Homeward Bound

Right now, I am in the Heathrow Airport in London, still some 3,700 miles from my final destination, but the culture shock has already begun. That or I am just tired from traveling. I guess a 12-hour day of traveling south from Karamoja followed by a night in a hotel, two flights, and approximately half a day in airports (I have now spent over 24 cumulative hours in the Kenya International airport)--I can see how that might lead to dazedly wandering around the mall in Heathrow. Or at least contribute. Without even considering the differences in architecture, shops, etc, it feels weird to see so many mzungus and be able to understand most of the conversations I overhear because they are spoken in what? English. 

In 17 hours, after two more flights, I will be in Pittsburgh, Lord willing. This is roughly the midpoint of my journey, but it would be misleading to say that I am halfway home. Right now, I am caught in the middle between two "homes:" one, a place in which, though strange and difficult at times, I had meaningful work, valued relationships, and some semblance of routine; the other, the place of my native language and culture, yet I have no "normal" established there now to which to return. Now, I am torn between the two.

For longer than I care to admit, I have been counting down the days until July 12, the day I flew out of Uganda. There was a period when that was almost my first thought when I woke up: "X number of days until I go home." As long as I was working or actively engaged in something, that thought vanished. Eventually, I kept track of how many days left more out of habit than for any other reason--and because, the closer one gets to zero in a count down, the easier in becomes to keep track of the numbers. But also, "X number of days left" became "Only X number of days left."

Of course, I want to go back to the States and see my friends and family. I have't seen my two nieces in over six months, although my sister kindly sent me many pictures. Not the same though. I am looking forward to starting grad school in the fall at Duquesne University in Pittsburgh for an M.A. in Rhetoric and Philosophy of Communication. Right? Sounds super fun, right? (Ok, maybe not the word you would use, but, as my mother reminded me recently, "Don't use a big word when a singularly unloquacious and diminutive expression will satisfactorily accomplish the contemporary necessity.") While I attend school, my aunt and uncle have graciously invited me to live with them, so I even have home-base immediately on my return to the States. Other things, like temperature control of my shower and indoor plumbing instead of an outhouse, well, those are just gravy. 

At the same time, I am leaving friends and family in Karamoja. Jesus promised that no one leaves homes and family for His and the Gospel's sake who will not receive a hundred times that which was left in this age. That has certainly been my experience. Some of those I am leaving in Karamoja have indeed become as dear to me as siblings and nieces. Despite the foreign culture, they made Karamoja to be somehow like home. 

And what of KEO, of my work there? That topic, I am going to table for now. According to the last announcement, boarding for my next flight is supposed to start soon. I hope to write another blog with some reflections on my time in Karamoja as a whole, though I'll not presume to call them my "final" reflections. I expect to be unpacking my experience in Uganda much longer than unpacking from my experience in Uganda.