Category: Turning Point

Lulu had joined a Diploma in Education course at Kyambogo Teachers College, which he didn’t like. So, when the opportunity came and he heard the government of Japan was availing scholarships to study engineering he applied. He found his application needed to first be vetted and supported by his home district. However, when he presented his papers to the Chief Administrative Officer (CAO), Embatta, a man who had seen him grow up, there was opposition.

“But we are expecting you to come back as a teacher!” Embatta protested. “Let those who are able to become engineers!” Lulu felt insulted; was it that the CAO didn’t think of him as engineering material! He started courting the support of councilors, but most who had seen him grow up and dropped out of school early were not enthused. “Why is that boy so ambitious,” so they queried. “I know he wants to go out and come back with big titles and boss over us.”

As a last-ditch effort, Lulu decided to appeal to a local white priest, Father Lourdel who had paid his school fees and of many district leaders. Father Lourdel was very excited. “We already have enough teachers,” he mused in the local language which he was fluent. “What we need here are engineers to fix roads and help improve the transportation of goods from the fields to the market. This will make our district prosper.”

Father Lourdel took up the matter to the CAO and because he had educated him too, he finally yielded. “After completing your studies make sure you return and bless us with your skills,” Father Lourdel prayed with a sign of the cross for Lulu before he jetted out for a four-year degree course. Lulu promised to do so.

True to his word, upon completing his degree course, Lulu returned to the country as a civil engineer. Immediately, he reported back to his district and applied to become a District Engineer. But the CAO kept throwing him off that there was no money for this job, even as he pleaded that it would be good for the district to have a homeboy as District Engineer. Discouraged, he turned to the central government which hired him. But he didn’t last there; he soon quit to join a French-owned company, Bozac. The country had a huge infrastructure development programme and it was Bozac doing most of the road construction. It was often said there were no local companies that could do such jobs.

For Lulu, the major reason in joining Bozac was pay, as he could hardly make ends meet from his government salary. Bozac, on the other hand tripled his central government salary. But as he would soon find out, it was not for nothing.

After the European owners of Bozac would snap up huge multibillion-dollar contract jobs, they would get back to their capitals, having spent a few days patronizing the five-star hotels. Locals like Lulu were left to sweat it out. He was always in the field, supervising construction. Sometimes, having spent much of the day out in the sun, he would drive across the country back to the capital to meet with his bosses in their rented air-conditioned offices. They would quiz and harass him, threatening not to renew his contract for whatever was amiss. Disgusted, Lulu started thinking of starting his own firm.

“It is our country,” he talked to fellow engineers. “Yet there are the ones getting the best deals. Can’t we start our own local firms, bid and get these jobs. “Try your luck,” Lulu was rebuffed to those he appealed.

Now back in school, Father Lourdel had always preached that to succeed in life one had to persevere. Recalling that, Lulu decided to quit Bozac and start his own engineering firm. However, whenever he did bid for major road construction jobs, rejection slips would quickly come his way, noting “lack of experience and capital.” Lulu was hurt that it was mainly his local people who were rejecting his company, and who were not willing to give him a chance.

“We have the expertise but our own people want us to be permanent slaves,” Lulu would be agitated each time he would face rejection. “All these conditions they create against us are to discourage the emergence of home-grown companies.” One day Lulu noticed a tender to build a bridge in his home district. Lulu applied proudly specifying in his application that he was a homeboy well-known to the district leadership.

This time there was a new CAO. Although Nkejje had gone to school with Lulu he presented Lulu’s tender papers with lukewarm support. “This Lulu we know,” he told members of the tender committee. “Can he do a big job like this!”

Lulu was invited to come and share a presentation along with another company that had a European name, Quimax. He arrived on time, quickly presenting his prior job contracts and going even further to share designs. After he was done, a man Lulu seemed to recall having met once asked, “we hear you never reached Japan but bought that engineering degree of yours from a Japanese supermarket as you were just doing kyeyo jobs.”

“I take exception to that line of questioning!” Lulu picked his papers, stood up, and stormed off. Quimax had sent a white manager with a black officer who came carrying bags. The white manager let him make the presentations. After they were done the tender committee immediately awarded the job to Quimax. “These people from outside know how to do these jobs,” the tender committee reasoned against Lulu’s bid. They have a muzungu on the team.”

Upon securing the job, Quimax demanded to receive half of the sum as an advance to start works. The district quickly wired off the monies. But after over six months there was hardly anything on the ground. After writing many letters Quimax sent a few trucks and bulldozers that commenced works.  But what eventually came of their efforts was some shoddy structures, far from the original presentation. In the meantime, everyone noted the muzungu had never shown up in the district again. It was rumored he had taken much of the money back to Europe and was sending a pittance back.

The bridge constructed was so poorly done that due to local complaints the Inspector General got involved. When a technical team was set to review the works, it recommended the job be retendered. Lulu did bid again and this time with a more technical committee formed of senior officials he won. Indeed, he was able to do the job at half the cost of what Quimax had quoted.

On the day of opening the new bridge, Lulu was given a few minutes to speak. Dressed in a rare black suit, he decided to use the opportunity to vent something that had long bothered him. “All you people here know me well as I grew up among you. But I fail to understand why you never support your own or wish them well. If it were not for Father Lourdel who educated most of us here, none of you was willing to support me.”

He paused, as guests nervously shifted in their seats. “When I first asked to do this job you questioned my education. But did you enquire into the muzungu’s education? I want to help us develop but until we people here learn to love ourselves and our nation, with each other well, have pride in ourselves, as I saw back in Japan, tell you what, we have a long way to go!

Lulu walked back to his seat. He loosened his tight collar and gulped down water from a mineral water bottle. Then he looked at the bridge he had just erected for his district. It filled him with pride.

The village of Kaweke was known as the poorest in the country, but it was not for lack of trying. Though blessed of rich loamy soils, a two-rain cycle, and evergreen, it had since sunk into a dusty village paralyzed with poverty and diseases like jiggers. Some wondered why.

For one thing, Kaweke people were always quick to embrace new ideas, though they soon gave up, for not realizing fruits soon after. That is how they had given up on coffee, once a promising crop that they had left to waste due to lack of good care. After abandoning coffee many tried vanilla, a creeping plant that everyone promised was the new gold. It started well, but when a glut on the market made prices fall, everyone gave up on vanilla.Then they rushed into rabbit farming. This was embraced with full zest. But as rabbit meat was a new delicacy in the country faced with low demand, everyone soon gave up on rabbit farming.

They were all kinds of speculation as to what was amiss. Some said Kaweke was a village cursed with evil spirits. Indeed, there was a medicine man, Manyondo, with the only car, whose job was to ward off evil spirits chaining people in drenching poverty. There was always a line at his shrine waiting on him. Manyondo attributed poverty to evil spirits.

One day a man called Alaba came and settled in Kaweke but with what many soon recognized were strange ideas. Where others moaned that Kaweke was a cursed village he told whoever cared to listen that it was one of the richest places on the planet earth. “I have never seen a place like this,” Alaba said. “What can you plant here and it fails to grow? The problem is you people just want quick money. Anything can turn out well if only people here were a little more patient, worked hard and remained focused.”

“Alaba must be a government agent,” the villagers started spreading a rumor. “We all know it is government that has made us poor yet he says the problem is with us.”

A chance for Alaba to prove his point came when a community organization started a programme to donate heifers to each household to produce milk for sale. When it was announced that the cows would be given free of charge, everyone in Kaweke was ecstatic. “Poverty is over!” cheers were heard. The news spread like wildfire. On the promised day, everyone turned up at Kaweke trading center. The villagers sat excitedly in a shade in anticipation, each expecting to go back home with a big heifer. But when the organizers turned up empty-handed there were gasps of shock and voices of protest.

“Are you people conmen,” Katuuzi, who reeked of alcohol in the early morning hours bellowed? “Where are the heifers you promised us?” He was joined by others. “We want heifers! We have come for heifers!” “Allow me to say something!” said Sarah, a short dark-skinned community organizer, standing in black gumboots. “We came to list those interested in training. Before we give you a heifer you must first go through three months of how to look after this animal. We call it mindset change training.”

“Who will pay for this training?” a voice was heard from the back. “Shall you give us food to eat when training us!” someone else screamed. “You lied to us that you were going to give us free heifers,” a man stood up agitated. “Did you say you want to alter our minds with poisonous ideas!”

Disappointed, one by one, the villagers marched out in a file. Most were men. Soon it was only Alaba left with about a dozen women, most of who held on to the hope of finally owning a heifer. These were listed and told to report for training five days in a week. On the first day, a dozen reported. Sarah took them through her lessons on animal husbandry and household economic management. Alaba sat in front, taking notes. He would often raise his hands asking Sarah to go slowly and explain carefully each point he hadn’t understood.

“You are delaying us,” one villager came and confronted Alaba during lunch break. “These lessons are boring. All we want is to get a heifer.” One by one, the villagers started dropping out of the training. By the time the three months were over, only half a dozen were left. It is these who received a heifer. When those who had dropped out, led by Katuuzi, heard so, they scoffed back. “See that was a trick! Those people didn’t have heifers and had to find a way to get rid of us.”

Having got his, Alaba found looking after a heifer was some hard work. One had to get up early to look for pasture, feed and tidy the animal shed. The heifer would suffer all manner of sickness; to forestall, it required constant spraying against ticks. Alaba did all. But most of others who had received heifers complained that it was too much work. Whenever a heifer would fall sick, they would call on Sarah, “Your animal is sick. Come and look after your heifer.”

Once when Sarah showed up and started by going over lessons of good animal care, an irate beneficiary hissed back, ”Don’t again give me those mind-altering lessons. All I want is my milk to sell and be happy! I have too many children to look after and my husband long left me.” In no time almost every villager had dropped out, except Alaba. Eventually Alaba’s heifer started producing milk, which he sold at the health center. The demand was great that Alaba took on another heifer. From his income Alaba started improving his household welfare. He bought himself a new bicycle and raised a new brick house with iron sheets from his profits.

And that is when his other problems started. No one talked to Alaba anymore as his life situation improved. At the drinking station Katuuzi, who was notorious for beating up every woman he took home, shared the report,” That man is a government agent. How do you get a new bicycle these days!” Around that time a young man called Pastor Afunna came to Kaweke. He opened up a church built of iron sheets enclosures with a few rickety benches inside. Pastor Afunna started preaching to the villagers what they had always believed was the cause of their endemic problems – flying evil spirits. “But I have got the right answers better than Manyondo.” He promised that those who “sowed money” into his mighty church he would pray for deliverance from those tormenting spirits of poverty.

For some reason, this message swept Kaweke village like wildfire. Finally, someone had found the keys to end the poverty of villagers. When they failed to get the money Pastor Afunna would challenge his parishioners to donate him their land. “Just transfer your title into my names,” he convinced one couple, “and all your family problems will be done with.”

And, with time, Pastor Afunna’s condition improved, as most of the villagers, remained trapped in poverty. He became one of the largest landowners in Kaweke. Once one person was walking out of Pastor Afunna’s church and saw Alaba who had graduated to a motorcycle from selling milk, riding by. “But how come, he rides!”
“You know Alaba is a government agent,” said one villager lamely.

Culture shock can happen two ways. Very often it is a term used to describe foreigners visiting other nations and the shock that greets them at encountering ways so unfamiliar. I have had my own culture shock experiences. Once visiting in Thailand I found almost every building has an image of Budha encircled with food supplements. The faithful wake up to feed a range of statues. And oh, by the way, one day while stepping on to a bus in Paris, I saw a male couple lost in a long and tight kiss, which made me pause, stumble before I hastened on my way.

Those who have lived away from home for a while can return to their nations and find ways they were once accustomed to as unfamiliar too. For instance, having got accustomed to strict timekeeping, some would be shocked to find that setting an appointment for 2 pm means actually somewhere after 3 pm, going on to up to 5 pm! To wade in these new waters and find the peace they must adjust quickly.

Like any, I went through motions of a culture shock having been away for a while. For one, I had gotten used to living in concrete cities where the dust hardly settled on your shoes. But back in “kafufu” city, it was a bit of a shock to see so much red dust, almost everywhere I went. Some shock to the system.

When I visited my Bazeeyi ( parents) it came to me as a shock to find there was a live- in helper. I had sort of forgotten our city home had always had one. Staying out of the country, I had long gotten used to life without one. In fact, as I found, in America it is rare to find a home with a live-in helper. Even the elderly struggle to have live-in nursing assistants. Most, if their condition has deteriorated, would simply be moved to a full nursing facility. Price had to do much to do with it. Every pair of hands you hired came with a price and who could afford it.

To get on in America, I, as most people, did my laundry, cooked my food, vacuumed my abode and when I drove my car to the petrol station, I would fill in the petrol myself, before heading to the pay register. It was a life of “do-it- yourself, or DIY!” And I liked it. Perhaps the only time you asked for help was when you had to ask for someone to help you jump start your car on a freezing morning. But folks just went about life pleasantly doing things by themselves.Once I set up my house and started a family I struggled with the part of getting a helper.“But I can do all these things by myself,” I argued with my wife. “We don’t need someone watching over us!” But then with babies and a demanding job, it was a lost cause trying to sustain my view.

Now the children are teenagers. It’s hard to make a case for a maid when they can do lots of stuff by themselves – house mop or cook food. We still have an outside helper, who comes in once a while to help us get by, which is all right. But not as a live-in member of the household. Now I know some people would think of me as mean. “After all there is so much cheap labour around,” a friend once shared why he sticks to half a dozen pair of hands looking after him. “You are creating employment whenever you hire these people.”

One of the distinctions between the developed countries and developing ones is an abundance of cheap labor in the latter. We have heard of expatriates who when their terms of service ended hesitated to head back home because they would lose all these helpers and gardeners, which they could not afford back home. It’s a culture shock when people here see Prime Ministers, especially of Nordic countries, riding to work. Here big officials are driven with a coterie of guards! It is called creating employment.

Yet sometimes I wonder how long such a world of plenty of cheap labour will last? How long will there be someone to lift those grocery bags from the car to the house? You see, as any nation develops the price of labor is bound to increase, and hiring extra help would become more costly. The reason why kindergartens have exploded, of late, was not much for knowledge but more to act as daycare facilities, since folks are busy away at their jobs. Helpers are becoming too costly, and if they come, don’t last, anyway. After all they can offer their labor elsewhere for a higher price, including going to the Middle East.

This is why I like the DIY culture. Why not fix things and do those small jobs which are in my power! And perhaps even if I didn’t like it, soon, the way things are going, I won’t have much choice anyway.