09.06.2014.

I thought everything was going to be very different.

And in a way it is very different, there are monkeys on the roof of the neighbouring house, the tropical rain leaves red puddles and we're stomping in red mud (no, the tropical rain isn't red, only the soil it falls to), but at the same time, it isn't.

It all started with an early morning departure, the Heikkila taxi took me to the airport, nothing unusual. The girl at the check in desk was on her very first day, I had to explain to her how excess luggage fees work, again, nothing we haven't seen before. Flight, cheese sandwich, connection. I've seen airports before, even big ones where excessive amount of walking was required. Then a long flight, where the crew feeds you constantly, you have time to watch Saving Mr. Banks and probably one episode of Glee (what happened to Mike Chang?), sometimes it's a bit shaky but nothing unbearable.

At the arrival in Entebbe it was a bit out of the ordinary that they wanted to see my passport and visa exemption, and i couldn't go in the fast lane, but at least it wasn't the US immigration officer being all fussy about the purpose of my visit and the length of my stay (I always feel the need to tell them, worry not, your country with it's non-existent social net and tiny amount of paid leave days isn't attractive enough for me to emigrate now, when we can freely come for just a visit, and that thank you, I'm fine being in places where i can earn the price of said visit). Then the shuttle to the hotel is a Toyota, and although the steering wheel is on the wrong side, and it drives on the left side of the road decorated with palm trees, for all this it could still be Malta instead of Uganda.

The hotel is a bit dodgy, but for smell and comfort level it's nothing different from any given pension during any given Bender-trip. For breakfast they serve cereal, fruits, fries, sausages, hard boiled eggs – some French hotels don't try this hard.

So I'm waiting for the shock to hit upon arrival to base, but there is nothing unfamiliar about the tpouring rain, or the security entrance procedure, which, unsurprisingly, is slooooooow. For every competent person there is another three who just happens to be there.

And it continues the same way. There is a girl with an unpronouncable name and a boy with a cliché one, and the compound consists of container items and tents and red mud, and I've never been in a place like this and I'm afraid I'm going to get lost because all the tents and container items look the same, somehow it all feels very familiar. The administrator boy on his first day, the incredibly, unnervingly patient mentor of his, the check-in procedure that takes three infernally long hours. There is a drama queen, a funny one, one that can't hear well, and the fact that everybody has a different accent isn't even worth mentinoning. It would bother me more if it wasn't like that. Then I would stand out.

It seems that people are so different that at the end they are all similar. Or maybe it's because I have the same reactions to similar situations, regardless of the scene or location. Because I am still the same. No matter where I go, I come with me.