Epilogue to a Birthday

To continue the tale of my Ugandan birthday (which starts somewhere below)...
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After leaving the internet cafe, I wandered to my friend Rebecca's flat, but since she wasn't home yet, I chatted a bit with Waswa, the day askari (guard) for her building. When Rebecca reached home, we greeted and hugged as if we were sisters who had known each other forever (rather than a week and a half) and as if we hadn't seen each other in months (rather than a week and a half). That's part of what I love so much about Rebecca :)
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We went to the market to buy our simple supper and to our favourite bakery (well, her favourite, and the only one I know) to buy samosas for tea. To celebrate my birthday, we also bought a gigantic slice of "moist orange cake". I'm not sure I've ever bought my own birthday cake before, and 2000 shillings (approx. $1.25 USD) felt like quite a splurge.
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Reaching home, we prepared tea and enjoyed our samosas as we discussed the finer points of poverty and feminism within an African context (such conversation inspired by my reading aloud parts of a letter from a mutual friend of ours in the US). We were both excited by the fall leaves which also came tucked into my friend's letter, and Rebecca now keeps one on her pillow.
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Our discussion about the problems facing African society (Rebecca has many thoughtful opinions about this) was interrupted by my cell ringing. The display showed "0000000", so I held my breath, assuming that it was probably an international call. It was my parents and sister calling to wish me a happy birthday. It was wonderful to talk to them, especially since they passed around the phone and we got to talk for more than the 12-13 minutes of airtime I typically buy for international calls.
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Apparently, Grottoes, VA, celebrated my birthday with snow showers... while I enjoyed a cold bath to remove the sweat of another sunny day.
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I fell asleep next to a good friend, and apparently continued teaching my students as I slept. Rebecca says I started spelling "December" at one point, but I was aware enough of the fact that I was talking to stop after the second "E". At 23 years, I wonder if I'll ever grow out of talking in my sleep... at least it often causes much amusement for anyone who gets to listen in.
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And now, I'm twenty-three (abiri mwe ssatu), looking out on another year that is sure to be full of joy, uncertainty, sorrow, love, loss, disappointment, pride, friendship, peace, heartache, and a great deal of CHANGE. I have my guesses as to where I'll be a year from now, but even those are simply hypotheticals. Will this year change me as much as the past one? Katonda amanye. God only knows.