Tuesday, October 13, 2009

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

Today I had a meeting with BRAC (Bangladesh Rural Agricultural Coalition) to discuss the possibility of teaming up the Educate! platform with the BRAC microfinance network. Emily and I drove to the BRAC office in Zanna. The office was housed in a beautiful compound off Entebbe Road. Again I have to chuckle that, almost without exception, the nicest office buildings…compounds…vehicles ALWAYS belong to non-profit groups. The other day I saw a “Save The Children” truck that could have bowled over a Sherman tank. It just seems profligate and wasteful and I can understand why certain people have reservations about donating money to these organizations – how much of your contribution goes towards saving children and how much goes towards making a kick-a$$ truck that can wade across the Nile river while communicating to a command post in North America via a satellite telephone mounted to the dashboard?
We were meeting with Sharukh A. the Senior Financial Analyst with BRAC Uganda. He was sort of dismissive towards Emily and I and it doesn’t seem like he wanted to work together. One of those people that starts of a meeting with all the reasons why something cant work instead of outlining all the reasons a partnership would add value. Frustrating.
I came home and was doing some microfinance research when I heard Connie shrieking from outside. “Joeee!!”
I ran outside and she was pulling my clothes off the clothing line as they had JUST finished drying and it was starting to rain.
“If you don’t get them off the line they’ll get wet and then dusty!”
Ha – we tore down all the clothing just in time. Weird to have to deal with the elements when drying clothes. I much prefer dealing with a button that says, “DRY CLOTHES.”
When the rain subsided I went for my daily run. As I was circling around the road, up a hill towards Buziga three kids saw me and raced me up the hill (they narrowly won). It’s such a pleasure to have the kids always running and laughing and shouting when I run. Nice distraction.
The rest of my day was pretty quiet. I spent most of it researching microfinance and trying to make sense of the BRAC meeting.
For dinner I walked across the street to the local Ugandan restaurant. It’s impossible to get any more authentic than this place. I went there alone with the intention to have a nice quiet meal by myself. It didn’t really happen.
Shortly after I ordered my meal (beans, rice, fresh avocado, matoke) I started conversing with the people in the restaurant.
I met Edith (the proprietor), Winifred (the landlord) and Hassan (Winifred’s son), a house painter who wants to be a computer technician. He wanted Educate! to pay for him to go to school. I laughingly told him we weren’t in the business of paying for people to go to technical school.
After my meal was done I turned to Hassan. “Are there any bars around here?”
“You want to go to a bar with me?” He asked.
I nodded.
We walked down the street. “There is a nice place that has TV’s. They play English soccer. You will like it.”
We passed an alley. “That’s where my father died.” He said. To be honest, I am not sure what he meant. I asked him if his father died in that exact spot and he said yes…but there was a language barrier. So…
Again, death is much more a part of life than here in the US. Hassan told me it was very rare to be his age (25) and have both parents. I told him that in the US it was rare NOT to have both parents at 28. It’s a tragedy if a young person in the US doesn’t have both parents. In Uganda its commonplace. Death is a part of the fabric of life.
When we got to the bar we ordered two Nile beers. I paid for them.
“I’m not supposed to drink.” He said.
“Why not?”
“I’m Muslim. It’s forbidden.” He laughed as he slaked down a sip of beer.
“Then why are you drinking?”
“I paint houses. All I do is think all day long. Alcohol makes my mind stop thinking. It allows me to relax. Too much thinking is a bad thing.”
Ha – I know the feeling Hassan.
“I also eat pork.” He laughed. “But I go FAR away from home when I do it.”
“Tisk tisk.”
“ A lot of Muslims do it!” He laughed. “Pork is delicious.”
I told him how the Muslim prayer being blasted over the loudspeakers occasionally wakes me up in the morning. I asked him what the speakers are saying.
“Allah is great! Allah is great! Allah is great!”
Somehow we got onto the topic of life dreams.
“My dream is to live in America!” He said.
‘Why?”
“Because everyone is rich.”
“We’re not all rich.” I laughed. “Some people are successful because they work hard…but American don’t have everything handed to them. There are poor people in America.”
This fact AMAZED him.
“I find it hard to believe there are poor people in America!” He laughed.
“There are!”
“That is so strange.” He said, miffed.
The conversation moved to all the places I’ve travelled. Whenever I recount this to a Ugandan their faces drop in astonishment. Again, I realize how privileged I am.
“Have you ever left Uganda?” I asked.
“Nope.”
That’s a very common answer. Most Ugandans never travel anywhere. Travelling is a privilege, not a necessity.
After a beer we walked back towards Edith’s restaurant.
“Is that the only bar on the street?” I asked. I was curious because I heard music coming from other locations.
“There are local places.” He said. “They serve Ugandan liquor made of fermented plantains. Would you like to try it?”
“No thanks.” I didn’t think my stomach could handle that.
We walked by a local bar and a man, drinking the local brew, came out. His eyes were wild and he slurred when he spoke. He was drunk as a skunk, as my grumpa would have said.
He shook my hand and wouldn’t let go. “HOW ARE YOU SIRRRR??” He kept saying loudly. I smelled the drink in his hand. Wow – pretty sure that alcohol could moonlight as paint thinner.
The guy was starting to annoy me, but he was drunk and I didn’t want to make him mad. After a few minutes I excused myself. I picked up the items I’d left at Edith’s, paid my bills 2,400 USH ($1.2 USD) and went home.