Last of the Bugandans

And as all things, this blag too must come to an end.

It's been a wild ride, and you've all been a part of it. Some would compare it to the silently applauding audience at a professional golf game, mere bystanders, standing in the way of the game itself. But to me, it's different. You, faithful readers of this blag, did your part in shaping my time in Uganda.

Many left comments, thus managing to be right there beside me, sharing in my moments there. Others read each entry in silence; whether it was an awe-inspired silence or a quiet admiration behind it all - don't worry, your secret's safe with me. Each in your own way, you were there.

It was my connection to the outside world, the blag. Much like having friends and family in helium balloons attached to my wrist wherever I went.

But it didn't stop there. Even the act of writing had its impact. It added a point of routine in an otherwise changing day-to-day life. Not to mention the processing. An experience like this one doesn't end the moment I land on Norwegian soil again. It grows in meaning with time; with the processing that is done. And for that, rereading my own blag will likely be a wonderful tool along the way.

It's been a perfect trip for me. There's not a moment of it that I regret.

I've seen the heart of Uganda.