When the Homily is about Immunology

Goodbye Africa


For a dork like me, it was hard not to regularly think of that old Toto song "Africa" while I was there - especially when the recurrent Thunderstorms would rise up on many an afternoon. It occurred to me that the Ugandan Orthodox do indeed bless the rains there.

It does take a lot to drag me away from Africa (Three things really): my family, my friends, and my farm. All three could easily drag me away from anywhere. The lure of our American comfort is of course so very attractive as well...but I wish to nourish and tend to the seeds I've had planted in my heart...please don't let US customs know about this. I embrace the blessing of our affluence (health care, safe drinking water - from the tap no less, sane driving conditions, etc) while trying to discern those things in our affluence, of which there are many, which rob us of real life.

Speaking of customs, let me share the joy of my nearly 35 hour commute.

First, the most dangerous part of the trip: the dusk time 30km car ride to Entebbe. No matter the skills of Isma the wonder driver, it is treacherous. Isma and his wife gave us a wonderful parting gift: a beautifully carved sugar bowl made of African Black Wood - I told him that if and when I return I would bring him a gift as well, since his offer terribly ranked my gift of some country music (I thought perhaps a Cowboy hat!)

In Entebbe, the lines were slow and long...crowded and hot. The long day of sweating had begun. If terrorists want to blow up a plane, this would be a good place to try and gain entrance, I think. At long last we started the 8 hour ride up the Amsterdam, crammed into the seat next to a man who may have stunk as bad as I did. Then a 7 hour layover in Amsterdam...just enough to be bored to tears. Chatted with my wife briefly, got a good deal on a 1L bottle of Aberlour, and then finally bordered the plane for Seattle. 10 hour flight, with a screaming toddler.

Somewhere North of Scotland, a call went out for a doctor. My neighbor - a nurse - was the only one to answer the call. She then came and got ME because she thought I could help - knowing I worked with ID's. Someone had somehow stuck themselves while trying to pick up a needle dispenser that had fallen off the bathroom wall. So, I basically told them to follow the same basic procedure we follow in the lab when that happens (hardly ever in our lab)...and assured the poor woman that the odds were she would be perfectly fine - her concerns were perfectly warranted.

Finally at home, customs apparently flagged me: I really have no idea what I said to the customs agent, but whatever it was, it warranted everything short of a body cavity search and electro-shock interrogation. He asked if I had anything biohazardous in my suitcase, I told him yes: my dirty underwear. He didn't laugh and when he was done I was charged with repacking. What a waste of time. If you've never gone through customs before in Seattle, you get to collect your bags once there, then put them BACK into the airport's custody and then wait again to retrieve them at the regular baggage claim...the clock keeps ticking and I keep sweating.

Next came a cab ride in which the Indian cabbie told me of the glories of Buffalo milk. It was an interesting discussion. Thankfully there was no traffic to speak of, but none-the-less I just missed the 3:00 ferry - thanks you US customs. Sit and wait again. Tired beyond belief having had perhaps 4 hours sleep since...well who the heck can keep track of time at this point? Yesterday in Uganda is today here, and today here is tomorrow in Uganda, and Amsterdam is a hour less than Uganda and throughout the trip my cell phone has alwasy been and horu off of both...what year is it? After I huff my loads up the ferry terminal and then up the hill to where my family waits for me, I am a wasted man. And as she noted in her comments, I would not last too much longer.

What can I say, I think about songs a lot. For those many many hours, this ran through my head:

Im sittin in the railway station
Got a ticket for my destination
On a tour of one night stands
My suitcase and guitar in hand
And every stop is neatly planned
For a poet and a one man band

Homeward bound
I wish I was
Homeward bound
Home, where my thoughts escaping
Home, where my musics playing
Home, where my love lies waiting
Silently for me