Ugandan days are like dog years; one day here seems like a week at home. How long have I been awake? What have I done today? The never ending road trip to Gulu. My soul-renovating afternoon with Innocent and Sister Rosemary. My complete gut-punch, perception-redefining epiphany in the ensuing hours.
I'm sick. I'm not under the weather. I'm not feeling a little off. I'm in four-alarm, green-gilled, holy moly sick. My stomach and intestines are in a battle royal with my other internal organs and they're losing. Badly.
As we leave Kampala on Day 5, I witness a sight forever burned into my mind - the slums. On the northern edge of the city, there is a valley filled with what I can best describe as shanties. The expanse of this area freezes the mind.
This fall, members of the Noble Research Institute's Employee Team spent weeks gathering items to assemble care packages for the 158th Field Artillery Regiment of the Oklahoma Army National Guard, stationed in Afghanistan.
Driving in Ugandan traffic will change your life; mostly because you'll constantly see it flash before your eyes. Imagine this: Take the majority of Kampala's 1.7 million people and put half of them on the road - in one form or another - at the same time.