“Men who had left the port forever would sometimes remember on a gray wet London evening the bloom and glow that faded almost as soon as it was seen: they would wonder why they had hated the coast and for a space of a drink they would long to return.”

The sun rose this morning. Today was clear. Over Lake Victoria the sky bloomed peach, yellow, and red. As Mzee walked ahead of me, seeming to pull me along, his step never faltering, keeping me always five feet behind him, I wanted to gesture to him, to try to share the glory of the morning with him, with someone. But I don’t speak Swahili and he never looked back at me or even up to the horizon. He kept his old head bent studying the dusty pink, clay heavy path, steep and slippery. He had agreed to leave off washing the cars, a task he does every morning, to show me a new way to the taxis. Mzee says he has to wash the cars, that Brent and Inell look unimportant if their car isn’t clean. They say it doesn’t matter to them and I know that Brent would prefer to save the money he has to spend on water but they let him, its part of what makes his life worthwhile, a job well done. So I admired the fresh world on my own and wondered if I will remember this scene after I have left Uganda forever.