Collision (23 page)
From:
UgandaKei
Date:
November 17, 2007
Dearest Butt Head,
I hate your guts immensely. You do realize you’re taking my dream trip, don’t you? Of course, I wouldn’t prefer to do it all so quickly, but I would take it!
First class, eh? No fair! My arse is jealous!
Due to your last e-mail, I’m starting to think you want me thoroughly angry at you before you arrive here. Jetting around Europe
and
flying first class is a lot to throw in a girl’s face all at one time. Next time, try giving small portions of horrible news at a time. I become much less hostile that way.
When you get off the plane in Uganda, do not stop to go to the bathroom or anything like that. You get your butt straight to the customs line and then get straight to baggage claim. I’ll be there waiting!
Oh, and P.S.: In case you’ve forgotten what I look like, I’ll be the carrot top wearing the huge smile on her face.
Kei
•••••
Subject: Re: Re: DON’T BE A HATER…
To:
UgandaKei
From:
YardballChamp07
Date:
November 18, 2007
Kei,
Will you like me again if I tell you that next time I make this European trip, I’ll bring you with me? Promise.
Trust me, when I get off that plane, I’ll be making a beeline straight to you. I remember that smile well, and I can’t wait to see it live and in person.
Cabot
•••••
Subject: Re: Re: Re: DON’T BE A HATER…
To:
YardballChamp07
From:
UgandaKei
Date:
November 20, 2007
European trip, huh? Don’t make promises you don’t intend to keep.
•••••
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: DON’T BE A HATER…
To:
UgandaKei
From:
YardballChamp07
Date:
November 21, 007
Kei,
I completely intend on keeping my promise. You will see Europe, and you will see it soon…and with me.
I’ll be in Africa in four days! Can’t. Freakin’. Wait!
Cabot
•••••
Subject: Yay!
To:
YardballChamp07
From:
UgandaKei
Date:
November 23, 2007
Have a safe trip! See you in less than forty-eight hours! Woohoo! *Cue more prancing*
•••••
Subject: Re: Yay!
To:
UgandaKei
From:
YardballChamp07
Date:
November 24, 2007
Look out, Uganda! Here I come!
C H A P T E R
17
My first view of Africa was flying into Nairobi, Kenya. I don’t know what I expected. Maybe I thought I’d see wild animals running around and dark-skinned village men and women in loincloths chasing after them with spears. My misperceptions proved just how uneducated I was when it came to Africa, and I felt guilty for being so ridiculous.
It actually looked more like the plains in America: lots of dirt, with areas of dry grass, and a few trees spotted the horizon. But of course, we were flying into an airport, so it would be out in the middle of nowhere. I couldn’t see the city at all.
The airport was small but nice.
I spent forty-five minutes in the terminal before loading back onto a plane and heading for the Entebbe Airport. When I heard the landing gear start to unfold under the aircraft, my heart started to race. Every second that passed felt like an hour, and I didn’t think I would survive the next few minutes until I laid my eyes on Kei again for the first time in four months.
The anticipation was more than any award show or premiere I’d ever attended.
Upon exiting the plane, I followed the people in front of me down the steps and directly on to the tarmac. The air was dry and warm, exactly what I thought it would be. We walked along the other planes and into the bottom floor of the airport. It almost felt like I was walking into the basement or a garage. Once inside, Kei was right; there was a line to make it through customs. Just beyond that were several sets of doors that I assumed led to a beautiful carrot top.
It took twenty-five agonizing minutes to get to the front of the line, pay the clerk my customs fee, get my passport stamped, and finally get waved through.
With my pillow and bags in my arms, I took a deep breath and then walked through the open door. In less than two seconds, I saw her. With her bright red hair, she would’ve been impossible to miss. Her back was to me, and she was talking to a man I assumed was Gregory. I’d made it halfway to her before he motioned in my direction and she turned around. Our eyes met, and my heart exploded.
I had just enough time to drop the stuff in my hands before she ran into me full speed and wrapped her arms around my neck. I don’t know which I wanted more, to hug her back or push her away so I could see her face. I chose to hug her back. I wrapped my arms around her waist and picked her up off the floor as Gregory reached down and picked up my things. Still holding her off the ground, I walked toward the long glass wall in front of us. I wanted to get away from other people so that I could have her all to myself, even if only for a second.
“I can’t believe you’re here! I can’t believe you’re here!” she squealed.
I gave her one more squeeze. “Let me look at you,” I said as I set her back on the ground.
She unwrapped her arms and took a step back. Her smile was huge, and her eyes sparkled. I’m not exaggerating when I say it was by far the happiest moment of my life up to that point. There wasn’t a place I would have rather been or anyone else I’d rather be looking at. I was exactly where I wanted to be, needed to be.
“Do I look the same?” she asked.
“Yep. Your hair’s a little longer, and you’re too skinny. You look great, though, amazing, not at all trollish.”
She blushed. “You’re here. Can you believe you’re here?”
I reached over and ran my fingers through her hair and left them there. “No. I can’t believe I’m standing here.”
“Well, it’s about time.”
“It is.” I pulled her to me and kissed her on the forehead. “It really is.”
“Welcome to my world, Cabot.”
It took a while, but we finally got all my bags and extra trunks loaded into the back of the van. Gregory drove. Another man from the mission, Benjamin, sat in the passenger seat, and Kei and I sat in the seat two rows behind them. It was an old van with no comforts whatsoever—no air-conditioning or armrests, and the seats had absolutely no cushioning to them. I could feel the wire springs inside the thin, white vinyl material. I didn’t care, though. Kei was sitting next to me, and that was all I really cared about.
We drove past Lake Victoria and then headed toward Kampala.
Again, I was conflicted. I wanted to sit and take in the scenery as we passed. I wanted to see everything, learn all I could about the country. I also wanted to look at Kei and hear her talk in her quirky way.
When I turned my head and looked out the window, she scooted more closely to me. Our shoulders touched, and her right leg was pulled onto the seat with her knee resting on my thigh.
“See the bamboo scaffolding?” she asked. “They still don’t use metal ones here. They’re just as fast putting these up and taking them down. And we’ve got bamboo in abundance.”
Several things caught my attention. The vans and cars looked different from the ones in the States. When we stopped and got gas just outside the airport, someone in a uniform pumped the gas while another took the money. Small stores lined the streets. The signs were colorful, and many of their items were displayed out front. They sold fruit and vegetables of all kinds. Raw beef hung from tree branches or wooden rods, as well as chickens with their feathers still intact. Other chickens were alive in crates. There were also goats, lots of goats. If they weren’t being sold, they were tied to a stick out front of a small hut or home. It looked like every property we passed had at least one.
After about half an hour, we drove into the outskirts of Kampala. I knew we were in town because the traffic got heavier, the buildings got larger and closer together, and the crowds grew thicker. Mobs and mobs of people moved around the town. Cars, vans, and small motorbikes weaved in and out of traffic without seeming to follow any type of rules or directions.
“We call those
bodas
,” she said, pointing to a motorbike carrying a man, a woman, and her child on her lap. It looked like a terrifying trip. On every street corner, there were large groups of these
bodas
. Kei told me they were like taxis, waiting for someone to need a ride.
The noise was so loud that it was hard to hear Kei as she described the things I was seeing. I said, “Huh?” so many times that she eventually leaned completely against me and kept her mouth close to my ear so I could hear her better.
Within the city limits of Kampala, there were people of all races but very few Caucasians. And it was obvious by the way many were dressed that there was a large Muslim population. The women wore the traditional garments, as did their children. Kei informed me that the religion was growing rapidly in Southern Uganda, but past the Nile River and into Northern Uganda, Christianity was still the most popular religion.
It was very surreal. As we drove through town, I would catch myself thinking,
I can’t believe I’m in Africa
. It was odd, crazy, exciting, surreal. I was in Uganda, Africa, and I had no idea what to expect. All I knew was that Kei was beside me and life was good.
Without thinking it through, I reached over and took her hand in mine. I could tell from her reaction that she wasn’t sure what to make of it, but she didn’t pull her hand away. Instead, she wrapped her fingers around mine and kept looking out the window.
Just as we left Kampala, we passed one of the most beautiful valleys I’d ever seen. It was then that Africa became more like what I thought it would be: lush and green with banana trees and huts lining the dirt roads. The farther we drove from town, the more stares we got, because the farther we got out of town meant the fewer
mzungus
the people had seen.
The roads were heavily damaged with large potholes caused by the heavy rains that had washed away large amounts of the dirt road. The farther north we drove, the more slowly we moved. The potholes were so large and so close together that Gregory was forced to weave the van around each and every one. If he hit a hole any faster, it could have caused the axle to break and leave us stranded. No matter how hard he tried to avoid the large potholes, it was impossible to avoid all of them, so the ride was extremely bumpy. With no padding on the seats, it was no time at all before my butt was sore and my back was tight from trying to keep my body from jostling around. Every once in a while, we hit a pothole so large that it would toss me out of the seat and thrust my head into the non-padded van ceiling. The drive itself was more exhausting than the nineteen-hour flight ever thought about being. It was impossible to get comfortable. While under normal circumstances, I would nap during a seven-hour drive, there was no way it was possible, given the condition of the roads and the lack of shock absorbers.