The bus was speeding through the dark, hitting bumps that would send us all bouncing off the seat, and me who didn't weigh that much, would catch close to a foot of air sometimes. There was a group of women in the back, who would all giggle whenever a bump came around, it gave me the reminder to relax just a little, but this bus ride was one the time during the whole trip where I wondered if we would make it. My nerves were on fire, I had thoughts of crashing, going tumbling off the side of who knows what because it was too dark to see what was out there. This would be one of the many reasons why I would be hesitant to take a night bus again, though I did later on in Mexico and Colombia. It was late, I couldn't sleep and the bus absorbed all the shocks so it hurt when a bump would come, and I would try and purposefully lift myself up, to roll with the bumps instead of being lifted by them. Later on, when I recalled the story to one of my co-workers, she told me it was best to sleep on a bus because you are less likely to break bones in a crash when your body is less rigid. People really live like that? 

Good day everyone! This is Jessica's brother coming to you live with an update from the sister! 

"Hey everyone, I am in Uganda, but currently unable to edit the website. I will create a separate blog to keep updates rolling in. Stay tuned for the announcement of the new website."

Guys, it means a lot that you check these things for my sister. She is on a geographical and life journey, and she has changed and discovered so many inspirational things. Whilst her brother sits on the balls of his heels on delicious Army details, she is out there making her mark, changing the world one bite at a time.
​And her family couldn't be more proud.

Squeamish warning...this story includes a recount of me getting a hookworm. The pictures are included under "Read More". 

I walked down the dirt road, carrying a blue felt bag filled with groceries in each hand. Avoiding the ditch that lay bordering the outer edge of the main street, I looked around to make sure I could walk across. That’s how it went here, there were no crosswalks, traffic signals, though later on some started to be created. “Ah!” I cried out in pain and stopped in my tracks. I put down the bags and doubled over, breathing steadily to manage the pain that shot through my thigh. What’s going on, I wondered, as the pain started to cool off. I had been getting foot cramps frequently for the past couple of months, and figured that something must be out of line with how my feet were resting in my sandals. Maybe I am wearing them too much, I have high arches and probably need some more support. Over the last week, the pains in my feet had grown, and I was constantly scratching at the underside of my left foot. There were a couple of bumps that looked like mosquito bites, and they itched like no other bite that I have had. I resisted scratching, knowing that there was already a level of irritation that happened by the level of contact the bumps had just by being on the bottom of my foot. 

I wanted to sit down though, my legs felt weak and rest knocked at my door. I opened the gate to the house I stayed at, and entered in guided by a loud creak and a series of metal on metal bangs, who showed no shyness to scream that they had made contact. Sitting down on the couch on the porch, I put down the bags and kicked off my sandals. I bent in my left leg, forming a pretzel shape, and looked at the bottom of my foot. There were red lines covering the bottom, they were lifted and could be felt by running a finger over them. This, is not a normal mosquito bite, I thought. I can’t ride this one out, waiting for it to heal.  

​Toto’s Africa “and the wild dogs cry out in the night, as they grow restless longing for some solidary company”, reminds me of the dogs howling out here at night. Sometimes it felt kind of eerie. One night, I heard scratching and some knocking-like sounds coming from outside of my room, opposite of where the door was. The dogs were howling and howling, as if something had died. Something felt off, and I texted Jackie, who slept in the room next to mine, and told her of my eerie feeling. I didn’t want to freak her out, because she had only been here for about a week, but I thought, she might as well get used to the way it is here. Yes, that would entail that I would get used to knocking sounds against my wall and dogs howling an unusual amount, but the situation felt off. I think I was also scaring myself, but I knew that break-ins were common. Was someone outside? My door was locked, what about the others? I waited a couple of minutes and there was no sound anymore.

“I got your text this morning.” Jackie said as I was brushing my teeth outside the next morning. She had been sleeping, but I wondered how she could have slept through the howling that night. Previous people who had stayed at the house were kept up some nights by the neighbors partying or by the dogs, while there were times I slept through it. The same scenario of people trading off being kept up at night would ensue with future roommates.

I would hear the song, “Africa” so many times while in Africa. I heard it in clubs, on busses, on the porch with my roommates, as we all sat around singing along as it poured rain.  I remember playing it in Morocco, but it was popular here. I think part of this tribute is that something about Sub-Saharan Africa felt more like the stereotypical picture of what Africa is. North-Africa seems more stereotypical of what the Middle East appears to be.  At least this was my initial perception, and I had heard it from other people as well. Africa is a huge, diverse continent. I do like the way that the song seemed to romanticize the reality of being in Africa, though.