I am in Morocco covering the AFCON – surrounded by football, colour, noise, and movement. On paper, I am exactly where I am supposed to be. But with Uganda’s internet switched off during the election period, something inside me grows quiet too.For the first time, I am beginning to understand the pain of people in kyeyo – the diaspora. Not just the physical distance, but the emotional disconnection. The feeling of being locked out of the lives of people you love most.Back home, my family and friends are living through uncertain days. And I cannot reach them. No messages. No calls. No reassurance. Just silence.That silence is loud.Each day that passes makes the distance heavier. The work I travelled so far to do starts feeling mechanical. My energy fades faster than I can explain. I find myself spending most of the time in bed, withdrawn, quiet, staring at the ceiling, waiting for a connection that does not come.It does not help that it is cold here in Morocco. The mornings are sharp, the evenings unforgiving. And knowing that back home it is warm, that familiar Ugandan warmth, makes the longing even deeper. I miss the weather, the comfort, the ease of home. I miss the feeling of belonging without effort.My social bundles deplete, and with them, my sense of connection. I start demanding to go back home, not because Morocco is unkind, but because home suddenly feels unbearably far away. Yet there is nothing I can do. Flights, borders, assignments, everything reminds me that sometimes, you are stuck exactly where you are, even when your heart is elsewhere.But there is hope.The presidential elections back home are now done, so the internet can be switched back on. The AFCON tournament here is also drawing to a close. Slowly, the waiting feels like it has an end. The thought of heading home soon, back to warmth, familiarity, and the people I love, begins to steady me.This moment is teaching me something no book or conversation ever has.Diaspora life is not just about chasing opportunity. It is about sacrifice. It is about missing reassurance when you need it most. About loving people deeply from a distance and hoping they are safe when you cannot confirm it yourself.I am still here. Still waiting. But now, I am also counting down.And in that countdown, I am holding on to hope and to home.The post When The Internet Goes Silent, Distance Becomes Painfully Real appeared first on MBU.