Ash and Small Bear go on an adventure!

Still in Kampala. Such a strange thing, asking new faces, new words, unwalked roads to fill in the spaces ordinarily occupied by home, lovers, friends, work. There are moments, bent double kneading the last traces of soap from my by now all-too-familiar little pile of laundry, where I want to set it all on fire and leave through the back door, pick a direction and start walking. To the airport. To Lake Victoria. Anywhere.

And how we sang in the kitchen last night! Washing nine kinds of starch and leftover greens off our stack of plates, until Vicky said No! I’ve gotta stop this before I go into the Spirit! It’s not fair to the Lord! He deserves to get some rest! Every sentence an exclamation as she told us not to talk about god anymore or we’d go mad, and it seemed like a real risk, three girls in the kitchen dancing and singing and telling stories without endings, red clay earth crawling in over everything. The rains haven’t started yet but every faucet in the whole house leaks to make up for it, out own private flood dripping from the bathrooms to the kitchen while mosquito noises pass back and forth electric picking up sparks from faraway thunderstorms. Every time I crush one between my hands I think the power might go out again.