I look like Jesus Christ (on Rosh Hashanah)

Today I had a wonderful conversation with Lois’s sister, Naomi, this morning about Judaism.  It all started with an explanation of the year 5773.  “How can that be?” she asks.  She wants to learn so much about the religion.  “Can you be a Jew and a Christian?  What about the Jews that believe in Jesus?  Do you believe in Jesus?”  I explain that the mainstream Jewish belief in Jesus is that he was a good man and a great orator who died a tragic death.  No resurrection, no re-resurrection.  Hate to disappoint, lady.  I felt as if I was telling her there is no Santa Clause.  But she was very interested.  The family that we live with went to Israel a few years back on a church trip visiting all the biblical sights.  Additionally, Lois and her sister are in some kind of group made up of Christians who support Israel.  Needless to say, they are very interested in the Jews.

We spoke about the Sabbath.  When Lois and Naomi learned that the real Sabbath is on Saturday, they felt the need to observe the Sabbath, but they had too much work on Saturdays.   So what did the sisters do?  They verified this fact with the Bible, then prayed to God that they should have less work on Saturday so they may rest.  And it worked!  So where to pray?  The Seventh Day Adventists were the only group they knew of that had services on Saturday, but they didn’t like that service.  Then they heard of a Church with a small Saturday service which they started attending and love it. 

In our conversation Naomi said something very sweet.  “Spiritually I am a Jew, but I am born a Christian and so I am Christian.”  She understands Jesus was a Jew and we all came from the Israelite people.  I think it captures a great idea of harmony, at least between Jews and Christians.  But why can’t we have that harmony with the Muslim world?  Muslims are closer to Jews in practice than Christians are.

“You know,” Naomi tells me, “You look like Jesus.  Have you seen pictures of him?”  Of course I do, a Jewish Muzungu, just like Jesus.  She should see the desk I made.

A Day in the Field

Post by Nicole

As we come to the end of our second week of work here is Kampala I’m getting more comfortable at my NGO and falling into a nice rhythm.  First, a little about the office environment I’m working in, my first office environment in a long, long time.  The office consists of approximately 11 people, many of whom are Ugandan interns or volunteers.  Since the job market is dismal here, it is common for well-educated locals to volunteer at offices in exchange for transport and lunch. The office is small with modest furnishings and a pantry area where people eat lunch and can help themselves to coffee or tea. I work in the “resource room” which also serves as the meeting room.  Electricity is intermittent and the generator seems to be on the fritz.  I might have contributed to this fritz when the other day the power returned I plugged in my computer, felt a slight electrocution, and heard a loud bang.  Two computers and a copy machine went kaput.  When electricity goes off and the computers die, people are seemingly un-phased, they turn to chat with their neighbor or pull out a newspaper.  I’ve been advised to “roll with it”—very wise words.

I spent the first several days learning about the NGO, which advocates on behalf of marginalized people in the workforce.  They do quite impressive work with few resources and are currently on a big campaign to ban child exploitation.  It is very common here for families—even poor families—to “hire” orphaned or poorer children from the villages as domestic workers.  Although there is a law prohibiting child labor, and technically primary school is mandatory for all Ugandan children, I have learned quickly that there is a major disconnect between the written law and the enforcement of legislation.

After a week and a half of learning, reading, editing documents and helping create web content for the organization, I finally had the opportunity to get out “in the field.” I joined a group of three young men who are recent college graduates and interns in the Child Labor and HIV Education Department of the NGO.  Since July they have been creating mapping tools, holding community meetings and working on a task force to identify children in one community between the ages of 14-17 who are working as domestic laborers.  The NGO has a grant to pay the boarding school fees and uniforms for these children to attend a 6-month vocational program about 1.5 hours outside of Kampala.  The team had identified approximately 100 children and they collected important information about each child (name, age, where they come from, what, if anything, they are getting paid, living conditions, medical problems, job description, guardians, etc).  Each child was asked if he or she would like to go to school and each employer was then asked if he/she would grant permission for the child to be taken from the home and placed in schools. 

On the day that I joined the team, each of the children had been spoken to already.  This was a second go around with the intention of getting verbal consent from the guardian (at times a parent or relative and at other times an employer).  The twist to this story is that the first community targeted is the police barracks.  This warrants some explanation:  all types of officers in Uganda live with their families in the police barracks, which is essentially a slum. It is a huge community of small concrete or tin homes—one on top of the next, none larger than two rooms and each housing many people. Toilet facilities are communal. They do have intermittent electricity and running water. In some of these homes, as many as eight people live in one room. Each family is large, in part because a mother’s  “children” include her biological children, her husband’s children from prior marriages, her brother’s orphaned children who she is looking after since he died, etc.  It is what we could call “blended families” to the max. Officers, on average, earn 200,000 shillings a month, which is the equivalent of 71 USD.  Obviously this is a very low wage and stretching it to cover and family of ten often leaves parents with the inability to pay school fees (approximately 50 USD per child per year).  Often the eldest child is responsible for caring for the younger kids while no parent is around—sometimes the parent is on duty far away for upwards of two weeks at a time.  In other cases, a relative has taken a child in because her own parents were too poor to feed or clothe her.  In reciprocation for food and shelter, the child is put to work.  This usually involves washing the clothing, preparing meals, cleaning the small home and looking after the other children. Still other times a child is sent from the village to the city under the guise of going to school and is instead exploited as a child laborer.

Ironically, these officers who employ child domestic workers are either unaware of the law prohibiting child labor or have complete disregard for the law (usually the latter).  Some are cases of clear exploitation while other cases are far more complicated. As you can imagine, this becomes a tricky process.  

My First Day in the “Field”

I got in the car, super excited for this adventure with my three new intern friends who took me in as if we’d been buddies forever.  As they sang along to some Snoop Dogg, we exchanged stories and had some good laughs. We arrived at the police barracks and my young intern friends suddenly became very professional as we met with the commander of the police department. He is a middle aged, happy and engaging fellow who expressed full support for our project.  He offered to assist us if we ran into trouble with the employers (other officers).  He was hoping our interaction would remain friendly and that after we explained to the other officers that the organization will be paying for the school fees and this is an important opportunity for these young people, they would quickly consent.  Turns out, it was not quite that easy.

Our team consisted of myself, two invaluable women from the community who are the task force member leaders, and the three interns.  Our goal was to, over the course of two days, reach all 98 of the children and obtain consent from them and their guardians, answer questions, and ensure that each child has a mattress and bed sheets to bring. The vast majority of the targeted students are girls since domestic work is largely the job of women in this community. 

I was immediately struck by how shy and respectful these young girls were. Many curtseyed to me as they shook my hand.  One child, just shy of 2 years old, got down on her knee to greet me as a sign of respect. A couple of girls brought tears to my eyes when I saw the joy and appreciation in their faces at the prospect of going to school. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” they whispered.  They told me that they feel blessed to have been chosen.  It was incredible to see how eager these kids are for even a small fraction of a formal education.  Many aspire to be hair dressers, tailors, or shoemakers and are hoping to learn those skills in vocational school.

I was equally impressed by the way my intern colleagues worked in the community and the way in which they were able to connect with the children and their families.  They were professional, respectful, caring and non-confrontational. I think this is partly Ugandan culture and partly the nature of these young men.

I was a novelty in the village and soon children appeared form every corner shouting “muzungu.”  I was feeling the love.  “My muzungu,” one girl told her friend.  No, “My muzungu,” the friend argued.  We all had a good laugh as I assured them that there was plenty of me to go around.  A little further into the day, a gentleman on a motorcycle screamed, “Muzungu I love you!!!”  I probably can’t take credit for all the love I received today as they associate muzungu with donor funding and movies.

But, not everyone took to me so quickly. One small boy burst into tears when he saw me. The grandmother cradled him and began to laugh, explaining to me that he had never seen a muzungu and that I should not be offended. Smiling at the child only made him cry louder so eventually I accepted that not everyone was ready to make the muzungu their friend. Maybe next time.

For other young girls who were being given the opportunity for school, today’s story did not end happily.  Many of the employers refused to let the children be taken because they have nobody to look after the other kids. Other employers were not around to give their consent.

And then there is the complicated issue of the villagers hoping that since I have white skin, I can fix their problems.  I was brought to the home of a family with a child who is disabled. “Please see her,” the community task force member asked.  “This girl, she cannot talk or walk and it is so hard for her family, ” she explained.  I met the mother and child who clearly has cerebral palsy. My heart broke for this family who cannot afford therapy for their severely disabled child.  Since the mother must constantly tend to the child, her earning ability is nil and thus all 7 other children also suffer. I’m now on a mission to find free or heavily subsidized therapy for this child. Fingers crossed.  At the end of the day the task force member asked if I knew of anyone who would sponsor her children.  Sometimes being white here is a tough cross to bear.

Of the 60 homes reached today, we managed to get consent from 22 families. Another 26 are pending and the remaining employers refused.  The next step is to develop a strategy to convince these other employers to release the children. We are all hoping that after mediation and some more counseling, we can convince the employers. If not, legal action will likely be taken.

Ultimately, my role here will be to educate these lovely adolescents after they are settled in the vocational school.  I’m developing a basic health education curriculum and plan to discuss nutrition, pregnancy and HIV prevention, and how to make healthy lifestyle choices.  I have also been asked to counsel these young women and teach the interns some basic counseling techniques.  This will be quite the learning experience for me, as I do not have formal training in counseling.  If anyone reading this blog has ideas, please share!

I am starting to feel that there is a higher purpose for me being here. I am overwhelmed by how much I have learned on only my first day out in the community.  I can only hope that as time goes on I can reciprocate in this incredible process of knowledge sharing across the globe.

CFO for an NGO

...well at least for the next two and a half months. 

...And maybe not CFO, but I just found out that I have all financial responsibilities of the organization I’m working with.  Let me rewind a smidge, yes?  I knew I would be taking over some duties, the main one being QuickBooks, from a woman who is very pregnant, her last day is Friday, the Friday at the end of September.  But there was no urgency on her part to bestow upon me the inner workings of her position, despite my poor attempts to set up a time to meet with her.  From my initial perspective it did not look like she was terribly busy.  And I was not clear on when her last day would be. 

On Monday I reminded people that I would be out of the office Thursday and Friday due to Rosh Hashanah, aka the Jewish New Year.  All of a sudden it’s an emergency in the director’s eyes that I have all the knowledge of the finance operations of the NGO.  I’ve got two and half days to learn it.  Somehow two and half days shrinks into a 4-5 hour review of budgets and QuickBooks entries.  I will be writing checks, making bank withdraws, issuing the payroll checks, managing the keys to the safe, transferring the wires into Ugandan Shillings from the donors (chances of receiving donor funds in the next three months are slim), and all things related to finances.  I’ll also need to devise a system for creating a more accurate budget.  At this point the budget is a very rough estimate of expenses with a 5 percent inflator on every single line item, rent to program costs, across the board.

In some ways I can make this job much more difficult than it is, in others I can go along with the system they’ve set up, make a few excel models that can be used in the future for predicting budgets and call it a successful volunteer run.   

In short, I will have a lot to be busy with these next few months.  My mission is to keep things simple but create a more accurate way for the organization to plan for the future when I am no longer there.

Organizational Change?

One thing I don’t think I will be able to change is avoiding these crisis modes of operations.  I have learned my lesson that I need to be a bit more direct in arranging meetings with staff so that we don’t end up meeting at the eleventh hour.

This got me to thinking about managing style in Uganda and the US.  I’m speaking about the average norm, in both cases there are certainly exceptions on both sides of the spectrum, but the general feeling is different in the two places.  In the States there are a variety of manager types but the basic mentality, countrywide, is the expectation that employees do their work and perform to some level of expectation.  When the boss says to do something, it gets done.  I’m wondering if that is the norm in Uganda. 

What I’m finding and hearing, is that in Uganda there is a level of expectation from the employee that as long as he shows up to work, he will get paid.  This is not a mentality that starts in the corporate or nonprofit workplace.  It is spread throughout all sectors, most notably, the government.  Corruption is rampant in the government sector.  The expectation has become that the government doesn’t provide, but donor funds from the west will support the country.  In fact, donor assistance contribute to almost one third of GDP.  To give credit where credit is due, President Museveni has done a magnificent job enticing donors from all over the world to contribute to his country.  For the students who make it to the university level, I was told recently, that they are there to “think, not to do work.”  Upon entering the workforce, given the environment of leaders leading through taking bribes and receiving other monies on the side, and an education background that graduates students for not necessarily completing all the work in the syllabus, employees then expect to be paid merely for showing up.  One would encounter this more regularly here than in the States, of course this mentality exists in American too.  Again, this is the general stereotype of the Ugandan worker, not necessarily the mindset of people everywhere.  

So when the boss kicks an employee out of a meeting for not producing their quarterly report, which is supposed to include highlights of the work that the employee has performed in the past three months, the employee perception is that the boss is mean and strict.  In a world where traffic laws do not cover what lane of traffic you are in or how fast to drive, and banks cannot track a person who takes a loan and moves to another town when they cannot pay it back, the feeling of freedom is much stronger than that of an American who has to deal with so many rules, courts and the system that can track and follow through more thoroughly.

In jobs where the pay is much less, like the taxi drivers, police and street market vendors, any opportunity of easy money is seized upon.  The mentality for most of these workers is that the White West has all the money.  And for the most part, it is true.  If I pay four dollars extra in a special hire cab, I probably won’t know or make a big deal about it.  Sometimes it’s not four dollars. 

A friend of ours was recently pulled over by a policeman for answering his phone while driving.  This was not a traffic policeman who is the only police that can issue a traffic ticket, evident by the type of uniform they wear.  This officer said that talking on a phone and driving is a very criminal activity and that the only way to cure this situation was for our friend to mobile money the officer three million shillings, about a thousand USD.  Mobile money is a way for people to send money through their mobile phones.  Our friend does not have the mobile money service and the officer took whatever money our friend had and told him to get the service and send the money.  They exchanged numbers.  As luck would have it, a few days later after not following through on the officer’s demands, our friend was driving by the scene of the incident and the same officer pulled out and started following him.  Our friend decided to head straight to the US Embassy.  At a stop along the way the officer pulls up alongside our friend and orders him to pull over.  Our friend replies that what the officer is doing is harassment and that he is driving straight to the US Embassy and not to bother him again.  The officer continues to follow until our friend is about two blocks from the embassy, at which point he stops his pursuit.

The officer’s plan of an easy three million shillings went terribly awry and he grew scared.  So scared that he called our friend a few days later to find out what happened at the embassy.  Now with the upper hand, our friend told the officer over the phone that nothing will happen as long as the officer does not harass or do anything further regarding this matter.  The officer’s reply was “thank you.”

My point is that the expectation of the worker is different, much different from what I am used to.  Uganda is a country where people get by with very little money.  Even with a job, the rungs of the ladder get very narrow and not many people can get themselves up it without receiving help from someone higher up on that ladder.  Jobs are scarce and many qualified people work for free or nothing.  Some people take matters into their own hands to earn money, and easily get away with it most of the time, that is what their leaders do.  I’m hopeful that this mentality is changing.  Western culture is becoming more the norm and as the country develops so will the schools and the workplace….hopefully.

A Bumpy Monday

OKAY!!!  To begin week two of work I had a commute that I must relay to you all.  The first matatu I take essentially goes in a loop.  I can wait at my neighborhood’s main stage, but that place is pretty crowded and a farther walk.  My other option is a shorter walk to the main road where I hope I find an empty matatu.  I can take the matatu heading in either direction, though one goes through the city center which could be pretty jammed, and the other goes into the city center from the other side, potentially avoiding said jam.  On Friday I went in the direction that takes me through the city center, for the first time, easily finding a matatu in that direction upon leaving the house.  The ride was shorter than the other direction I had been using, but that might be because Ugandans don’t bother working on Fridays.  I had to test this theory. 

Monday rolls around and I can’t buy a matatu heading in the same direction I went on Friday.  For 20 minutes I wait and only two come, but can only fit one or two people, and I’m not one of them.  So I cross the street and after a few minutes eventually find one heading in the usual direction.  I’m sitting in the front seat between the shotgun passenger and the driver.  After about 4 minutes we hit our usual jam before a traffic circle.  These jams are rough because there is a traffic cop at the circle holding back a line of traffic for what can be 5 minutes or more.  Drivers get impatient.  My matatu driver is having one of those days where he feels no one can stop him.  He drives on the shoulder, skipping 15 or so cars.  Then pushes himself back into the main line and zips into the oncoming traffic’s lane, taking over another 10 or so vehicles.  Up ahead the oncoming traffic is resuming so he needs to find a way into the standstill line of traffic he should have been patiently waiting in.  He makes a swift turn back into the line and Thunk-thu-thu-thump.  BRAKES!

My very aggressive driver cut off a car.  The wrong car to mess with.  The car is able to zip around the matatu and diagonally stop in front of our matatu, prohibiting any movement on our part.  The driver of the banged vehicle— damage is over the right front wheel—gets out and stands at the matatu driver’s window staring at him for a few seconds and says something in Luganda.  Probably something along the lines of “You drive like a bleeping bleephole, you know that!?”  He takes out his phone and walks back into his car.  I’m guessing to call the police or his insurance company (is there even insurance here? It must cost a heck of a lot).  My matatu driver is still just sitting there, staring straight ahead.  He does have some money his hand which he stealthily puts in his sock, he doesn’t want the other driver to take it from him. 

After a minute or so the sedan driver re-emerges from his car and bends over at the front of the matatu.  Blu-Blump!  He has ripped off the license plate of the matatu!  He does not pass go, nor does he collect 200 Ugandan Shillings.  He heads to the rear of the matatu and Blump.  Blump-Blump.  He has ripped off the back tags of the vehicle.  I have seen enough and nudge the man sitting next to me.  He opens the door and we start the mini exodus from the matatu.  I walk up along the traffic and find another matatu with an extra space.

I wish I could say the story ends here, but it doesn’t.  Almost at my destination where I exit and walk to the next matatu, we are hit from behind by a bus pulling out from its parking spot along the curb.  These matatus are so big that these types of hits only make a sound, but as a passenger I don’t feel much.  But I am now wondering if I wronged a Ugandan God somewhere along my morning.  Hopefully that’s all the accidents I will have for the week, at least.

Settling In

Week of 19 September, 2011 (Post by Josh)

My first day of work went terrific, really.  There’s something to be said about working after not having done so for two months.  I guess I’m not ready for retirement yet.  I felt rejuvenated after that first day.  We have been traveling and moving around a lot and perhaps we grew tired of that routine, if it can be called routine.   Over the weekend we came to know our neighborhood, but didn’t really explore much beyond.  By the end of the weekend I had feelings that the next three months could be long.  But day one of work put my mind on a different track.

My commute to work involves going through central Kampala.  I take two taxis, or matatus.  The first takes me to Kampala city center, the second I take to the end of the line, about a seven minute walk from my office.  The matatu system does not have a map, you just have to know it, ask for directions, or guess/feel it out.  People at work were very reluctant to let me journey alone my first time.  So I received a ride from one of my new colleagues on my first day.  She lives one or two neighborhoods away so it wasn’t that much extra for her to take me to and from work.

Once at work it was right down to business, after prayers and a two hour meeting.  Apparently the custom here is to pray before a meeting.  And it was perhaps the sweetest prayer I have ever heard, but I might be biased.  Thank you lord for bringing us Joshua.  Please keep him safe and allow him to complete the work …  it went on with a few more things, but obviously it was very nice and I felt very appreciated.

The meeting’s purpose was to outline my work plan, going through all I will be involved with during my stint at the organization.  I learned who everyone was, which was easy because there are only four other people who I will be working with in the office.  Sarah, is the fifth and her 2-year old son is the sixth.  Sarah is responsible for the cleanliness of the office space.  Emma, short for Emanuel, the son, is usually hanging off his mother’s back with a serong-like strap.  But he’ll run around from time to time, pushing a blue pail pretending as if it were a giant truck.  A real cute little guy.

The office reminds me of my two experiences with small start-ups.  It’s basically a house with a reception area-type room at the entrance, a kitchen, a larger boardroom (comfortably fits 6, but we’ve crammed 10 or 11), and two other offices/rooms.  It is a comfortable atmosphere and my colleagues will occasionally walk around without shoes on.  I walk to work in my hiking shoes and change into my loafers when I settle in for the day.  Therefore I have no guilt about dirtying the floor for my colleagues’ feet.  Each morning I sing Mr. Rogers’ “It’s a Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood” to myself as I switch from sneakers to shoes.  Didn’t Mr. Rogers go from sneakers to sneakers?   All I need is a zip-up sweater, but it’s too warm for that.  What I really need is a fan.

I could now go into what I’m expected to do for the next three months, but budgeting, analysis of court cases, and creating expense tracking systems might be boring.  The more interesting topic is the actual issues the org is involved with.

The biggest subject at play is that of land grabbing.  I’ll try to be brief as my current knowledge of the subject is cursory, but as I get more into the analysis I should have a better “grasp” of it. 

There are a few land rights issues the organization is involved, but high on the action list is land grabbing.  Land grabbing is a hot issue among people in the same family or clan.  The reason it is an issue is because 80% of land in Uganda is governed by what is called Customary Law, which is a hybrid of the clan’s traditional rules and enforcement and the country’s judicial laws.  The problem with the clan is that they themselves are not fully carrying out their laws and making decisions based on their rules.  Instead, they are focused on harmony.  When a widow’s brother-in-law tries to take his dead brother’s land, the clan will ask the widow to share the land, as opposed to standing up for the widow, which is what they are supposed to do.  The widow will not turn to the judicial system because local behavior has not reached the point where all people will look to that system for help.  The problem here is that even if she does stand up for herself and go to the courts, the land grabber may not show up and the courts have no power to enforce anything.  The laws are not fully flushed out and the widow is left being harassed or losing her land.

Some of my work will involve looking at the cases that have reached the courts and doing analysis of trends to give the organization a way to tailor the information they distribute.

Little Obstacles: A Way of Life

I’m just going to say it: It’s not easy living in Kampala, and we’ve only been here for 2 days.  Fortunately, the list of tiny inconveniences we’ve discovered in a short time is, well, short.

Electricity: Generators and Inverters

Electricity is a feast or famine sort of thing here.  We’ve heard that it can go on for 24 hours and off for 48 hrs; sometimes 12 hours on and 12 hours off.  Not a big deal though.  Lois says the power doesn’t stay off long enough to spoil anything in the fridge.  We heard a rumor that the government has some unpaid electricity bills and therefore the power company is retaliating by withholding power.  Then we heard that it is a supply/demand issue.  In any case, electricity here is very expensive and intermittent.

Yesterday we needed to retrieve a phone number from email. No problem, we’ll find an internet café in the neighborhood, as you can’t walk more than five minutes without seeing one.  The first iCafe was, like the rest of the neighborhood, without power.  The second iCafe was up and running with a gas fueled generator supplying the juice.  The better news is we had just copied down the number from gmail before the generator went dead. 

Our little abode has an inverter, a battery operated generator that kicks in when the power goes.  It only works for lights, and charging cell phones, so we’ll be fine around the clock.  Sadly the inverter doesn’t make cold water into hot water.

Hot Water

It’s the same schedule as the electricity, there is no hot water without electricity.  Get it while it’s hot!  Good thing for New York hot summers, I’m used to this.  Nicole, on the other hand, is not.  Speaking of which, Uganda is not as hot as you would think. Days are beautiful, sunny, high 70’s and evenings are comfortably cool.

Taking the “Taxi”

I will be taking two taxis to work every day.  A taxi is a minivan that efficiently fits 15 people.  Seats pop up from everywhere. These Matatus are littered all over the streets of Kampala.  The system is similar to the buses in Nairobi in which there is a driver and “first mate” character that collects the money and drums up business by calling out the route names of the taxi to pedestrians on the street as it drives by, and by banging on the side of the van. 

This is a perfect demonstration of efficiency in all measures.  As long it is not running with the maximum number of passengers (and sometimes even if it is filled beyond capacity) it will pick up more wherever they may be along the route.  At main stages (the local word for stop) it idles until it is near full.  Carpooling to the extreme. 

Our first matatu/taxi experience at the end of a wonderful romp around Kampala’s Garden shopping mall was almost a complete success, save for the flat tire we sustained oh so close to our stage.  We could have hopped on another Matatu for 50 cents but we decided it best to get the exercise since we had a big Chinese dinner to walk off anyway.

Walking

The boda-bodas (mortocycle taxis) are everywhere and they are dangerous, both to ride and to avoid.  When not looking in front, behind and beside you for oncoming bodas buzzing by, it is imperative to look down and watch out for holes. It is rare to see a hole that is very deep, but bumps and discontinuity in the pavement is normal.  When it gets dark the drainage trench on the side of the road can become a real hazard too.  We are really appreciating our headlamps!

Yeah, we have to deal with these sorts of things, but really, the living is easy.

Our New Home

Our landlady and housemate, Lois, is a wonderful and beautiful woman of about 55.  She is a retired school teacher who has taken kindly to the real estate business.  Mostly, she purchases large chunks of land and sells it in pieces: buy wholesale, sell retail.  She built the one-story house we are renting and lives here with her sister (a retired doctor), a teenage daughter, a son who lives in a separate apartment on the property, two young women who are the household help, and her sometimes visiting 80-something year old mother. 

Our living accommodations include a large bedroom and bathroom.  There is a small room connecting the two that has two closets that sit side-by-side, a tall minifridge, and a cute little breakfast table setup.  We have our own entrance from the outside that passes through a small porch we can call our own.  According to Lois everything else in the house is ours to use freely.  We hope we can learn a thing or two about Ugandan cooking. 

It’s a very nice house fully gated from the street and the neighbors.  It is in a safe neighborhood, so the tall gates and barbed wire might be excessive, but then again, you never know.

After finally unpacking our backpacks Lois led us on a walk to the closest shopping area.  She is quite a woman, as we had to manage some very steep climbs to get there.  The grocery store had all the foPost Optionsods we are used to, but the prices of the Muzungu food were not in proportion to the rice, fruit, and other local foods.   But that didn’t stop us from finding some gouda cheese to top off our delicious egg salad sandwiches with!  Nicole’s much happier now that her cheese craving has been satiated.

The perk is that we don’t have to do the dishes—the housekeeper takes care of that.

The Help, It’s not Just a Movie

To be clear, having workers clean the house, make meals, and do the laundry is the norm here for anyone with money.  In fact, people are looked down upon if they do not hire workers they can afford.  Labor is inexpensive and many are employed by wealthier families in an economy with high unemployment.  Lois has had the same girl, Peresca, for 6 years (she started at age 12).  Lois offered to pay for Peresca to attend school since her family was unable to afford the fees, but she refused stating that she would learn much more working for Lois.  This says something about both the education system and the job market here.  

Orientation Sponsored by AJWS

“This September, what will you do to remember? Will you take time to maybe help paint a school, or plant a tree, or tutor a child? Wherever you are from you can demonstrate the common humanity that binds us together and makes our societies and our world stronger.”

Hillary Clinton, 9/10/11, U.S. Secretary of State

We started orientation on September 11th regarding the work we will be doing for the next three months.  After two weeks of travel and getting some amazing Africa experiences we are now settling in Kampala where we will live for the next stint of time. 

Who are the other crazy people in Africa with us?

There is a group of 11 volunteers.  Besides us, there are 6 women between the age of 23 and 27; one married woman 51; another woman in her 40s with an 11 year old son and husband; and one other male—a 42 year old Rabbi who has done a fair share of travel in his life.  However, I was most impressed by the two married women who left their husbands (and one left a son) behind for three months.

One of the orientation exercises we did today was tell the story of how we came to be here today.  Sorry Mark, DeeDee, and Joanne, but you inevitably came up, in the most positive way.  It was interesting to see the common threads that cropped up in people’s stories.  They include education, Jewish experiences in school and youth groups, the desire to give back, and parental influence. 

All of us are here to give our services but also to take away a very powerful and perhaps life changing experience.  We’ve stepped away from our lives at home to do this and though it will not be easy and flowery, we are aware of the impact, both good and bad, we can make while we are here.

Much like the Hippocratic Oath, our first job here is to do no harm—we learned there are plenty of ways to unknowingly cause damage.  Orientation was, in large part, to make us aware of how to be a responsible volunteer.  The orientation days were filled with workshops about East African history, cultural do’s and don’ts, troubleshooting issues in the workplace, safety and health.  At the end of the week we had the chance to meet representatives from our NGO’s.  This proved to be very interesting and informative.  We learned a bit more about what they expect from us.  I’m feeling a bit apprehensive about working in an office after so many years of doing hands on clinical work.  I’m hoping to transition into this new role without too many problems.  

Safari as an industry

What is the true cost of a safari?  Pretty darn close to what we paid, and it was still a lot.  It is easy to find a Safari like the one we took for $1,500 per person.  Substitute camping for a nice Safari lodge and the price can double.  Outside of the revenue the safari outfit earns, park fees are about $200 per vehicle and $80 per day per person.  Gas is expensive and each vehicle has a double tank that is completely used on a 3 day journey, after all a safari basically entails sitting in a LandCruiser all day with the engine turned on.  Most safari vehicles run on diesel, not a financial cost, but a ding to the environment.  Camping is the cheaper route and that costs $30 per night per person.  You’d be hard pressed to find a local enjoying themselves on safari despite the fact they pay a dollar for the park fees, merely because the other costs are so exorbitant. 

Many safari vehicles say Leopard Tours.  This outfit has about 500 vehicles and is ultimately owned by the president of Tanzania.  Did somebody say corruption?  The Leopard Tours drivers cannot work for any other outfit and survive mainly on tips, Frankie is not a fan of Leopard Tours.

Yet everyone comes to Africa to do a Safari.  Tanzania charges $100 to American citizens to enter the country, Europeans are charged $50.  The Serengeti has a landing strip for those with the cash to fly straight in and skip the red, dusty ride.  There is a lot of money to be had and it seems the government takes the majority between the visa and park fees.  The roads are pretty terrible and most of the country lives on less than $1 a day.  But we got to see lots and lots of lions!

Pangani

2-3 September, 2011

Our Beach Rasta Friends: Character Introductions

Slim

Maria’s entrance to East Africa was through a town called Tonga, on the eastern coast of Tanzania, a few hours north of Dar Es Salaam.  She met Eliphas in Tonga, because that is where Eliphas and Obi’s work is based.  She also met a fellow named Salim, or Slim, or Mr. Chapati because he makes a mean chapati.  Slim is sorta rasta in nature, with various red, green and yellow bracelets and necklaces.  He does not have dreads.

Obi

Eliphas works for an organization that brings in volunteers from other parts of the world to build schools and other useful buildings for the community.  He is like the project manager, coordinating the volunteers with their daily assignments (which will sometimes include cooking with the Mamas).  Eliphas works with a fellow named Obidawa, Obi for short, like Obi Won. 

Our friend Obi, he does know Star Wars

Journey to Zanzibar

Marie gave us the sage advice to take the “luxury bus” to Tonga, instead of going to Zanzibar through Dar Es Salaam, which would have been an additional 5 hours or so.  As it was, the trip to Tonga was a 6 hour drive, making stops every 30-45 minutes on the side of the road or in a “bus depot.”  At each of these stops vendors, who would hang out at the bus stop, would come up to the bus shouting and pointing, holding merchandise such as candy, soda, and water high over their head.  As NYC residents, we don’t look kindly on this sort of vehicle vending, so we wouldn’t make eye-contact.  I’m not sure what the rest of the bus clientele thought of this, as I just kept my eyes focused downward.  We were content with the fried bread and nuts we purchased in Moshi before boarding the bus. 

As for luxury bus, we were either misinformed or got to the bus station too early and were given the muzungu (White people of European descent) treatment and the phrase luxury bus was jumbled in the shuffle.  It was a coach bus, but with no AC, and it certainly wasn’t luxury for the 8 or so people standing up for much of the ride.  As it was we were the only muzungus on the bus.  Tonga is not a big tourist destination.

During the ride we made contact with Slim, via sms and short mobile-to-mobile conversations.  This proved to be a very helpful in avoiding the onslaught of “fly catchers” at the final stop in Tonga.  These guys all saw us as the only muzungus on the bus and each tried to get us in their cab, hostel, or safari tour.  Fortunately for us, our friendly rasta mates navigated us to a van and out of Tonga.

We drove about an hour north (more dusty, bumpy, rocky, pitted road) along the Indian Ocean to a town called Pangani.  After a brief stop at Slim’s volunteer quarters where we met some Germans and Australians, we arrived in Pangani.  The town does not have much to write about other than the fact that it is on the Indian Ocean.  On our drive we noticed that much of the land between the road and the ocean was all farmland, no big seaside development. 

At some point on our drive our van stopped on the roadside where there was a large family with machetes and some of them where in a praying position usually reserved for the deceased.  It turned out that a few of the animals on this family’s farm found their way onto neighboring farmland.  After a warning or two it happened again and the issue escalated to the point where two people from one of the families were murdered.  The family on the roadside was mourning their loved ones and waiting for the police to come, but didn’t expect that to happen.  What they did expect was a big showdown with their neighbors.  We learned this sort of thing is common since fencing does not really exist.  And usually this is between families of the same tribe.

Pangani has one motel on the beach and everything else is inland.  The town is scattered with homes and small, street –facing shacks containing businesses such as general store, office goods store (with a copy machine), and other standard staples in African life.  There are not many white people who pass through, though the white people usually seen here are volunteers.  Today was the end of Ramadan, and the beach was packed with locals enjoying themselves, and the end of the holiday.  The kids would point and shout Muzungo! at us.  We just smiled and replied, Jambo.

Our accommodations were a 3-minute walk to the beach.  Slim had to get back to his volunteers so we were left with Obi and Rasta Alli.  We dined and had a beer at the beachside motel/hotel restaurant.  Rasta Alli was never properly introduced to us but just happened to be around, always doing something on one of the three phones he held outside his pockets.  One of the phones would play Marley’s “One Love” over and over and over again as well as some other cheesy pop songs that only make it big in Europe which I hardly know.  Sitting at a table?  “One heart….”  Walking down the street? “Let’s get together and be all right.”

Preferring to be inputted into people’s phones as Rasta Alli, we will call him that for the purposes of this blog.  He lives in Pangani and works in the local “Tourism office,” and it seems like he makes commissions on whatever he can sell.  He has a simple photocopy page of the tours he offers, which I think is business he conducts outside the tourism facility.

Rasta Alli

We bought them a round of beers, and offered them to eat some of our food.  It was sort of awkward because we have heard that locals will want to hang with us because we will pay for everything.  These guys didn’t act like they expected us to pay for everything.  However, they did graciously accept anything that was offered.  At one point a few of their friends joined us but were just there to enjoy the experience with us.

What’s their Angle?

We continually found ourselves hashing out why these guys were always around.  Was it pure interest in us Americans?  Did they see dollar signs in us and aim to get some of them? Or was it natural kindness and a desire to make us love their town and country?  They seem pretty genuine in speaking to us and making sure we have a good time, but at times we just wanted them to go away.  They did help us book our ride to Zanzibar and were most accommodating when it came to showing us where to go.  We figured they took money from whatever we purchased that went through them, boat ticket, restaurant they brought us to, etc. 

Further, these guys are obviously smart, they have learned English, and all want to have a tourism business, now we understand Eliphas’s line of thinking.  In fact, Rasta Alli works at the “tourism office/shack,” the gold mine for him being Safaris.  One thing that struck me was that walking around Pangani, there were not many others in the 23-27 age range.  We saw MANY kids, and adults, but wondered where their peers were.

It must be an expectation that they can gain from us.  Even the little kids say Jambo, Good Morning, and Money.  Yes, 5 year olds will see white people and say money hoping or expecting to receive it.  Very disconcerting.  Nicole did comment that it is healthy that many volunteers come to build, not just give money, in the hopes that the community can one day sustain itself, but that time is still a ways away.

Upon our farewells to Obi and Rasta Alli we had decided to tip them each about $6 (they earn around $200-$250 per month, and that is doing well for this area).  We knew that they overcharged us for the boat, but our rationale was that in the end it is nothing for us, but a lot for them.  We continue to opine and discuss the motives and merits of their goals.  What will they become?  Will they be the fly catchers of tomorrow?  Or do they have a real chance of reputable success?  One thing is for sure, their English skills alone put them far beyond much of the rest of the Tanzanian population.

Swahili word of the day

Matatiso (Mah-tah-teezo) = Problem

Biggie matatiso = Big problem

Mamas of Moa

Now an ode to the Mamas.  The Mamas are the backbone of Moa.  Interesting fact: They are named after their firstborn son, for example, Eliphas’s mothers name is “Mama Eliphas.”  They work 7 days a week, all day, nonstop.  Here is a little insight into the life of Mama Eliphas:  In the morning she prepares breakfast.  Then she washes dishes, cleans laundry with knuckle-rubbing strength that is amazing to watch, and supposedly, wear.  Then she might do some farming.  Or perhaps go to the store that she runs where some staple items are purchased.  Then she’ll harvest some things for lunch and dinner.  She might also be husking corn—she showed us a small storage room with husked corn piled about 3 feet high which will become maize.  She might tend to the goat or chickens, clean or haul water.  One day we see her coming back from an outing—she is part of a special mama’s group (they even have matching bright orange tee-shirts) where pressing issues of the village are discussed.   She seems to take joy in these groups and in singing with the church choir.  Boy can they sing!

She cooks meals with 2 pots and 1 pan alternating them over one coal fire.  Needless-to-say we felt a bit of guilt about our array of wedding registry gifts.  Since water is scarce, the dishes are done the same way the laundry is done—in two buckets—one with and one without soap.

Mama's Kitchen, Eliphas at the healm

Maria sees many of the mamas on her clinic days with neck and back pains. She treats them with massage and sesame oil.  It is no wonder they have such pain---you should see the heavy loads that these women carry on their heads! And they all seem to bend at the waist instead of the knees.

I can’t help but think how such simple things like a refrigerator and a proper toilet would change their lives.  As you could probably imagine Maria sees a lot of water and food borne illnesses as well. I guess they first need consistent electricity---there is some talk about utilizing solar power…hmmmm….

Balancing Act

Before we leave Moa Village, just a few pictures of how graceful the local people are and how very ungraceful us muzungus are.  Eliphas went from standing position to sitting position back to standing with a full bucket of water on his head!

Local woman carries a tree home for something important

Village children watch as Josh does not exactly feel where the water is waving above his head

Nicole tries to balance the bucket of water but is too concerned about a potential cold shower

Maria from Portland has the white man's burden of no balance too

Moa’s Birthing Center

Currently, the nearest clinic is a 45 minute walk to Kadaia which is down the slope of Moa and up the slopes of Kadaia.   It is mostly a narrow footpath, and partly a wider dirt road on the flatter portions.  Pregnant women from Moa who decide to make the trek to Kadaia will often give birth unattended on the way over.  I can only imagine what that walk is like in the rainy season.

Pictures of the footpath between Moa and Kadaia villages

The Moa community decided among themselves that a birthing center is their highest need.  With government support they started to build one in 2005 but ran out of funds the following year.  A few months ago the community received 40m TZ Schillings ($25,000).  They are now mid construction and hope to have it complete in a few months.

Speaking of construction, the men working on this project were in sandals and did not wear hardhats.  If there is scaffolding, it is built from tree logs, which is probably why we don’t see many buildings over a few stories tall.   Considering the limited supplies, construction moves along quickly (when there is funding).  Workers usually come from neighboring villages and want to get home before dark.  We surmise that there is no “overtime pay” because the men seem eager to get done and started on the next project.

 Questions left to be answered:

• Who will staff the Moa clinic and birthing center?
• How will they fill the shortfall in skilled personnel?
• Who will fund health worker training and payment?
• How can we help in a sustainable way? The villagers flock to the clinics when they hear that muzungus are working there, but what happens when they leave? Things that might be help…..  Easy infant resuscitation training manual
• Midwife/Emergency OB course
• SUPPLIES!
•  A local translator

 Construction work on the Moa clinic continues

Hike from Moa to Kadaia

We went on a hike down through Moa and up, and down again, through Kadaia, the neighboring village.  Eliphas was our fearless guide. What should have taken us 1 hour took 2 because of how many times we had to stop to greet people.  I was overcome by a feeling of appreciation for these hard working people eager to welcome us into their community.

We passed by one cement house with an adjacent mud hut.  The cement houses are becoming more the norm in Africa, the Simba Cement Company might be a wise investment.

Our walk meandered through Kadaia market where us muzungos paid a few dollars to gain access to the waterfall on the other slide of the Kadaia slope.  The fall was beautiful.

 Kadaia market

 Team Nosh at the waterfall at the bottom of Kadaia Village

On the walk we learned that Eliphas was once a porter for Kilimanjaro climbs.  He would carry 20 kilos, walk faster than the paying hikers, set up the camp before they got there, and then get paid whatever the guide felt like divvying up to them.  Things are a little better now as tourists will pay their porters personally.  Yet another example of how Tanzania’s tourist business has room to improve.  I do think it is heading the right direction, as the big outfits might price themselves out while smaller ones claim a larger portion of the clientele, but it is a slow process.

Before dinner, as the sun was setting, the ol’ Frisbee found its way out of the backpack.  Eliphas is a real natural and picked up the forehand flick throw very quickly.  Another friend of his joined in the fun as the three of us tossed it until it was dark.  The kids came out, seemingly from the woodwork, to watch.  However, when I tried to loft it in their direction, some would run.  We gave the few brave ones a chance to throw it.  The teenage girls were really into it and may have been the best of the villagers.  I think everyone had a memorable moment as we all chased the flying disc all over the pasture.

Nicole hands out candy as the boys play Frisbee, we can see who the kids liked better

For dinner, we helped mama make chapati, a flatbread made over a coal fire in a cast iron pan.  It was a process--every dinner takes so long to make.  Mama loved us, and wants us to come back, perhaps we will after our three months working in Kampala.

Team Nosh cooking chapati with Mama Eliphas

 Eliphas’s little brother joins in the fun

The Children of Moa

We are greeted warmly by many people, especially the kids, though they are initially shy but obviously curious.  We respond with smiles and rudimentary Swahili we have learned.  Immediately barriers are broken.  Soon we are all smiling and laughing.  You would think that Josh was the next Jerry Seinfeld the way the kids are laughing at his funny faces.  We are clearly the talk of the village.

Eliphas is the eldest of 7 (same father, different mother—apparently very common here) and the two youngest were home.  During dinner preparation the two boys (ages 4 and 6) were in and out of the house.  The saying “it takes a village to raise a child” must have originated here.  The kids—some no more than 1.5 years old—wander around unsupervised. They will spend days and nights with other families and eventually find their way back home.  The mamas seem to feed whoever happens to be around when dinner is ready.

There are no toys.   The only “toy” to speak of at the house we are guests at is a car made by one of the children out of garbage.  There doesn’t appear to be any discipline and there is no bedtime.  When I asked Eliphas if the children are ever scolded he said “No—I’ve never heard of that.”  “Only the teenagers who smoke the Bob Marley cigarette—sometimes the mamas think that is disrespectful and they get mad.”  Though, in school it is a different story.  When Eliphas was in middle school he was the class clown and was hit by a ruler many times.

Although there is very little job opportunity or likelihood of social mobility the village of Moa is unique in that they make school a priority.  Small fees are collected for tuition and all children are required to go to primary school.  Very few go on to secondary school—we heard 7%. The kids love school.  Many walk 45 minutes through mud and up and down hills to get there.  Since alarm clocks don’t exist kids will wake their neighbors up.  The mamas are too busy with too many other things to be bothered getting the kids up and off to class.  Sadly, the education is poor.  The English teacher speaks very little English.  The kids learn basic phrases through rote memorization—“Good morning m’am,” seems to be the most common (even in the afternoon or evening).  Eliphas repeatedly told us that the two things most needed in Moa are better education and better health care.  

Moa Village

We made a turn off the main road—or double road, because it has two lanes in both directions—in Moshi and headed up a bumpy red, dirt road to Moa.  We were traveling and staying with Maria whose friend Eliphas greeted us in the green and lush village of Moa.

Eliphas is 27 and met Maria in a coastal Tanzanian town called Tonga, where she arrived in Africa.  He is a project manager for an organization that brings volunteers from all over the world to build schools and help the local African community.  He escorts them from the airport, delegates their tasks, and sleeps where they sleep.  Because he can speak English well, Eliphas is a great person for this role.  His English has a British twang to the standard Tanzanian accent we have become accustomed to.  He wears a blue Manchester United football Jersey with ELIPHAS printed on the back.  There is a certain air of British to him. On his head is a green puffy knit cap with a small brim under which you usually see dreadlocks.  His hair is short though and sort of spiked.  Eliphas is a thinker and has many ideas about how to make his village, family, and himself prosper.  There aren’t many who think like he does in his village because the people are focused on how to get food into the bellies of their children.  His mother yelled at him the previous night because she saw him sitting pensively: “You think too much!” she said to him.  “It’s all right mama, I will be ok.”  His big plan is to organize tours to his village.  It is so close to Moshi where people leave for both safaris and Kilimanjaro climbs that the clientele is there.  While it is a smart idea, we fear the unintended consequences.  In other towns where businesses have been made on tourists paying to watch tribal people dance, cook, make machetes, there is something unsettling—a fine line between innocent curiosity and exploitation.  We conclude that since Eliphas is loved and respected by his village people this could be done in a respectful and mutually beneficial way.

 Eliphas teaches us how the ancient skill of balance works with a bucket full of water!

The people of Moa are blessed with incredibly fertile soil and are able to survive mostly on their crops.  Coffee, a big African export, grows wild here. Initially the Moan people tried to grow and export this crop but since the government pays very little for it, they razed the coffee plantations and stick mostly to subsistence farming. Much of the world’s coffee is grown in Africa, yet it is near impossible to get a decent cup here.  Breakfast is usually served with a small container of instant Africa coffee grounds.  And we were advised to be careful when ordering coffee, because in Swahili the word coffee means to slap in the face.

They have plenty of banana trees (initially imported from Brazil) all along the hillside. Property is divided by a certain type of tree branch--big leaves are placed starting at the road and through the property divide.  We can’t help but think that each family is literally one drought/flood/illness away from starvation, and fights over property.  Yet, the overall feeling in Moa is not one of sadness.  In fact, a walk through town is nothing but miles of smiles on the villagers’ faces.  We were definitely a novelty and since we arrived with Maria who the village people LOVE, we were quickly accepted. 

Moans can either live very short or very long lives.  The first morning of our stay the church bells rang from 5:00am to 5:12am to notify the villagers that someone had passed, a 47 year old woman.  However, Eliphas’s grandfather lived until he was 120 years old.  There are many who live to that age that Eliphas knows of, but we never see Al Roker wishing them a happy birthday.

Moa got electricity in 2005 but it is still spotty and it’s common for the power to be off for 12 hours and then on for 12 hours.  Only half the village’s residents get electricity, depending on the side of the village they live in.  Most people live in mud or cement dwellings, do not have running water, and use an outhouse (or drop toilet) for bathroom facilities. The families with income get their money from the father or children who work in Moshi or nearby Arusha, not from labor performed in the village. 

The eve we arrived in Moa we were served an authentic village dinner prepared by Eliphas’s mama.  We ate in the family/dining room.  The square room consists of two wooden chairs with floral patterned cushions opposite a couch of the same design along the wall with a coffee table between. A TV in the corner, of which there is no volume control, blasts local music videos or animal planet episodes from DVDs.  We sipped chai before the meal was served.  The meal was perfectly cooked rice, tomato sauce with “organic” beef, green pepper, onion, carrot, and ginger.  There was also the best tasting avocado to complement the dish; it was like avocado-flavored butter.