The Holidays, The ICC and other goings on

I have anxiety.. couldn't figure it out till I realized it's the Christmas season and I'm in the heat. That always gets me. I love the snowy postcard holidays but I'm sure not missing the shivering. I'm pleased, as well, as I've managed to get some good interviews in while in Nairobi and ... I'm healthy! There's a lot to be said for cleanliness and good food. No malaria, no colds, no nada. It's all good though I will miss my dear friends at home this year, but I know you're all warm and safe so that's good enough for me. 


Interesting developments with the post '07 election violence and indictments by the ICC of six alleged instigators of the upheaval. It's calm here though, no violence or uprising over this. For the most part the incitement from the top-down was fuel for the fire of ethnic clashes. The general sentiment is that the actual causes aren't addressed on the international level, it's the tribal pain, the displaced people, the bottom-up people who are suffering and nothing an international court does will serve to remedy that pain.  It is an important step in the process though, as impunity must be addressed at some level. Ocampo decries that it's an insurance policy against 2012 election violence, though from the information I've garnered, it's the enormous military presence that ensured a peaceful referendum and will likely be a factor in the forthcoming elections. The root causes have yet to be addressed and at this writing, there are still many living in IDP camps while their property and animals are co-opted by those who drove them out. It's not the politics, it's the age old land grab that drove that conflict.  There's little justice for them on the political scene; the ICC has no mechanisms for compensation and/ or substantial remedy for the victims. As a matter of right they deserve more realistic justice and equitable compensation but there is no legislation in place for this. Perhaps in time.


I am reading sadly of the upheaval in Cote d'Ivoire, and hoping against hope that situation is rectified soon or the implications for spillover conflict could be hugely detrimental to peace in the ECOWAS region. Further,  as the Sudan referendum approaches, unrest and rejection of the peace accord is in the news. Perhaps all this news is causing my anxiety. It's one thing to be sitting in your living room watching this stuff on TV, another to be in the region and arena of all this strife. 


Tomorrow I am heading to Kakamega to visit Susan Thompson, a  fish and wildlife biologist from Whitehorse and her project Fish 4Kenya. I'm really excited to get to visit a rural area in Kenya and to see her project. I've heard about it for a long time and am grateful for the opportunity to go and see the work for myself though I dread the 4a.m. wake up call. 


I hope everyone is having a lovely holiday season, it hardly feels like Christmas here, but it is warm and pretty and I'm not stuck in a crowded, snowed-in airport anywhere so I'm thankful for that, and I anticipate no matter what the day brings, it will be a blessing. I actually think I'm writing this to myself most days but that's ok - if you are reading - Happy Holidays and love and peace to all.  

Kenya.. sigh

2 weeks now in Nairobi.. I’ve done little but sleep and sleep and wait for unanswered email and phone contacts.. I’ve landed, seemingly, in paradise with a cloud for a bed, a monstrous bathtub and silent nights. The chaos and cacophony of Arua await my return but for now this rest is the panacea. Paradise, though, is deceiving as I surface from days of dreaming and realize how ingrained the Arua life is in me, and how deep is my affection for that life.

My Kenya landlady is what I would aptly describe as a “real broad”, in the old fashioned sense – she’s always got a cigarette within reach, drinks with gusto and swears like a truck driver when she’s not directing all manner of  expat traffic and domestic worker  details, or pounding out a report in between. She does contract work for various agencies and has jetted off to both Switzerland and Brussels within the past 2 weeks. I’d be envious if I didn’t find her shell so hard and her condescension so flummoxing.  Don't get me wrong, she's a good person, we're just not on the same page, I think her gusto and moxy are derived from her long tenure here and exposure to so much have forged that tough shell. She’s an American girl who knows her way around, lives in a palatial, Karen Blixen house with “Out of Africa” grounds and two cottages, one of which I am ensconced in as I write this. I half expect Robert Redford to come striding towards me across the lawn but settle gladly for the 3 big drooly dogs Netty, Letty and Byun.

 First night here she sized me up with a squint, and while there’s a smile on her face, her eyes are flinty and I get the feeling she’s thinking I’m green and naïve and not a right fit for her crowd. Right on all counts, as Nairobi is a slippery fish to grasp for me, but it’s ok because as I start to acclimate here, I find I’m not keen to be a part of this crowd anyways. I’m in another culture shock – white faces everywhere, palatial estates, security monitoring at every gate and monster malls make up my neighborhood. I have to admit I enjoy a good cappuccino but it feels weird – the only Kenyans I make contact with here are either making my bed or serving me something. A far cry from my Uganda home where the playing field is more level.

Nai-robbery as it’s fondly referred to, has got me spooked. I drive a wee car but always make sure the doors are locked, I don’t drive at night and heed the warnings to stay out of certain areas. Alas, I am still stung. Money goes missing from my cottage and my car is hit and run (more like impaled) in my first 10 days. I know better than to leave the money but got seduced by the setting. “Don’t trust anyone!” I’m told.  I always have a hard time with that one. And the car.. well, damn, that one sits on somebody else’s  shoulders, but either way, the African financial hemorrhage does not abate.

What’s wrong with this picture? I’m not sure but I do know it’s not the Africa I came to experience. I’ve been to the UN compound and think I think I have an inkling as to what is wrong with the picture, which I’ve been assured by a few in the know, that I’m not far off the mark. Too many entitled, spoiled and out of touch UN workers whose lives comprise of liaising with one another, spending “assessment” time in the field from the comfort of luxury hotels and air conditioned trucks and partying in all the hot spots and one another’s compounds while they complain about the corruption of the Kenyan government. All that stuff I’ve been reading about the need for UN reform materializes in a very short time – a microcosm. Imagine, these folks get hardship allowances as they clip clop around in high-end designer label clothing and Italian made shoes and frequent restaurants eating $50 meals accompanied by vintage wines. Not to mention the weekend safari excursions and flights to Mombassa and Zanzibar to escape the “horrible” traffic situation (though admittedly the traffic is really, really horrible). No doubt there are good people here too (in fact I know a couple of them) with good minds, intentions and projects; this is not to detract from them, but the system itself is dodgy at best, and seems to me those people are the ones who get lost in the fray.  At any rate,  decision made – I don’t wanna work here. This is not my scene, but I’m glad I’ve been here and seen it. I’ll take the dark and dingy rooms, bucket baths and grassroots work over this any day of the week. Loving the lessons learned though. Sometimes you’ve just gotta  see it to believe it..  and to find out just where it is I belong in this human security / peacebuilding scenario is priceless. 

Wizards, Adventure, Bikes and Politics

Blogs are funny things. We write to entertain, to share life experiences.. our hearts, to grab someone’s attention, to expose truths and advocate causes, to let the world know that what we’re doing is fun, exciting, and important, that we’re sad/happy/bored.. anon, and we (assuming here - perhaps it should be “I”) censor constantly. Too much? Too little? Does that sound bad or biased or petty or.. or.. or ?? 

In my case, I am reluctant to share strife and loneliness and heartache and neediness.. just that I’m in Africa and look at this life I’m living! But I also write to share others stories, the things I see and feel, though I admit, not to the bone, in order to vainly shelter my vulnerability.  To be candid though, I have experienced all of the above negative emotions and more. That I’m still here, still willing and still blogging is testament that I haven’t given up or been sucked under my own wheels as of yet.

 It’s been a while though because of the very nature of that vulnerability, and some tough, tough days and nights endured – cultural differences, misplaced trust, lost money, self-doubt – fear. I just haven’t felt the need to bleed on the page or maybe more truthfully, haven’t known how to express these inner implosions or to face publicly the upside-down-ness of how to deal with me as I am in these various circumstances. To expose that at times I’ve been bad tempered, shown discourtesy, suspicion and frustration because of my own selfish belief systems isn’t pretty, but there it is. A ramble or a rant, not sure, but the over-arching conclusion from all this time away, is the admittance of fallibility and ignorance and learning curves as steep as hockey sticks. Too-hard-on-myself-edness is what I have been suffering from and a long held in exhalation comes just in time and I’m finally able to write again.

So, Arua and thoughts whilst I stew in Kenya (which I’ll get to later) flood my mind and I randomly share them.

As much as I loved the hut, I found after a time that it was time to go. The health factor was the breaking point along with a need for privacy and separation. Work/home-life lines were too blurred. And so I moved to a nearby hotel to ease the situation. It was a difficult transition and there were some hard feelings, and I while I felt bad for leaving the compound, I knew in my heart that if I did not go, I could not stay. Some cultural differences have to be acknowledged and even though change is difficult, sometimes personal survival, well-being and peace of mind have to take precedence in order to move forward.

My last night there, as I lay without sleep in the sweltering heat with only a curtain at the wide open door I hear squeaking – a mouse (Lord knows where the rat went) and I shine my headlamp to see him scurry out under the curtain. A few minutes later he’s back and again the light sends him out.. third time and away he goes, but in a flash I hear squealing and run to quickly observe a cat with squirming mouse firmly in his jaws. Something is always eating something else here, but there will be some sleep tonight after all.

I spend my afternoons and evenings enjoying company and good food at Monday’s house, my classroom for all things Ugandan. The wisdom, patience, insight, common sense and deeply ingrained propensity for survival these people have imbued me with is invaluable, and yet  it never fails to amaze me their deep seated beliefs in witches and wizards. Many nights they regale me with stories from deep in the village as to the wizards and shape-changers who visit to terrorize people. Apparently wizards appear as floating light above your bed causing instant paralysis, then a weight drops across your body as the breath is choked from you.. and then they are gone, evaporated and sent back to their human form, and you are either dead or been severely warned. Well, I argue, how can that be – I mean, after all you are Christian, how can you believe this? Apparently there is no contradiction – I am Christian but wizards are amongst us. Food for thought, belief systems, religions, ingrained, centuries old tribal customs. A child born of a virgin? Loaves and fishes? Resurrection from the dead? How farfetched is farfetched? I believe in the light and the dark and in things I don’t understand so who am I to disregard wizardry? I love that we can talk about these things and laugh and that they can look at me in wonderment that I don’t believe, and I can reflect that disbelief back with the same wonder without rancour or rejection. All can be believed or not, I am still welcome.

The work –  it’s been weeks working on the material for a workshop on democracy, governance, non-violent elections and peacebuilding for women and youth. We’ve scoured the local councils who have given us names and promise to send participants to us  and we are ready but the money isn’t there so I bite the bullet and make a bank withdrawal and the people show up and we’re on the road. We’ve got 25 people – 15 women and 10 men from various age groups and backgrounds.  I’m encouraged and impressed by the level of participation, the eagerness to voice opinions and their grasp of the materials we are presenting but the one thing that stands out to me in the end are the divisions. We had theorized that the relevant factors, that women and youth share the same difficulties of exclusion from the process, would bring a cohesiveness to their demographics. We postulated that we would be empowering two groups who shared in common a lack of education of processes and the voice to choose without persecution due to their status. This was in fact, mostly the case, but something else emerged entirely that took me off guard.. the division amongst the group became mired in traditional roles of men and women. It became very evident through discussions that the men did not view the women’s participation in governance as a high priority, that the domestic roles of women and that their place in the tribal structure was still considered inferior to that of men. But how I was impressed with the comeback from these great ladies. One woman, with a baby in her arms,  told us that she had supported an opposing candidate from her husband in the primaries; he told her that if her candidate won, she would not eat for a week. Her candidate won but she did not starve as she was squirreling away small money that fed her and her baby over that week of punishment, and her husband learned of her strength and determination not to be cowed or intimidated from her convictions. Fantastic.

Overall, we felt that we had given a good workshop, delivered some good material, had insightful interaction, and maybe didn’t change any structures or mind sets but the women that I talked to left feeling good and eager to share the materials with the women of their villages. We trained some trainers, and at the end of the day, the men also went away with newfound respect for those 15 women. I believe the person who took away the most from that workshop though, was me.

Mzungu boda-boda girl.. that’s me. My dear friend Godfrey, when he found out I ride a Harley at home, happily handed over the keys to his Chinese made “Better” bike and the liberation of wheels became a highlight in my life. Dangerous as hell though – no helmet, marauding missiles (commonly known as cars), careening at you as they avoid the pot holes and civilians, no traffic regulations, slippery, slimy mud that throws your bike down in the time it takes to utter an expletive – I’ve got the pipe burn to prove it – and dodging alcohol infused, khat chewing bikers with nothing on their minds but speed and whole-hog road ownership. I am always on my guard, a true defensive driver, dodging overturned trucks, goats, cattle, meandering pedestrians on cell phones, bottomless pot holes, trucks and buses with bigger than you attitude, and any number of odd and bizarre obstructions that pop up overnight.  Oh how I loved it! As well there’s a certain caché to being the only blonde mzungu girl on a bike so everybody thinks they know you. All the riders at the boda-boda stands whistle and thumbs up me as I ride by and warn me of any diversions that day. Initially, I didn’t feel safe around these guys, they’re a tough lot, but once I got the bike they became my go to guys. They like my bike, and I guess me by association. I also notice that when I do have to take one of their rides, the prices are better – bikers stand together everywhere.  I hope I get that bike when I go back, I miss it and the wind in my hair flying down the road feeling free and easy in the sun.

A day to remember – Spending remembrance day in Uganda – a post conflict country ravaged by war and rebels for over 30 years. A lot to reflect on. The evidence is palpable as witnessed by missing limbs, hollow eyed elders and the stories that emerge.. oh the stories. Nothing is forgotten. All is remembered but the spirit of life and survival and progression is strong and the people are hopeful. This country is so beautiful. I cannot express the lushness, the ripening bounty of flowers, fruit, vegetation, youth, and hopefulness for a peaceful future. Yet war and conflict is close by as evidenced by the refugees in refuge here. Evenings spent sitting at the door of Ma Ecora school, a steady flow of people pass through the smoke filled air and one recognizes the long lean silhouettes of  the Sudanese along with Congolese, Somalis and people from Central Africa Republic who cross borders daily to avoid the strife and terror of rebels and out of control regimes. They don’t have to reach into memories or history books to remember.. they are here to forget.

One day I decide to travel to Murchison Falls. I’m so close so why book? Off I go with my friend on the bus to Pakwach where we disembark and find out there is no car into the park and too expensive anyways. So we take a boda-boda – 23 kms through a game park on a motorcycle – brilliant. “Hey, aren’t there lions here?” as we pass giraffes and monkeys over broken, rain humped and twisted roads.. “oh yeah” boda driver says smiling. Ok, not the smartest transportation choice but was it pretty, and it felt so good I forgot all about the lions as we met up with the nasty baboons at roads end. Took a boat across to Parra and found out there were no rooms at the Inn and so ended up in a grotty, hot and smelly guest room for the night after being bombarded by thousands of flying white ants in the restaurant. Next day there is no morning boat to the falls so we gamble on cutting it close for catching the afternoon bus. See the falls, back to the boda-boda – full bore, wide open through the park.. damn the lions, I got a bus to catch! Missed the bus. Ok, so.. options.. very few. Long story short- caught a bus to Nebbe – no buses, it’s dark! 2 guys are flagging cars for us on the highway, it starts to rain. Great. A truck stops and says one of us has to ride in the back, “er, no thanks, it’s raining.” “Oh.. that was your last ride” one of the Nebbe men says. Uh-oh. The Gods smile on us -  two lovely Muslim men and a little girl stop and carry us home through the now crashing, drowning, monsooning rainstorm. Moral of the story: it is better to book through a reputable travel agent in advance than go willy-nilly through the wild on a boda-boda without a bus home. But dang we had fun and that’s what you call adventure! J

One day I’m sitting at Monday’s and a visitor is there. She has a wide-open face with an easy smile and I ask who she is. Oh that’s Yaya.. she’s Idi Amin’s granddaughter. Wow. I sit down and talk to her and we play a few chords on the guitar and I can’t help but think how weird it is to be sitting with the grand daughter of  “The Last King of Scotland”.

The next morning I hear trucks and shouting and look outside my hotel window, it’s 4 trucks of armed soldiers! Eyiee.. A coup I think! Nope. It’s election run up time so the candidates are making their rounds, Museveni is here, and there are so many soldiers, they are taking over the hotels. As I ride into town I see Museveni posters everywhere, plastered on everything that does and doesn’t move. The man himself is due to arrive tomorrow and in traffic I start to notice trucks filled with soldiers, geared out for combat, lots of them, lots and lots of them. I live by the President’s Arua compound and am forced to take a detour as spike belts and sentries are posted everywhere. Next day is the rally and reluctantly my friend Bosco accompanies me, he’s not a fan of the rhetoric, but I want to see this guy.

Funny aside - to win the young voters he’s actually put out a rap song! You vant another rap?.. you vant another rap? hacha cha..

Not so funny aside – electricity in the West Nile region is choked off every night at 11pm but during the President’s visit – no power outages – full on 24 hour power. Museveni is apparently the solution to  load shedding.

 At any rate, following a phalanx of armed trucks (there must be 200 soldiers here!) and ambulances and armoured cars to the soccer field, we park the bike and try to walk in. I am immediately stopped by a soldier and told to walk to the end – he scared me and knew it and apologized (that’s how you know it’s election time) and we carried on where I promptly had my camera confiscated and was grilled with questions by a Sergeant who erased photos from my camera but was polite. Later I asked why and my lawyer friend explained they probably thought I was a foreign journalist and weren’t taking chances.

The interesting part of all of this (as a researcher) is observing the well-oiled machinery that has been taking place since I arrived in Uganda, the cash for vote specter. Anyone who thinks this is a free and fair process at this point has not witnessed the tearing down, by soldiers, of other candidates posters, the truckloads of yellow tee-shirted NRM “supporters” – most of whom are unemployed youth and women rounded up, handed tee-shirts and envelopes and put on display for their enthusiasm for the party. Museveni has been doing this for neigh on 20 years, he doesn’t miss a trick. He travels with huge contingents of military, buses of “supporters”, hires on the spot devotees, has a fleet of yellow “Museveni” cars on display and is the only candidate who can fly from district to district handing out, for instance, houses in Gulu, and grandstanding with benevolent gifts to those in need. Further, a good many of the candidates in opposition are so tied up in courts with trumped up and facetious charges, they have no resources or freedom to campaign. This guy knows what he’s doing and I have no doubt that come general elections in February, there will be issues. Not an understatement I hope. I am glad I went even though I scared the hell out of children who hadn’t seen mzungu face before and all the other attendant hassles. This is some new African history and I get to be a part of it.