Maybe thunder is the workings of God's stomach.

I've decided my favorite "nature" part of Africa is the thunder. There is no contest.
Friday night in Jinja, it rocked like no other. It felt like an earthquake, and woke everyone up. Becca asked the next morning if we had heard it; I bet her America heard it.
But then I went home, to Mukono, and sure enough, they heard it there. A full hour away.
Separate storms? I don't know. But so amazing.

As was/is the Nile. Gorgeous, massive, incredible. We boated it. The first monkeys I saw in Africa were on the shore. And none of us was eaten by any croc. A good, full day.

We toured Jinja, the city that holds the source of the Nile, Lake Victoria. One of the missionaries here led the tour; his brother, another missionary, died here a few years ago. They tell us the most un-safe thing about Uganda is the driving, the roads. I've never seen anything like it; vehicles, not pedestrians, have the right of way.
Not to scare anyone, but just to give facts, Uganda is the second-most-dangerous country, car accident-wise. Aritrea? is number one.
But Vincent, our driver, is incredible. Grade A, no doubt about it. He doesn't even need lanes to keep us safe.

For part of the tour, we stopped at a hospital. It's one of those things you just don't believe, even while you're there, right in the middle of it. A tuberculosis ward, a malaria ward. It was the first time we greeted someone and I heard a "I am not so fine." It was heart-wrenching and overwhelming; in no way were we prepared for that. What is more, we had 10 or so minutes to spend there. It was like tourism--us parading around these people, saying hello, and having to leave. So dumb; it was horrible.
They wait for weeks, months--depending on how much money they have--in a bed. Some never even seeing a doctor. The nurses aren't there to care for them, only to keep house. The families have to do the caring. There was essentially a family gathered around most of the beds, holding the hands of their sisters, brothers, daughters as they slept, or shook, or coughed.
I can't really comprehend that this is going on only a flight away from a country who has the best medical care around. I feel like I could never know what true suffering is.

I went to bed at 7 last night. Skipped tea time, family time, dinner, everything. Jinja was great, sure, but too great. They gave us pizza. Sure, my body had no trouble adjusting to the African food. I bet these past two weeks my intestines have been saying, "Finally. The junk is gone." But it was just a 2-week tease, before I went back to pizza (but, really, how could I have passed it up?) I was comparing the entire weekend, complete with shower head, with a reward challenge straight from Survivor. But I forgot what happens after the reward challenge. Everyone's stomachs attack them.
Because I think life's details are funny, I'll share that I puked in the bag that originally held my mosquito net. Rebecca was such a doll, washing it out for me, getting me a bucket, etc. And I felt like an idiot, passing the family again and again, returning to the latrine like crazy.
When I wasn't feeling dizzy, I was thinking about Mom and her cold washcloths and ginger-ale and toast--not to mention laying my head on her lap. But immediately after, I was wishing Mom, Mama Joyce, would get home; I was missing her, a mother's care. (She had spent the day in Luwero, a district or so away).
Sure enough, I was in the middle of making full use of the bucket Rebecca gave me, when I heard her come in, and everyone's greetings to her. She came into my room, wrapped her arms around me, and brought me some strong tea, no sugar.
They took incredible care of me. Right now, I feel better for the most part.
But I think it will be awhile, even once I am home, to eat pizza again.
And now, I think I'll pass on drinking from the bottle of Nile water that Caroline collected for us. Even if she does treat it for 4 hours with an expert kit.

I called my family from the shore of the Nile. (Telling Rebecca this later, she noticed I didn't mention Christine, and so she asked me if I talked to her. Then I dreamt that Christine came to Africa and met my whole family). But the night I talked to them, I dreamt that my family was pulling in the driveway, I was back from Africa. As much as I miss home at times, the dream was a depressing one. I was glad I woke up to a mosquito net; I am glad I am here for four months. Two weeks, the length of an average missions trip, wouldn't be enough. I think it's laughable now, and completely naieve, to think that I used to think 10 days was an adequate stretch, a trip to make one an expert on a new culture. Or better yet, long enough to make a difference.
And maybe it is. But right now that just doesn't make any sense.

I think I mentioned last time a little boy who asked me to be his sponsor. He met me again this morning, took my hand, and asked me to pay his school fees. I admit that these are the times I hate being white, a target labeled "rich." A). We're not allowed to give any money. B). Would it really even help if I did? But he held my hand the entire way to school, told me he wanted to know where I lived, what my phone number was, and what time I got out of school. He had also mentioned, "You were late this morning."
I am sure Raymond (and Marvin, his friend) are harmless. No older than 8. But I still couldn't bring myself to give him any of that information, for reasons I think are both obvious yet un-namable.

I forgot to mention in the last blog one of the poignant things Rebecca said to me, when she was talking about the English turning up their noses. She told me, "When the queen visited, she wore her white gloves the whole time. She wouldn't even touch us."
The queen visited Uganda in the past year or so; I can't tell you how excited they all seemed. Posters of her face are still up everywhere, and they named a street in her honor.
But she couldn't even take off her gloves.