Light at the End of the Tunnel

I cherish the first bit of hope I have felt since arriving in Gulu and Hallelujah the light at the end of the tunnel is not a train!   Outside the industrial district, where all one hears are thundering busses, the train, the cacophony of hammering, goats bleating, kids wailing, etc. and all anchored by constant noise from blaring boom boxes deep into the night, the sounds of Gulu town settling into the night are downright comforting.  I sit on the hotel room balcony sucking down a “Slurpy Yogurt”  from a plastic bag and munching on a slice of Banana Bread – my first taste of almost-sweet pastry since being here.  Uganda doesn’t do sweets - so this is really tickling my taste-buds.  From my over head perch, I witness the exodus of school children in various colors of uniforms and they are all ages.  P1 – P3 can represent kids anywhere from age 6 or so on up to teens.  Some kids don’t enter the system until much older, having been either in the bush, working the fields or perhaps – just now – their families have been convinced of the value of education.  Oblivious to the bicycles, piki-pikis, cars – they saunter home  in a constant parade that lasts for about an hour. Mercifully, the are no thundering behemoths on this road 

A mama dog wanders back and forth across the road looking ever hopeful for someone she knows or maybe a handout.  The is a rarity in Gulu.  I wonder if she hopped a ride on a truck or has been left there.  I didn't se her come in on a boda-boda - thought almost everything else does. Ultimately, she takes up her position on the road, behind a parked truck and finally stretches out for a nap.    Only the Mzungu’s (Munu here in Acholiland) bother to give her a second glance. Three young women, carrying enormous open buckets of splashing water on their heads simply step over her.  

Somewhere down the road a marching band strikes up and I recognize their sound from the band that led the Hand Washing Day parade a week ago.  (God – has it only been a week???)  There is no music in the schools here – this is a band that is hired for celebrations and the sound brings me back to football games and marching band practice when the kids were younger.   This feels s much more normal and I am grateful for the return to something that looks like I may be able to do this for two years. 

Dusk is escorted in by thick, rumbling clouds roiling over the city promising a storm – not just rain.. Finally, the rain arrives - a light pinging at first – no one paying any attention and then the sky opens up.  For a Louisiana girl this is heaven.  The city quiets, lights flicker (we have electricity tonight) and I tuck my chair further in, nudging closer to the door to my room. Finally, I am forced inside but am so aware of the contrast between being in town and being in the hell-hole I’ve called home for the past two weeks.  The house I think will be home for the next little bit anyway is just up the road.  It has a porch – grass – trees!  I thrill at the prospect of sitting on the porch in a rain storm and take a good deep breath.  Ah – breath!   And so begins Halloween Night in Gulu.