guide me home

Last week I had several opportunities to act as a guide for the the executive director of the organization I work for. The executive director is blind and her normal guide was out of the office. I seemed like a good enough substitute.

My executive director and I were requested at a meeting just outside the city and getting there would require two taxis and a quick walk through the middle of town.  I was not prepared for the role of a guide through the chaotic streets of Kampala.  Walking with my executive director through town was one of the scariest experiences of my life. When I am only responsible for my own body, I often get hit by slow moving cars or trip on hopelessly uneven sidewalks. I have had near-death experiences with potholes as deep as my shoulders, and falling is a daily experience for me. Leading myself and another person who could not see through the mess that is a Kampala traffic jam was terrifying, but I did my best.

Poetically, while I had the ability to see, my executive director was the one with the true vision. She surprised me in her complete competence: her ability to deal with Kampala, a place that is not exactly accommodating to someone with special needs. When we were on the taxi she would point out various landmarks that she sensed. She knew where to get off the taxi, and she knew the directions through town. I may have had sight, but she had vision. Without her, I never would have made it to that meeting. Without me, she also would have been stuck. In that moment we became allies.  Although I have been working in the disability movement here in Uganda for 5 months, it took this experience to show me how truly disabling the environment can be.  

When we arrived at the meeting, I was faced with the usual round of questioning: where are you from? how long are you here? what do you do? how do you like Uganda?  and the now-dreaded, when are you leaving?

I am leaving next month, I said. My questioner disapproved and did not hesitate to tell me so, but my executive director came to my defense.

"Marta will be back to Africa," she said. "Yes, she will be back in a big way."

I have often felt guilty about the short amount of time I am spending here.  Six months is insignificant, and sometimes it makes me feel like I might be the same as every other do-gooding foreigner with no real understanding of what development is, or the long-term concerted and strategic effort that it takes.  But I know I can't stay here right now (for so many reasons) and getting my executive director's vote of confidence and "consent" to go home meant more to me than I can articulate.