Fragments of Uganda
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.