Months ago now, my family and I were invited to my friend Monica’s home—an experienced nothing short of delightful for all of us. We guffawed at each others’ comments, scooped steaming heaps of food on plastic plates, relaxed. But what struck me was the nature of my friend’s entertaining.
Monica is a local Ugandan friend. We drove to her home on roads with so many potholes our heads nearly hit the roof, save the seatbelt. She and her five relatives resided in a single concrete room with a barred window.