“Uganda has thrown open its wooden doors, heavy and cracked by ages of blazing sun, to usher in the month of February. No end in the near future for sweaty brows and brown stained t-shirts; brown-red dust clings to our perpetually damp clothing, streaking fabric and turning once-presentable mzungus into people that resemble staggering street beggars. I came home from work today looking especially haggard.”
-written on February 2nd, 2010
But it is February 7th, and this morning…
It rained.
Hard.
Today it was cool. Today the breeze was heaven; the heavy tropical moisture of the air didn’t create the suffocating blanket that it so often does. Sure, I’ve got a serious tan (something I don’t think I’ve ever possessed between the months of November and April, come to think of it) and I can thank the sun for it. Still, I’m a Pacific Northwest kid at heart, and I always will be. I clutch at my rainy days like a toddler at his safety blanket. And, hallelujah, oh glorious today—it was pouring.
Also, it is probably noteworthy to say that I had a good chunk of my favorite music on heavy rotation this afternoon: Sigur Rós, Missy Higgins, The Album Leaf, Iron and Wine, Radiohead, Bon Iver, Ray Lamontagne, Decemberists, Jose Gonzales, Meiko, The Weepies, Amos Lee…
(All great dark-day stuff, cause you know, I’m sticking with a theme here.)
I’m drinking amazing hot tea with my favorite grey sweatshirt half-zipped, the hood pulled as far over my eyes as I can manage while still being able to see the computer screen.
Point blank: It’s been a beautiful comfort-zone type of day. I haven’t had one of these yet, actually. And this marks the sixty-first day I’ve been in Uganda, so that’s awhile.
It feels like impeccable timing.
Ps. For those of you interested in more Uganda-specific stories, those are coming. I'll be writing quite a bit tomorrow, so check back in the next couple days.
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