Ex-Pat

I get it now. 

I understand those people who one day just up and move--uprooting themselves and their spouses to look for greener pastures in some tropical, third world locale. I know why they come down here to a place like Uganda, content on passing the rest of their days with this as their be all and end all. England? The U.S.? Der Nederlaands? "Yeah, we go back from time to time. Usually on holidays." I get them--I understand those people.

Everything here is so scary and fascinating for a Westerner. 

No, people aren't all living in huts and painting each others faces. Not where I'm at just south of Kampala, anyway. To be honest, situations like that seem to be the exception rather than the norm from what I've been able to glean from the few residents of the continent that I've spoken with in depth. Yes, there are people living in absolute, dire, what you might call "rural" squalor, but I haven't encountered any yet. What I do see is a place that vaguely resembles a modern day Western civilization--mixed in with definitive qualities of the Old West. There seems to be a fine balance between security and lawlessness, and I get the feeling that no one really knows to expect once they walk out their door. 

It's about a 35-40 minute ride from the airport in Entebbe to where we're staying on the outskirts of capital city Kampala, and it's also a straight shot. The entire way here two nights ago, I was just gaping out the window at a miles-long strip of oddities--to my Western assumption at least. Storefront shacks with their big steel doors propped open, with people just hanging out. Crews of teenagers on motorbikes, crowds of seedy looking gentleman shooting pool on an outdoors billiards table, countless lean-to's doubling as bars equipped with loud reggae and black lights, people walking aimlessly in the no man's lands in between pockets of structures and "establishments". And everything was so dark, as if their society still subsists on candlelight--or at least a handful of flickering, dimming bulbs. 

I sent two text messages last night. One was to my mom, telling here I got here safe and sane (thank God!), and the other was to my dad as I was driving along that road. It read, simply put: "This place is freakin' wild."

No exclamation point, no tongue in cheek, this place is just plain "wild" in every sense of the word. It's rough, crazy, out there, out of control, and even animalistic in some respects. Wild. This place is freaking wild. Untamed. It just feels like, I don't know…like there's any number of things out there that will either kill you or give you serious diarrhea. Wild.

Banana Trees - African Bible University

Lubowa, outside Kampala, Uganda

Yet I do understand why ex-pats flock here. It's beautiful, and it's beauty is positively raw. From the gentle mists that hang amongst the sloping hills in the distance, the exotic birds swooping down low from up high, the smells of wood-burning ovens wafting through the open doors and window panes of red-roofed buildings. Even the dirt is stunning, in its on dirty way. A bright and brilliant reddish color when it is freshly overturned, you almost don't want to brush the dust off of your feet. It makes you feel like you've been somewhere, like you're bearing the evidence that you've walked somewhere important.

Yet they don't call it the dark continent for nothing. There's something deeply mysterious about this place, almost as if there's a collective secret amongst its citizenry. It's an eerie sort of sensation--but it makes you want to dig deeper, to overturn rocks and renew the adventurous spirit you've all but lost. It makes you want to do crazy things. I can understand why earlier European explorers cut through this continent, writing riveting journals and novels like "The Heart of Darkness". I get why years later, their ancestors are returning as ex-pats.

Sustainability - African Bible University

Lubowa, outside Kampala, Uganda

But is it good that they're coming back?

Ex-pat stands for ex-patriot--someone who has all but left behind their home country, nationality, and in some respect, culture, to relocate to somewhere completely foreign and outside themselves, usually somewhere tropical. Germans, French, Dutch, British, Americans, and a host of other white folks.

All jesting aside, I'm not sure how I feel about Africa-bound ex-pats--especially coming from Europe. Marks of the former British colonizers are all over the place here in Lubowa, from the tea breaks at 10:00 am and 4:00 pm, the British electrical outlets, the right-hand drive cars, and the fact that everyone seems to speak English, one of two national languages alongside Swahili. Yet I understand that what's done is done. I usually have a lot of opinions on a variety of different things, but honestly I don't really know what the future should look like here. I know some descendants of colonizers have a vision, and the sons and daughters of those indigenous are starting to form their own vision. But if I'm being honest, it's hard not to look with a raised eyebrow at all the Americans and Europeans coming back to "fix" a place like Uganda. Maybe it's honest restitution for all the sins of their ancestors. Maybe it's a softer form of colonization--forced culture even. What I do know that despite the number of those with ill intentions, there are some real Christian missionaries here who truly want what God wants, and are trying their hardest to do His will.

So that's it--the end of this blog posting. Please forgive me if I am overtly cynical, I guess that God has a lot of work to do with me before I leave Uganda. The hardest things to cope with here haven't been sleeping in a mosquito net (actually pretty comfortable), brushing my teeth with bottled water, or making sure I take my daily anti-malaria pills. It's actually been the war of ideals going on in my head--of knowing where I fit into all of this. Of knowing where I should fit in through all of this.

Maybe I'm being self righteous, but any time I'm in a situation, especially a Christian one, I try my hardest to find the realest around. I know that I can be a tad negative at times, but it's only my knee-jerk reaction to those things I perceive to be not exactly right just under the surface. I don't feel inclined to be phony or fake about things. God receives no glory from my negativity--but fakeness and falsehood are of no value to Him either. Okay, help me down from this soapbox.

That's better.

So I know I usually end my postings with some sort of realization or tying up of loose ends. I don't have a neat little package in which I can wrap things up this time. All I have is a world's worth of new sites, sounds and smells, uncomfortable confusion, shallow mediations, and a deep sinking feeling in my stomach that I hope isn't something I ate...