He remembered when he got the results, or rather, he remembered the man who’d gotten them. A man in a button-down shirt, sitting in front of a computer in a New York high rise, just like a million other men.
Your DNA Ancestry Report, the subject line said.
He’d booked the trip immediately. Impulsively—before he could change his mind. It was a long way off at the time.
But now he was here. In the morning, he’d gone to Lake Victoria—Nyanza as the Bantu people called it. His people.
At the shore, he’d taken off his shoes and waded up to his knees. After that, he turned inland, feeling the gritty red soil on his bare feet.
He tipped his head back at the darkening sky and felt the weight of coming rain. And then he laughed at the wonder of it—to finally realize: he was home.
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For some reason, this particular location evoked so many images for me. It was really hard to pare it down into 150 words. Kampala, Uganda could not be further away from where I sit right now, but I could smell the lake, see the faces, hear the tongue, and taste the posho in my mouth.
Anywayz…. no kidlets around this weekend, and I intend to chip away at my novel-in-progress The Kwan Factor. With effort, I could find my way to the end very soon. That would be sweet.