an:
Waiting for day break then winding along overgrown paths overlooking the mist-filled
valleys, passing sleepy villages where no one was stirring and the markets silent.
Sunday morning, way in the back country, watching people on their way to
church and then happening on St. Joseph’s Catholic Church in the middle
of nowhere, on a sand trail amongst the matoke (banana) plantations.
Standing at the front door with the hoards of believers observing
familiar rituals in an unfamiliar setting against the backdrop of drums
beating and chanting music.
Wanting to bend and kiss the paved road we met at the junction before Hima after
enduring ten kilometers (6 miles) of rugged corrugation under a relentless Ugandan sun.
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