Catchin' up...

It's been more than a month since my last post, so here are some short takes on what's been happening (and, perhaps, reasons for the delay) -- everything from the (promised) news about the "Bate's Motel" to boda-boda drivers, celebrations and, the best news, a good beer. (And forgive wordiness, etc. -- I am doing this quickly to get it done.)

Bate's Motel: "He has a gun," I said, calmly, in an effort to soothe fears.

Context is everything, and for our guest on our trip upcountry it was anything but.

"I can't sleep alone," was the immediate retort.

I had said what I said to allay any fears about the really reasonably-priced hotel we were forced into because of our later-than-expected arrival to the motel, found after a long search (in both time and distance), following our visit to Murchison Falls National Park. Along the way, we had picked up a park guide, a genial fellow named Jim, who then tagged along with us to the hotel (looking for a free night's stay).

He was the one with the gun. (Well, he is an Ugandan wildlife officer, and a lot of people here carry guns.)

Despite my assurances that having someone in uniform with a gun outside your motel room was a comforting sight, it was no consolation to our guest, who had images of the Bate's Motel and, instead of a knife in the shower, it would be a wildlife official who had "hitchhiked" onto our party who would sneak in and "pow, pow" -- that's all folks!

We all awoke the next morning, safe and sound -- with Jim and his gun still in tow.

Mzee 1, boda-boda driver 0: Score one for the old guy, me, the "mzee," a term of reverence reserved for old guys in East Africa.

Joyce and I were stuck in traffic in downtown Kampala when the driver of a boda-boda (motorcycle taxi) swept by in front of us and clipped our front bumper, tearing it (the cover) pretty much completely off.

He didn't stop (not unusual), but it pissed me off. Even my "I hate anything violent" wife (to the point she won't watch violent movies) yelled: "Get him" as I took off in our Rav4, weaving through traffic, including the wrong way (right side) of the packed street. After about 100 meters, the fleeing boda-boda got blocked by a jam, so I screeched to a halt about 20 meters short, jumped out, ran up to the driver, a tall man in his early 30s, grabbed him by his jacket and yanked him off. (His passenger jumped off and fled the scene.)

All this attracted a crowd, which thankfully was on my side. I yelled, "I want the police," and several of the bystanders pointed to a police shack a short way up the street.

With a firm hold on his jacket, I dragged the offender to the police, with a couple of folks in the crowd rolling his boda-boda behind us.

I kept telling the guy: "You should have stopped, and I wouldn't have been mad" (something I kept telling him during the entire adventure).

Of course, he didn't stop because he likely didn't have insurance and no ability to pay.

While we chatted with the police, a young man came up with a few tools and some screws. He began putting the bumper cover (which had come completely off during my chase) back into its proper place.

About an hour later, the job was done, as was the gathering of information, during which the traffic cop asked me a bunch of questions, including my age.

"71," I replied.

"Uh, how old?" he asked.

"71."

He gave me a quizzical, startled and surprised look.

"Well, he just pissed me off," I said.

He seemed then to accept that, though his look did not change.

I gave the guy who repaired our bumper 20,000 shillings (about $7.50), scolded the boda-boda driver once more and, after about an hour from initial impact until bumper repaired, went merrily on our way.

The next morning, when I told Alex Asiimwe, the managing director of our operation, about it, he said: "Don't do that!"

I was lucky the crowd was on my side, he said.

"But," I replied, "he pissed me off."

He had the same look as the cop.

Weddings: We went to our first Ugandan wedding (Muslim) last Saturday, and we're going to another (Christian) today.

Today's, I'm sure, will be wonderful (for one of my favorite folks at the Monitor, a young, talented reporter with young, talented copy editor -- called sub-editor here).

Last Saturday was a five-hour affair, but worth every minute. A beautiful bride, two beautiful children and a great groom. Oh, and great food and great conversation with new friendships made.

The bride was Aidah Nalubega, officially my administrative assistant, but in reality my "boss." She is smart, beautiful and dedicated -- and, perhaps, the most important person to any successes I might enjoy here. She is helpful at every turn (and, if I have my way, she'll be playing even more important newsroom roles soon).

Our visitors in June (Sarah and Chris and Lauren) know Aidah, so they can confirm.

I tell folks that I always cry at weddings, and this was no exception. I did when she first came out in her beautiful gown (not white, but in beautiful African colors), just one of three beautiful gowns she wore during the ceremony. And, again, when I was asked to speak to the large crowd about what Aidah meant to me (and to Joyce).

Joyce and I, who were seated up front with family, were honored and privileged to have been invited.

She and her husband, "W," have been together for 12 years and have two beautiful children. We wish them many, many more years of happiness.

That day will be with us forever.

Now, in a bit, Joyce and I have to get ready for today's wedding, and tomorrow we've been invited to a birthday party for one of our young newsroom editors.

Moments like these make this often-trying adventure all worthwhile.

Beer: I've said it before, and I'll say it again -- the beer in Uganda is boring. Just Pilsners, lagers and stout. Nothing with distinct flavor or bite. Just "Budweiser" to me (and you all know that I NEVER drink "Bud").

Well, the beer gods must have taken notice: A micro-brewery has opened! And just down the hill from us! (Yippee!!!)

As of now, only two beers with four planned. One on tap now is a Pilsner (better than the ones mass-produced here, but still...); the other is an amber ale that is WONDERFUL! Has a smoky aftertaste, much like a Scotch ale. Not an IPA, but (if they can get the proper hops), the owners have promised to try to make some.

I am happy. Found the place last Sunday, and we've already been there three times (and we'll be there again on Sunday).

We talked about getting growlers (so I can bring some to the apartment so I can sip it while looking at the Kampala skyline from our aerie). They said they had plans for that, but were having trouble getting them. I said that I am going to bring one back with me from the States in October. They said, "Good!"

So all is well (better) here in Uganda.

Oh, Yasigi is the goddess of beer in Mali!

Cheers.

Promise: And, finally, a promise to be more diligent in posting to this blog. Though (and Sarah and Chris and Lauren likely understand), I am working hard, and the challenges here are much more profound, at every level, than I had anticipated. So, be patient, but feel free to goad (a la Jonathan Kealing).

And, again, cheers...time to head to the wedding and, perhaps, that good amber ale after the festivities.

P.S.: Oh, had to get new tires for the Rav4. The brand is called Achilles. Hmmm, not very comforting, from my point of view, if you think "heel."

P.P.S.: I will post pictures of wedding, likely tomorrow. Gotta run to another wedding.

A pack of pachyderms and ... (the Bate's Motel!?!)

What do you do when you are surrounded by 60 or more elephants?

You simply stand in awe...and snap as many photos as possible even though darkness is grabbing a quick hold.

What do you do when a bull elephant blocks the road?

You wait, of course!

He was busy eating, and our repeated revving of the engine and whistles and barks had little effect, other than prompting an occasional perturbed glance our way.

So, we waited.

We came across this fellow during our twilight drive through Murchison Falls
National Park in northwest Uganda as we were trying to leave the park just as
the sun was about to leave us for the day. But we had to wait until he decided
we could proceed. About 15 minutes later, we came across an even more
amazing experience: a herd of about 60 elephants, who didn't seem to mind
that we were driving in the midst of their evening meal among the trees
as darkness set in.

Ahh, Uganda!

In the three weeks since our return from our visit to the States, life has been a bit of a whirlwind. The elephant encounters came during part of what made it a whirlwind: the visit of two former students and the husband of one.

But the whirlwind, work aside, really began at the end of the first week back when we said good-bye to good friend Prof. Jim Kelly of Indiana University, who headed up a group of IU students on an study-abroad experience in Uganda, and 11 of his study-abroad students, who spent almost a month at the Daily Monitor. They were here because, when they couldn't go to Kenya (because of a ban on student travel because of terror threats), Jim asked me if I could accommodate some of his group.

"I'll take 'em all," I replied.

So the group came to Uganda, interning at the Daily Monitor working with some of our folks on a series of stories on HIV/AIDs. The first series kicks off tomorrow, Sunday, July 6.

The IU contingent. That's IU Prof. Jim Kelly at the far right.
And that's the view from our pool.

Just before they left, Joyce and I hosted a party at our place. The night before the Saturday gathering, we invited Scott DeLisi, the U.S. ambassador to Uganda, and his wife, Leija, to walk the "two doors" up the hill to our place, and they said, "Sure!" We thought they'd drop by for a few minutes, but wound up staying for the entire three hours at the poolside BBQ (of grilled marinated chicken and goat, which, BTW, was marvelous -- the food, the fact Scott and Leija stayed and enjoyed themselves, and the IU folks -- who surprised me with a special gift: a plaid bow-tie, in IU colors, of course. Quite fetching, I must say.)

That night, shortly after the BBQ, we headed to the airport for some more special guests, two former students, Sarah (nee Hill) Green and Lauren Beatty and Sarah's husband, Chris. More about their visit in the next blog except to say they got a good sampling of Uganda, including a bit of "Uganda's revenge" (you figure it out) and that bull elephant in the road and Nile Specials (a beer) on a boat on the Nile. How appropriate.

At Murchison Falls with our Kansas visitors and friends,
Edridge and Kabs (Kabagambe Swamadu, our driver
and good friend). With them, from left, Sarah Green, me,
Joyce, Lauren Beatty and Chris Green. The falls are hidden by
Joyce's hat. And, yes, if you come, bring a good hat.
Sarah, Chris and Malcolm have Tilley hats, which all
three recommend.

More on them in the next installment, though the next part of the whirlwind began after dropping 'em off at the airport for the 30-hour trip home: some reality about living in East Africa. I got hit -- hard -- by an intestinal bacterial infection that had me heading home early most days and missing one day completely.

I knew I was sick when two young staffers, each independent of the other, came into my office to say: "You're looking older. Are you OK?"

And those who know me know I'm really in distress by this: I haven't had a beer since the dinner before that Monday night ride to the airport to put our Kansas friends on the plane home.

But all is better now, thanks to "cipro" (ciprofloxacin, an antibiotic) that seems to be helping. But no beer (or our usual Sunday martinis). Maybe on Monday. Stay tuned.

But if you've ever had a hankering to visit, check in with Sarah and Chris, and Lauren. We're sure they'll have lots of advice -- mostly good and encouraging, I think. Just don't ask Lauren about "another beautiful day in Uganda" -- at least after travelling five hours on a dirt road, a couple of bumpy twilight hours looking for wildlife, no food since breakfast, and thinking she was going to have to spend the night in the "Bate's Motel" with a serial killer named James.

But, for that part of the whirlwind, you'll  have to wait until the next installment.

Excited to be back...

Joyce and I are back in Uganda after some "R&R" in Lawrence and Boston.

We had a great time at home -- hectic but relaxing traveling 8,000 miles, then shuttling between Boston-Lawrence-Boston. And it was fun to see Jennifer, Adam and Chris in Boston, and many friends in Lawrence (especially golf with Pam!). And getting former student, soon-to-be-grad-student Travis Robinett settled into the house on Holiday Drive.

But it's great to be back here, too.

Jet lag wasn't too bad, and we both picked up colds on the way back to the U.S., but mostly back to normal here -- including work. The Monitor is facing many of the same challenges that news operations are facing in the U.S., but the potential, in my view, is much greater here. Stay tuned.

And we have excitement today on two fronts: hosting a BBQ today and the arrival of three special visitors who'll be staying with us this next week.

Today, we're hosting 11 Indiana University students for a BBQ at our place (by the pool, of course). We'll have chicken and goat (and beer and wine). And Scott and Leija DeLisi are planning to stop by to say "hi" (and eat, too, we assume). Scott is the U.S. ambassador who lives just two "doors" down the hill, an easy walk up to us, then down back home, from us.

The IU students, under the guidance of Prof. Jim Kelly, worked with our Monitor colleagues on two special reports on HIV/AIDS in Uganda. Their work should start appearing as soon as next week. All reports indicate that the project will be first-rate.

As for Prof. Jim, he led many sessions for our photo staff. This is how successful it was. The photo chief came to me and said: "He's the best professor I've ever known." I replied: "Cool! But what about me?" "He's the best professor I've ever known," he repeated -- with a big grin.

Oh, well.

And the other big news is that we are picking up three folks from the airport tonight at 9:45 p.m.

Two former students -- Sarah, nee Hill, Green and Lauren Beatty -- along with Sarah's husband, Chris. We are so excited (and honored because, right after I had accepted the job in December, they quickly announced that they were coming for a visit!!! OK, who's next?)

Many plans, which I will post in this spot, including white-water rafting on the Nile in nearby Jinja, a visit upcountry to two game preserves (elephants, lions, hippos, crocs and more!), a visit to our driver-friend's home village (where we were given the rooster), and lots more!

We will be posting photos and updates.

Gotta run. Heading out to buy beer and ice and etc. for today's party...and our Kansas contingent.

10 things we miss about home...

I began this blog a couple of weeks ago (trying to keep my promise of posting at least once each week, usually on Saturdays, and I'm doing it now, in part, because of the welcomed and needed kick in the butt from Jonathan Kealing). However, events had gobbled up both time and energy. So, below, is what I'd planned. But, first, an update (and reason for the delay):

We've been busy, and not because of this government ministry or that summoning me to complain about something we'd published. And the internet at our place has been spotty, then out of service for the past few days.

Ah, but the update:

Beginning Sunday week ago through Tuesday, we made an upcountry trip to check in with four of our bureaus to the west: Masaka, Mbarara, Fort Portal and Hoima (when our correspondent came to Fort Portal). Great trip, beautiful scenery, and wonderfully illuminating about what we can do (better) and to better tap the potential, both of the talent in those bureaus and the potential audience as well. Here are some highlights (beyond the journalism and the pleasant exchanges with all those we met, as well as our travelling companions -- Justus Katungi, who is our circulation director; Aidah Nalubega, officially the newsroom's (and my) administrative assistance whom I call "the boss" because nothing would get done without her expert help and advice; Henry Mukasa, a brilliant young editor in Kampala who oversees and inspires all our upcountry coverage, and, of course, my driver and our good and valued friend Swamadu Kabagambe ("Kabs," prounounced "Kuhbs], who drove much of the way (though I did some driving, too), and provided one special highlight that involves a rooster, so keep reading. In Musaka, I got to hold a newborn, so, beyond just meeting the good journalists there, I was happy. In Mbarara (prounounced mmm-bah-RAH-rah), we had spirited discussions. And in Fort Portal, more spirited discussion about journalism, and, that night, we stayed at one of the nicest motels ever.

Oh, and elephants. On the way to Fort Portal. which carried us through mountains into the valley below, we slipped by (not in) Queen Elizabeth National Park where, thanks to the sharp eye of Kabs, we saw a big tusked bull elephant and his harem moving slowly through the grasslands. We literally hopped atop our Rav4 for a better look and better photos. Exciting!

The biggest highlight was to come the Tuesday after meeting the news staff at Fort Portal. Kabs took us to his family's village not too far from Fort Portal. We were greeted by his grandmother and a small gathering of 40 or so relatives that soon grew to 80, mostly children. They danced, we danced, we chatted, we hugged, we danced some more, we hugged, and danced even more. We were thrilled, and Kabs told us they were thrilled, too (and the first muzungus [white people] she ever encountered in her 70-plus years). And, then, we were presented with a royal parting gift: a live rooster. It would have been terribly impolite to refuse!

So, Kabs, Joyce, Malcolm and the rooster settled into our four-seater Rav4 for the six-hour trip back to Kampala.

The rooster was a great traveler. I was not. I, city boy that I am, kept asking about my back-of-the-Rav4 companion: "When are we going dump the rooster."

Again, that would have been impolite. So Rudy the Rooster (we had to name him) and Malcolm, both in the back, and Kabs and Joyce, both in the front, made the trip all the way home.

I texted Alykhan Alibhai, whose family owns The Seventeen where we live, if we could keep the rooster. His reply: "You have a second bedroom."

Deeming that impractical, we left Rudy with Kabs, who took it home to his mother who raises chickens.

As for work, I had my first board meeting, and all went well. I got a ringing endorsement for what we're doing here. But, as with many media operations, times are tough here, and we're facing budget cuts. But the journalism is on the upswing, and because I'm sharing all we do with our readers, it's spurred discussion among all of Uganda interested in journalism.

Given the quality and enthusiasm of most of the folks here at the Monitor, I am now firmly convinced that I will accomplish the two things I've set out to accomplish: become the most respected media operation in Africa, and leave an Ugandan in my spot when I leave.

And, now, for what I'd intended to write about before Rudy entered the picture. P.S.: Photos to come!

Here are 10 things (and there are more) that we miss about home and will look forward to enjoying when back in Lawrence soon (arriving on June 1; heading back on June 9). In no particular order, except the last is first:

#1: Cheerios

OK, I've eaten Cheerios literally my entire life (and I'm thankful they were invented shortly before I was born). I eat 'em for breakfast, and I eat 'em for snacks. We did find some here. They appeared on the shelves shortly after we got here, but they seem to have disappeared from the shelves, and haven't been restocked. (C'mon, Uganda!). But, sadly, they were Multi-grain Cheerios and Honey-flavored Cheerios (also multi-grain), neither of which really count, and they're made by Nestle (with an agreement with General Mills) in England. England? Well, I guess, given the name, that shouldn't be surprising. But I NEED my good ol', regular, American-made, all-whole-grain-oats Cheerios. We're bringing back a suit-case filled with boxes of 'em. ("Excuse me, sir," the Ugandan customs official says. "Uh, why do you have 20 boxes of Cheerios. There will be an import fee, of course, of $500!" "Cheap enough," I reply, which tells you how important this is.

#2: Pizza

Our first meal in Lawrence will be a full-packed, everything-on-it pizza from Tad's, which is not far from our house. The pizza here ain't bad, especially at Mediterraneo (just down the hill from us), but they just don't have any good -- GOOD -- pepperoni. And, even though I often have pizzas at home without pepperoni, when you can't get it...

#3 Shrimp (prawns, here)

The stores don't have any (that are good) -- all pre-cooked, and they taste like sawdust. We are told you can get fresh shrimp (prawns) here, but we haven't found 'em. We had some good ones at the Chinese restaurant, so guess I'll have to steal some! At home in Kansas (which, Ugandans should note, is farther away from salt water than Uganda is), we get uncooked shrimp that don't taste like sawdust all the time. And we usually have it as a meal at least three times a week -- a little olive oil, a healthy (which means a lot) dose of garlic, a little lemon juice and some parsley (along with some grits or rice) and, voila!, the perfect meal. Yes, we will be cooking that for the 2nd night at home (and the third and, perhaps, the fourth, and....)

#4: Good beer

Oh, please, my kingdom for an IPA. As I've noted in earlier blogs, just Pilsners and lagers (and some stout) here, but I want a beer with a bite. The Brits invented IPA, and the first things Brits do whenever they invade, colonize and settle anywhere, they find a river and build a danged brewery. So, why no IPA? So, straight to Ray's Liquors for a sampling of IPAs. Then, the next day: Free State Brewery for some Ad Astra (and any the food folks there might have on "special"). Joyce and I had breakfast on Sunday with Scott DiLisi and his wife, Leija -- just the four of us. (He's the U.S. ambassador; they live two "doors" down the hill from us.) He's offered -- and I hope no one from the State Department is reading this -- to bring back any dearly missed "food stuff" (like Cheerios) in the diplomatic pouch. (I suspect he was kidding.) But when I suggested IPA, he said, "Can't...no liquids." So much for diplomatic relations!)

#5: English muffins

That brings us back to Scott and Leija. We told her of our yen for English muffins, and you can't find 'em here. (No English muffins. C'mon, England! What kind of colonizers are you. And, if you can bring in ersatz Cheerios, why no IPA and English muffins?) We want 'em for our usual Saturday morning breakfast of egg, cheese and bacon on an English muffin. Leija said that their cook makes them. Next thing we know, we get a text saying she'd leave some with the guard at her gate. We jogged down (not back up) to fetch 'em. They're great! (Thanks Scott and Leija; diplomatic relations restored!)

#6: Roads without potholes

Kampala is the pothole capital of the world. At least of the parts of the world I've seen. Now, it does make driving exciting -- sort of like the slalom in the Olympics -- but with all the skiers on the course at the same time -- bunches of skiers zig-zagging all over the place. Here, cars, trucks, boda-boda (motorcycle taxis) and mini-buses, all avoiding the same potholes and often competing for space. Like I said, exciting! And the reason Joyce is so reluctant to drive.

#7: CBS Sunday Morning.

The best TV magazine show invented. Plus, the host wears a bow-tie! Need I say more?

#8: The Sunday edition of The New York Times.

Serendipity each week, stumbling on articles you'd have otherwise not read. And, of course, the Sunday crossword.

#9: My Miata.

Thanks to Bill and Rita, who housesat and Miata-sat. Thankful, but also jealous that they got to drive her and I couldn't. They even sent a photo of 'em in it. Now that was cruel!

#10: Friends and family.

What's to say except: We miss you all.

10 things we'll miss...

Here are some things we'll definitely miss about Uganda when we ultimately leave (and, yes, I said I was "blue" in my last blog, but we truly do love it here, aren't really looking to leave, and expect to be here for quite a while longer).

In no particular order, except the last should be first:

Things we'll miss #1: Cobbler (shoe-repair) shops.

They've virtually disappeared in most places in the States. We had my loafers, that I love, re-heeled -- and for a lot less than what it would cost to replace. And my L.L. Bean oxfords are there now to be resoled and re-heeled. Why get rid of a great pair of shoes just in need of a little repair? There's one place in Lawrence, KS, where you can do that, but it's getting more difficult, it seems.

Things we'll miss #2: Cricket.

Yep, cricket. (We're watching the Indian Premier League on TV as I write this). It's actually exciting, and in many ways more exciting than baseball -- which we love, but which does have long moments of relative inaction. Not with cricket. Using a baseball analogy, there's really only one inning, with one team at bat, and the other pitching (bowling). When that team finishes it's turn, they switch. Then the game is over. Scores of 170 and more (for each team) are common. In the 20-over version, which is the most popular, that means 120 balls (six "pitches" per over) for each team. You get runs by running between the two wickets (three upright sticks topped by another horizontal stick). You get four runs automatically if you hit the ball to any part of the boundary -- what appears to be about a foot-high vinyl-covered foam barrier encircling the field (though just a rope in the club games we've watched). It rings the perimeter of the 60-meter by 80-meter oval. And you can bat the ball in any direction (the full 360 degrees), so you need fielders in front and behind -- on all sides of -- the batsman. And the bowler (pitcher) takes a running start and usually bounces the ball, with spins to affect the flight after the bounce, for the batsman to hit with his bat. It's flat, by the way, which allows him to direct the ball in just about any direction, including behind. You get six runs if you hit one over the boundary. (We call 'em "home runs," even here, but not sure what they're called here except "sixes.") We are even surprised ourselves that we like it so much. And I've been promised that there's an amateur club in Kampala that's going to let me play! Stay tuned. P.S.: U.S. baseballers are wussies. Most cricket fielders don't wear gloves. Bare hands, baby!

Things we'll miss #3: Samosas.

The veggie- or meat-filled fried triangles are sold everywhere. They cost from about 1,500 to 2,000 Ugandan shillings (about 60 to 75 cents each) in the stores, but at our canteen at the Daily Monitor, I can get two for about 1,500 shillings. I usually have two for lunch. Tasty!

Things we'll miss #4: Our '97 Toyota two-door, short-chassis, right-hand-drive Rav4. We love it so much we're thinking of shipping it back to the U.S. when we go home for good. And, once this gig does end, we're thinking seriously of driving it, likely over two months or so, from Kampala to Cape Town, South Africa -- Kampala to Nairobi, Kenya, to Moshi, Tanzania (Mt. Kilimanjaro), to Dar es Salaam (and a boat trip to Zanzibar), then up to Mbeya on the Zambian border (Andy Moor and I hitch-hiked there in '69 for a story), then on to Lusaka, Zambia, then to Harare, Zimbabwe (and Victoria Falls along the way), then to Johannesburg, South Africa, then (by way of Durban, then along the coast to Port Elizabeth and Plettenberg Bay, a beautiful spot where I spent a delightful night getting drunk on cognac) Cape Town. The Rav4, if still healthy and hearty, will take a ship to a port in the U.S. for us to drive it to Lawrence, Kansas; for us, it's the Blue Train back to Johannesburg, where we'll catch our flight home. Well, that's the plan. Stay tuned.

Things we'll miss #5: The view.

The view from our apartment -- a fourth-floor (luxury) walk-up (81 steps) -- is, well, spectacular. I really do get up every morning and say: "Another beautiful day in Uganda." Drives Joyce batty (not the view, but my saying "Another beautiful day in Uganda").

Things we'll miss #6: The weather.

It truly is beautiful here every day. About 85 each afternoon, and we wake up to about 65 each morning. We do not have air conditioning, and we don't need it. And, right now, it's the rainy season (we love rain), though about ready to end. The storms here are spectacular (and we have a great view). We do have to get up, at times, at 3 a.m. to close windows and the sliding glass doors that are left wide open. And we've had to mop up a bunch of water that has been blown in when we were a bit tardy in waking up to the thunder-and-lightning shows. But, who cares. It's wonderful!!!

Things we'll miss #7: Watermelon juice.

We have it ALL THE TIME. It's refreshing. And, last night, we even had a watermelon martini! We've already decided that watermelon martinis -- not our usual regular ones -- will be our new Sunday night ritual (on many Sunday nights) when we return.

Things we'll miss #8: Roundabouts.

Main intersections here are usually wide, multi-laned roundabouts. And, once you learn how to use 'em, it's a much more sane (and safe) way to move traffic. In the U.S., they make 'em too small (listen up, Lawrence, Kansas) and people don't know how to use 'em correctly.

Things we'll miss #9: The adventure, challenge and opportunity of living in another country and culture.

Yea, we miss things (like hot dogs, beer other than Pilsner and lagers, really good pizza, and our favorite TV shows and, of course, family and friends -- oh, and my Miata). But the challenge of adapting to a new culture and country is exciting, the job is rewarding (and challenging), the anticipation of adventure -- exploring all the great national parks here -- and the opportunity to grow because of it, is priceless. We will definitely be better for it, as well as appreciating even more than we did how great it is to be who we are.

Things we'll miss #10: The people.

Seriously, we've already forged lasting -- lifelong -- friendships with at least a dozen good folks in just our 10 weeks here. We've always said this about our travels: It's not the places you see, but the people you meet. And that has been delightfully confirmed by the friends we've made -- at all stations in life -- here in Uganda. The people are wonderful, and we feel blessed because of them.

That, dear friends, is what keeps us going and makes this adventure so rewarding.

Lovin' -- and hating -- the 'blues'

I love jazz, and I love the blues. Right now, I've got the blues, but it ain't the kind that are fun.

I've been in this blue mood the past few days.

One, it's because that I'm having to miss Gabriella Souza's wedding. I am supposed to be there -- feel I should be there -- this weekend to fulfill a promise I made quite a bit ago: to officiate at her wedding. And anyone who knows me knows this: I try to make those weddings special, and I only do it for those who are special.

I wrote the wedding, but I've had to pass it along to another to recite it, dammit. And it hurts, because Gaby (and John David because he loves her so much) are truly important to me. Not being there is poking a little hole in my heart that will take time to heal.

There's more.

My Mom is at a wonderful place -- Sunshine Christian Homes in Holiday, Florida -- but I feel that I should be closer to take care of things when things need to be taken care of. When she lived near us (and when my dad was alive and living near, too), I saw her (them) virtually every day, and Mom was always bright and happy while we were there. And our visits were not just for a few minutes or so, but usually a couple of hours at a time.

No more. Because we're in Africa, we had to move her to another facility, that one in Florida. I was thinking, that just once in my life and his, my brother would step up and take responsibility, as he had promised he would. Now, I find that, as usual and as I should have expected, he has not to the extent that I expected. Apparently, he rarely sees her, and then to sign papers or such. No quality time, though we hear that Mom gets upset when he comes and that she is happy and engaging at other times. So, perhaps, it's best.

Now, in my own defense, we would have had to move her someplace because she couldn't afford where she was, she needed more help than we could provide, and there was virtually nothing in our area of Kansas that could provide that kind of care at what we could afford.

Still...

And I've got the blues not just because of all this, but because I feel guilty. I keep thinking I'm being selfish, and I can't seem to shake it.

I am in Africa right now for one reason: It's something I've always wanted.

Yea, I am here because I was asked, I am here because I've always loved Africa, I am here because I love journalism, and I am here because I care about changing journalism at the Daily Monitor -- and for all of Uganda, if possible. I am sincere in that.

But we're also here only because I want to be here. And that seems selfish.

Joyce is here and puts on a good face about loving it here, too, and bless her for that. But she's here because I'm here, because I want to be here. Not because she wants to be here.

And we're 8,000-plus miles away.

Eight-thousand miles away from Gaby, 8,000 miles away from our kids, 8,000 miles away from our friends, and 8,000 miles away from my Mom.

Seems selfish to me.

But we shall survive, and we will stay to complete what I've set out to complete.

And we will find a way to enjoy it, to make the most of it, but we'll have to keep fighting through the blues to do it.

Of fathers two...

This is tough to write.

My older brother, Kenneth, I've just found out, has been put in the hospital. That's not what makes this tough to write, mainly because my brother's ills -- medical, emotional and otherwise -- are virtually all self-inflicted.

My brother and I have never really been close. He is about five years older than I, and he left home when I was 12 or 13.

But in those years we were together, sharing a bedroom, we fought often. Not at my initiation, but his. Because he was older and bigger, I always suffered the worst of it. He preyed on me. He seemed to take great pleasure in pounding my kidneys, avoiding the face, so as to leave little evidence. The fights were so numerous that a neighbor, who often had to come to my rescue and break us apart, told my mother, "I can't keep doing this." Thankfully, that neighbor did.

And, yes, once, he threw a bayonet at me. Deliberately. I was quick to avoid, and it stuck firmly, with a thud, into our bedroom door instead of me.

Not many people know of this. I doubt if he recalls given his current state.

When my brother finally left home when I was 12 or 13, I was more relieved than happy. But I was happy, too.

This is where fathers come in.

I've had two.

I didn't know Father #1 much or for long. He left us when I was a toddler. So, I didn't really know him, and I don't think he ever really knew me -- or even tried, for that matter. For a time, I recall us living with his mother, the beloved "Grandma Gibson," before Mom met and ultimately married Father #2. We settled in Norfolk, Va., and, for the following years, my brother and I (Kenneth more than I) would visit Father #1 (and his new wife and family) during the summers for some weeks.

During one such visit -- and I think my last -- my brother, Kenneth, scolded me when, talking on the phone to Father #2, I said, "Love you Dad." Kenneth chimed in, saying, "He's not your dad."

And that, I think is the key. Kenneth was always resentful of Father #2 (and, perhaps, our mother for not sticking with Father #1), even though Father #2 didn't even know our mother during the ultimate breakup.

But Kenneth was always trying to reconnect with Father #1, ignoring, aggressively, Father #2.

It wasn't until Kenneth was in his mid-50s that he ultimately came to the same conclusion that I had come, at age 12 or so, regarding Father #1. Kenneth had sold his house in New Hampshire to start a financial consulting business (that went bankrupt, which is telling in itself) to be near Father #1, who'd retired to South Florida. Father #1, for reasons unknown, didn't show much interest, Kenneth ultimately and reluctantly admitted to me.

The ultimate insult -- to him, not to me -- likely came when Father #1 eventually died. In the obituary, it listed two children -- from the second marriage, not the first, meaning no mention of Kenneth Wayne Gibson and Malcolm Douglas Gibson, his first-born children.

My dear wife, Joyce, was livid. I was not. Father #1 was never a father to me -- and he had many chances to reconnect had he wanted: my induction or discharge from the Army, my marriage, my graduation from university (twice), the birth of my children (his grandchildren, by the way), my many career moves and promotions, or the 50 or so intervening birthdays. All were apparently ignored.

Being a father is what Father #2 did. He was there for happy moments, and hurt. He was honest, and true, and caring, and funny, and helpful (as Kenneth should well know, with Father #2 bailing him out more times than I can count with never a sincere thank you). And loving, always.

Once, when I was visiting Father #2 in the hospital, the doctor walked in, looked at the two of us, and said, "That's gotta be your son. You two look just alike."

"Sorry," I said, "he's my step-dad, but thanks."

He likely thought "Yeah, right! Bet they [meaning Mom and Father #2] were fooling around," not knowing that my Mom didn't even know Father #2 when I was born!

But I didn't care. I was proud, proud to be just like him.

Had Kenneth put a little bit of effort into Father #2 instead of Father #1, perhaps he would have been better, too, would have had a better life, would have had more of his many children be as thankful as I was when the doctor made his observation.

I just wish Kenneth Gibson would finally understand that. Perhaps all those self-inflicted wounds -- the reasons for five marriages, at least four of them failed, and all the financial and family disconnects -- would somehow heal or, at least, be less hurtful, to him and to others.

Then, perhaps, I could forgive him. Forgive him for the beatings, and forgive him for ignoring those he should not have ignored.
 

* * *

P.S.: Shortly before the man I proudly call my Dad -- Father #2, Tommy Aurednick -- died in November 2012, he apologized, saying he wished he (and my mother, who always blamed and continues to blame herself for Kenneth's shortcomings) had done more to stop the beatings. No apologies necessary, Pops. Both you and Mom made up for it a thousand times over by simply encouraging me to be all I could be and loving me in all that I did. And for setting an example of fathering that I still try to follow every day.