The African return

Fear not, I've not moved again. They were only two short work trips - to Rwanda back in October, and Kenya in December - but it was the first (and second) time I set foot on the African continent after leaving Uganda in 2014 (has it really been that long?!). It was strange to see how going back made me feel.

At first, it filled me with an unexpected wave of nostalgia.

The dim cold lights below as you land at night.
Men walking holding hands together.
The orange soil and orange dust everywhere.
The slowly moving traffic, and the boda-bodas.
People saying 'yes' by pulling up their eyebrows.
Condoms available in toilets (I think I've never seen female condoms anywhere else but in Africa).
Coloured clothes. Colours everywhere.
The messy local market with ordered piles of fruit and vegetables.
The people asking you "how are you" before even asking your name.
The shrieking ibis.
The posho, beans, greens and cassava; the great big cheap omnipresent avocados, and the small bananas.

Who'd ever think I'd miss this?

But then, the other things also started returning. The being muzungu; different; looked at always. The compound walls. All the things you like on a good day and hate on a bad day.

And as much as life in Europe can feel a little boring sometimes, and as much as my work in Uganda was the best job I ever had - and catching up last weekend with a friend who is still in Uganda brought back more avid memories - I think I'm not quite ready to go back to this life. Somehow good wine, mozzarella, trips to the mountains, and friends and family at reach still feel like too much like luxuries.