To the (imagined) great pleasure of my mother, the connection between our first house in Southern France and the Cathedral hostel I am living at in Northern Uganda has clicked. There is a small black and white cat sleeping on the hot stones on the back steps, turkeys clucking in a mesh pen, half a dozen white rabbits grazing, a vineyard of sorts out back and a small planted garden. Grasshoppers singing at dusk and permanent – perfect in the early evening – Provencal summer heat.
