Two days ago, I gave a presentation to a Sunday school class about my time in Uganda. I shared stories as I scrolled through pictures. At points, I caught myself laughing at a memory too tangential to explain. At other points, my voice would catch as I recalled the people and interactions on the screen.
Yesterday, I ate a piece of a "really good" pineapple given by a family friend. It was all I could do to resist the urge to spit out rather than swallow the mouthful.
Today, as I scrubbed red dirt off the soles of my shoes with an old toothbrush, I unthinkingly wished for a practical way to preserve a specimen of the richly colored soil.
So it continues, the inexplicable grip that Uganda has on me. Whatever imprint my brief time there has left on my tastebuds and soul (or sole), it hasn't yet fully lifted.
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