Timu Forest: a place gently romanticized in my mind; a comfortable chair or hammock with a view to the rugged Karamoja highlands; perhaps most honestly, a place i've visited without having lived there.
If i recall trudging through a rainstorm for three hours, i recall prancing like a fairy, laughing, and taking pictures. i don't recall shivering or worrying about how much i was water-logging my camera. Unless i set out deliberately to do so, at least.
But i know that my warm recollections aren't the whole story. i know that there is suffering and strife in Timu Forest. i know that at least once a year Amber Schrock will be dealing with a child's destroyed eye or severe burns or otherwise shattered body on account of an indifferent parent's negligence. i know that most people who live in Timu Forest would much prefer to live essentially anywhere else on earth given a fair opportunity to, were you to ask them. i know that most people who live in Timu Forest probably don't believe that fair opportunities exist. If the word fair means anything, they probably don't.
i French-pressed coffee and ate delicious meals and went for scenic hikes. Timu was happy and i was happy, and we both knew that there was more to the story than that.
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