Today
started slowly. The weekly staff meeting called for “10:00 am sharp” didn’t
start until 10:45, which was actually less late than other meetings we’ve had,
for whatever that’s worth. Staff meetings are laden with formalities: the
administrator, Brenda, calls the meeting to order and thanks everyone for
coming, then goes over the agenda. This is now the third staff meeting I’ve
attended, and the agenda is exactly the same every time. After this
introduction, there is an opening prayer. Today Brenda put me on the spot and
asked me to lead the prayer. I tried to think of a Hebrew prayer that would be
appropriate for the occasion that I could translate, but nothing came to mind.
I fumbled something about thanking God for bringing us to this day to do the
important work of development, equality, peace, and justice, for all the
resources and abilities we have, and for giving us the opportunity to partner
with the divine in repairing the world. Everyone said “amen” so I guess it went
over ok.
The meeting
proceeded with reports from the chair (Caxson) and the program officers (Denis,
Moses, Ramazan, Joan (actually an intern, and pronounced Jo-ann), and
Christina), followed by a review of the last meeting’s minutes, “reactions and
way forward,” and closing. Again, it is the exact same routine every time. A
sign-in sheet is passed in which we each write our full name, title/role,
gender, and signature. Even if people are missing, the facilitator still says
that “all Secretariat members were present.” Suggestions are made for
corrections to the previous minutes, which may or may not get recorded in the
notes for the current meeting. Everyone formally thanks the person who spoke
before them before offering their own remarks. Within all this formality, I
have noticed a conspicuous lack of eye contact. Even when addressing the group,
oftentimes the speaker will look off in the distance or just keep their eyes on
the paper in front of them. Long silences occur frequently. The peculiar
culture of these staff meetings continues to flummox me.
Later on,
Moses (who sometimes goes by Willy, haven’t discovered why yet) and I got back
to work on a proposal for an income-generation project proposal. We’re applying
to the German Embassy for a small grant to purchase a maize mill and construct
a building to house it in a rural village. This village hosted many IDPs during
the height of the LRA conflict, despite already limited resources. Though all
the IDPs have left, the village is still recovering from the intense strain.
Because returned IDP communities have received lots of attention and support
from NGOs (local and especially international) and some government programs,
those villages are now in better shape than this host community, which was
actually spared from damage during the conflict itself. So, this community,
Aluka village, has significant unmet need – income generation from a local
maize mill business could substantially improve their situation. I’ve been
geeking out on creating a theory of change for this project and getting into
the details of project design, including identifying indicators for success to
be utilized in future monitoring and evaluation. So far this has been the best
part of my job.
Moses is the
finance person so he’s tasked with figuring out the budget for the project. To
do that, we needed info on the cost of running a maize mill. And it just so
happens, that right on the same plot of land as our office, there is a maize
mill (which I never noticed before – nor did I notice the sign for it across
the road). The owner, a young woman named Susan, sat down with us to talk shop.
(Presumably) her children were milling about (ha, get it? milling!) curious to
catch a look at me. I’d wave at them and they’d giggle. Eventually they made
their way closer to me and one was bold enough to touch my skin, pet my hand,
and poke my rings. Sometimes I made funny faces at them and waved more, but
mostly I tried to pay attention to the conversation with Moses and Susan. And
then, when they least expected it, I’d reach out and tickle the kids to their
great delight. Eventually they’d burst into peals of laughter even before my
fingertips reached their dusty bellies.
After
gathering the info we needed (how many workers does she employ, at what wage/benefits
and how many hours; how many kilos of maize can the mill grind per hour; what
is the charge per kilo; total monthly costs, etc.), I asked to see the mill.
For a couple of weeks now we’ve been working on this proposal and I’ve had
absolutely no idea what a maize mill looks like, how it works, how big it is –
nothing. I’ve been picturing something like a grist mill on a waterfall with abig wheel spinning. Well, spoiler alert, that’s not at all what a maize mill
looks like! It is much much smaller. What was most remarkable, though, was that
absolutely everything in the building was covered with some kind of
flour-paste-dust-web. It almost looked like dough had been thrown all over the
place and then dusted with more flour. And it smelled like dough, too, all just
from the mass quantities of corn flour processed there. I’ll try to post a picture of it soon, but in the meantime here's an approximation.
When we got
back to the office, we ran the numbers and found that even if our project only
operates at 40% capacity, the village could net almost ten million shillings
within three years, which is really wonderful and would make a huge difference
in their lives. They’d be able to afford school fees for their children, access
private health services (government clinics are notoriously bad), purchase more
resilient housing materials, and so on. Testing the various contingencies of
the budget made me realize I actually did gain some new skills from agonizing
over cost-benefit analysis spreadsheets in my first semester “Analytical
Frameworks for International Public Policy Decision-Making” class. Go figure. (Thanks,
Professor Gideon.)
Meanwhile,
at the end of the staff meeting, Jannet asked to enter into the official
minutes her congratulations for Moses on becoming a father once again on
Sunday! I knew that Moses’ wife (incidentally, also named Janet) was VERY
pregnant, but I had no idea she was so close to delivering. I didn’t hear
anyone else at work talking about a birth, at least in English, and Moses never
mentioned it yesterday or this morning. This is particularly strange because I
stayed late at the office last night with Moses during a thunderstorm. His kids
kept on coming in to talk to him and/or shyly look at me and wave. I pulled his
daughter Mercy onto my lap to color on my desk while Moses told me the story of
uncovering the circumstances of his father’s death (a story for another post).
His son Daniel kept trying to take the pen so he could draw too. All this
family time and talk, and no mention of a brand new baby. Curious.
Anyway, Janet
lives in a hut behind our office/house with their family and often brings food
to the office (fruit, roasted maize, porridge) or brings me lunch. I’ve never
asked her for this and sometimes I feel guilty taking it because she already
has four children and limited means; I feel bad taking away from her family’s
food, especially because I can so easily buy my own. But my coworkers have told
me that this is her way of making me feel welcome, so it’s ok for me to take
it; in fact, it’s important that I accept it. I’ve been thinking that I should
pay her, but that seems awkward. I mentioned this dilemma to a Peace Corps
volunteer, Rachel, I met in town last week. Rachel suggested bringing
groceries/fresh produce to her instead, and asking her to show me how to cook.
I loved this idea, and actually mentioned it to Janet on Friday. She laughed
and I wasn’t sure if she understood… and then today I found out she was already
having contractions when that conversation took place.
After Moses
and I finished at the maize mill, I asked if I could meet his baby. He led me
to the hut and then disappeared back into the office before I even realized he
was gone. (Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever really seen them interact.
Hardly ever with his kids, either.) Within the hut, which was much more
spacious and bright than I expected, Janet was sitting on the floor, wearing
the same dress she usually does, washing clothes and sheets by hand. If you
didn’t already know she’d just given birth, you’d never be able to tell from
the scene. She got up to get me a chair. SHE, who just gave birth, got ME, a
fully capable individual, a chair. Besides the washing, she also had a pot of
cassava boiling on the charcoal stove in the hut (which gave off lots of smoke,
apparently not of much concern). I asked to see the baby and she brought out a
completely wrapped bundle of blankets with a two-day old boy inside. He has
lots of soft black hair, light brown skin, an impossibly cute chin, and teensy
tiny fingernails. He stayed asleep, stirring a bit, raising one arm above his
head. I held the baby for a while, kvelling and just marveling at his miraculous
tininess and his mom’s strength and energy.
Janet explained
to me and another visitor, Harriet, that she had been in labor for three full
days. Moses, however, was in “the village” (which I think means his home
village, (where I visited a few weeks ago for a traditional marriage ceremony!)
but I’m not sure). Eventually she went to a neighbor for help in getting to the
hospital to deliver, and traveled there by motorcycle. The image of a woman in
labor on the back of a motorcycle is rather astonishingly amazing to me.
Luckily, she made it in time – she was admitted Saturday night and the baby was
born Sunday. Moses did not return until after the baby was born. They still
have not decided on a name.
With all the
latest hoopla back home over whether or not women can have it all, here in
front of me was a Ugandan woman who is right back to running her household
without a moment’s pause. More and more I’ve been thinking that our Western
luxuries have weakened us. We don’t get nearly as much use out of our bodies as
people do here. We rely on machines and technology and external resources,
rather than our own physical selves. Women here strap their babies to their
backs with large pieces of cloth (no strollers), balance significantly large
and heavy items on their heads (no roller bags), and ride a bike (very few
cars) all at the same time. Hand-washing (no washing machines) and hand-grinding
(little pre-processed food) actually take a lot of muscle. Men push massive
loads on bikes, wheelbarrows, you name it. Perhaps it’s just the spaces I
frequent, but I rarely see such demonstrations of brute strength at home. Toddlers
ride on the back rack of bikes, just holding onto the end of the seat. I think
that toddlers might even start walking sooner here, just out of necessity. I’m
not advocating for putting small kids in unsafe situations, but I wonder if we Westerners
tend to coddle children more than is really necessary? Are the material
solutions to our perceived problems actually burdening us even more? Are we
just lazy and looking for excuses? No disrespect at all to any parents out
there, I’m just struck by the self-sufficiency and resourcefulness I’ve seen
here. Interesting contrast to ponder.
I definitely
want to see more of this baby, and I’d like to bring a gift for Janet and Moses.
Any suggestions, readers?
One other highlight of the day came when I started being a Jewish mother to Caxson. He has "flu and cough" and sounds awful. He hadn't eaten anything all day so when another one of Moses' kids brought us lunch, which Janet (wife, not coworker) cooked, I insisted that he eat. I also explained that since my family all works in health and medicine, I feel authorized to dispense medical advice, so I insisted that he take two panadol/tylenol too. After he ate, he said, "Jocelyn, thank you for encouraging me to eat. Otherwise I would have not known that this food is so de-li-ci-ous!" And so I kvelled some more.
Today’s
events ended with a goodbye dinner for Jasmine at the nearby Margharita Palace
Hotel. Under the light of CNN International on the wall-mounted television, we
toasted our Smirnoff Ices and wine to this time we’ve shared in Lira as the
Fletcher Foursome (well, one honorary Fletcherite) and wished her well on the
next phase of her summer adventure.
