the texture of africa

it’s hard to explain what it feels like to be here. i’ve traveled all over the world, and each place i’ve seen has its distinct flavor. but africa, africa has a texture. everything about it is rich in a way that’s new and more intense than anything i’ve felt prior.

its sounds: the chorus of wildlife singing its never-ending score outside my window; the squeal and giggle of the ubiquitous children; the clamor of the kampala bustle; the low rhythm of drum beats seeping out from every car, house and shop…

its sights: the throngs of brightly draped ugandans crowding all corners of my vision; the verdant landscape, unfurling in lush waves across miles of horizon; the expanse of sky, deep blue by day, at night an inky black, teeming with stars…

its smells: the ripe tang of human bodies; the saccharine drip of syrupy watermelons and mangoes; the toxic mingling of exhaust and burning trash that pierces straight to your inner brain...

and its feel: the temperate breeze swirling through my hair; the gritty coat of clay dirt on my eyes, my skin, my teeth; the warmth of each sincere smile and lingering handshake; the contrast of multiple realities layered one on top of the other…

at every moment i am utterly awash in africa, taking it in from all senses, on all levels. and i am gradually beginning to understand the binding spell its cast on so many others...and falling victim…