I remember the flight from Kampala, Uganda to JFK in New York City in August of 1969. My father wasn't on the flight with us because he had already gone back to the U.S., but my sister couldn't travel yet because she was a baby.
It was fairly uneventful - I still remember that I left some coloring pens on the plane. My father and uncle met us st the airport and as they tell it, there was no traffic at all in New York City at 3:00 a.m. 2/
Later, my grandmother would tell me that I had helped shepherd the smaller children through the airport - but I think that was creating the myth that I was so well suited towards the parenting I would do when my mother died. 3/
It would be years before I would understand why we left Uganda or understand the political and medical implications. I think tonight, others are remembering the places they were able to leave while still alive. We remember. We remember. 4/
@threadreaderapp if you would be so kind, unroll.
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