Back to his roots. Uganda part IV

My husband and I have little in common. 

I'm white.  He's black.

He's east, I'm west.

I like rice krispie treats.  He doesn't.

You get the picture.

I always knew that we were very different, but visiting his childhood home made it even more clear.

We had someone drive us out to the village where Mike grew up.

Notice there is no road.

That's a path that's about a foot wide.

We drove through weeds that were taller than the truck we were in.

They drive on the left side of the road in Uganda.  When there is a road.

So the steering wheel is on the right side.

Mike pointed out places and things.

Like huts.

And birds?  I don't remember what he was pointing at here. 

And plants.

And more birds.

And then some of his childhood friends showed up. 

As if out of nowhere. 

They walked with us to see Mike's childhood home.

Some more childhood friends showed up.  Out of nowhere.

Then we saw Mike's childhood guava tree.

I tasted it.  It was delish.

We also saw Mike's childhood well.

We would call it a spring I think.

But they call it a well.

It's still the water source the people there use today.

Like these little boys who followed us around.

And this woman we passed on the road carrying water home to her family.

But the animals use the same well for drinking water too.

The cows just walk right in.

And the animals poop in there.  And people get sick.

Does that bother anyone else?

Anybody want to help this community get a clean water source?

Like next summer?