Ever since
my first trip to the African continent I have devoured every resource I can get
my hands on regarding history, development, policy, economics and all of the
other complexities that surround development in general. More recently I’ve
spent the last few months (or really since I left Uganda the first time and saw
how severe their electrification problem is) filling my brain with numbers
about electrification, policy, too many impact assessments of rural
electrification projects, microfinance, impact evaluation
methodology, and statistics. Without realizing it I approached my research here
with a rather aloof and scientific perspective. I poured over my questionnaire to
figure out precisely what data I would need to make valuable conclusions about
electricity access and economic well-being. But now that I’m here and I’ve
spent a good portion of the last week driving through the hilly green western
Ugandan countryside to rural areas lacking grid access, I realize that I failed
to remember how in your face poverty can become. It’s easy to pour over numbers
and theories and get excited about new ideas but sometimes this all becomes
irrelevant when you sit in people’s homes and find out precisely how difficult
their situation is and how so many people really are stuck in a poverty trap
(to quote the book Poor Economics).
Three days
of interviews and it’s already started to feel like something I could do in my
sleep. I diligently fill in the boxes in my stapled questionnaires, probing
when the information I receive seems unclear. But still I find myself startled
and saddened. During one interview with a woman who does not have solar energy,
I inquired about how much she pays to charge her phone. She told me nothing. When
I asked my translator to ask why, he calmly responded that the community helps
her because she is in poor health and has no money. She was merely forced to
start her business because she could no longer work on her farm. Most of the
businesses I have surveyed run a loss every month. Their weekly turnover (if
above zero) is often equal to what I might spend on a beer.
My life in
Uganda this time around is worlds different than my last Ugandan experience.
The region I live in is lush with rich soil that allows even the poorest to
subsist off the land. I live in a huge house with a large yard with a lovely
older British couple. Even when I run through hilly (and 1400m altitude!) Mbarara
I am not (often) greeted by the constant “Mzungu how are you?” that I was
during my runs in Moroto. The weather is beyond perfect—sunny and cool. My
spotless new office is entirely run by professional and friendly Ugandan staff
and powered by solar power although grid connection exists. But in spite of how
nearly perfect life is here, I am confronted daily with the realities and
limitations that poverty brings. The people I interview (with and without
electricity) work extremely long hours only to run mostly unprofitable
businesses. Yet there is often no other alternative for them. The income
disparity in this country is unavoidably obvious and makes me wonder that
perhaps if the income disparity that we have in the US was equally in your face
to most people, then we would choose to do something about it.
Although
life is not easy for people in the villages and it’s easy for me to sit through
the interview brainstorming how their business might be made to be more
profitable; these villagers have a much deeper understanding of the natural
world than the western world. Unlike Europe and North America where we have
created an artificially perfect environment where we can have whatever food we
want whenever we want it, regardless of seasons, drought or weather, rural
Ugandans have seen climate change (that was caused by our behaviours in the
west) affect their daily lives. These Ugandans may not have even finished high
school, often may not even be able to read, and unfortunately have little
political power. But they are not debating whether climate change is real
because the reality of it has changed their livelihoods. The fact that climate
change comes up so frequently during my interviews is perhaps even more
saddening when I know that my country has indirectly caused this disaster that
is now impacting those most unable to cope with it. Sitting in front of people
barely able to support their families makes the useless debate and stubborn
unwillingness to change in my own country sickening. Although the comfort
filled life in the west is certainly easier, I think rural Ugandans are blessed
in a way they don’t realize through their intimate knowledge of the seasons,
weather patterns, and their dependence on nature and its resources.
