It Lingers in My Dreams

The trip to the missionary complex was a bumpy one and Anne leaned back against the cracked leather seat. Fields of sorghum passed by and she saw African Flame trees with their red blossoms. The window was partially open and flowering plants along the road let off a scent mingled with the dust – a scent that couldn’t be identified, but brought back with directness her previous short trip to Uganda almost three years ago. It was an achingly sweet memory. About 45 minutes later they entered Kampala, passing through honking traffic and dust. Chaotic markets congested both sides of the road and Devon drove skillfully through intersections, just missing the bicycles and pedestrians, swerving quickly around buses and other vehicles. To Anne it was exciting. She had no notion of being involved in the too frequent traffic accidents – after which drivers would stand yelling endlessly at each other regarding who was at fault. At long last, they were in the outskirts of the city, and the congestion thinned. Eventually, after multiple turns, they pulled up to a tall wall broken by a gate. Devon leapt out and swung the right side open, then regaining his seat, drove them into the mission’s compound.