A Dinner of Mangoes
An Canadian MBA student's account of attempting to build a social business in Uganda, Africa.
Sunday, 30 June 2013
Thursday, 23 August 2012
CAPACITY: THE CASE FOR SOLAR ENERGY IN UGANDA
Very few Ugandans are connected to the electrical grid; only
8% of Ugandans, the majority in Kampala, are connected. In rural areas, 95% of
people live without electricity. Biomass (wood, charcoal) make up 93% of total energy
supply, and 3% is generated via one hydroelectric dam at Jinja. The Jinja dam
is the only source, aside from small scale generators, of electricity in the
country. Electricity blackouts are frequent and last for a few minutes to several
days. Ugandans, witnessing the consistent disrepair of the electrical grid and
the inability of the government to resolve the problems of energy access,
staged massive protests in the spring of 2011 leaving nine dead and hundreds
arrested.
During the frequent blackouts that occur in Northern Uganda, people resort to using personal generators, like this one. They are loud, create a lot of exhaust, and are very expensive to maintain. |
Burning kerosene and charcoal brings with it a myriad of
health problems. The World Bank estimates that smoke inhalation from indoor
cooking is the equivalent of smoking two packs of cigarettes a day. Through
anecdotal evidence collected via numerous interviews with village women, it is
suggested that everyone using a kerosene lamp or cooking with charcoal will
burn themselves at least once, often several times, as the scars on arms and
hands can attest. Smoke exposure also causes eye diseases, and reading at night
to the light of a kerosene lamp is a major cause of damaged vision leading to
blindness, as the light is often extremely dim. Interviews with local villagers
also suggest that property damage is common for people using flame-based lamps;
most interview participants said that they had themselves or knew of someone
who had destroyed their home due to fire. Premature death caused due to people trapped inside burning homes is a less common, but an especially dire result of using
these antiquated lighting and cooking techniques.
Deriving energy from kerosene and charcoal also limits what
off-grid Ugandans can consume. You cannot run a radio with kerosene; leaving
off-grid (mainly rural residents) vastly underserved and under informed. Radio
is the most prevalent form of information dissemination in Uganda, leaving
rural areas particularly vulnerable to information disparity. A second
limitation affecting education is that rural students cannot study at night if
there is no light. Rural students fall behind their urban counterparts, leading
to a future of missed opportunities and potentially a continuation of the
poverty that has affected their parents.
The cost of kerosene and charcoal must be measured in
Ugandan shillings, but also in time spent accessing these resources. Again,
village residents are disadvantaged as they have to travel longer distances
than their urban counterparts to purchase fuel. Through interviews, women
confessed that they use kerosene and charcoal several times a day, and often
make a daily trip into town. Kerosene sells at Ugandan shillings 30,500 for one litre.
Charcoal sells at Ugandan shillings 25,000 for a large bag that may last a few weeks.
Ugandans have adopted the cell phone as the means of
communication and banking of choice, mirroring the cell phone’s popularity in
other developing countries. Disruption of cell phone access is a risk; in
Ugandan villages, cell phones are often the sole banking access route. To
recharge cell phones, villagers must trek into urban areas and often leave
their device at the service station for two days. This increases incidental
costs such as time spent getting to town, as well as the price of fuel or
transport.
What does this mean? The environmental impact of millions of
Ugandans burning charcoal and kerosene is twofold; the deforestation resulting
in charcoal production increases CO2 levels by emitting CO2 into the atmosphere
as well as reducing the forested area that captures the CO2. The present state
of Uganda’s energy system means that productivity is very low. The latent
potential in all rural Ugandans is also unexploited; energy disparity only
aggravates the growing urban/rural educational divide.
A substantial advantage lies in Uganda’s year-round,
consistent 12-hours of direct sunshine due to the country’s position on the
equator. Taking advantage of this abundant resource is the logical answer to
the country’s problematic energy situation. Providing a solar energy solution
would solve many problems, ranging from health and well-being of people and
communities, to reducing the environmental impact caused by the millions
burning charcoal and kerosene. Solar energy distribution can also create
business opportunities for the upstart entrepreneur or village savings group, providing
much needed income to people who often live on less than $2 a day. Giving
villagers the possibility to earn money means they have a vested interest in
keeping the business running, ensuring sustainability.
Sub-Saharan Africa is home to approximately 590 million
people who live without connection to the national electric grid. Most of the
off-grid population use fossil-based fuels or charcoal; this method is
dangerous to the user’s health, is highly polluting, and demands constant
operational costs. A safe, affordable, durable solution that is also good for
the environment is required. Solar lamps and cell phone chargers provide this
solution.
Developing profitable, self-sustaining, solar-based small
businesses has the ability to give much-needed income to entrepreneurs desiring
financial freedom and self-respect. Developing business-based solutions to
pressing social problems in a Ugandan context requires creativity and
non-conventional thought. The Ugandan market presents a vast number of underserved
consumers; a solar energy distribution project is one way to address the
problem of energy inaccessibility.
Thursday, 19 July 2012
PHOTO ESSAY- Moonshine!
Communities in Uganda are resilient, and make a living through a
myriad of ways. One way is through distilling alcohol. The “Starch Factory
Savings Group”, one of my VSLAs, earns money through making “waraji”- otherwise
known as “unity”. (It is true that
alcohol makes the people come together!) Backyard distilling can be an easy way
to make money, but it is most definitely dangerous. People here are often
injured or even killed when the oil drum, used to create the alcohol vapour,
explodes due to the intense heat.
The “Starch Factory” Savings Group poses for a photo outside their
village.
Here Nancy shows me how to make “waraji”. In the small read pail
is a mixture of sugar, water, and yeast. The large bucket holds cold water to
cool the alcohol vapour. The yellow jerry can holds the final, purified
product. Legend says it is so strong it can make you blind.
The nearly pure alcohol vapours make their way from the oil drum,
down the steel tube that runs through a bucket of cold water, where it
liquefies. It is filtered and then put into the yellow jerry can. Too bad the
can is often filthy inside, rendering the entire purification process useless.
Several members live in huts made of mud bricks with rooftops made
of thatched spear grass.
Nancy- proud of her work! The market of this product is huge and
is very lucrative. Nancy sells directly to distributers who package it in small
baggies, much like kids’ juice bags. These baggies litter the ground pretty
much everywhere.
A member’s house in Lira.
A member’s small business selling beans by the roadway.
Cows rule! I was told that cows are often left to their own
devices and can almost always make it back to their “home” on their own. These
cosmopolitan cows have a diet of grass, chapatti (flat bread), and corn.
The yeast-water-sugar mixture is left to ferment and then boiled
in the large oil drum. The drum is heated to high temperatures using large logs
for an entire day. This is risky work, as many people are burned whilst
distilling as the drum sometimes explodes due to the temperatures and overuse
of the drum.
The final step in the process sees tiny droplets of alcohol pass
through cotton filter and then into the jerry can. The sales of the “waraji”
help the savings group increase their collective savings, and in turn,
purchases livestock, sewing machines, and tools. These purchases then lead to
larger savings. A virtuous circle begins from an “unvirtuous” source.
PHOTO ESSAY: How to eat dried ants!
A local delicacy and definitely an acquired
taste, dried white ants pack a powerful protein punch! I had the pleasure of
witnessing the bug buffet as it was being prepared. Bon appétit!
First, Walaria tosses the ants onto a concrete
slab to let them dry in the sun. After several tosses, the wings fall off.
(Yes, that mass of brown on the cement is actually thousands of ants.)
The ants are left
for several hours in the sun to dry.
See that mound? It’s actually an ant hill measuring roughly four feet high. At
dawn or in the evening, a villager will dig a small hole into the side of the
hill, calling the ants to defend their territory. Thousands of winged ants will
come pouring out of the hole in a vain attempt to attack the intruder, only to
be swept into a net placed shrewdly at the opening.
With each toss, more and more white ant wings
fall, littering the ground like cherry blossoms in the late spring.
What a smile! (And what large hands!!!)
Once dried, the ants are fried in oil, and then
heavily salted.
Perfect snack for the super bowl.
Bernardo, my colleague, told me the ants taste
like fried salmon skin.
The after-eating-ants face! When I was asked if I wanted to try the fried ants, I did not hesitate to say
absolutely not!
Sunday, 8 July 2012
UTILITY
The sun slowly begins to break through the clouds this June
morning after a night of heavy rain. Despite the sauna-like humidity, Acup
Jakayo wears a down-filled ski jacket complete with hood. Sitting upright under
a lush mango tree, Acup is holding bouquets of wild flowers in his hands; he is
a traditional healer and leader of the entire Lango region of Uganda. He is
also a member of the LADAF, the Lango Districts Aged Foundation. Agile and
strong, 86 year-old Acup drives his bicycle several kilometers daily to share
remedies and recipes with other healers at the LADAF grounds situated just
outside Lira town. Today, Acup is joined by Apio Walaria and other healers.
Acup Jakayo displays some wild herbs collected from the LADAF grounds. |
The LADAF is a community savings group made up men and women
over 60. As a collective, the LADAF generates income through a variety of
forms, but mostly from farming rice, corn, beans, cassava, and tropical fruit,
as well as raising poultry and goats, all sold at nearby markets. Each week,
the group saves between 60,000-100,000 Ugandan shillings, or around US$25-$41. The
entrepreneurial spirit is strong, as members also fry bread and roast white
ants to sell to members at meetings, and are in the process of developing fish
farming on the 200+ reservoirs located on the LADAF grounds spread throughout
northern Uganda. They also take in young girls left orphans from the LRA
conflict to provide life lessons such as teaching them how to sew.
Acup says that from 1958 to 2012, he has healed exactly
936,590 people, and he is proud to say he has records of everyone he has helped.
Through interpreters Oming Isaac and Ajok Serah Keryn, both members of the
MAPLE Lira team, Acup says that more people are seeking traditional medicine as
an alternative to western medicine for many reasons.
Acup sits along side some pills and powders made from local plants. |
“When you have the pot belly stomach, I will just give you
some medicine and that’s it,” Acup says, poking his abdomen. “If you go to the
hospital, they will remove the water that has collected in your stomach, but
soon after removing it, the water will come back and become worse. If you take
this medicine, you just take it and everything will be okay. But at the
hospital, often you will have to suffer there, and sometimes the doctor will
not be there.”
Doctors are not always available in this remote region of Uganda;
short staffed in the operating room and overcrowded in the waiting room. With
many illnesses, time is of the essence, so if a patient cannot see a doctor,
they go to Acup.
“With the local
medicine, the effect is immediate,” Acup says. “If you have a headache, you
take the medicine, and there and then the headache goes. There are certain
sicknesses that modern medicine cannot heal, that the local medicine can heal.”
Acup with Apio Walaria, another traditional healer. |
Apio Walaria has been a healer for 20 years. Apio says she
wanted to be a healer since her childhood. For Apio, healing has truly been a
spiritual calling, receiving direction in the form of her dreams.
“I was praying and felt that this is what I ought to be
doing,” Apio says. “When I was sleeping, the messages came to me in my dreams;
messages that told me directly which plants, even what part of the plant, would
help to treat a specific illness.”
Apio says she can heal swollen legs within a day and can
cure many eye problems. With a mischievous look in her eye, she says that she can
even make a paste men can use to make beautiful women fall in love with
them. Acup says that he has healed many
illnesses, from snake bites to bloated stomachs to epilepsy.
Abandoned water purifying buildings originally built by the
British, and partially destroyed during the LRA insurgency, serve as the
meeting place for the traditional healers. There are 28 healers that regularly
meet at the LADAF grounds. To ensure that the knowledge is passed on to the
next generation, Acup is working with several young people, and is passing on
the tradition of healing to three of his 15 children. They still come to him when help is needed
for a particular case.
Abandoned water purifying buildings originally built by the British, and partially destroyed during the LRA insurgency, serve as the meeting place for the traditional healers. |
Apio and Acup agree to lead me through the LADAF grounds,
through to what looks like beautiful weeds. We meander through the corn fields
and fish ponds and stop at a full, low bush with light purple and pink flowers.
Apio bends over, takes a branch and picks three deep green berries in her hand.
This is “langtana camal” and when made into a tea, it is used to treat stomach
ulcers.
Apio and another healer stand in front of a bush of "langtana camal". When made into a tea, this herb can treat stomach ulcers. |
Often the plants have no English name, such as “abiratino”, a
low bush with a pungent odour of mint used to treat dandruff; and “kodo o kodo”,
a tree with fern-like leaves whose fuzzy green fruit and roots are used to
treat ear infections. Atulatar (white flower), used in combination with six
other plants, is used to treat epilepsy. Apio says it’s very effective.
Two healers stand in front of "kodo o kodo", a plant used to treat ear infections. |
Another important reason many Ugandans seek traditional
healing is that they are also unable to pay the higher fees associated with
modern medicine. For Apio and Acup, demand is greater than the supply. Apio is
unable to find or cultivate enough herbs to satisfy the numerous clients that
come to her seeking intervention.
Another healer with two hands full of "abora" just picked out of a nearby ditch. The berries are rich in iron. |
“The cost of going to
the hospital was 60,000 (Ugandan shillings),” Apio says. “But you could come to
have traditional healing for 5,000 (Ugandan shillings). This saves money and
time. We wanted to be organized, and we wanted to work with MAPLE.”
MAPLE has helped the traditional healers organize themselves
by identifying market opportunities and by organizing weekly meetings where the
ill can come to seek treatment, often at the LADAF grounds. This business
organization helps Apio better predict the demand for her services each week,
and has helped the group come together to set prices for the remedies. This
way, each of the healers can make more money and are able to see more people.
Most importantly, the residents of Lira are able to seek treatment that is
regulated, effective, and is much cheaper than going to the town hospital.
Members of the LADAF sit in the shade under a mango tree. |
Akullu Betty, Senior Advisor to MAPLE Lira, says that the
LADAF has progressed well since MAPLE started working with them in 2009.
“When you observe the project site there is a lot of
improvements in their farming activities and they have a piece of land under
expansion for cultivation,” Akullu says. “They have also incorporated bee
keeping as a project, and they have vocational training for school drop outs.
This has been one of the biggest improvements that MAPLE has made, through
empowerment through knowledge. Knowledge is power and knowledge is wealth at
the same time.”
Akullu says that training must come before money or
donations.
“To fight the dependency syndrome, you need to open up the
mind of the person to think in a broader way,” Akullu says. “Development is
always in stages. Where you have given the person knowledge, you have a better
chance of that the project which he or she undertakes is sustainable.
“We have members that we have rehabilitated from the streets;
they used to go around begging as a result of the insurgency. Now, they are
available to think bigger and they are able to put their knowledge into
practice. This is where they are now.”
Here I am picking "abiratino" along side two healers. |
Akullu says that psychology is the core issue for
development at the moment.
“During the insurgency, we many had many NGOs focusing on
distributing food items, basic needs like blankets and sheets, and shelter,”
Akullu points out. “But the people in the camps were not trained. MAPLE focuses
on business skills training and mentorship, there are very many community
members that have benefitted from MAPLE, without MAPLE giving them money. Right
now I can say that the demand for MAPLE’s services is very high.
“In the long run, I
am sure that MAPLE will become a model organization where by very many people
will be involved in public work, where others will be able to see what works
and learn from the successes.”
Monday, 18 June 2012
GROWTH
On the mountain slopes under the shadow of Mount Elgon,
lies Bufumbo, a small collection of ramshackle brick huts with tin roofs. Here
chickens and cows roam free while goats cry out, tied to small stakes
anchored deep into the ground. Verdant and alive with vivid colours, avocado
and mango trees grow to amazing heights among fields of beans, corn, and
pumpkins. Coffee is the main money maker, as growers (who do not drink coffee themselves)
produce fair-trade beans for Danish markets.
Bufumbo, a small collection of ramshackle brick huts with tin roofs |
The red clay roads that lead from Mbale to Bufumbo twist and turn like vines through sensational valleys, heavily cultivated slopes, and mountain tops. At the government hall and in an elementary school, farmers meet weekly to make deposits and take out loans. These meetings of village savings and loans groups (VSLAs) that take place throughout Africa were the brainchild of CARE international. The idea is simple; members of a community are encouraged to save collectively, and can take out loans from the group to pay for business improvements or to pay for emergency expenses. The VSLAs bring finance to the grassroots level. These people would never be permitted entry into the closed world of traditional banking, yet together, and in a way in spite of the barriers imposed, they are increasing their personal wealth through a most simple yet ingenious of savings system.
Plantations of coffee and bananas grow in the shadow of Mount Elgon. |
At the Buzalagizo primary school, coffee farmers use a
classroom as a meeting point to make their weekly deposits. Outside, legions of
children can be heard chanting the alphabet. The surprise visit of two muzungus
(white men) creates a small chaos, as children escape to stare at Bernardo and me
with static looks of curiosity and disbelief: the sight of two white aliens in
an alien land. The school room, a brick shell with exposed wood beams holding
up a rusted corrugated metal roof, displays the warped and faded drawings of stick-figure
families with the English words “Dad” and “Mom” printed underneath.
Around 25 people are assembled in the classroom: women in
polyester prom dresses in loud colours and wild prints sit next to men in
oversized American dress shirts. For me, the heat is next to unbearable, but many
here wear winter hats. The women members kneel in front of me and the men take my
hand in a strange three-position handshake. They tell me over and over, “Thank
you for helping us”. I am asked to make an introduction, but what am I supposed
to say? Feeling sorely underprepared for the meeting and acutely aware of my
supposed Canadian privilege, I stand and thank the members for welcoming me
into their group, and wish them continued success in the future. I don’t
deserve this veneration. More and more children hoard into the door frame to
stare. I think with a generous dash of paranoia that the members of the group
anticipate some sort of donation, but my doubt is soon extinguished.
The chairperson calls the meeting to order, and a large
army-green box in brought in. The box is secured with three imposing padlocks.
Three different people have three different keys; inside lies the group’s
savings. The meeting, naturally, is in the local language, so I observe actions
and study hierarchies. At the teacher’s
desk in the front of the room the chairperson, alongside the treasurer, takes
attendance. Soon after, each member comes forward to pay their membership dues and
buy shares.
At the teacher’s desk in the front of the room the chairperson, alongside the treasurer, takes attendance. Soon after, each member comes forward to pay their membership dues and buy shares. |
The shares act as deposits, and members can purchase shares
for 2,000 Ugandan shillings (Ugs). (US$1= 2,450 Ugs) Members can only purchase
five shares per week, thus ensuring that no one member has too much control
over the group. The price of each share and the purchasing limit is agreed upon
by vote, and varies with each group. Members can only borrow as much as they
save, ensuring there will be enough money for every member to borrow. Members
can borrow from the group at an interest rate of 10%, much less than the
advertised rates between 25-28% offered by traditional banks in the area. The
interest collected is then deposited back into the box, increasing the amount
to be distributed at the end of the fiscal year. There is also an emergency
fund that members use in case of unforeseen circumstances, such as a death in
the family, or a drought that renders some crops unsellable. The emergency fund
is interest free but must be repaid in two weeks. This is a type of
microinsurance.
Attendance is very important as it gauges the commitment of
the members. Each member is called to the front of the room, and must loudly
proclaim how much they are depositing. This ensures honesty, as sometimes
members do not deposit as much as they say. It also reinforces the desire to
save, as members see others depositing, leading to greater deposits all around.
Members buy shares and leave the money in a black bowl on the desk. They then
put money in the emergency fund, the green bowl. Lastly, they pay membership
dues; the pink bowl. The secretary takes record and the treasurer makes a
detailed account of the deposits. At the end, the treasurer announces the
balance to the group, ensuring transparency and honesty.
Members buy shares and leave the money in a black bowl on the desk. They then put money in the emergency fund, the green bowl. Lastly, they pay membership dues; the pink bowl. |
First members make a deposit, and then money for repayment
of loans is collected. Only after this can people ask for a loan. It is
strictly in this order. At the end of the day, the amount is counted again, and
announced to the group.
We leave the classroom and head back to Mbale. A brief
monsoon takes place rendering the clay roads a muddy slip-and-slide. Bouncing
down the treacherous slope, the right-rear tire pops and we’re stuck. The five
of us get out of the SUV and assess the damage. Despite the “remoteness” of the
village, locals walk past us in a consistent stream, watching us fumble as we
jack up the vehicle and use a rock to break into the tire storage in the back.
Amateurs. Looking around, it’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever been
stranded; high sierras in the distance with silver-blue clouds hugging the
mountain peaks. The telltale Ugandan red-clay road meanders off into the
distance, bordered on one side by deep green valleys offering spectacular
panoramas. Kilometers into the distance I can see bright lights; the sun
reflecting off of innumerous tin roofs of buildings in towns I will never know
the name of and will never visit.
Looking around, it’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever been stranded; high sierras in the distance with silver-blue clouds hugging the mountain peaks. |
Nature calls, and I’m too shy to pee behind a tree. I see a
small hamlet not too far away, and I ask my colleague Eddie to ask the owner if
I can use his toilet. We walk, we introduce ourselves, the man is very willing
to let me use their facilities. He leads me through a small room with a dirt
floor, and tells me to round a corner. I do so, but find nothing resembling my
definition of a toilet. Just some rocks neatly arranged on the ground inside a
chest-high enclosure with walls made of thatched dried banana leaves. Again I
ask for clarification. This doesn’t seem like the right place, and my mind
takes over as I imagine the story the homeowner will tell his friends of the
day the muzungu dropped in unannounced and peed in the corner of his living
room. Again I ask for clarification if this is the right place, and it is, so I
do my business, and thank the man for letting me come into his home. I shake
his hand thinking that this ranks among the weirdest transactions I have ever
made.
On the journey back to Mbale, I sit at the window and watch the
countryside blur into a green pea soup in front of my eyes. I munch on freshly
picked bananas. With every turn lies a house, or collection of homes, with
children staring and screaming “Muzungu” frantically, fists pumping the air. I
wave and they go bananas, yelling even louder, smiles from ear to ear. In
Canada, I could never get a kid to be this excited to see me. Here, though, all
I have to do is wave. Children here seem at first glance to be happy, and why
wouldn’t they? They have their friends, they have open spaces to roam and play,
and they live in a place where it seems everything is edible and food literally
drops from trees. Sure the clothes are tattered and torn, many of them have no
shoes, but I don’t feel pity for them. I feel like I am supposed to, but I do
not.
There is a wealth here that I cannot yet describe, at least
not now. There is happiness in children’s faces in spite of the “poverty”.
There is youthfulness in “elderly” faces that defy western ideas of age. This
is a place where people wake and sleep with the sun and eat fresh, natural
food. The notion of development has for too long focused on the west imposing
ideas on the developing world. Here, though, I know there is a lot that Uganda
can teach me, and I guess I also mean us in the West, about how to live.
Perhaps Africa can teach the West what it means to be “developed” ; a mutual
exchange of ideas based on centuries of experience.
Wealth is more than money; although today has been a great
example of the power of money in transforming lives for the better. Wealth must
also be measured in ways other than money; in health, in happiness, in family,
in food, in environmental sustainability. Perhaps if wealth was measured in
such inclusive, broader terms, we would notice a shift in the “developed vs.
developing” dichotomy. We would see who is really “rich or poor”, and we would
start to value the real aspects of life that makes better, make life valueable. Perhaps a new
environmental economics is in store; a more honest way to measure GDP? Perhaps.
Sunday, 3 June 2012
CORRELATION
The captain of British Airways flight 63 announced the final descent
towards Entebbe International with 20 minutes remaining. A small commotion
broke out onboard, as people ran towards the bathroom to freshen up while others
repacked their bags in anticipation of finally getting off this 8.5-hour
flight. Personally, an excitement bordering on dread took over me, realizing
that this crazy plan I had of living in Uganda and working in social business
would shortly be a reality, no longer some virtuous idea that made for great
small talk at dinner parties. Looking out the window as the plane finally broke
through the clouds, I caught my first glimpse of my new home, Uganda. Peeling
back the clouds like unwrapping a present; a frustrating anticipation to see
what was on the other side. I could see green rolling hills in every direction,
small houses like polka dots speckling the countryside, sunlight reflecting off
of tin roofs. As land came closer and closer, the eagerness grew and grew, till
finally the plane touched down, the doors opened, and I walked down the air
stairs to be greeted by an oppressive humidity heavily seasoned with the
organic smell of unknown plants mixed with diesel fumes.
Uganda is rich in natural beauty. |
I am in Africa for a little over three months with the goal of starting
a solar power distribution network in the Lira area of northern Uganda. An MBA
student at John Molson School of Business at Concordia University in Montreal,
Canada, I am extremely interested at the convergence of business with
international development. This has manifested in different forms, some call it
microdevelopment, some call it microfinance, and others call it “bottom of the
pyramid” strategies. What these terms all have in common is that the
development world can learn a lot from the private sector in initiating schemes
to improve the lives of the poor through commerce. This reflects a growing
attitude away from traditional humanitarianism, where money, technology or time
is given away for free, towards a trade-based alternative where solutions come
from the collaboration of local stakeholders and outside investors, where
knowledge and capital is exchanged, and where the responsibility for success
relies on the cooperation of the poor and of the investors. Ideally, for a
solution to be sustainable over time, the poor are educated with the tools needed
to support their business; and escape, offering a freedom so sought after by so
many. People want to be the masters of their own
destiny. It is in this spirit of liberty that microfinance, championed by Nobel
Prize winning economist Muhammad Yunus, aims to help people work out of poverty
on their own terms. Central to microfinance is the idea that the poor want to
take ownership of their own future, not handouts.
That's me, on (in) the road outside my house in Mbale. (Photo Bernardo Goriupp)
|
I will be the project manager of a solar energy distribution network
during my time in Uganda. I am working with MAPLE (Microdevelopment for the
Alleviation of Poverty through Learning and Entrepreneurship), alongside
Bernardo Goriupp, a MA student in Law and Diplomacy at the Fletcher School at
Tufts University, in the USA. Bernardo will be leading a fish farming project
with a local savings group made completely of seniors. I will be meeting with
several savings groups to determine which groups have the capital to invest in
a solar project, and which groups would be able to and be interested in
supplementing their savings with earnings produced from a small-scale entrepreneurial
solar project.
Solar energy is a solution to several pressing social problems at work
in Uganda today. First, most villages outside of urban centres are completely
off grid, meaning that at night, villagers use kerosene, candles, or charcoal
to light up their houses. This has many negative side effects; first, the smoke
produced from these methods is a major cause of cancer. A rechargeable light
can eliminate these noxious fumes instantly. It is also quite difficult for
people, especially children, to study at candle light. Most children work
during the day, so their studies are sacrificed to serve their daily needs,
meaning most kids do not have advanced education. A longer day means more time
for study, increasing literacy leading to better decision making skills. Lastly,
as cell phones have become the major method of money transaction (among many
other important uses), recharging batteries becomes costly and time consuming,
as travelling to the towns with electricity can take several hours. If a solar
vendor is in the village, residents can concentrate of farming, or studying,
and not on getting to town. Bringing power to villages via solar energy will, I
hope, solve all of these problems. This is my mission: to bring as many panels
to as many savings groups or entrepreneurs as possible. I first have to understand
the distribution networks here and the value chain.
The market in Mbale town. |
It took three continents, seven time zones, and two night flights to finally
arrive in Uganda. In Kampala, Bernardo and I boarded the “Elgon Flyer”, a blue,
1970s era bus. Destination Mbale! Walking into the bus was like walking into a pressure
cooker; the sun, baking the bus all day left its occupants steamed and sweaty
like half-cooked rice. Unsure if it was the sun, or the exhaustion, or both,
but the bus trip felt like a hallucination; watching the countryside whizz by,
thousands of beautiful black faces, incredible fauna (avocados the size of children’s
heads), flowers and butterflies every colour of the spectrum, and massive
cranes gliding effortlessly across the azure African sky. As I felt the air
rush past me, cooling me off from the heat, I looked around and saw that
everyone on the bus was smiling. At what? Not sure, but people here are
incredibly warm and friendly. I will make it my mission to understand why they
are so happy. Perhaps it is because this place is beautiful? Is that too
obvious? Whatever it is, I find myself smiling too. I like that.
Outside Mbale town, towards the coffee fields of Bufumbo. |
I am now staying at the MAPLE house in Mbale, seat of the MAPLE head
office. I am pretty comfortable, there are no snakes in the bathroom, only
roaches and mice in the bedroom, so it’s pretty good so far, relatively
speaking. Every morning is a cacophony of chickens, children, roosters, and
local DJs trying their hardest to be the loudest. Yesterday, Saturday
afternoon, the sun was blazing, and there were about six little boys outside my
window playing lions. Usually, six boys screaming outside my window when I wake
up would be more than enough to make me lose my mind and then carry that anger
all day till I fall asleep at night. Here, though, watching these little boys playing
in the grass, hearing the happiness in their voices as they speak in English so
elegantly: “March like a lion! You march more effectively!”... an English
better than most people in Canada, I too am drawn into their make believe
world, where happiness is contagious and where we are all lions.
Tomorrow marks the beginning of my familiarization with MAPLE, and
hopefully understanding what exactly I will be doing here. Wednesday, I will be
travelling to Lira, a city in the north of the country, to find my permanent
digs. Not sure where I will be living (yet), but there are plans in the works.
The longer I am here, the more I realize that things do eventually happen, just
never when or exactly how you imagined they would. I invite you to follow me on
my adventure in this surprisingly beautiful, completely confusing, totally
wonderful country. I will try to update this blog weekly, or more, and will also
let you know more about the solar panel project, and what my role will be
outside of the project as well. But today, today is for exploring and
discovering, and trying not to get run over by motorcycles!
Andrew Oliver
The town clock in the centre of Mbale. |
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