Weeraba - "Bye"

While I would like to blame my lack of blog posts to the recent death of my computer or to the fact that I am in the process of writing the longest paper I have ever written, the real reason is probably more due to the fact that I have not been as deeply reflective as I was through most of this program. Maybe I burned myself out spending too much time in my own head. Or maybe I’ve just become so accustomed to my life here. It’s really too bad that I feel so at home now, two weeks before I leave. But then again, maybe that is why I am able to forget my homesickness and enjoy those things around me.

Now, I choose to go back to my aquaintance from a previous post, my dear pen pal, Shamim, who I got to see for the last time this weekend, which was also my last visit to my homestay.

On my walk into Natete to see my homestay, I greeted Shamim and her friends and family with a photobook of my homestate, Kentucky, as well as a child’s English dictionary. The gifts were eagerly received, though I honestly felt that the eagerness had little to do with the physical gifts, as the broad smiles and bounding exhuberance preceded the opening of my duffle bag. Shamim and her mother picked out a few of the pears I love so much and I couple of carrots from the stand, which I received with the humblest of “thank-yous” – weebale. Then, Shamim and her friend escorted me a ways down the street. I think I was just as proud and happy to have them as my entourage as they were to have me.

Two days later, I am stopped on my walk back before I even reach Shamim’s plot. Her mother had spotted me from wherever she was at the time and had chased me down the street. At first I was annoyed to hear someone following me, repeating “Muzungu,” before I turned around and recognized Shamim’s mother. My annoyance disapated and all I felt was joy at seeing her face. Shamim’s mother walked me to their plot, chatting away in Luganda as if we were old friends. I only caught maybe every sixth word that she said, but I picked up on enough clues to laugh at all the appropriate places, and that’s really what conversations are all about.

Shamim and friends came running out as soon as they were called, and I embraced all four of them in a warm group-hug. I don’t really remember what words were said, which were in Luganda and which were in English; the circumstance was evident. They knew this was my last walk past their plot and they were ready with a send-off most fitting and humbling.

The fruitstand was closed for Sunday, but while I was greeting the children, Shamim’s mother pulled out from a container by her house, a plastic back full of pears, carrots, and tomatoes. Each one of them looked as though they had been hand-picked for their ripeness and perfection. To make way for the bulging bag of produce and to try to compensate for my woefully inadequate supply of gifts, I pulled out my fleece sleeping blanket and handed it to Shamim. I was thankful that I had barely used the blanket and that it was still in nearly new condition. My gift was relatively inferior to theirs, but I had a feeling that Shamim and her mother were not concerned with what the gifts were, but about the interaction they afforded.
Taking my hand in hers, Shamim and I walked towards the taxi which would take me back to the hostel, and in less than two weeks time, home.

Conducting Research in Uganda

For those of you reading who are considering going into research in Uganda, or a similar African country, or those of you merely interested in what such a experience might be like, let me provide you with a bit of personal insight I have learned thus far about setting up interviews in Kampala. Of course a lot of this advice is common sense and much of this applies to conducting interviews in general.

Transportation

Since I am a student only here for a few months (and I have no burning desire to die anytime soon), I obviously have no means of personal transportation. I am at the mercy of Kampala taxis (and the occasional boda boda, motorcycle). Public transport is cheap, constant and usually takes at least three times of going where you want before you find any sort of efficient route. This poses a problem for interviews done any place outside of home or school, which is every interview. One of the leading problems could be the fact that there are very few known street names in Kampala and fewer known addresses.

So here’s what you do: go to a main taxi stage (which for me takes one to three taxis and a bit of a trek), ask someone standing around for the neighborhood you want to go to, get off somewhere in that neighborhood and walk around asking boda boda drivers for the particular building or organization you are looking for. Now this could take anywhere from forty-five minutes to four hours, which leads to the next problem:

Time

For your first interview, you want to make a good impression, so you want to be a few minutes early. No need to be too early, you most likely won’t start you interview till at least 30 minutes after the allotted time, if your interviewee is particularly punctual. Of course, since this is your first interview, you may very well have no idea where the hell your going, so you must make time for getting lost, and for being in a location much further than you had ever anticipated. For my first two interviews I ended up arriving an hour and a half before my appointment time.

You may have an idea of how long your interview should last, but your interviewee may have a very different idea. In the few interviews I have had, they have turned more into a mini-lecture series where I have had to actually ask very few questions, with the interviewee taking the reins. Be prepared to be interrupted by at least one phone call, which could be a member of Parliament or someone’s mother. Both phone calls will be answered with equal importance.

An hour seems to be an acceptable amount of time to discuss issues with authority figures, but it is critical to make sure you get contact info from them. You may want a followup interview or merely ask for a few clarifications over the phone. Speaking of...

Communication

Many people have email addresses, few people use them as a means of rapid communication.

If you want to get ahold of someone, phones are the best way. Of course they come with their own set of problems, particularly as an American in Uganda. Though phone service is excellent here, the actual connection is not always the clearest. An in addition to usually having to shout over the noise pollution of the city, it is always a struggle of accents when a non-Ugandan is speaking to a Ugandan. More so than already necessary in face-to-face interactions, one must repeat over and over again. Yes or no questions are best. Of course, you pay as you go, so it’s very common to be cut off in the middle of a sentence. Top Up cards are everywhere to be found but it’s a good idea to keep a few thousand shillings of minutes with you just incase you run out in the middle of making a critical appointment.

If someone is calling you, they may just “flash” you, which means that they will call you, let it ring once, and promptly hang up. No charge to them, and now you have to call them back in order to satisfy your curiosity, since there are no answering machines to be heard of.

In an anomalous switch from the usually time-indifferent culture of Kampala, phone conversations are short and to the point. Time is money. Since most people pay as they go, you can expect all phone calls to be kept as short as possible. Do not be offended by blunt conversations or mid-sentence hang-ups, though you should avoid both. Also, if you are making an appointment, be ready with your pen and calendar before you call. A typical conversation could go like this:

“Hello Honorable Member of Parliament, my name is Kelly Allen, I am a student from the United States conducting research and I would like the opportunity to interview you.”
“Fine, how about this Thursday at 3:00”
“Fine, thank you”
THE END

Making Appointments

Flexibility is key. Also, it’s a good idea to call in the mornings, especially because many times the person will ask you to come in that very afternoon. For this reason, interviewing can be a bipolar experience of unpredicted successes and utter failures. You may trek across town for three hours for an appointment you made a week ago only to find out that the person has left the country and that there is no record of your appointment. This can sometimes mean that an entire day is wasted. On the other hand, you may walk into an official organization without introduction or appointment and get to meet the director that very day.

Typical (for Kampala) and other possible reasons an interview may be called off:
the person has left town, or the country
any sort of family issue
funeral
public holiday you may or may not have ever heard of
riots
sickness
it’s raining

Of course you may also never receive an explanation. Always call ahead if you can and try to keep a back-up plan for the day, which could be reading backup literature or going to an organization which does not require an appointment. Also, whenever you are at an organization or an institution, whether you meet with your intended person or not, always ask if there is someone else there who would be willing to speak with you. You don’t want to waste any opportunity you have while you are on-site.

So this is what I have gotten from my first meetings. I am sure I will have many more fun examples and additional words of wisdom in the coming three weeks in which I am to finish this research paper.

The Undefined Minority

“We are bats: we don’t look like birds, but we have wings”
- Mr. David Wangode, Founder of Nazigo Albino Association


See if you can follow the crazy degrees of separation:

In researching “Albinos in Uganda,” I repeatedly come across the name of a Mr. David Wangode, who founded and runs the Nazigo Albino Association, but I can’t find any website or contact information of any kind.
Next, I happen upon the website of a Norwegian woman raising funds to benefit non other than Mr. Wangode’s organization. This website does have contact information. I email a woman in Norway, who gives me the contact information for the man in Uganda (Mr. Wangode), who gives my information to his counterpart, Robert, who is actually located in Kampala.

So on Monday I meet Robert.
Robert:“I’ll wear an orange shirt and blue jeans, so you can find me.” (Robert is not an Albino) “What will you wear?”
Me: “I think you’ll be able to spot me pretty easily”

Robert meets me at the Stanbic bank with a warm smile and a welcoming hug.
We walk across the street to loiter in a restaurant for a few minutes, ignoring the sign quite obviously telling us not to.

“So you want to meet David?”
“Yes, of course”
“But he does not live in Kampala, we have to travel about 40 minutes away”
“That’s fine” - What I am saying in my head is, “I’ll walk there all day if I have to, just get me in contact with this guy”
“When can you go?”
Hmmm, I figured from the few times I had talked to Robert before that we would be going today. It’s technically a holiday (Easter Monday) so the likelihood that I could do anything else today is slim. But I understand that I need to be flexible.
“Anytime this week is fine”
“How about Tomorrow?”
“Yes, fine...”
“Actually, I was hoping maybe we could go today?”
“Today is fine!”
“Ok, we go”
And we did. Just like that, my day was planned: 2 hours in a taxi with Robert and I had one interview down. Robert filled me in on David’s Nazigo Albino Organization and what he knows about Albinism in general. By the time we reached Nazigo, I was already prepped with my background info to start interviewing Mr. Wangode.
-Pause-
Occasionally throughout this process of setting up the meeting and getting on a taxi out to rural Uganda, I realize how un-American and un-Kelly Allen this whole day has become. I would never dream of doing this in the United States. I’m not sure what it is, but I am not made uncomfortable at all by the situation. I trust wholeheartedly that these people are who they say they are and that their intentions are honest. I know my parents are probably not going to be to pleased with this knew M.O. of mine, but the only excuse I have right now is: TIA, and more to the point: This Is African Reasearch.
-Resume-
We reach Mr. Wangode’s home by boda boda (yet another stray from rational, overly-cautious Kelly) down a long dirt path.
Robert addresses the kids in the front yard: “Taata eri wa?” (Where’s your father?)
One points inside.
The kids are standing around in doorways and beside walls. They stare at us with mild interest behind bashful countenances. The chickens in the yard are much more bold - fully taking advantage of the free range. Later I would learn the importance of the chickens in this homestead. Poultry farming is one profession that can be done from within doors, a necessary criteria for a healthy, "Albino" profession.

Mr. Wangode finally comes out to greet us. He is wearing a wide-brimmed hat and long-sleeved shirt to protect his melanin-less skin. I shake his hand, making sure to politely place my left hand over my right arm, (a custom I picked up in Ghana, which seems to be pretty common all over Africa). Both David and Robert are enthused by my use of the Luganda greetings. We enter the home laughing and begin the interview easily, as both Robert and David are fluent in English.

-Pause-
It was only after the interview that I realized how comfortable I was in Mr. Wangode’s house. He had no door or windows to speak of, only sheets to keep out the late-day sun. His roof was made of tin, his floor of cement and his living room was only sparsely decorated with a calendar and a few posters of African leaders. In the first month of being in Uganda, I would have looked at this house and pitied its inhabitants. Today, I saw a modest but perfectly acceptable family home, and I felt no patronizing sense of pity toward its owner. The lack of a tile roof or glass windows no longer signify helpless poverty, but merely the fact that the weather hear does not necessitate their presence and that this family has bigger priorities.
A chicken ducks under a sheet and into the next room - Mr. Wangode’s “home office”
-Resume-
Mr. Wangode tells me his own story of being an Albino in Uganda. About how his mother was given an ultimatum by her husband: “If you want this marriage to continue, you will kill this child.” David’s mother refused. She had carried the child for 9 months, and she had birthed it through the agonizing pains of labour. She made the decision many women in her situation don’t have the courage to do - she chose not to kill her Albino child.

David went on to tell me how he founded the Nazigo Albino Organization as a group to help organize and give voice to this “special race” within his community. He also told me of how much more must be done, of how many more people are out there who need help. The government has deemed his a “noble cause” and has labeled Albinos “disabled,” but has shrugged off any responsibility for them, declaring that there simply isn’t room for them in the budget. This is a population estimated to be around 190,000 in Uganda according the the Uganda Albino Association.

For the next 4 weeks, I will be researching persons with Albinism in Uganda and where they stand under Human Rights laws internationally, regionally, and domestically. If my theory is correct, Albinos represent a group of persons as yet undefined and therefore left extremely vulnerable