Dog-eat-dog

Having a hard time today. Being white and female cages me in much more than my free spirit would prefer. I went to Café Javas for an expensive cup of sanity and the familiar and I went alone. The security officer who checked my vehicle at the gate commented on my being alone, “You are alone?!”

“Yes, Thank you.”

“This is not safe,” he commented. “You need protection. I will protect you.”

Why did I have to say this but I did, “I will protect myself. Trust me. (Withering stare)”

For one, I am having a hard time with the way income is up and down and down down down, most of the time. Before I got here, I knew Stephen’s income was about $800/month. When I got here it dropped to $500/month. Now, it is $300/month. To me, it feels like the free market economy is blown completely wide open here, without stabilization buffers. 5% of the population is employed at an 8-5 job. The rest are running their own business and are in direct competition with each other to sell goods or services. Everyone is always in a mad scramble on a daily basis for getting their next meal. Income from one source dips and one must be agile enough to go and madly chase it from another source. If you are too kind. If you are not fierce, you will be crushed by the crowd.

I can’t track how the money comes in and goes. People here find it hard to keep an account of cash-flow in and out. I have a choice to either work together with Stephen on budget, which seems extremely hard for him and me because I rarely like what I find out in those discovery moments. OR I could simply make demands for what I want/need on a day-to-day and leave the how and where the money comes from to him (that seems like an undue burden on him). OR I could simply find my own source of income and skip thinking about what contributions I will get from him toward daily expenses.

In this struggle, I feel like I am constantly running into a barrier of a particular sort. Stephen has an extreme dedication to helping others and toward working for the benefit of his entire family and toward things he deems a project worthy of investment. When I am not here and sometimes even when I am here he will dedicate his whole day, forfeit breakfast, lunch and evening meal to making it happen. He will collapse late late at the end of the day and eat a small snack before falling into his bed and rising the next morning to do it all again. In that crazy cycle it is hard for me not to feel like I am the last investment on the list. Living in America, while he was in Uganda for the first 4 years of our marriage did not help him get a true feel of the absolute need I have for him to provide for our family’s well-being.

Aside: That cup of coffee/sanity cost $2. On a $300/month income it was 0.67% of my income.

The poor people.

I didn’t enter Africa on a mission trip or some other humanitarian outreach. I came with my husband, which puts me in an entirely different experience. In some ways it feels like I’m coming through the back door. I’m held at arms length—there’s fear and intimidation under the polite greetings. I came with my own limitations and needs. I didn’t come holding a banner saying, “Free help for all,” or “get saved here.” So, naturally people wonder and have no category under which to receive me and neither do I. Somehow that puts me through the back door and I see things the mission trips and delegates don’t see. The stories I cite below are just a small sampling of what I have seen so far. There are many more I've heard and encountered like them. If I would write them all out, they would fill 20 pages.

What worries me is the distinct difference between the poor people I see and the poor people I have heard about. I see the poor people and I wonder if I am seeing the same poor people as the ones who are seen on mission trips and humanitarian outreach. This is not some trumped up right wing monologue about how the poor are poor because they have done it to themselves or that they are poor because they are lazy. I never take that position. There are those who are genuinely poor because they are caught on the bottom side of a macroeconomic cycle. There are children, hundreds of them here who by no choice of theirs suffer from their parents’ choices or simply suffer the situation they were born into. For the powerless, I feel empathy and compassion. But mostly I don’t see or interact with these women and children. I see the people my husband interacts with and does business with. I see the people he works with and helps and quite frankly, I’m not so impressed.

Slowly, over the years, I have gotten the back-story on this or that person. There is the “cousin” who some years ago approached my husband about buying a taxi for him so he could make an income and make Stephen a profit as well. In concept it sounded good I’m sure but after financing this thing Stephen discovered the cousin was regularly loaning out the taxi to a third party for enough money to drink himself silly for the day. Meanwhile the third party would drive the taxi into the ground or into another vehicle so that it needed to sit in a repair shop for the next week all financed by the guess who—not the guys who did it! Everyone on the road knows to avoid taxis at all costs because the guys driving them are mere patsies who run when a serious incident occurs which implicates them, which makes for some horrible driving conditions because 50% of the vehicles on the road are taxis, who don’t care if they get into an accident. So, there is one system and rules which makes one person responsible for 3 people’s negligent behavior in the process toward the 3 people getting an income.

There is another relative who needed to make an income and wanted to have Stephen finance a brood of chickens for him. This involved building a chicken house but Stephen decided to build it on his own property so that at least he could retain the structure if all did not go well. Incidentally, one brood of chickens was raised and sold, after that not one coin was repaid to the financer nor was there ever another chicken raised.

There were some poor farmers “renting” the inheritance land in my husband’s family. They had been paying ground rent reluctantly for some years. But recently there had been interest in mining the area. The renters struck it big when they made a deal with the miners to turn their field into a miners quarry. The miners paid this poor farmer an equivalent of 40 million shillings for the privilege to mine. But when it came down to paying for ground rent to his landlord or even notifying the landlord that his property was being completely destroyed, the poor farmer couldn’t seem to cough up a single coin anymore. Although, one could point out that he was able to pay rent when he farmed. There were hints of a rumor going around about how he sat with the local council and police force and they all agreed how much of a cut/bribe every important person in the local community was supposed to get. (So, it may be a combination of 1,3,4 and 6 below).

So, the question is always, what happened to the money that was earned? Often it disappears into thin air. My main concern is, what happened to the wife and children of the guy who handled the money? If you go to the village of the poor farmer, you will see others like him who have raked in just as much income or more. You will see their children and wives dressed in the same tattered, dirty clothes every day. You will see their lives have not improved much or at all.

Truth is I’m not sure what to think. I’m not sure what has happened to the money. I know I have just become quite a lot more skeptical about those doing the business deals and handling the money.

I’ve heard numerous back-stories behind where the money went. They range from mere vice to the ridiculous. Here’s the start to a list.

1. It disappeared at the local tavern.
2. It got distributed amongst the locals in last night’s gambling match.
3. It truly got stolen by someone. This happens way more often than it does in the US. Someone gets wind of the funds someone else is carrying. A gang of guys shows up with machetes to relieve him of his life savings. This might actually contribute to the “spend cash now” mentality because if you keep it, you will be relieved of it.
4. Someone swindled it. It’s a dog-eat-dog world where instead of watching television, people entertain themselves by creating live soap operas, involving all the intrigue and deception.
5. Ghosts came and stole it.
6. Not sure if this is ever a cited reason but the guy has 3 wives and 23 children. Wives and children tend to survive without income from the male species that sometime chooses to neglect or abandon.
7. An employee mishandled the money. My husband has repeatedly had a whole month’s worth of income disappear because an employee has either stolen it or was negligent and had it stolen from them.
8. Bad investment. I’m told of the story of a few family cousins who have repeatedly sold family property to someone else—including the very property under their relatives’ own homes. They get a down payment from someone and then disappear when title transfers are scheduled to take place.

The rampant taking of things one did not work for seems somehow involved in making people poor. Because somehow the taker in his taking becomes schooled in taking again and again. He creates a shortage in the life of the one he unexpectedly takes from, Sometimes the shortage is so severe, the one he steals from is completely ruined. The taker learns no work ethic. He does not encounter the value of a thing, through working for it. He begins a pattern for himself that has no positive consequences and creates expense in the lives of those he takes from. A farmer understands the value of work because he is consistently rewarded with harvest for work put into the ground. But here, I have known of farmers who have cut down their mango tree to save a crop of corn. The mango tree was like a pot of sweet irresistible bait for the entire village, who came to feast at the tree in a young cornfield. So, the farmer cut down the tree to save the corn. 

Greed and poverty. The two usually go hand in hand. Where-ever one finds extreme poverty, one also finds an intense amount of greed in the house next door. Greed causes the poverty and destruction of one's neighbor. Sometimes it destroys one's own family.

While I was in the US. I rarely had to worry about having things stolen from me. Most people have the same sorts of things and don't covet another person's stuff. That is the beauty of the middle class. Here, unless you have absolutely nothing, what you have more than likely will be taken from you. The maid we had, before she was relieved of her duties went through the house and took the things she most coveted, a phone battery, my husband's hair brush, little stuff which didn't matter too much. But I've noticed even the relatives come to your house and take this or that or go into you wallet and take a bill or two. But then there is the big stuff people take: land. I have never heard of so much land grabbing and stories of deceit and theft and ruin, and murder, with respect to land grabbing.

Thoughts on the destruction of a community.

I'm a chemist. I remember well the warnings my chemistry professors gave me on Mercury toxicity. They even told of a fellow professor who was working in the lab with a component of Mercury and had later been diagnosed with Mercury poisoning. Unfortunately, the period for treatment had passed and the professor died due to his exposure.

Mercury poisoning is extremely toxic because even parts per billion are lethal and destroy entire communities. Here is one article about detection in the human body as well as symptoms.

https://labtestsonline.org/understanding/analytes/mercury/tab/test/

The following article is about reducing environmental impact by reducing concentrations of mercury in aqueous solutions. It also touches on airborne contaminants.

http://www.nist.gov/tip/wp/pswp/upload/137_aqueous_phase_mercury_removal_strategies.pdf

This is merely the tip of the iceberg. Social, economic, communal and environmental concerns are daunting at this point in this micro-situation which seems to mirror all the other micro-situations of artisan mining in Africa and Asia.

Ultimately, I stand by helpless watching from a distance as a community embraces its own destruction gleefully. Joyfully. Somehow, it smacks of perfect evil, of greed.

I spoke with a young man from the community who is originally from the community pictured here. He has his degrees and is employed by an organization that monitors oil companies across Uganda, who are drilling for oil, ensuring that they do not destroy native habitat in the process of extracting oil. I asked him about this new development in his community. He responded, "Yes my father is a leader in this community and the caretaker of this property. But I am but a child in the eyes of my people and they would only say I am trying to keep them from gaining any wealth should I protest in any way at all about the artisan mining."

What does one solitary person do to stand up against the crush of a whole village of extremely eager people as well as more powerful greedy people stand waiting to exploit those people?

Documenting the destruction of a community.

Aqueous mercury baths emptied to run down the hillside into the swampy areas of the community.

A barefoot child carrying harvest walks through the path of waste drainage.

The ore that everyone is stumbling over to get their hands on the profits.

Panning in pools of aqueous mercury.

A shanty town of services supporting the miners has erupted overnight. The small rural population of farmers now supports 20,000+ extra people. As of now, the locals clasp their hands in glee as they speak of their good fortune and grab any piece of residual wealth they can get from the flow of capital. Who is to blame them, poor as they have been?

Carrying the burden of wealth.

Drama.

There is one thing Ugandans like a lot that Stephen and I try to measure our exposure to. I’m sure if it were the right kind of drama, we would get involved like everyone else but for now, I’ve asked Stephen to distance himself from especially the family drama.

For example, one Sunday, I warily sent Stephen off to a “family meeting” which was supposed to start at 10 am but he didn’t arrive till noon. At 3:30 pm he was still there and at 9:00 pm I began to worry whether somebody had gotten killed in an altercation. The topic of the meeting was to present to extended family the things the 3 uncles had been working on with respect to business and establishing the Family Foundation. The Family Foundation’s intent is to instead of chopping up the family inheritance into 3 then 100 different pieces, they keep it conjoined and run the properties as a company.

Now the 3 uncles have come into some potentially lucrative operations and these meetings have come to be attended very heavily by cousins and extended family. The 3 uncles are still alive and carry the burden of decisions and Stephen is involved because he is helping them actualize their ambitions. Stephen loves to build things, organizations, foundations, business ventures, etc. He would do this for free for the rest of his life if he could and he’d be happy as a clam but it isn’t really conducive to raising a family, when the bread winner runs around doing things for people for free during working hours.

The meeting was well attended because people had gotten wind of the potentially lucrative operations. It got really exciting as the kids to these 3 men and those of the 2 deceased men jumped up and demanded a share of their inheritance with passion and conviction. They accused those working on the project of stealing from them. They made impassioned suggestions and shared their expert opinions—everyone trying to outdo the other in demonstrating their contribution through lip service.

Eventually people just left the meeting. I didn’t go because it would have been a waste of time, since it was all in Lluganda and the translator would have been sure to forget he/she was translating for me. My wedding details were decided in this manner. Eventually, I simply told my husband, “look whoever is paying for this or that decision, may make the decisions on that detail.” Eventually, we made the decisions on pretty much all the details.”

So, the drama continues. Let it continue as long as it doesn’t distract me from my work, I say. Even a few days ago, I was the driver, taking my twins and a van load of drama story telling men out to the property of interest, to serve court summons to people who didn’t want to pay rent to their landlords. They were serving eviction summons to men who were not too poor to pay rent but rather too greedy to pay a portion of their incredible profits to the landholders, who’s land they were definitely destroying in the process of profiting. Very involved story behind that one. Oh, the stories I could tell. Stories of intrigue and passion and demons and spirits and poisonings and bewitchings.

Broken Bread

I had a win this morning. One twin comes to me with a broken bread--a major offense, usually resulting in a meltdown and refusal to eat the offensive pieces of broken bread. I told her to come here and open her mouth. In mock horror, I told her I found broken bread in there. Then I pretended to look into her tummy and told her I found broken bread in there too. Since she loves jokes and fun, she laughed and ate her broken bread.

Mobility means adventures.

So, now that we have a car, we can go on adventures, right!? Husband came home, Wednesday of last week at about noon saying, “Get dressed! We are buying a car today and you are driving.”

Yeah! My house arrest is over! Yeah I get to drive where there doesn't appear to be any traffic laws.

It is essentially a work vehicle which will take Stephen to all the places he needs to go to manage this or that project/business/whatever. Managing the family property in Bukuya now requires another level of scrutiny, so, ease of movement has become much more necessary.

Only, one small issue. I am the only one with a drivers license. Here we drive on the left side of the road. Driver’s controls all switched around. So, I have to drive in this madness. Saturday, I experienced the range of madness that exists out there. There is Kampala and Jinja Road that leads from Kampala. This road is traffic jam central. Then there is the road that runs from Kaligi to Mukuno. My husband’s home and gardens are on this road as well as one of his businesses. This road is paved but very dangerous because since it was paved the edges of the road have receded and broken off, many places have deep ravines you could fall into and the road itself is only wide enough for one car to pass in many places. Additionally, it is heavily used by cars, motorcycles, bicycles and pedestrians. Then there is the road from Mukuno to Kisoga and Katosi. It is not paved. However, there is currently a company working on constructing a paved road through there. On Saturday we drove all these roads.

When I drive I have to get Stephen to tell me what the traffic laws are in the moment. It’s been quite the married life experience. On the road from Mukuno to Katosi after a rain, I’m driving through a stretch that has been flattened by the construction company and it is simply a wide stretch of slick red mud.

Stephen tells me, “drive in the middle of the road” I look at this span and respond, “Where is the middle? It all looks like the middle.”

On the way back from Mukono to Kaligi, after an excellent dinner at a neat, nice place with wide open spaces and freshly washed windows--This feels amazing in a place where grit and dirt and dust are the norm—Stephen tells me, “I’m going to drive the Mukono to Kaligi Road.” The cops aren’t out and somebody who knows the road should drive it in the dusk/dark. I was relived and happily took the passenger’s seat and buckled everyone in. Then he started driving that road. Naturally Stephen is trying to avoid a head on collision on the right, while a train of cars drive with their brights on. On the left side, where I am sitting, I see the pavement end and a ravine approaching me head on. I scream brace my arms and legs and we bounce hard into a pothole. Then there is the motorcycle we are about to hit and the guy on a bicycle who is barely visible next to the blinding headlights of oncoming traffic.

The twins are in the back, “Mommy, why you screaming? Mommy, you scared? It’s really bumpy.”

Sorry girls, “Mommy just scared. It’s okay. Sorry, honey. I’ll relax and just let you drive.”

Only problem is that I wasn’t drunk nor did I close my eyes. Not even 2 minutes later…I’m screaming again.

The next ravine approached, this one was much deeper and I screamed again as there is this terrible thud and a long, horrible scraping noise, as we come off the road completely and land in somebody’s grassy yard. Somehow we avoided the cycles and the people or they avoided us.

I’m panting. My heart is pounding. And Stephen is getting out of the car and telling me that I am going to drive. I agree. I get out and the car doesn’t appear to be broken. I had to calm down a bit before pulling out on the road again and obviously something was wrong. We pulled off again on a fat muddy space in front of a dark building and realize we have a flat tire. We assess the situation and realize our new to us minivan’s back hatch-back door doesn’t open and the nut to release the spare tire is in that door frame and we don’t have a jack. Otherwise, I was getting the tools out to get this done. So, Stephen took a motorcycle back to Mukono to get a mechanic to help us. The mechanic brought his own jack and worked through the issues. We examined the tire and there was a 2 inch tear in the sidewall of the tire.

What did this cost? I saw money coming out of the wallet left right and center but was afraid to ask.

Dinner for 4: 28,000 UGX = $8.50

What the mechanic said he was charging for the job when Stephen got him at the shop: 3,000 UGX = $ 1

What the mechanic charged after he found a Muzungo in the car: 11,000 UGX = $3.34

Lesson learned: priceless

We proceeded down the road much more cautiously. I told Stephen, “I don’t care how slow people think I am, I prefer that to an accident, someone killed, a fine or a broken car. Because all that is a whole lot more expensive and terrible. We are lucky that we just had a flat. Also, we are not going to drive this road at night until we are seasoned at driving it during the day. And we need to take defensive driving lessons.