(originally written Aug 22, 2006)
While some of you might be scanning this fro great tales of daring and wonder in the African realms, I have to warn you that, as of now, we're not there yet. While I am defintely here in Gulu, safe and getting acquainted with the amazing people and the town, I have for some reason chosen to publish these thoughts in serial format, opening with, appropriately, chapter one.
It having been quite some time since I stuffed myself into the tin box of a transatlantic flight, I was quite eager to get off the ground, enjoy the free drinks, nearly endless peanuts, in-flight entertainment, and discussions with fellow world travellers. And for about four or five hours, that little box in the seat in front of me suited nicely. Then bordem sets in. Maybe there is something about being a guy my age that makes people uneasy about opening up in conversation, or maybe it was because I was rutenely sat next to men even older than myself who occupied their own flights quickly with books and earphones, but I never really got the chance to talk with my fellow travellers. I sat there, occaisionally bursting with the realization of my new adventure, eager to share it with people and hear their own adventures. (Some of this might have been aimed at the fact that I could say, "Well, yes, a couple of weeks in Paris sounds trully exciting, have I mentioned I'm moving to Africa?" but who can tell.) But no, they were quite absorbed by trying to determine if Tom Cruise would accomplish this impossible mission of his (not quite sure how that turned out as I fell asleep each of the three times I watched that particular film on that long day.) I even had complimentary DVDs that would accompany my stories, but sadly few were interested.
I had talked with a friend earlier amidst all the travelling chaos and wondered that maybe not being allowed any carry on bags might not be such a bad thing. Perhaps then we might be forced to interact. I would overcome my desire to not interupt people who seemed quite content not talking to me, and they would be forced, through boredom, to find something interesting to do, even if it meant listening to the unkempt guy next to them and his silly African exploits. Oh well, even London will soon return to normal, if it hasn't already and people with have their books and iPods and everything safe.
But all of that aside, I soon (well, not soon, really, but after some time) made it to Amsterdam and was allowed a few hours of roaming about the city before the next flight. Sure, it was six in the morning and the main activity was street cleaners washing away evidence of reveleries of the previous night, and sure I had made the poor choice of shorts and Reefs as travelling clothes. (In my defense, I was going from sunny San Diego, to intensly sunny Uganda, and besides the Spanish tourists on the same train to the city with the same mistake had to suffer through the decision of chanclas as travel gear, making jokes and complaining all the way.) A little cold and wet, I still got to walk around a European ciy again. I remembered for a while the great squares with towering buildings, which--on a day that wasn't blanketed in gloom--would have made great pictures. There was also those European girls, so attractive and yet serious in their long dark colored coats as they sped by on bicycles. But good coffee from one of the few open bakeries, and breif talks with people before I headed back would have to satisfy.
The oddest moment came as I walked through the old Dutch buildings built by the imperialistic arm of the old country. Shops proudly displayed the rich assortment of diamonds and wealth. Perhaps it was the dark sky, but my destination made me dwell on the misery these shops had casued through the years. The lives wasted as diamonds were ripped from the earth in the mines of Africa. Disturbed, I wandered through the streets carrying a fresh dose of caucasian guilt to propell me along. My time ended and I had to hurry back. Showing the grace of the situation, those notions are easily swept away by the humanity of the place here. As I entered Africa and was greated by the people there, as the days came by and I saw everyone working, there are better impulses to be driven by that bury the guilt. Europeans, Africans, Americans, and everyone strive towards something great here. But all that will have to wait.
Tune in tommorrow for the next dose. Well, actually, given the situation here with internet and even electricity proving quite elusive companions, it will most likely be quite beyond tommorrow before we in our story even get to Kampala, much less Gulu. But soon and sometime, if not then.
