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.