the very next thing that happened

I just found out that we'll have to leave Kampala tomorrow, the same time Johan arrives. I'll miss my chance to see him here. I won't get the chance to do the one thing I wanted to do in Uganda. And I will probably never be in Uganda again.

After spending all week seething with hatred for this place, time, and group of people, this was the only thing I had to look forward to. Getting to spend some time with a familiar face. He's the first friend I would have seen in weeks. I was excited to learn about the Ex-pat community in Uganda. I was excited to learn about Johan's family's life in Africa. I had been looking forward to it since October.

We were in the car on the way to visit another one of Auntie's husband's brothers when she told me. I didn't find out until we got to Uganda that we were only here so she could shmooze with her new in-laws.

Our van-full of people pulled up to a hospital. I was livid. You brought us - all of us - to a hospital. That's how we're supposed to spend this day? This is the 4th time I had been brought to a hospital to meet some elderly distant relative. And each time our presence was entirely inapropriate. Obviously.

I said nothing as we got out of the car. I couldn't, I was seething. I walked, instead, into the outdoor patio of a neighboring bar/restaurant. They watched me. I looked at them, still silent, then sat down and opened my book. Silently, the turned and entered the hospital.

I sat and wrote. Fuming. On the verge of tears with frustration. I had known that a low blow would come from that Aunt sooner or later, even before I left Minnesota. I knew to expect this from her.

Buried in my notebook, I'm furious - writing, writing, when the overhead radio starts to quietly, "tick cshh, tick ta cshh cshh,"

I'm frozen. Hell no. Oh hell no.

My head falls into my hands just as the vocals come in, "I can feel like, coming in the air tonight. Hold on..."


"My life," I thought. And then I stopped feeling sorry for myself.

By the time the breakdown had hit, I was laughing out loud to myself. Looking like a damn fool. Cracking up. This is the first and only time I heard this song in Africa.

Phil the fuck Collins. Of all people to swoop in on my moment. So that must be what he's up to these days. Traveling the world in search of ideal moments to seep into speakers playing 80's radio stations overhead sulking young women who sometimes forget how lucky they are.

Oh fuck.