Reflections from Uganda: A Journey Toward Intentional Living

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Written by: Sarah Chiavacci

University of Vermont Larner College of Medicine Global Health Elective Dates: June 24 - August 2, 2024

Before ever laying eyes on the hospital, I was welcomed into the warm, vibrant embrace of the Luboga family. After over 24 hours of travel, made evident by my growling stomach and the bags both in my hands and under my eyes, the Lubogas broke into song as they served us a homemade banquet. Fresh mango. Matooke. Posho. Groundnut sauce. Chapati. Foods that I had never heard of soon became a comforting way of life. When coming to Kampala, I expected the majority of my learning to be medical. But quickly, I was learning a new life by becoming a calmer, more introspective Sarah.

Years of rushed, solo meals were exchanged for nourishing experiences. My yogurt-on-the-go was swapped for fresh fruit and eggs with Annie, Lena, Ben, and his family. A prepackaged salad eaten while texting now took the form of a community potluck among the hospital staff. Uber Eats was upgraded to heaping plates of natural, home-cooked food, shared over intentional conversation amongst the Lubogas. For the first time since I was a child, dinner was enjoyed at the table. No rush. No phones. Just a shared space of laughter and gentle teasing between family and friends.

The Lubogas didn’t just welcome us into their home—they invited us into their lives. Beyond finding comfort in this new routine, I learned to expect the consistency of connection. A quick passing was no longer quick. Instead, I stopped to greet people and actually learn about their day—not just reflexively smile and say, “I’m good!” When texting locals, I no longer got straight to the point. Messages now began with banter before addressing the bottom line.

As the weeks passed, I noticed a quiet shift happening within me. I began walking more slowly—not from fatigue, but because I wanted to stop and look… at the banana trees. Or the child hiding in the bush. Or the baby ducklings swimming in the muddy stream beside the dirt road. Or the Ankole cows being herded past the hospital. This experience gave me more than memories and increased medical knowledge—it gifted me perspective.

My time in Uganda reminded me that the greatest forms of care aren’t always clinical. They can be as simple as showing up for dinner, rubbing a child’s back while they cry, or showing your humanity in times of extreme vulnerability. And as I return to my life in the U.S., I am more grounded—aware of the presence I wish to carry with me, from the hospital to the dinner table, or wherever life takes me next.