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.  

Many people in developing countries depend on kerosene to fuel their indoor and outdoor lanterns. The kerosene is transported in highly dangerous ways, including filling up plastic or glass soda pop bottles, like you see here.

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.



Many entrepreneurs start up cell phone charging stations to serve those who lack access to personal electricity. Most Ugandans have one, if not many, cell phones to use for personal banking, news gathering, and of course, to talk to others.

The cost to recharge a cell phone is between 300-400 Ugandan shillings (between 13 and 20 cents Canadian). The stations are almost always located in town where there is an electrical grid. Many rural farmers make trips that last up to two hours one way to charge their phone.

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.



Some, but not many, small villages have one person that has a solar panel. This village monopoly results in increased costs to charge a cell phone: between 600 and 1,000 Ugandan shillings (24 to 40 cents). This is a 100% increase in price for rural residents when compared to urban charge stations, where the cost is between 300 and 500 shillings.

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.

Solar panels have been in the Uganda market for years. However, the first wave of panels were cheaply made and thus today many Ugandans have doubts of the efficacy of solar technology. This is a major barrier to any solar project.
 

Solar Energy: A silver bullet?

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.

Potential Target Market:

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.

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.

 

 

 

 

 The "white" ants get their name from their white wings. Once roasted, they turn golden brown.

 

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!

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.”

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.

The Bufumbo Lower savings group meets weekly to deposit their savings. The army-green steel box in the foreground stores the savings for the fiscal year, and is locked with three padlocks. The three keys are given to three different people. 

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.

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.

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.

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.