I Feel Like a Muzungu in My Own City.

I have just returned from my trip to Kampala, Uganda and I'm feeling quite gloomy.

Kampala is comprised of rich red soil, rolling green hills, deep blue skies, and enormous potholes that will eat your car. The yellow ball of fire, also known as the sun, beats down on you so hard that you instantly begin dripping with sweat which then pours down your clothes and body until your soaked and smelling like wet socks. It's okay that you smell like wet socks because everyone else does too. Showering is not a necessity.

The city is in constant motion...this motion is a very unorganized motion..a chaotic motion. Chicago is a busy city that, in my mind moves in a horizontal and vertical motion, Kampala on the other hand moves in rays of circular motion. Bikers trudge up hills with bags and boxes piled high upon their seat while cars swerve around the potholes and speed bumps. Matatus speed through barely stopping to pick up and drop of passengers while boda bodas zip, dodge, cut off, cut in, and weave through the traffic. It is a disorganized, not so clean, chaotic, laid back city that I have fallen in love with. I miss the slow internet, waiting for 2 hours to get a meal, being called Muzungu, the traffic, the smells, the blazing sun, the people, and most of all the comfort that I felt.
I love Chicago, don't get me wrong it's a great city, but it's not home anymore. When I look over this past year the two times that I felt most at home and most like myself was when I was in New Orleans and Kampala. I fell in love with both of those cities and when I left them I left pieces of my heart. I feel that each time I travel I am giving a bit of myself to that city and when I come home I feel drained and desolate.
I think the hardest part about leaving Uganda was knowing that I may never get to go back. It's easy to say goodbye to a place when you know you will see it again.

I hope we meet again Kampala, Uganda.