"If you're the bird, whenever we pretend it's summer, then I'm the worm..."

I'm sitting on our front porch with Rachel, we just got home from walking to Madh Vani and are drinking our juice. And listening to Ingrid Michaelson. The sun's setting. And we can hear the Muslim prayers. It's amazing and almost ridiculous how normal this feels.

Being here, sometimes I forget what the States are like. It's going to be strange going home in 35 days. Home to more culture shock...

George just got here. He usually rides his bike, but he left it here this morning when he went home, because it was pooring rain all morning and the roads were flooded. With water and red mud. The red mud that has stained my feet and for the life of me, will never come off. The rain woke me up. Pounding down on the shackles of our roof and hitting the metal water tank outside my bathroom window.

Every night I have extremely vivid dreams, that make sense at the time, and seem real at the time, but come morning I can't ever remember them. According to Becca, I sleep talk every night. My poor room mates. I don't know what makes me dream so much, it's not the same at home. But maybe it's just being here, in Africa. With all the different sounds at night...

Tonight we're eating Greek Pasta Salad as one of our community dinners...Rachel's making it, but I helped out a bit and we went to the super market and Madh Vani this morning to buy everything she needed. I can hardly wait to eat it. haha

Today Rachel S., Becca and I went to visit and drop off a birthing kit for one of the women, Sara, who lives in a different part of Danida, earlier today. One of her friends was there, a woman who use to be apart of Suubi, but is now in another program called Ptech. They're pretty similar, but one has been around longer. Neither of them speaks a lick of English, but Sara's friend Jimmy was at the house, visiting from one of the islands on Lake Victoria...I guess it's about a two hour boat ride away from the shore in Masese. Anyway, he speaks really great English and has just graduated from a Bible College in Kampala...and so he translated for us and then prayed when we left. Thanking God for each of us by name...and then stating that we had come from far away, "from even Colorado and Alasa-ka". I almost cracked up in the middle of the prayer, but had to tell myself it wasn't that funny and to calm down. It didn't work. So I sat there, holding Becca and Sara's hands and laughing silently to myself. I'm a terrible person.

Later on, Rachel 1, Rachel 2 and I went to visit Caroline in Walukuba...we took bodas, and I discovered that the boda who remembered me so well a month or so ago, was my driver. It was Sam! And all this time I have passed his boda station that is so close to our house, thinking that he was familiar and I had been meaning to ask him his name because I know he has fair prices and is trustworthy and knows his way around...and so now I know.

At Caroline's she fed us bananas and pumpkin and soda and we watched really hilariously ridiculous Ugandan music videos for two hours. It was fantastic...she gave us each a necklace and bracelet when we left...she has two children, Sara and Innocent, who are 10 and 7. All the kids here are on their Summer Holiday until February 1st, and so they were at home. They were a lot of fun and Sara was rather outgoing, dancing for us. Caroline was saying how she would rather be in the village (meaning in the North)...part of me doesn't understand this, because from what I can tell it is so much better here...but at the same time, part of me does understand. Because it's their home. The only reason most of the people who are here, are here, is because of the war that went on for so long there, and so they have had to leave their homes. The places they grew up in and were so familiar with, because of something they had no control over. I'm praying that eventually the north will be back to it's original state, when it was peaceful and such a happy place to be, filled with food and dancing, so that these women and people who loved it there so much, will be able to return to where their homes really are. With their grandparents and parents and aunts and uncles and cousins and children and husbands and wives...people they love and are missing.

The suns almost completely gone now...I can hear the crickets. And I'm sitting here thinking back on the last two months I have spent here...it doesn't feel like it was that long ago I arrived at this house. My time here has gone by so quickly...but at the same time, I feel like I have lived here forever. Like this is all I've ever known. These people, this house, this place. The food. The villages. The women and their children and husbands. I know my way around. I know where to catch a boda and where not to catch a boda. I know which Supermarket has good prices and who rips you off. I cross a street without the fear of getting hit by one of the many bodas, matatus and cars that could possibly run over me and would if they could, if I was in their way...and I walk fast, and I speak a little Acholi and I can commuicate with these people. I know where to buy pirated DVD's and CD's and where I can get chipote and rollexes and casava fries on the sides of the roads. But then I wonder if I have really had any affect on these women's lives. If they will remember me when I go, or if I will just be another mzungu to them. If their children will remember me. If I'll ever be able to come back to this place...if they love me like I have grown to love them. Or if I will be forgotten. If I'm showing them Jesus' love, or if all this time I've just been this stranger showing them random kindnesses. If they know how much I longed to come here and be with them. If they know how much I'll miss them and this place once I'm home. And I can't help but think maybe I didn't make that great of an impact on their life. But then I realize...it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter if all my time here did was help one person, if all I did during my time here was brighten one child's day, that's good enough. If I showed one Ugandan the love of Jesus on this trip, then that's good enough for Him. Because that one Ugandan, is as important to Him as a whole multitude of people that maybe I didn't touch.