Gulu, Uganda

We traveled from Entebbe to Kampala, the capital of Uganda. Kampala is large and vibrant; people are everywhere. Storefronts, housing, open markets and buildings in various stages of construction follow one after another. Traffic is like nothing I have ever experienced. Cars, trucks, motorcycles, bicycles, and pedestrians come together to create what can only be described as chaos. There are no traffic lights or speed limits here; there is no travel in the city unless it is aggressive. And here in Uganda, pedestrians yield to traffic and not the other way around. Students are forbidden to ride in any vehicle not designated by the program staff, but I hope to ride on one of the motor taxi's before my stay in Uganda is finished.

On Tuesday, we left Kampala for Gulu. The group split into two vans. The drive lasted for just over six hours and was alone an experience worth writing about. Our driver wove in an out of traffic, using his horn in regular intervals. Any time the van was stopped, we were bombarded with individuals wishing to sell all kinds of goods: fruit, drinks, food, shoes, cell phones and much more. There are very, very few white people in Kampala and most locals view us with curiosity and amusement. Many pointed as we passed. It is strange; the feeling of isolation. I don't quite know how to convey it at this point. But it is something very powerful. Once outside the city, we drove through rural areas intermixed with smaller towns and villages. Outside Kampala, bicycles and pedestrians on foot were much more common. Several times, I saw large groups of children wearing school uniforms walking and playing alongside the road. They all waved and shouted to one another. Here, white people are called "Muzungu," and I hear this on most every outing. The villages we passed through were a lot to take in: clay huts with straw roofs formed in circles around fire pits, children in little clothing running and playing together, an absence of almost anything resembling Western existence. By far the most exciting part of the trip was passing the Nile river from Southern Uganda into Northern Uganda. It was incredible. Pictures are not allowed to be taken, a point which we were reminded many times. The bridge was a sight of much conflict during the civil war, and is the only legal place in which anyone can cross between the North and South. Gulu is smaller than Kampala, but not by much. The population is less though, and the people are less densely packed into the city. Or at least this has been my perception. Today is the end of my second full day in Gulu and to be honest, I am still somewhat in a state of shock. I spent the afternoon exploring the areas surrounding our hostel and experienced the city alone for the first time. I haven't quite processed everything. The elections are next week and there is a great deal of activity surrounding the potential of a new leader in Uganda. We have been told explicitly not to become involved, however it is impossible not to observe. There are over 50 languages spoken in Uganda, each derived from the over 50 tribes who call Uganda home. In Gulu, the most common ethnicity is Acholi and this is the language I hear most often in the protests and on the streets. I do not have any idea what is being spoken, but the passion is immense and can be felt regardless of spoken language.

I am with the group until Saturday when we all separate and move in with our host families. Lectures start Monday and I am so excited to begin the academic semester. I would be untruthful, however, if I said I am not experiencing a considerable amount of anxiety. And I am homesick. Incredibly so. But I hear things get better and I hear before I know it, this semester will be over. I hear I won't want to leave.

I wish everyone the best and am grateful for the time you've spent reading this blog;; hope to be in touch again soon.