything can change. One second you are sitting on the couch reading a book and the next you are transported through space to a different time and place. A moment so real you can hear the noises of things you once saw. A memory so vivid you can smell the warm humid air as it kisses your face. I find myself transporting to these moments quite frequently.

I sat on the back of a boda as it raced down the dusty dirt road. I was supposed to be wearing a helmet, especially on long rides like this but I loved the way the wind felt against my face. It offered a sweet sense of relief from the scorching hot sun that beat down on my pale skin. I held tight to the bar behind where I sat, clinging on for dear life in hopes to not fall off or lose my balance as the boda driver maneuvered through the slippery pothole ridden terrain. It wasn’t culturally appropriate to hold onto your driver like it is here in the states, or so I was told.

This drive was my favorite. Although, I didn’t do it often because trusty boda drivers were hard to come by and paying my driver to wait or come back for me was a pretty penny. So when I had the opportunity, I took it. As we drove along the street my heart was filled with the simplicities this life has to offer. Children waving a sweet hello or chasing a rolling tire, keeping it going with a stick. A jaja sitting on the porch of her house watching the world pass by. A man unloading one of many bags of coal piled high on his own boda. A mother hanging up clothes to dry. This ride was my favorite because it put me right smack in the middle of village life. Where goats and cows roam freely and often stop traffic and people greet you with smiles and say “you are most welcome.”

Many times I have these memories come flooding back only to feel overwhelmed with emotions. I often try to write about them and record them to look back on but I feel as though no amount of words ever read can capture the essence of it all. It’s like trying to describe a soul to someone who has never heard the word before. How can I put enough words in writing about a place so complex it is simple and do it justice?

After I arrived to my destination I hopped off the boda and paid my driver. Standing, thankful I did not wipe out on the way. Falling off a boda is no fun. Believe me, I’ve done it and I still have the scars to show from it. Covered in red dust I wiped my face on my skirt to remove the very “oompa loompa”  like look I was wearing. Then I set off down the path.

As I sat down in the tall grass I gazed out at the Nile river. People travel all over the world to see this and here I was, looking at it for one last time before I left for home. Although looking back I knew that the word “home” would never hold the same weight it once had. Home would no longer be my small little town in Sonoma County where I grew up. In fact I would never really feel at “home” ever again in this crazy life, because home is where your heart is and I was leaving part of mine in this field. Tucked away, buried beneath the dark red soil that beat to the rhythm of the Nile’s current.

It’s a funny thing really. Talking to people about this place. A place where I fell in love. With Jesus, people, nature and myself. I learned more in those six months than I have learned in my entire life and yet I struggle to put into words a single thing that happened. Every story is a mixed bag. Full of hurt, happy, and sometimes anger and freight. A friend once told me the deeper you feel pain and allow yourself to truly feel it, the deeper your happiness will also be. I agree 110%. Although, I find that people are afraid to feel the pain that so often comes before the happiness that they just settle for a life without both and live being comfortable. I think that is why I have such a hard time expressing in words how I feel. In Uganda people wore their lives with pride because there was no other option. They owned their trials and sufferings because hiding from them meant falling deeper into it. They shared their hurt because it was too heavy to carry alone. I try to walk that out here but it is hard because we get so distracted by the trivial things of everyday life we lose sight of what matters most. Loving Jesus and Loving People. Nothing else really matters.

 

So as these flashback moments come I am going to try harder to write them down to share because I think it is important to hear people’s stories and learn from each other. But, with that being said, there are a lot of things that happened that not many people know about. The reason I nearly jump out of my skin when a car backfires or the reason my heart starts racing when I think someone is following me. Some of these memories are deep roots of pain and sorrow in my life but I have realized that by not sharing them I am not allowing myself to live in the happy moments of it either.

 

So read along if you would like but don’t get offended if I speak some raw truth too.