"A better rain, That'll leave behind a rainbow in the sky And lets you know that God's alive"

Last weekend was our rural visits; Emily, Rob, and I visited Fred’s village about 45 minutes north of Kampala. Supposedly he lives in a ridiculously dusty part of the country, but we got some major storms that made the “dry season” visit a little more bearable. Actually, aside from the dust settling, it cooled down to about 75 deg and I was actually *cold* for the first time since being on this continent. Cold is a really relative term, but it’s great to not be gross and sweaty all the time.

When Fred first told his mom that we would be coming, she insisted that he make his sister come home for the weekend, too. Emily and I had been so worried that we were inconveniencing the entire family, or that if would have been too awkward for us and the family to have to girls visiting in a house full of men. As it turns out, it’s just a big deal to have mzungus stay at your house, and she didn’t want sister to miss out.

Fred’s Family:

John, Brother 1, Fred, Papa Fred

Farida, Jane, Farida's friend, Mama Fred

Papa Fred was out working in the garden most of the days, so we only saw him at dinner, where he didn’t speak to us. When Fred made us watch Hotel Rwanda over dinner, Papa laughed at the most inappropriate times. There is also a younger brother, 17 years old, whose name I’m not sure they told us. Brother did not speak, just smiled and worked outside with Papa. So Papa Fred and Little Brother were a little awkward to be around, but everyone else was great…

Mama Fred was so adorable. She kept offering to wash our clothes which was a bad idea because I literally only took one skirt and it might be a village scandal if I walked around one day in my shorts/pajamas. She was under the impression that we were British and took tea and bread, so at least 3 times a day she would send in a thermos of hot milk and some chocolate powder, sweet bread, and Blue Band, the “buttery spread of East Africa.” When we were watching really horrible, trashier-than-American soaps, she kept asking through Fred if that’s how everyone in the West acted. She was slightly disappointed when our eyes got extra big and said no, we certainly don’t act like that! I also think Mama was offended that we wouldn’t eat more. I did a really great job of hiding the fact that I didn’t love the food, but there’s just no way I can eat 3 plates worth of anything, even if I liked it. I still think she was still especially proud to see us, because she took us to church Sunday and even though I don’t understand Lugandan, I’m pretty sure she was bragging about having us!

John Bascoe and Farida are Fred’s youngest siblings, 9 and 6 y/o respectively. Neither of them has learned English yet, but we still got along with them pretty well. John was so bashful! He would take us on walks but always stay at least 10 feet away. His sister was a little firecracker! She would ramble on and on at us and just assumed we knew what we were saying. Fred told us that sometimes, she just likes to make up songs about people when they annoy her. Emily and I loved to tickle her and make her giggle, but I think we probably got her in a little trouble with all the noise she made. They kept telling us what a stubborn girl she was, but I couldn’t help thinking that in America, we call that behavior playful, adorable, and perfectly normal for a 6 year old.

Grandma Fred lives on the compound, within “shouting distance.” She came by Friday night and invited us to her home the next day when we weren’t so tired. When we met Grandma at her house, well, there are no words to describe how thrilled she was. She rambled on for a good 5 minutes, smiling, nodding, shaking our hands. We kept glancing at Fred waiting for a translation. Finally, straight-faced, he says, “She’s really glad to meet you. She’s never had Americans in her home before.” I’m not sure that was the appropriate translation, but Grandma Fred is definitely a cool lady.

Jane. My favorite by far, not just because she spoke English. She was home for the weekend from Makerere Univ where she’s studying to be an accountant. Jane taught us how to knit, washed our shoes every night, and took us on a 3 hour hike to see the village from the top of a mountain. Jane told us that it had been her dream to find a white friend, and that we were making her dream come true finally. I am certainly okay with adding Jane to the list of people whom I consider friend, but it broke my heart that she has been trying to find an American friend for so long. I really don’t think there’s anything all that special about us. She’s even found out the hard way that the people who she thought were her friends online are really not who they say they are. There’s so much I admire about her, her willingness to trust others and see the good in everyone are some of them, but it’s still horrible to hear that people would take advantage of that.

So, other highlights from the weekend include touring the farm. They have pretty much every African staple crop you could imagine. Bananas, coffee, jackfruit, really funky potatoes… We ate so much matooke. I thought I was going to die from matooke overdose. Let me reiterate: I hate matooke. But they put some food in front of you, and you must eat it. That’s the fourth rule of cultural sensitivity (The first is that you must never show your knees). I tried milking a cow, but failed miserably. My grandma says that she was never good at milking cows, so maybe our inability is genetic. Rob killed a chicken which we ate for dinner. That had to be the noblest chicken ever, because as Fred plucked its neck feathers and Rob slowly sawed of the head, it just stood there gracefully. None of that “running around like a chicken with its head cut off” business. Without going into much detail, I simply cannot use squatty potties. There is a hole that is no more than 3 x 5 inches, and my aim is just not that good. When we left, there was a jackfruit tree planted in our honor.

We had such an amazing experience with the family. I know that I hardly lived there life because they were so busy treating us like royalty that we missed out on some of their everyday life. I think if there’s one thing I regret about the weekend, it’s that they were too nice to us. It’s hard for me to accept all the hospitality that they showed us, but I just have to remember that sometimes the greatest gift to these people is to accept their kindness; it may be the only thing they can give you.

I can’t lie, though… Spending the weekend inside out of the rain watching soap operas and TBN was not what I expected. I was pretty excited to be home to use the toilet, eat Grace’s cooking, and see the girls. I’ve never laughed so hard as when we shared our stories that night and demonstrated our personal squatty potty techniques! I’m way too blessed to have these people here sharing in my experiences, to have spent the weekend with an amazing family, and to finally feel some rain coming down on my face.

"My Life's Been Grand"

Sorry, but I’m officially a failure at blogging! This has been a crazy busy second week, and I feel like I have tons to tell you! My friend Kendall puts up a post every night, but my internet hasn’t been that reliable, so instead, you get one long mega post that I’ve been adding to and saving in my word docs. Sorry for length!

It’s Sunday afternoon, but no nap for me. This has been our first real weekend in the city so FH set up several events to keep us busy and let us learn the lay of the land. Saturday morning, a group of students at Cornerstone University came, volunteering their time to show us around. I was set up with Rob and Emily from our group and our assistant/ new friend Fred. He is a first year computer programming student at CU. He’s really cool and does a great job with navigating us through crowds and telling us about local culture. It’s actually hilarious when he turns the table and asks us about the states! “What is the deal with the Super Bowl? Why are Americans so crazy about it?” “Why does it seem like Americans don’t care about their neighbors? Here, we know EVERYBODY within 5 kilometers.” We are actually doing rural visits in a couple of weekends so my group will be going home with Fred, and his mom is already excited about having us.

We left around 9:30 AM, hopped on a matatu, and got off near Owino Market. I was expecting craft/local exchange market, but that’s not what I got. Imagine what it would look like if Big D was set up to cater to a city of 1.5 million people. It was extremely crowded with people who kept trying to grab our wrists or shout “Mzungu!” at us. There’s still a thick layer of mud (we’re going to say it’s mud, because I don’t really want to think about what was actually on the ground) caked up on my shoes. First we walked through the food section. They had everything from fresh fruits to beans to the meat section. Speaking of meat: It was all VERY freshly butchered, and there weren’t any health/safety regulations. I gave my mom all of the gory details, but I’ll spare you. There was also a ton of cloths that get donated by western countries and sold there.

After we made it to the other side of the massive fire hazard that is Owino Market, Fred showed us the Old Taxi Park where the matatus go and wait for passengers to head back out to other parts of the city. They are packed into the lot like sardines, and we almost got sandwiched in between a few aggressive drivers, but we made it through to some hole-in-the-wall restaurant where Fred ordered us traditional Ugandan food. I ate all of the rice, some of the matooke, which is a thick, bland, chewy banana dish, and lost my appetite before I could finish the chunks of tough, unchewable beef served in a broth. It actually wasn’t bad until I made the mistake of asking Fred if they got the beef at the market that morning. Yep, it was “fresh” beef; just bought it that morning. Ew, I think I saw where those chunks of cow came from and that’s not appetizing. The happy side of this: It only cost 2,500 shillings or about $1.25.

Afterwards, Fred showed us more of “downtown,” including the parliament building, post office, back alleys, and National Theater, but by about 2, we were worn out from all the claustrophobia and walking so we asked to go home. But alas, one more stop, because we forgot to get our market challenge item. We were in a contest with the other groups to spend 1,000 shillings, $.50, on something, haggling if at all possible with free gelato on the line for the people who brought back the most bizarre item. Rob thought it would be cool to bring back a hen. Yes we got a hen. But we definitely cheated on the price. I think originally it was 16,000, but Fred got it down to 6,500. Walking back to the CCTaxi Park that gets us home, the locals were soooo friendly to us. Usually they just shout “Mzungu, give us money!” but mzungus with ncocos makes them very happy! Mzungu, why you have ncoco??? I kill chicken for you. Crazy mzungu! Apparently we were much more relatable with a chicken, and somehow it helped that Rob named it Janet after the First Lady of Uganda. We might be accused of un PC behavior if we named our livestock Michelle. Just saying. Despite that, we did not win free gelato because chickens aren’t bizarre in Kampala.

Saturday night, I got to Skype my ENTIRE family. Everyone was packed in front of the computer at home so I could wish my grandma a happy birthday. It was so great to see all of their faces! I realized that if I had wanted to study abroad 10 years ago before all this technology, I just wouldn’t have survived. It makes such a difference being able to see your family.

Sunday morning Fred picked me and Emily up for church at Watoto (translates as “children”) KPC, a HUGE Pentecostal church somewhere in the city. We made it to the Old Taxi Park and Fred navigated us another 20 minutes by foot so that by the time we got there, I was completely lost. The service wasn’t weird for me because we were in Africa, exactly, but I think it had more to do with the fact that I go to a really small, chill conservative church and my discomfort was just rooted in the fact that this wasn’t a small chill church. The Watoto congregation was very friendly, but whoa there were a lot of them, and they liked moving around a lot, and the preacher liked yelling. I’m honestly more excited about the church in Fred’s village. One group got to go to a small Lugandan service where they were completely oblivious, but they said it was still an awesome experience.

So after church Fred took us to get less traditional food! Fried chicken! Yay! Not so much. Ugandans don’t know how to fry chicken. Also, I got to thinking about how fresh the chicken was. Bet it came from the same market. Again, not appetizing. But he also showed us around some more. There are some gorgeous gardens in the middle of the city, and a few shops and movie theater that are Westerner-friendly in case we get homesick at all.

On the way back home, I got mzungued. So if I haven’t explained the matatus well enough yet, they are just the public transportation, but they’re really sketch, nasty vans. There is a driver and a conductor who opens the door and takes your shillings when it’s time to pay. The rule was, don’t pay more than 800 shillings for a ride. Well, I knew that, but I was trying to manage mine and Emily’s money so when Fred translates that I need to pay 2 thousand, I thought that’s what he meant. No, he meant 2 people so 2 x 500 equals 1000 total. I gave the driver 1,000 at first just in case, but he kept holding his hand out and looking at me like I was stupid. So I stupidly kept feeding him coins. Mistake! I realize it’s just a loss of a couple of quarters, but it’s still the principle.

After Fred dropped us off, the entire group got bused over to Ndere Troupes, a group that performs traditional Ugandan dances from all corners of the country. It was amazing how much those people could beat the drums, shake their hips, and keep going! It lasted about 3 hours so we definitely got our $5 worth! I don’t know how we could have packed anything else into the weekend, but I certainly enjoyed myself! Needless to say, I came home and crashed, but no class tomorrow morning so I’m about to catch up on my sleep.

I love ex-pats! Tuesday morning Dr. Stockley came to the house to give us our health and safety lecture. Everybody, including the people in Phoenix, has been telling us how crass and hilarious this man is. Also, he was actually in the film The Last King of Scotland, so there was definitely a lot of hype built up around this poor man… but he delivered. He’s a British physician who’s been living here for over 30 years and runs the Surgery. So along with telling us to avoid the water, he made several Stupid American jokes, discussed intestinal distress protocol in full detail, and explained the need to keep one’s knickers on. Apparently, everything gets misdiagnosed as malaria in Africa, but according to Dr. Stockley, it's usually a parasitic friend reeking havoc in the intestines. He can diagnose which parasite based on certain smells excreted from the body. Good to know. While on the malaria topic, he spent a lot of time talking about Doxy, which most everyone is taking, except for me. I’m on Larium, which will give me crazy insane nightmares, then a psychotic breakdown. Everyone just stared at me while he’s talking about this, so now they all expect me to lose it before May! Joy.

This afternoon on our way home from class, Linda and I turned around to see our adorable Post-Colonial Lit professor Dr. Kiguli trying to gracefully catch up with us without causing a scene. She was trying to return our markers, I think, but we had her walk the rest of the way down the hill and come have afternoon gelato with us. It was really great to get to have a more intimate discussion with her and a few of the other girls about her background. I already knew if she’s teaching at Makerere, she has to be pretty smart, but she’s also a really tough lady! We had been talking in class about a lady who ran for Parliament here several years ago, but she was called a “child” because she wasn’t married at the time. We asked Dr. K if she was married and she laughed it off saying, No, I’m just a child, but I can’t begin to imagine how much flack she must take for being a single woman in this culture. She’s a very successful woman, academically, but that’s just not how the majority of people here measure success. She also made me especially grateful for America’s political stability. Her father was murdered by the Idi Amin regime before she was old enough to remember him. For her entire adult life, last 24 years at least, she’s seen President Museveni overstay his welcome. It would be far too easy for her to just go back to Great Britain where she did graduate studies, but instead she stays in Kampala because she wants to help her people any way she can. We had an interesting discussion about the easiest way to affect positive change, internally by people who will benefit directly, or by outsiders like the UN or developed countries. Basically, I realize I go to a small university where we have discussions and close relationships with professors outside of class similar to this, but I feel really lucky to have had this same opportunity with someone so wise!

Thursday we went to the Shrines of the First Christian Martyrs of Uganda. The Catholics and Anglicans have shrines set up apart from each other, but both were persecuted together on the same day, June 3, 1885. When King Mutesa II found out that some of the young men who were supposed to be serving him would not work on their Sabbath, he ordered them to denounce the name of Christ. When they refused, they were made to gather firewood for a week and were burned alive. There was one boy who’s uncle, a man of high position under the King, offered to get him to safety, but the boy refused. It’s just crazy to think that the martyrdom was not that long ago, and now Christianity plays a very large role in the country. (Seriously, half of the store fronts or vans I see try to incorporate the Holy Trinity: Blessed Spirit in huge letters on matatus, “Jesus is da savior” on botas, and not kidding, God’s Restaurant. Wonder what they serve?)

I think yesterday was my favorite day in Kampala so far for so many reasons! Well, bad news first: Janet the chicken has passed away. That’s what you get for a 3 dollar chicken. Anyway, we just had afternoon class but we got out early and finally got to visit the famous Friday Market down on the railroad tracks. Okay, so I wasn’t thrilled about the 30 minute walk down Kabalagala Road to get there. Every Friday, the craft vendors set up tents and sell their goods. I found out a) that I’m awful at haggling b)that’s okay, because people really want to get rid of things in the afternoon so they don’t have to lug it back home, and c) the walk was so worth it and I must go back!!! I don’t wanna give away any of the souvenirs I got, but let’s just say I got my 70,000 UShs worth and better have some happy friends!

On the way back home, the joy of crossing a street in Kampala got me and Shelby separated from our other girls so we just had the best chilled out walk alone on our way back home. First, in desperate need of a cold drink, we found a Coke cooler and went searching for its owner to sell us a drink. We were pretty happy when they only charged us about 30 cents, but then a man comes out of nowhere with two chairs for us to sit in, then comes the table! Talk about a full-service Coke! I think it was maybe the best coke I’ve ever had! Haha! As we kept walking, me hauling an oversized drum, a group of 7 or 8 little kids ran up to us and started following us around. Shelby stopped at a movie store, so one of the kids decided to tap on the drum for a few beats, but that got them all pretty brave. So there I stood surrounded by these ridiculously happy Ugandan children beating on the drum in my arms! That has got to be pretty much the greatest, most surreal feeling, not sure how else to describe it! I think I might have to make sure I have a drum with me anytime I walk down back roads from now on just so that I can see those happy faces again. Shelby and I got back an hour later, missing dinner, but the 30 cent coke and impromptu drum concert was definitely worth it.

This morning was not quite as amazing as Kendall, Shelby and I tried to get to Garden City, mzungu hotspot. Linda, Janae, and Emily walked the whole way there, but the other three of us thought it would be faster and not so oppressively hot to take matatus. We got there an hour after them. And I totally slipped and scraped my leg/possibly procured nasty infection from streets of Kampala. I’m blaming a huge piece of litter for my nasty fall. Seriously, as fabulous as Kampala was yesterday, I’m really hating all their nasty garbage today. When our 3^rd matatu finally got us to GC, we found our friends waiting at what they thought was Pizza Hut! Yum American food! Except it was really Pizza Hot, where they serve tuna or goat pizza. At the center next door, though, we found gourmet burgers and strawberry milkshakes and heard lots of American accents. But really, I would have gone there alone for the air conditioning. Score! But after some shopping, we were all ready to go home. We were feeling more confident in our matatu skills so we found one to city center that could get us home. Sadly, the first matatu dropped us off in the wrong spot, literally kicked us out, and it was a hassle to get back to the right taxi park so again, we got back a good hour after the girls who just walked. Will I ever learn my lesson??? Probably not! At least they got a good laugh at the lost white girls and we found out we have mad skills at getting un-lost.

I’m going to wash the dust off of my feet and get ready for some much-needed sleep, but I just wanted to let you all know I’m so appreciative of all of you who are keeping me in your prayers! All your support has been amazing and I definitely couldn’t be here making all of these amazing memories without you! Enjoy the nasty North Georgia ice storm!

Nothin's Ordinary Anymore, I Get Carried Away

I have been just one big ball of emotional instability due to severe jetlag and homesickness with a pinch of culture shock to top it off. Whoa. But I feel like I’ve almost recovered and I’m ready to go out and really explore. So far, I’ve been in my own little 2km bubble of school, home, and Italian market. Even in this confined little corner of a city of 1.2 million, there’s plenty to see and take in! Our guest house is on Food for the Hungry’s compound, and my first thought was it’s a Yellowstone lodge meets safari. It’s so nice and spread out, complete with an amazing cook, Grace. She definitely takes care of us, and feeds us lots of carbs. For those of you who though I would starve this semester, not the case. I will have to get an ameba if I want to maintain my current weight, otherwise I will be obese by the time I get home. Which wouldn’t be bad if I was staying in East Africa… Plumpness is a sign of wealth and beauty. Where did Americans go so wrong in their mixed up ideas of beauty???

Then again, no I might not need any parasites messing with my bowels. My whole body is so sore, courtesy of a massive hill we have to climb twice daily. The guest house is at the end of Tank Hill Road, and our classes are held a ways away at the top of Tank Hill. The pavement is covered with a thick layer of sweat and tears, then another coating of extra red dust. As if my heart and other vital organs don’t have a problem with the physical exhortation, a sick matatu, Kampala’s van form of public transportation, zooms past emitting some more lung cloggers/ nose burners. I know we have some tree huggers in the US who think we need to be all about zero emission vehicles, but come on people, we are way ahead of the curve with our regulations! I pass 4 categories of people: 1) the crowd of men who shout Mzungu at my large group of white peers, 2) the ones who are willing to converse and smile, but only once I initiate, 3) the bota drivers who either want to run over you despite having an entire road to navigate around or will jump over a curve to get you to hop on their death trap with him, and 4) the ridiculously happy people, especially kids, who run circles around us slow mzungus, who I absolutely love!

When I reach the top of the hill, though, I’m so rewarded with this amazing view of gorgeous fauna and rolling hills covered with terra cotta rooftops. That’s what I see when I look out our classroom, which is yes, totally distracting. In the morning, there’s a thick layer of smog that creeps over the hills, but it’s usually disappeared by the time we break. Day one of class, I walked back for lunch: amazing potato soup, but suffered the consequences of the walk back up the hill. Day two, I took a peanut butter sandwich and 3 mini bananas. I learned in Scientific Inquiry that the bananas of the 60s that Americans ate were much tastier than the bananas we eat today because all bananas are clones of each other, and some sort of plague wiped them out. My point here is that I hope there are no plagues that come and wipe out the mini bananas of Uganda.

After African Traditional Religion and Culture and lunch break/siesta, we have African Lit. By that time, I’m usually ready for more extended siesta, but today we had a guest lecturer, Dr. Austin Bukenya. He’s a renowned professor of Lit across the continent and a senior professor at Makerere University here in Kampala, but way too humble. He spoke to us about orature, which would have been interesting in and of itself, but his voice was so incredibly rich that I could have just gotten lost in his tone.

The trek home is always more enjoyable. There’s usually an afternoon breeze, but more importantly, at the bottom of the hill, there’s a little gelato shop called ciao ciao’s awaiting us. We usually see a few other foreigners like us. There’s something about seeing other white people here that confounds me. I am so excited to see them, and I feel like we automatically have something in common, but they don’t give us a second thought. Isn’t it weird that I’m more interested in the mzungus than the people of Kampala are?

So anyway, being back at the oasis that is our house has calmed me down from a previous jetlag/cultures shock/ homesick induced mental breakdown and I’m realizing that even when technology doesn’t go my way, I will survive. My computer conveniently connects to the wrong Linksys that will not work, which is probably a sign that I need to be less Western Tech dependent. If I don’t reply to your emails or messages, it isn’t because I don’t love you, I just may need to embrace this East African unsteadiness for the next 4 months and that’s okay too. Love you all!

"My new found companion, one young senorita"

So, I've been in Phoenix doing orientation stuff for the past couple of days... I'm liking my group a lot. There are about 15 of us going to East Africa, some staying until July. Yes, that would kill my mother. I'll be back May 6th. But "my new family" is really sweet, and we're going to have loads of fun together.

Most of orientation has been culturally informative and spiritually contemplative, but I'll just tell you my favorite parts.

*Food for the Hungry doesn't mess around when it comes to feeding people. They have definitely taken care of us; props to the cooks!

*Yesterday, we had a 4 hour mini group excursion/competition to go out to a couple of local sites and observe. The point was to learn how to notice small details, interview people, and analyze a few specific points of poverty. My group went to Urban Market, a locally produced co-op, and Ranch Market, mega mart mexican food supply. So like, Harry's/Whole Foods meets fiesta. LOVED THAT STORE!!! They had so much fresh food, including fresh ground pork sculpted into a pigs head, complete with celery eyes. As we were taking notes on our observations, we were approached by security officer with a taser gun asking us on who's authority we were taking notes. Taking notes is against the rules in grocery stores, heads up. Okay, now here's where the title comes in: I had to use the bathroom, and was searching everywhere but couldn't spot it. After asking tons of people who couldn't understand me (Why am I from Dalton and not know how to say "Where's the bathroom?"), I found a little girl who offered to take me. Thanks little girl who understands my drawl-y English.

*FH gives us Prayer Parters who work there and I met mine today, Sarah. She gave me the sweetest prayer. It's really nice to know that they've got us taken care of, even spiritually. That should make you happy, Mom :)

So after a few packing debacles, (At first they were like one bag, then they said two, then my British lady said, No, one bag. And then, who knew your carry on liquids have to be in plastic bags?) I made it through security and I'm fixing to board my first international flight! Here's to no blog clots and plenty of sleep! London tomorrow with lots of touristy pictures! Love you guys!

*Disclaimer, this isn't being proof-read. sorry for grammar errors.

"My heart knows this is real at last::What do you say to that"

Okay, sitting in hotel in Phoenix with no blackberry and no momma. Now there are other students here, I have my name tag, and everything, so everything is starting to sink in. I'm really not freaking out, but it's pretty exciting that Uganda and Rwanda are a reality for me now!
Here are my Murphy's Law moments so far:
On flight to Phoenix, I broke my camera battery charger. Sadly, it's a funky little batter (not just AA) that I've only found one website to order it from. Kinda need a battery to use camera so I can share pictures with you guys! Since I don't have a whole week to order a new charger, I had to go buy a whole new camera! I guess that was some divine intervention because new camera is the bomb, but defintitely unneeded stress.
Also, since forgot stuff at home, I had to go to Walmart and add a few things to my already heavy duffle, but when we left Atlanta that sucker only weighed 45 lbs. I'm working with an additional 5 lbs here, right? Contact solution for four months plus a few extra pieces of clothing are slightly heavier than you would imagine. I crammed all of my stuff in the bags this morning so as to not lose valuables and pass carry-on regulations, and apparently my bag now weighs 63 lbs. 13 over. How did that happen????? No solution to that yet, but I don't have to be airport ready until Friday. Okay, I admit it, I need my daddy the packing genius!
So for now, I'm just waiting on everyone else to get here. Meeting in the lobby at 4:30 and commence orientation! 'Til next time...

'Bout as Gone as a Girl Can Get

Heads up: Susan is about to embark on a fabulous blogging journey. And as a special challenge from my mother, all of the titles need to be George Strait song lyrics. Okay, that would be a lot of exes and Texas, so maybe just song lyrics. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it.

The real adventure here, however, is that I am about to leave for East Africa! I'm going to be in the capital cities of Uganda and Rwanda taking classes with Food for the Hungry's Go ED. program, and then doing practicum somewhere TBD. No, I don't know anyone else going. No, I'm not sure what to expect. Yes, I'm nervous. But I'm pretty sure these next four months are going to be AMAZING!

I hope I keep you in the know, and I'll see you in May!