I realize I am a bit odd about places I chose to travel to. I love Africa for a lot of reasons, and oddly enough, one is the aspect of uncertain danger. Granted I don’t look at the next hot spot for violent rebel group behavior, but I also feel that I am young and resilient enough to go somewhere that keeps me on my feet. When I was living in Nakuru I was right across from one of the slums that had seen some of the worst violence and destruction during the election clashes of 2007. However, during that time I typically did not feel unsafe. Now Uganda, I had heard nothing but good things. I truly believed that it to be one of the safest places to be in Africa. Ok…well, minus the whole war in Northern Uganda and Joseph Kony’s child soldier stealing, Ten Commandments following gang. But where I would be traversing about – Entebbe, Kampala, Jinja – I felt very confident that if I just used proper street smarts I would be fine. After the past week I have really grown to love Uganda. Jinja was amazing, met so many friendly people in Kampala, and saw some great landscape traveling through Mbale and Kumi to deliver sutures to the hospital. Eventually I began picturing myself coming back to Uganda to live, granted I found a job.
It isn’t hard to feel the comforts of home when you can go to Garden City and pick up the latest reading material, or whatever else you may need. Or meet up with friends for Thai food and feel comfortable enough to walk to the next meeting spot at 9pm down a dimly lit street. The other night out having beers and snacks at the Boda Boda bar I look around and realize I don’t even go to bars that nice in Pittsburgh. Then there is the time you meet someone for lunch in Lugogo Mall and see that the white people largely outnumber the Ugandans. Well Sunday night for the final World Cup game, just across the street from that mzungo-ridden mall, bombs went off killing over forty people. In another part of town, just down the road from the American Embassy and the little frozen yogurt place I stopped at on my way home from another fail at project planning, another bomb went off. Ashley and I, both starting to get sick, made the responsible decision to stay in that night…more responsible than we both had intended. Monday morning I woke up to the news – I couldn’t believe it. Granted something like this could possibly happen anywhere and at anytime, I would have never expected that I would hear that news after a week of being in this city.
On top of digesting this news was how I should react to it, seeing as the body count continued to go up throughout the day and the internet and phone connections were choppy if not completely severed. Seeing as emails were not an option and I didn’t have nearly enough credit to call anyone from my phone, I was lucky to get a facebook status in. It is then that my whole love for traveling, working, and living in Africa becomes harder to explain to friends and family. Sending out emails as casually as I can that I am fine, and there would be no reason to worry. It is much harder to explain when I know the threat really doesn’t end there, not when dealing with and rebel or terrorist organization. After talking to many locals, a student from Makerere, and of course Victoria (who never ceases to amaze me with her Intelligence background) it is evident that the streets of Kampala cannot truly be called safe. Not when in two weeks members of the AU, related organizations, diplomats and various development workers will gather in Kampala for the African Union Conference. Not when news stations and authorities call for Kampala residents to stay away from busy areas and not attend large gatherings. Not when I read the latest news article in which Al Shabaab states those blasts were only a “prelude” to what is to come. But this is not limited to Uganda, and people should not suddenly see Uganda as a hotbed for rebel and terrorist activity. It can happen anywhere. It happened September 11th 2001, it has happened over the past several years on trains, subways and national embassies. One cannot travel to any city center and realistically know that nothing could happen to them there.
And now, of course, I should reassure loved ones reading this that I do truly feel safe where I am staying. I am far enough away from the city center, but still close to everything I could need. Everything I usually do in a day’s work is within a 5 minute walk from my room. If I need to meet someone in the city I can go in the afternoon and be back before dinner. I feel that I have nothing to worry about. I also do feel that people not dwell on this tragic event as the only events to be concerned about in Uganda. There are still all the problems that remained before that cannot be ignored. More parents die of AIDS in a week than those that died in the bombings, leaving more orphans and greater problems for the people of Uganda to move forward. There are still issues to be worked out with rebel groups in the north that often seem to be ignored by its cosmopolitan neighbors in the south. I can only hope that threats will not materialize and no one innocent lives will be taken in the name of peacekeeping efforts in Somalia. And I will also remain aware of daily threats to people’s lives that can be helped – and hopefully others will continue to recognize them as well.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Grassroots Unplugged
Various modes of transport throughout south western Uganda, white water rafting grade 5 rapids, boda bodas across a busy city with all my belongings stuffed in my Kelty, and walking up and down streets that appear to be loaded with NGOs and larger organizations only to be blocked off by gates and hidden compounds. This is how the past twelve days have gone for me. Well that and having my frustrations lead me to a pub watching the World Cup games or back at the backpackers to meet up with friends and forget about the possible failures of my internship. Throughout all of what could be chalked up as failures over the week, I have learned a lot about how the “grassroots” idea and holistic approaches to problems goes wrong. In the U.S. if you want to get a small organization recognized and attempt for funding you send out emails for appointments, you typically get responses, you walk into a building with a pretty recognizable address, and you meet with someone. Granted I don’t speak Lugandan and I don’t really know anyone personally working for a large NGO, I do have access to the internet and a mobile phone with me at all times. I have money to take transport around the city to find the street that the organization should be on. I have some basic knowledge of writing business and project plans to present, and the access to print everything out and buy folders to make it look somewhat presentable. So what I am wondering is how we were unable to get any responses to emails, not set up a single appointment, and rarely could find the listed organizations – much less get access through the gates. After starting out with ambitions of getting funding, possibly an idea of how to apply for a microloan, or even fundraising sponsors – it basically came down to getting someone to look at our proposals and at the very most tell us how we can polish them and take it to the next step.
In African time and with the little resources to work with, it really does just come down to the little successes…
Luckily we did talk to someone, a GSPIA alum, on the last day. Finally able to present all the work I have actually done so far, over cold Fantas, we finally got one foot on the ground. Not quite taking steps yet, but that foot is at least in the right direction. It is with these little successes and working with the contacts that are actually had, hopefully slow progress can be made. However, the whole process left me really thinking about how this whole microfinance, “small steps” approach actually works. True, I have read great things about the microcredit. Mohammad Yumus’s “Banker to the Poor” left me feeling more optimistic than the past nine months of my GSPIA career. But then this whole experience seemed to eliminate that type of faith in such an institution from my mind. How do these grassroot organizations, especially ones based in rural areas with little access to such NGO offices, have access to the funds needed to promote their causes? What is the process in which aid workers elect a group worthy to receive a (usually larger than necessary) grant to get their projects off the ground?
What bothers me even more is how I see such an organization as Bright Kids Uganda with a woman who has given up so much and is so dedicated to providing the best life possible for these children struggle with how she will provide the next term of school fees – and then hear about corrupt orphanages who bring in children with parents to lure in clueless sponsors, and gets large amounts of money doing so. How does this all work? How do these groups of women living out in rural villages go about getting these microloans for setting up small shops in front of their door steps? Especially when two capable graduate students set out for five days on the streets of Kampala to end up with little results.
It is all a learning process and I am currently behind the learning curve. I am only hoping that about the time I am getting ready to leave, in African time, things will start to materialize for the organization. That the topics in the development world one can actually be optimistic about still stand a chance for worthy causes.
In African time and with the little resources to work with, it really does just come down to the little successes…
Luckily we did talk to someone, a GSPIA alum, on the last day. Finally able to present all the work I have actually done so far, over cold Fantas, we finally got one foot on the ground. Not quite taking steps yet, but that foot is at least in the right direction. It is with these little successes and working with the contacts that are actually had, hopefully slow progress can be made. However, the whole process left me really thinking about how this whole microfinance, “small steps” approach actually works. True, I have read great things about the microcredit. Mohammad Yumus’s “Banker to the Poor” left me feeling more optimistic than the past nine months of my GSPIA career. But then this whole experience seemed to eliminate that type of faith in such an institution from my mind. How do these grassroot organizations, especially ones based in rural areas with little access to such NGO offices, have access to the funds needed to promote their causes? What is the process in which aid workers elect a group worthy to receive a (usually larger than necessary) grant to get their projects off the ground?
What bothers me even more is how I see such an organization as Bright Kids Uganda with a woman who has given up so much and is so dedicated to providing the best life possible for these children struggle with how she will provide the next term of school fees – and then hear about corrupt orphanages who bring in children with parents to lure in clueless sponsors, and gets large amounts of money doing so. How does this all work? How do these groups of women living out in rural villages go about getting these microloans for setting up small shops in front of their door steps? Especially when two capable graduate students set out for five days on the streets of Kampala to end up with little results.
It is all a learning process and I am currently behind the learning curve. I am only hoping that about the time I am getting ready to leave, in African time, things will start to materialize for the organization. That the topics in the development world one can actually be optimistic about still stand a chance for worthy causes.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
A note on ingenuity
Alright, I get it. I am a mzungo and I will never be quite as capable of doings things with such ease or be quite as resilient as the Africans I watch with such intent here. I will always be the one to trip on a rock in the road the minute I look up as I am walking. I will never be able to make mdazis with such ease of just knowing how much baking powder to throw in the mix or how hot the oil must be before throwing in all the little balls of dough. I try to kick around the soccer ball with the kids in just my sandals (and try to actually look good doing it) – but can’t stop the goal of a 4 year old because my sandal falls halfway off. I try to gain some kind of street cred by acting a little tougher than I actually am, but I still just can’t get the hang of it all – dealing with life’s little complexities with such ease and capability.
Today we went over to Victoria’s after the day’s work to watch (and really learn) how to make mdazis. I watched very closely too, seeing just how I failed at it during the last go. But the whole time I was also just telling myself, no matter how much I watch and take mental notes, it will never quite turn out the way they are meant to be. All during this learning experience, one of the younger boys helping out with the cooking is over in the corner just grabbing the edges of, what I imagine to be, a scalding hot pot and splashing burning oil all over his hands as he drops the mdazis in to fry. As we try to fill the fire pit up with charcoal up for the next batch, we just end up making it far too lumpy to put a pot back over and Mutebi quickly shows us how it is really done by throwing the little bricks of charcoal on the ground to break them apart and spreading them over the burning coals. During this whole experience, Victoria makes a comment on how Ugandans are always thinking the mzungos are so rich, but she wishes that they would see that they are richer in many ways. As she explains how we must rely on everything in the states, Ugandans are able to grow much of their own food, use a charcoal stove to cook if electricity is turned off, and open windows to stay cool during the heat of the day rather than turning on the AC. She goes on to say that we must pay for everything. We must rent a house and then are trapped with all the bills that we are sent for the lights and stoves and cool air we must have to live our comfortable lives. I do see her point, but it just makes my whole point stronger of how incapable we are with certain aspects of life. It would be great if I could use a charcoal stove in my kitchen to make dinner – but I am sure that would just result in my losing all of my possessions in some fire (not to mention be in some serious trouble with the fact I don’t have renter’s insurance). I try to make it through the heat without AC, but when the humidity gets too bad…well, U.S. houses just don’t seem to keep as cool as Victoria’s stone kitchen can after making damn near a thousand mdazis. Her point is valid, to a certain extent. We do rely on things way too much, partly because we are forced to in circumstances of renting an apartment with no land to grow our own food, or having property cost too much to actually own with as much student loan debt as I am carrying right now, but partly because we just aren’t as sufficient as we could be. And no offense to us white people, I am not saying we are not capable of survivor skills when pushed to that limit, but we are just never really put in those situations frequently. Africans are not only extremely resourceful, but very lucky for that trait – as I am positive that without it, well, things could get pretty ugly at times.
I also have to end on how grateful I feel to see this firsthand, to know what one is capable of. It has made me become a lot tougher (although, a large percent of that is just an act…I can still be a pretty big wimp…). But I don’t think the pre-Rachael would have been quite so tolerant of a scorpion in her bed, or able to go through a day without washing my hands and then eating my ugali and kale with my bare hands. Africa made me strong enough to handle dealing with getting a hold of enough food for 120 children on the tiniest budget ever in a town where I can’t go 3 yards without getting ripped off – and managing to make it work. I wouldn’t try to get out and play soccer with the kids in sandals, or barefoot. I think the more and more I am here, Africa will toughen me up. And, perhaps one day, sometime in the future, I will be able to imitate their ingenuity – at least to a certain degree. Until then, I can still try to play it cool and seem like I know what I am doing at times when I am completely lost.
Example A: First timing my white water rafting experience at none other than the source of the Nile river…
Today we went over to Victoria’s after the day’s work to watch (and really learn) how to make mdazis. I watched very closely too, seeing just how I failed at it during the last go. But the whole time I was also just telling myself, no matter how much I watch and take mental notes, it will never quite turn out the way they are meant to be. All during this learning experience, one of the younger boys helping out with the cooking is over in the corner just grabbing the edges of, what I imagine to be, a scalding hot pot and splashing burning oil all over his hands as he drops the mdazis in to fry. As we try to fill the fire pit up with charcoal up for the next batch, we just end up making it far too lumpy to put a pot back over and Mutebi quickly shows us how it is really done by throwing the little bricks of charcoal on the ground to break them apart and spreading them over the burning coals. During this whole experience, Victoria makes a comment on how Ugandans are always thinking the mzungos are so rich, but she wishes that they would see that they are richer in many ways. As she explains how we must rely on everything in the states, Ugandans are able to grow much of their own food, use a charcoal stove to cook if electricity is turned off, and open windows to stay cool during the heat of the day rather than turning on the AC. She goes on to say that we must pay for everything. We must rent a house and then are trapped with all the bills that we are sent for the lights and stoves and cool air we must have to live our comfortable lives. I do see her point, but it just makes my whole point stronger of how incapable we are with certain aspects of life. It would be great if I could use a charcoal stove in my kitchen to make dinner – but I am sure that would just result in my losing all of my possessions in some fire (not to mention be in some serious trouble with the fact I don’t have renter’s insurance). I try to make it through the heat without AC, but when the humidity gets too bad…well, U.S. houses just don’t seem to keep as cool as Victoria’s stone kitchen can after making damn near a thousand mdazis. Her point is valid, to a certain extent. We do rely on things way too much, partly because we are forced to in circumstances of renting an apartment with no land to grow our own food, or having property cost too much to actually own with as much student loan debt as I am carrying right now, but partly because we just aren’t as sufficient as we could be. And no offense to us white people, I am not saying we are not capable of survivor skills when pushed to that limit, but we are just never really put in those situations frequently. Africans are not only extremely resourceful, but very lucky for that trait – as I am positive that without it, well, things could get pretty ugly at times.
I also have to end on how grateful I feel to see this firsthand, to know what one is capable of. It has made me become a lot tougher (although, a large percent of that is just an act…I can still be a pretty big wimp…). But I don’t think the pre-Rachael would have been quite so tolerant of a scorpion in her bed, or able to go through a day without washing my hands and then eating my ugali and kale with my bare hands. Africa made me strong enough to handle dealing with getting a hold of enough food for 120 children on the tiniest budget ever in a town where I can’t go 3 yards without getting ripped off – and managing to make it work. I wouldn’t try to get out and play soccer with the kids in sandals, or barefoot. I think the more and more I am here, Africa will toughen me up. And, perhaps one day, sometime in the future, I will be able to imitate their ingenuity – at least to a certain degree. Until then, I can still try to play it cool and seem like I know what I am doing at times when I am completely lost.
Example A: First timing my white water rafting experience at none other than the source of the Nile river…
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