Mzungu Memories

Scattered

Words cannot describe the beauty of Lake Victoria. It was the first time I really noticed a little bit of my heart get stolen away by this incredible country. Stood on her sandy shores I finally understood Wanderlust. It's something that cannot be experienced at an all-inclusive resort in Mallorca or a caravan park in the Cotswolds. It's a deep, intangible need to experience something new and magical that can never truly be satisfied.

One thing's for sure: I certainly found magic there. Lifetime friendships were forged on the impossibly fine sand. I learned how to perfectly spin an American football. I played tag under the swaying palm trees and ate ice cream in their shade. I mastered the art of African cards under the watchful eye of a Marabou Stork, a wading bird native to Sub-Saharan Africa that could easily have just stepped off the set of Jurassic Park. I played football with a sand-covered boy and bikini-clad girl that would soon become my brother and sister.

I scooped up a tiny sample of sand for safekeeping, with a small selection of impossibly tiny shells. When I got home, I poured them all into a tiny glass jar that I turned into a necklace, so that I could forever keep a little piece of Lake Victoria close to the hole in my chest that used to house the bit of my heart I left there. I left many pieces of my heart there, scattered across Uganda, the Pearl of Africa.

I left a piece at Lake Victoria, where I found my Wanderlust,

A piece in Entebbe airport where I started the adventure of a lifetime,

A piece in Kampala where I met up with friends and shared stories and advice over Chinese food in the middle of Africa,

A piece in Jinja right at the Source of the River Nile which stole my breath from me,

A piece in a Western Restaurant in Iganga where I broke all of the rules and lived with no regrets and found true happiness,

A piece in Martin Luther Church school where I taught my first ever lesson,

A piece in Tree Life Primary where I realised I wasn't terrified of speaking in public for the first time, where the children showed me the true meaning of hope,

A piece in Fort Lugard where I swam freely under the baking sun in freezing water drinking alco-pops that we weren't supposed to have,

A piece on the rooftop that we jumped onto from another rooftop, just trying to find a hidden place to smoke,

A piece on the side of the road where I tried my first Ugandan street food,

A piece on the beach where we said our final goodbyes and promised one day, maybe one day, we'd see eachother again,

And a piece in my host home, a place so special to me I got the co-ordinates of it tattoed on my arm so I could always find my way back.

And for as many pieces of my heart I left there, I took as many heart-breakingly beautiful memories that will stay with me for a lifetime.