I am seated on the veranda at our place. Looking out across a valley to the other side of a hill.
Uganda. this country is indeed beautiful. Of course I am biased. To me it is home. To me it is what I have known as home since birth. When I am in other countries, I think of returning home. Coming back. And to me home is green, with a plethora of trees and plants, fighting a war against man’s encroaching strength. Home is a series of hills and valleys, of red soil and green covered hills. Home is broad lived banana tree plantations, mangy avocado trees and the tough leaved mangoes. Home is the dark tan garden soil, and the red of the raped hills in a green carpet.
Home are the bustling, sleepless streets of Kampala, potholed and cratered after the latest downpour. That is home. Lovely weather, unseasonable cloud cover, a green that is ubiquitous and the throng of dark skinned people in a trillion tones. I do love this small country of ours. I do love it.
Great words. Well done
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