Postcards from the edge

Postcards from the edge
Tales of (mis)adventure from abroad

The Tourist

The Tourist

uganda stamp

You realize how precarious your existence really is when it depends on somebody simply flexing their right index finger. With the conflict raging not far from here, people tended to be rather trigger happy, so I had been very careful to make myself heard as I approached the mud hut. Yet here I was, looking up the barrel of an AK-47 with my hands in the air. I’ve never really liked thinking of myself as one, but you know what, sometimes, you’ll say just about anything to get out of a sticky situation: “It’s ok, I’m just a tourist”.


There are 2 comments.

  1. comment number 1 by: patti

    I’ve been thinking about home, transitions, and travels, and was recently introduced to a song, its theme being that wherever we are, it’s our ‘Temporary Home’. As the Navy saying goes: ‘Home is where your seabag is’. Our time is so brief, I suppose we’re all ‘tourists’ in a way, wherever we may be. Cheers to you for listening to the call of being alive!

  2. comment number 2 by: Mizzo

    Hahaha! Good one :)

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