The only baggage
you can bring is all that you can’t leave behind
…………………………………………………………………………………….
You’re packing a
suitcase for a place none of us has been
A place that has
to believed to be seen
Lyrics
from “Walk On” by U2
In the months leading up to the big move
into my new house, I fantasized about unpacking in a deliriously happy frenzy. The reality is that I’m having a really hard
time doing it. I tell myself that it’s
because I don’t have enough shelf space in my closet yet. Every day I only unpack a few articles of
clothing or toiletries, and even that feels like a chore. My big red backpack is still sitting on my
bedroom floor with a heap of clothes on top of it. Amidst black caveras (Swahili for plastic bag), books, random kitchen supplies,
and pillows scattered across my tiled living room floor is my green rolling
duffel bag. I just don’t feel like
dragging it into my bedroom. So,
everyday I pick through each bag or heap looking for something moderately
“smart”, clean, and unwrinkled to wear.
And admittedly, today I’m wearing a shirt that I pulled out of the dirty
laundry bucket. Unpacking my navy blue
Samsonite toiletry bag was downright painful. As I forced myself to transfer things into
plastic baskets, I never felt satisfied no matter how many times I rearranged
them. I’m afraid that once I am
completely unpacked, I will feel just like my bags: empty.
When I look at my bags, I’m reminded of the
people who gave them to me and all the places I’ve carried them. I bought “Big Red” in Scotland in 2001 while
shopping with Alice, and its yellow cover was purchased in China. My brother, Steve gave me the green duffel as
a Christmas gift before making its maiden voyage to Japan in 2003. It somehow ripped near the zipper en route to
the Dakar airport. Nicole, another PCV,
lent me some tape to repair it. I’ll
never forget trying to rip the tape with my teeth, sweat dripping down my legs
as we shuffled towards the check-in counter with our carts. It probably will retire in Uganda. The blue Samsonite was a gift from Mom and I refuse
to think about the day when I have to replace it.
It’s not the bags I’m attached to, but my nomadic
lifestyle. Honestly, I was so used to living out of my bags and staying in a
different place almost every week, that I probably could have done it for the
remaining nine months of my service.
Last night I went for quick walk around my
neighborhood, Nakatunya. I walked down
the dirt road past my house, weaving past a boys’ hostel, people cooking
outside their houses, and little kids playing with tire tubes. Instead of doubling
back, I decided to walk on Lira Road.
Lira Road is like the Highway 62 of Eastern Uganda. It’s actually paved really well (thanks to
the People’s Republic of China) and is always crowded with people riding bikes,
motorcycle boda bodas, uniformed
students going to and from school, mutatu
taxi vans, and semi trucks travelling between Kenya and South Sudan. Because it was just getting dark, there were lots
of people out socializing around barber shops housed in little shacks, shops
and bars. For some strange reason, while
walking down that stretch of Lira Road for the first time, it didn’t feel like
I was in Soroti or even Uganda. It felt
like I had just arrived in an unfamiliar part of Africa. I guess in a way I had reached a different
place, just not in the geographical sense.
The smell of g-nuts (short for groundnuts, which I think are peanuts, but my
coworkers debate this with me) drew me over to a woman sitting next to several
Tupperware containers of g-nut sauce for sale.
I didn’t have any money on me, but I plan on going back to buy a small
one so I can cook with it.
My friend Danielle made a brilliant post on
facebook this morning:
“I've decided the cruel thing about life is
that when you have security you want freedom and when you have freedom you want
security.”
I couldn’t agree
more. Yesterday
morning I woke up smelling bacon and yearned to be in my Mom’s house in
Kentucky. I’m almost certain that when I
get back to Kentucky I’ll miss the smell of g-nut paste in Uganda.
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