Why I’ve Come Back

The reunions have already been many. The hugs as large as the life I lead when I was here for the first six months. I’ve already walked past familiar routes and found words in the language that I did not think were there, hidden deep within.

Little Joel Jeremy

It’s moments like my host brother falling asleep in my lap that remind me why I came back. Or, meeting my namesake for the first time and holding his hand through the parking lot at the Entebbe airport. Or, laughing so hard with my coworker about the time we rode together from Bwaise to Kampala that my ribs hurt. Or, seeing the same boda boda drivers and shaking their hands and greeting them in Luganda.

That was perhaps the most accomplished moment. I arrived at the boda boda stage by happenstance, taking the long way down from FOCUS, my old workplace in Kalerwe. Alfred, my host father, needing to visit the ATM, started walking down. And, in an instant, I saw Adam, my steadfast boda driver, aboard the same motorcycle I must have ridden 100 times.

Greeting the stalwart boda boda of the Kalerwe stage

And, each driver greeted me, standing from their motorcycle, slapping my hand, hugging me on both sides, and saying my Muganda name, over and over. “Tamale! Tamale!” and “Kuli kayo, ssebo!” and “Abeeka bagamba ki?” Familiar phrases, familiar people speaking those words. And, me stumbling just as I did three years ago, groping against the language to find the right response.

And, finding those words, as I never thought I could: “Vudeo, bakwano” and “Abeeka bali bulungi” and more words and more meanings. This is why I came back: to greet the men that used to carry me from one side of town to another on the back of rickety mopeds, teaching me Luganda the whole way. I’ve come back to shake their hands, hug their shoulders and tell them I’ve missed them.