The Crazy Adventures of an American Mzungu

This story begins like most, at the beginning – my first week in Moroto. When I first arrived, I went through a program for language learning called LAMP, a week-long program where you meet with your language helper, learn a few things, and then go out into the community to use what you have learned. Esther was my language helper “back in those days” and made it her personal mission to show me Moroto in its entirety. That is how I came to know Kakolye – a section of Moroto that soon became a big part of my life. Esther walked me through Kakolye, where we ran into a friend of hers. I greeted and began to take in the scene around us as they talked. We stood on the edge of an open market. Maize laid on the ground waiting to be sold. A few fires burned as they roasted meat. Then a sea of home brewed  booze shelters scattered the remaining area. We stood next to a table that had a gambling game going on. People watching is a rare and short-lived event in Uganda. A woman marche...

We were the first to board the bus. My teammate Nita and I were traveling to Kampala so I could pick up my best friend and Nita could pick up her car. I love when I have the option to sit at the front of the bus — the seats are more spacious (great for someone with motion sickness) and I find it a much less painful journey if I cannot see all the people coming and going from the bus (not sure why I feel that way). Nita took the very first seat, which is completely by itself and I took a seat behind. The late morning sun blazed through the window, so I opted for the aisle seat.  As our hour wait marched on, God spoke to my heart, saying, “Mary, I want you to give up your seat.” I knew that the loving thing to do would be to bake in the sun and allow someone else with a more comfortable seat.  The bus continued to fill, but no one made their way to my seat. A woman who worked for the bus company asked me if the seat next to me was available. Then another worker escorted a y...