My feet were beyond red today- they were dirty red.

Today, I came home with incredibly dirty feet and legs. The day started out with me meeting our volunteer and translator outside of a grocery store- our normal spot, next to a Boda-Boda stage. I quickly greeted the boda-boda drivers and were off. Avoiding the mid-day traffic of trucks, bodas, bicycles and cars, we managed to cross the street. We were ushered into a taxi and told to sit "four-four". In American English, this means four people to one row in the mini-bus. Four-Four is typical to Uganda- cramming as many people as possible into the taxi. The licensed limit is three people to one row, totaling fourteen people maximum. This taxi had twenty-two. To make twenty-two, I had a grown man sitting on my lap, the conductor, who handles the seating and money of all passengers. The driver weaved in and out of traffic- passed off the bribe to the check point- through a village to avoid the police- and back to the main rode. We came to a major village stopping-point where one passenger wanted to disembark. However, the door was stuck. As a result, this passenger climbed through the window to get out. Here I was, stuck in the middle of now twenty-one people, wondering how in the world I would get out of this taxi. Thankfully five men pried the door open and the conductor fixed it. Then we were off, racing down the pot-holed road, avoiding small children, goats, and cows. All the while, I was fairly positive the passengers enjoyed a conversation about me- the mzungu.

Finally, we arrived at our destination. I disembarked quite easily, but my friend, the translator, came out with one leg asleep and barely able to walk. Such is life of taking a bush-taxi! We walked the mile up the dirt road, with small children holding my hand, while we greeted their parents in the fields. We made it to the school/church/bakery/tailor spot right when the children were let out for the afternoon. Therefore, I was mobbed by small children screaming "mzungu!". When they had settled down, my arms and hands were streaked with red-dirt. Awesome.

We spent the afternoon talking with the teacher about literacy strategies and then talking with the director about his record keeping for the bakery. Once my official business was complete, I joined the women and youth making the buns to be put in the oven. We were nearly finished and a crack of thundered boomed over the fields. The impending rain was about to come.

We quickly moved everything inside the school/church/bakery/tailor spot and continued. Once done, I sat in this structure, listening to the rain, the women chatting in Lusoga and playing with a small child. For whatever reason, I felt very, very far from the streets of my town in Uganda and also my home country. We waited. We waited for the rain to stop. We waited for the bread to be done. We waited for more women to come. We waited. Waiting is part of life here. Waiting for it to improve. Waiting for the rain to water the fields. Waiting for a spouse to come back from town. Waiting for the government to bring any material improvements. Waiting for the sponsor from the "other side" (West) to come back like they promised. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

At last, the bread was done and the rain stopped and translator and I had the long walk back through the mud road to the main road. Thankfully we were both smart and wore closed-toed shoes. Thankfully we didn't fall either (although there were close calls!). We made it to the road, with perhaps three inches of mud and sticks stuck to the bottom of our shoes- my legs spattered by mud and my skirt incredibly dirty. But at last, we had made it. Back onto the taxi where I was charged double for my skin color, as we raced down the road, avoiding pot-holes, small children, cows, and goats. Back into town, onto a boda, and back home.

And that is how we do it in Uganda. That is why my feet were red today.