It was a sweltering afternoon in Kampala, the kind of day when the heat clings to your skin and the air is thick with humidity. I had just finished my morning meetings and was about to head to lunch when my phone rang. It was my husband, and from the tone of his voice, I knew something was wrong. “You need to come home right away,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “There’s something you need to see.”
I immediately felt a knot form in my stomach. My mind raced with thoughts of what could have happened. I quickly gathered my things and rushed home, my heart pounding in my chest. When I arrived, my husband was sitting calmly in the living room, a peculiar smile on his face. “What’s going on?” I asked, my anxiety spiking.
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