The Backpackers was a saving grace. I avoided illness and poop because of their cheap (but relatively nice) accommodations. But, man, I'm sick of Muzungu. A bunch of little European and American teenagers running around flexing their travel muscles, and in the process dropping their angst all over the place!
The girls: "I'm cute. I have a wrap skirt. I am wearing a t-shirt that advertises my cause. Want me."
The boys: "I'm hot. I wear flip flops. I have a baseball cap from the states and I always wear a t-shirt with cargo shorts. If I do not, my friends will reject me."
God, I'm so glad I'm not like that. And, my true saving grace: Freddy. He got the right folks into my flat and had it debugged, deloused, germicided and just plain cleaned. I get to go home! I get to see Kampala again!!!!
Traveling is great. But doing it with a pack of insecure brats is not. I'm glad I got the glimpse. It confirms what I already knew. I love Kampala, not backpacker Kampala.
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