an:
Waiting for day break then winding along overgrown paths overlooking the mist-filled
valleys, passing sleepy villages where no one was stirring and the markets silent. Sunday
morning, way in the back country, watching people on their way to church and then
happening on St. Joseph’s Catholic Church in the middle of nowhere, on a sand trail
amongst the matoke (banana) plantations. Standing at the front door with the hoards of
believers observing familiar rituals in an unfamiliar setting against the backdrop of
drums beating and chanting music.
Wanting to bend and kiss the paved road we met at the junction before Hima after
enduring ten kilometers (6 miles) of rugged corrugation under a relentless Ugandan sun.
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