Birds chirp, insects hum, leaves rustle. The chorus of the universe. I slip my sleepless bones into a terrace chair and breathe a sigh of bliss.

"Go to the Top of the World," says the waiter at Nyinabulitwa Lodge as he collects our plates. "The top peak by Kibale Forest, overlooking the crater lakes. Very beautiful, must-see. Promise."

In Uganda, I had the life-changing experience of extreme whitewater rafting in the River Nile rapids. Both thrillseeker and overthinker, I'm constantly fighting my own fears, but the only thing I fear more than leaving my comfort zone is staying in my comfort zone. So, I pushed my boundaries.

What I remember of Uganda returns to me in bright, warm flashes of fondness.  The hospitality, the warmth, the love. I remember the smell of hot earth and red dust after the rain. The death-defying swerves of boda-bodas – motorbike taxis – through the militant traffic. We had breakfasts of small, sweet bananas and flew past rusty trucks full of fresh plump pineapples on the streets.

An endless sea of bright, luminescent lights twinkle from below. In the gaping darkness, the lights look just like stars. Like glittering moon stars, sprinkled across the swirling galaxy of the city. Like stardust shaken down from the heavens, their luminous particles sown across the black earth. Goosebumps stir across my arms as I breathe in the warmth, the darkness, the lights. Hello, Kampala.