June 19, 2007 -- We left northern Uganda as stars -- sort of.
One stretch of the potholed Lira to Kampala road went through a region where a heated election contest was underway. In front of us was a truck with loudspeakers blaring a candidate's message. Talk about coincidences, our car was bright red -- the color of that candidate's popular political party. People on the roadside were jumping up and down, smiling and waving at us, apparently thinking one of us was the candidate. I don't know what went through their minds when they saw two whites in the car with our driver, Frances.
Now that I have an earlier plane reservation and I can;t use work as a distraction, I can't stop thinking about my mother, who is in the hospital with pneumonia. The doctors are having trouble getting her off the respirator because her blood pressure goes up everytime they try. I think my mother is very scared. So am I.
I was in my 20s when I went to get my ears pierced. My mother was with me and spontaneously decided to get her ears pierced as well. She was nervous about it and asked me to hold her hand. I did, and we both came out with our new lobal fashion. Now, I want to get back to suburban Cleveland and hold her hand as the doctors wean her off of the machine. I am not sure I will be allowed to get that close to her since I just have come from a malarial zone, but I would like the chance to hold her hand, be of help, and tell her I love her. It's a good thing blogs don't show teary eyes.
It has occurred to me that I am battling my own hardship in a land of hardships. I met victims of atrocities in northern Uganda. I spoke with people dreaming of peace and trying to rebuild their lives. The resiliency of people here is amazing. The stories I will write for the paper, I think, will be compelling and important. But my pondering on hardships doesn't go further than making that observation.
All I want now is to be by my mother's side.
Goodbye Uganda.
