Journey to the center of the Earth...where?

          About a month ago, my brother James and I went on a camping trip to Kidepo with the Wright family and a couple of visitors. Kidepo is the northern most district in Uganda. It borders Sudan to the north and Kenya to the east. AND...it is home to probably the most amazing National Park in the country--hence the trip. Unfortunately, it is very VERY remote. It is in the northern tip of Karamoja and Nakaale, our home, is in southern Karamoja, so basically we had to drive the entire length of Karamoja, at least 300 km. It took the good portion of nine hours to get there. We were bringing only two vehicles: a land cruiser in which six people could sit and then a pickup for everyone else--two in the cab and then all the rest sat in the back in the scorching heat, burning wind and chafing dust, WITH all the camping supplies for all 14 of us. Thankfully, on the way there I got to sit in the car with the cushioned seat and mostly working AC. And because of that, I was a little more interested in looking at the scenery than my friends in the pick up who were busy concentrating on other things. Jk, they had fun…mostly.  

            We passed many interesting things on the way up. Big towns with gas stations and hotels, small towns with Fanta-supporting petrol stands, big villages with roadside farmers markets, small villages with close to starving people and abandoned villages with none of the above. We drove on broken bridges over kind-of flowing rivers, slightly muddy riverbeds and the ever-prominent sand-bank, home to the grave digger in his fruitless search for the fluid of life. But mostly, we traveled through vast, empty plains. Sometimes we went for hours seeing nothing but trees, termite mounds and the unrestrained expanse of white elephant grass. And then there would be a random person walking along the side of the road and we would all turn to look and wonder where the person came from. It is a strange feeling, being in the middle of nowhere. To think that there is not a single human being in miles. Then it is always at the pit stops and you get out to squat in the bushes when suddenly people appear out of the “abandoned wasteland” and you remember that you are an intruder. Or if not an intruder, at least a fool. This is not nowhere to them.

Two girls with jeri cans on their heads

Walking

From?

The river

To?

Home.

Where is home?

I see no houses

I see no people

I see nothing at all

Just flat

Just grass.

There-

A circle of dark shrubs

Green darkened black

Black grayed with ash,

The walls of homes abandoned:

A ghost town.

I wonder

Who lived there?

Why did they leave?

It is closer to the river

Than the home of these two girls

Who walk

With jeri cans on their heads

Not to spill a single drop

Of hard-earned bounty

They must bring it home

Where?

They follow the savanna

Swaying with the grass

Brown arms

Newly washed

Clutch

Cling to precious water

As sturdily as the wind,

Which blows about,

Running ribbons through their feet,

Grabs at their skirts.

Long fingers of dust

Take hold

Of these children of the plain.

Who?