***Goat, guacamole, and green oranges***

In the fall of 2006, strange events culminated in a two week trip to Uganda with my boyfriend, Sam, of only a few weeks. We'd been friends for nine years prior to this trip so it wasn't as insane as it sounds but still, it was a test of sorts. My father was, at the time, working for the UN and had been transferred to Entebbe from the Republic of Congo after enduring five years of tanks, tear gas, and teens with stones and good throwing arms.

The entire trip was life changing for me and I could fill many posts with food stories. For instance, the night we arrived we were treated to the best tasting BBQ chicken I've ever had. Scrawny street-roaming chickens that feed off piles of trash and get crispified on car grills have a disturbing yet delicious je ne sais quoi. I kid you not. I also tried goat for the first time in Uganda and was pleasantly surprised. Goat stew with matoke was comforting and reminded me of my grandmother's goulash. Sam and I frequently and fondly recall the greatest guacamole and chapathi chips we have ever consumed when we spent the better part of a day at Bujagali Falls, relaxing under a thatched roof and gazing out over some incredible rapids.

I have yet to taste tilapia as fresh and delicious as the stuff we had on the beach of Lake Victoria, flash fried and whole, no utensils needed and doused in hot sauce. Sam encountered a jar of Salad Cream which thoroughly freaked him out (something I was familiar with when growing up in Canada) and we were both perplexed by something in the Belgian delicatessen called Children Salami. The papayas and avocados were as big as our heads. We were spoiled.

On rainy days like today I try to brighten things up with citrus fruits. This morning I squeezed some Valencia oranges and a pink grapefruit with the hopes of stickin' it to the clouds. It worked in part because I was transported back to one sunny day in Uganda when we stopped at a roadside produce stand. The women running it were eager to let us sample the wares and tempt us into stocking up. I was handed what I thought was a green lemon and urged to eat it. My father's wife, Pasco, explained that it was actually an orange, that their skins never actually turn orange in that region.
With some trepidation, I chomped down. Oh my goodness, that thing was amazing! The juice was both tart and sweet, with much more richness that anything we get in the U.S. I almost felt like I could taste the rain, the humidity, and the red earth packed into that little orange. I handed over a wad of shillings (pennies, really) and went home with half a dozen of them. They were gone in three days as I would sit on the warm, stone steps of my father's home each mid-morning, letting the juice run down my arms and the seeds fly out onto the concrete where dad's dogs loitered, hoping for a morsel of something more canine-friendly. If I ever manage to get back to Uganda, the first thing I will purchase will be a sack of green oranges and a bottle of ginger beer. Edible sunshine.