On a flight this morning from New York to Chicago, I was seated next to a couple heading to visit their son. It was snowing, and I mentioned that I hadn't yet seen snow in New York this winter because I'd been traveling so much. They asked where I was coming from, and when I told them I'd just been in Uganda, the man laughed and said, "You must be hungry."
I didn't know how to tell him that I'd eaten better in Kampala than I do in New York — Greek salads, macaroni and cheese, malai kofta, apple pie. I didn't know how to erase this image of Africa he seemed to have, where people scramble for the few grains of rice that drop off a passing World Food Program truck or where babies bathe, if they bathe, in bracken water collected in a filthy ditch.
It's not that he's entirely wrong, which I think is why I have trouble describing Uganda to someone who's never been there. Parts of the country, those scarred by conflict or disease, provide perfect footage for Wo
Read Full Post