A Trip to the New-Old World, Part 1
It’s a week’s notice. I completely understand if you can’t make it.
The little boy inside me yelled, “Adventure time!”
James and I had caught up and found connection. We first met at UNM, through on-campus politics and random talks in Hokona Hall. He had taken to the Ugandan exchange students staying at Hokona. Now, he called Africa home.
He was spinning off a new company from Fullbridge Africa. James managed the continent’s trainings. We had been talking intermittently for months on the prospect of my involvement in his trainings.
To teach, to learn was a new experience and re-discovered purpose for me. A last-minute withdrawal left a void for the next week’s big retreat for 300 students. He needed a co-lead.
I’ve taught a handful of business classes. He’s never done a training this size on his own. Let’s do this.
Semi-final destination: Africa
A rush of images, some stereotyped, idealized, romantic visions of an unspoiled world of nature and unknowns. Humans and cultures and new end of the earth waiting witness.
Rather than agonize over trade offs, indulge fears — I made a list, drew a line down the middle of a page. All my obligations, commitments, worries came out.
Had I balanced myself, recovered health enough to travel? I’m sure they have black mold in that part of the world…
Would I be letting anyone down? How and what to delegate?
Result: So many more pros than cons. It’s all good. Before, my pride in independent choice would have led to hours of over analysis.
Oh, the privilege of overthinking travel.
Doubt crept in. Double check — Who do I trust to give it to me straight? I called, tried not to oversell, and quickly had a reasoned, reflective consensus to
GO BABY GO.
Digital nomadism let’s one work and thrive remotely — taking in the world while respecting your trade. My base is proudly re-set in Albuquerque, New Mexico.
My spirit wanders, my mind wonders, my brain learns, and my heart is full.
A week later, after some freak outs on vaccines and health fears were squashed, I was on a plane — full of confidence in the human ability to adapt, and a real, healthy excitement. My route led me through Phoenix, where the heat was so intense, they grounded planes from 3–6pm to avoid engine malfunctions. Philadelphia was next on a red-eye. Qatar was in the news, and my layover spot to explore before Africa.
Doha
The holy month of Ramadan lent a calmness to the city (or at least the airport) of Doha.
Flowing robes of the region’s men and women let them silently glide through the space.
A layover gave a undefined set of hours — only enough time for glimpses, curious observation of regional travelers.
A tiny boy gazed intensely over his mother’s burka’d shoulder. We had a staring contest for 45 minutes. His father, seemingly cold at first to my presence, smiled warmly at our stand off. He said something polite in Arabic. I gestured to describe how big his boy’s eyes were. We nodded to each other.
The innocence of curiosity showed we were connected by some universal memory from childhood.
My optimistic filters translated the idealized, select impressions to new patterns into the soft, exhausted moldings of my weary brain.
Sleep Cycle Shifting
The adrenaline of transfers mixed with a purposeful push to sleep in a new time zone’s cycle — and ignore the temptations of Mountain Standard Time. It had been 30 hours since Albuquerque at this point. Melatonin and cortisol were triggered by scheduled caffeine, magnesium, synthetic melatonin, and the various frictions of a few hundred people hurtling through the air together at 600mph.
With a final wander through Doha’s airport, I boarded a flight to Entebbe, Uganda.
In the window seat sat Alvin. My new Ugandan friend (my only Ugandan friend) was set on creating what his father had forbade him to do. U Mass-Boston was where he studied Mechanical Engineering. His heart was in football though. He could have gone pro. His new foundation had the Minister of Sports’ approval and was connecting young footballers to European and other established clubs for supported realization of passion for the sport.
As we descended over Lake Victoria, Alvin described the interconnection of tribes. We
Upon landing, Alvin did his best to spot me through a lax “customs” process. The Ministry of Health was run by two women who insisted I have a Yellow Fever. Alvin was annoyed. There was no time to have reservations — the younger woman quickly swabbed my arm and stuck me.
Yellow Fever ain’t got nothing on me.
Somewhere along the disheveled process to claim my bag and leave the airport, Alvin was off to save the next generation of footballer dreams. James met me at Arrivals, and we were on our way to Kampala, the capital city and staging ground for our next few weeks.
Conclusions so far:
- The dirt is a rich red everywhere— real soil that grows real food. Everything is organic, it has to be.
- Yes, there are young men with AK-47s everywhere. No, it doesn’t feel unsafe (even for women, as testified by…women I met).
- Chinese-funded development is everywhere. Infrastructure development — roads, buildings, production — is deeply tied to the Chinese. Connectography is real.
- The Botas are like the Scooter Taxis of Asia, just a little more reckless and less regulated. Emissions are not something considered, nose filters are a helpful biohack when riding in traffic.
- Only food experience so far was a MacKrere University, post-faculty meeting with 20+ Ugandan professors, acting as mentors during the training. Ugandans have lived through real famine, are some of the healthiest people in the world, and pile their plates high.
