A No Good, Horrible, Very Bad (Couple of) Day(s)

So, I’m there--I've hit the travel wall: I want to go home.

This is a doosy of a post, so stop now if you’re in a good mood. At the moment, I’m pretty much ready to pack of my bags—um, bag—and go home, or at least head to Australia or someplace first-world, where I can drink the water. I’m just feeling SO OVER IT. How did I get to this point? A top ten list of sorts, but in chronological order:
1) I woke up with a stomach/body ache and bathroom issues early Sunday morning
2) After a long drive to the town of Budaka (to see a girls’ boarding school with my cousin—this was a highlight in an unfortunate 72 hours) I tried to eat some rice and potatoes and half a banana after eating nothing all day due to nausea and threw up violently
3) After another long drive home on Monday, I actually had quite a nice meeting at Femwrite (an organization that works to foster writing in Uganda, especially among women) and dinner at Judy and Lew’s, but then had a find a way home. I boda-ed it, which was fine. Although after I’m sure the boda driver tried to swindle me with a price of 4000 Ush (a little over $2), he was then quite upset with how far away I live and I think HE felt cheated and tried to ask for more.
4) Woke up again feeling not so great, pulled myself together and walked the half-an-hour to an bar with internet. Only to find my laptop battery power dying and I had brought all the pieces but the converter. UUUGGGH.
5) So I checked what little I could, then went to meet Pia and Medde (the two other young volunteers at Meeting Point) and one of the teachers, Joseph, to go to an international trade show. I didn’t have any money left, and tried to go to an ATM, which was broken of course. I walked to the show grounds, got out some money, and by that time Pia, Medde, and Joseph had already gone into the show.
6) So I waited in a mercilessly long line where the security guards only purpose seemed to be coming around to sell tickets to anyone who was willing to pay a heightened price—which it was hard not to be after standing in one place for over an hour. So that just meant that anyone who waited in line would be there practically forever, while people butt in front of you and the line inched forward into a mob ahead. So, I was bad—and this probably accounted for bad karma and thus #7, but I went up to the gate and said my friends had gone in with my ticket, and begged to have them let me buy one right then. It worked. So an hour and a half of waiting in line and I was into the show grounds and met up with Pia, Medde, and Joe.
7) Then here’s real downfall of the days: I had walked over to buy some mango juice with Medde who was on my left, and as I reached down to unzip my messenger bag and take out my wallet, I saw it was open—with no wallet and no camera inside as they had been moments earlier. Panic set it, but there were just THOUSANDS of people, and there was no way I was going to recover them. AAAAGRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGHHH!!! There were no words. Or actually, there are many, but none appropriate to type here. Someone must have been tracking me, which is not hard to do has I was one of about 10 white people in a sea of thousands of black faces—blending in is not easy.
So I called my cousin, Kim, and asked her to call my mother in the US and tell her all of my credit cards needed to be cancelled. I lost the equivalent of about $20 in cash, so that could have been a lot worse. But my US driver’s license and international youth travel card were stolen, as were my lovely pink wallet that was a birthday gift from my good friend, Leslie (sorry, my dear—apparently you should stop buying presents for me!), and my great new Canon powershot camera. I had quite a few of pictures on it, but nothing to important, nor ones that I other people probably don’t have similar ones. But, boy, was I frustrated, raging angry, self loathing, despairing, just that feeling in the pit of my stomach. Alternating for feeling utterly foolish to outrage, thinking, “I came here to help this country, paying my own way to be here, and this is how I’m treated?!” I just kept begging people around me if they’d seen anything, replaying the situation over and over, but in the end, the only real choice left is to give in and force yourself to look at the brightside. I still have my life and my health, most importantly, as well as my passport, my cell phone, my international drivers license, and another larger digital camera that has better zoom (now I’m very glad I thought to bring two!).
8) Pia, Medde, and Joe were so nice, and just comforted me—I don’t know what I would have done without them. My mother called and said she had cancelled all the cards, so that was good. But I was trying to explain everything, and the call kept breaking up. Geez, give me a break! So we gave up and agreed to talk later. I went out for some pizza with the others, and they paid for me which was so nice, and lent me some money to take a special hire taxi home. “Go to sleep,” my mother said, and put this very bad day to rest,” which I did…
9) Until I woke up early this morning to pounding rain. After finishing Harry Potter, Book 2, I got dressed quickly so I could get an early ride with Amy halfway to the school. We got in the car and it wouldn’t start. Oy vey. She called the mechanic, who said he was on his way. Half an hour later, he was still not there. Amy phoned and he was still 30 min away.
10) So I decided I better just walk. With my big tan poncho over myself, my shoulder bag, and my umbrella, I started on the hour long walk, along the muddy sides of the streets, with cars and bodas swerving by me, trying to narrowly avoid sprays of red muddy water. I finally arrived at the school for a good sob in the bathroom. Good morning, Kampala!

I want to go home, boy do I, but of course I’m not going to (I don't have a plane ticket for one ;) ). Nope, now’s the time to pull out all those cliches: when the going gets tough, the tough get going, etc., and try to convince myself that I’m TOUGH even though I’m downright positive I’m an utter weakling and fool and just push on through; I must give myself pep talks (or make my mother give me some) about how this kind of thing is character building, makes you a better person, blah, blah, blahhhhhhhhhh.

But then, a funny thing just happened. Lew brought two children from P-1, Cynthia and Innocent (a boy), up to the volunteer office where I am typing this up to blow off some steam before I begin to prepare an art class on making Ugandan flags. He had to go get some extra materials for his lesson, and they just sat there staring at my laptop so I beckoned them over. They were mesmerized, and so I showed them some pictures I had saved on the desktop—an elephant, a picture of baby Kenzie, etc. they smiled broadly and giggled. “They’re wonderful,” said Cynthia. “Where is your mother?” So I found one and showed them a picture I had taken of my mother just before I left. And then one of my father. “Wonderful,” Cynthia said again softly with her rolling Luganda accent. Now how’s that for some immediate perspective. Here are these kids who return to leaking mudhuts or shanty tin shacks every evening, or the orphanage, to one or two sick parents, or possibly none at all, just a sister or aunt. I am sitting typing on my laptop, and in the background of the pictures of my smiling parents (who are endlessly supportive and loving and believe in me--even when I mess up time and time again), a warm and lovely home filled with reminders of a happy, comfortable childhood. I may have been really “unlucky” yesterday, but in the game of life, I have really lucked out so much more than one can hope. It's good to be reminded of all that you have, and it will be what keeps me here to try to impart some benefit from the great luck I've had to these children, no matter how small.