An Ah-ha Moment

I had a small ah-ha moment today while running errands in the center of Gulu. Drenched with sweat on a 90-something-degree, equatorial-Africa day, I was picking my way carefully through or around the many obstacles a person who is 'footing it' must negotiate -- obstacles such as jagged, broken edges of uneven concrete here and there (never stretching far enough to be a real sidewalk) or the barriers that suddenly block your way even when you think you're walking on the most-beaten path through dirt or gravel. Two examples come to mind -- the bicycle repair area and the machine shop, both of which completely filled the space between the row of store entrances and the road itself, forcing pedestrians like me to check traffic and step out into the street to get past. I had maneuvered around several motorcycles -- some in motion and some parked at a 'boda' station waiting for clients. And always, everywhere, are the holes, bumps, mini-ditches, and toe-stubbable glitches demanding a walker's attention.

My attention was divided. I was noticing where my foot could safely take its next step, wondering what street I was on and whether I could ever find this block again if I wanted to (street name signs are rare, and most shops look the same as a dozen others with similar names), and at the same timetrying to choose a shop where I might be able to buy a frying pan -- it's hard to tell what's inside the shop without going in and asking; they are small and most of the merchandise is behind the counter and/or beyond reach on shelves that line the wall and reach to the ceiling.

A few other things were happening at the same time -- observing the people on my path, smiling and greeting at times, and popping into one of the so-called, tiny 'supermarkets' to buy vaseline for my dry, cracked-open, sandal-exposed feet. About that time I approached the vendor stalls lining the edge of the open-air local market (top photo) and realized my step had become bouncier, responding slightly to lively Afro-pop music coming from a CD vendor there. I think I smiled inside; I know I had to stop myself from dancing down the path.

As I continued on, dodging others and looking back over my shoulder to be sure a 'boda' or cyclist wasn't about to run over me, I realized one of the reasons I like living in Africa. It helps keep me in the present moment. (I think that's why the bus ride described in my December posts was so therapeutic, also. I got out of my head and into my experience of the moment.)

With my mind focused on my immediate surroundings, it's less likely I'll be cruising through my days on auto-pilot, my thoughts lingering on something in the past or jumping ahead toward something, real or imagined, in the future. I think of all those self-help books I've read (thank you, E. Tolle et al), all those attempts to quiet an overly-analytical mind and learn to live mindfully and at peace with myself. I'm sure the street scene I've just described doesn't sound 'peaceful,' and my state of mind is still a long way from enlightened, but it does feel -- to me -- that I've been gifted with a wonderful tool called 'life in gulu, uganda'