First day at MCDT

The folks at MCDT (which stands for Micro Credit Development Trust, I found out) asked me to get there at 9:00. I got there very early (at 8:30), and they were already hard at work, sorting through files and getting things all set up for the day. They were a bit shocked to see me there so early and tried to keep me occupied, but clearly 9 didn’t really mean 9. They asked me to arrive later the next day. In the meantime, I read the newspaper, which didn’t take all that long, and then I watched fascinated as the man across from me sorted baggies full of change into piles of 10 100/= pieces and 6 500/= pieces, and then parceled them out so that everyone at 5,000/= per person for travel expenses.

There were about 6 loan agents going out for meetings with borrowers all over Kampala, scheduled on posters on the wall opposite me. At about 9:40, everything was ready and so everyone stopped everything to say the Lord’s Prayer. I think this is an RC organization as they didn’t say the doxology. After the Lord’s Prayer, someone at the head of the table continued on with the prayer that they would do God’s work that day and all said Amen with the conclusion I’ve come to expect: May the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ and the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit, be with us all evermore. Then we went out.

I went with a rather dour woman called Alle. She didn’t talk much; we just went about our business, taking a matatu up to Wandegeya and then another taxi to Nakulabye (NA-coo-LA-bee-yuh--very near Namirembe and Joseline’s place). From there we walked down into a neighborhood that seemed grittier than I had seen elsewhere—kind of like a bad Oakland neighborhood, not quite so violent, but it had a bit of that feel, very different from the IDP camp that still had a sense of family and countryside.

One of the things Alle had said as we traveled to Nakulabye (with some disgust) was that the women would undoubtedly be late for the meeting. It was supposed to be at 10, but they were almost certain to show up late, though they might show up earlier today because she was supposed to give them something. I found this a little odd, given that she was telling me this at about 10 after 10, thus putting our own timeliness in some doubt. Again, "time" means something rather different here than in the U.S.

At any rate, people eventually trickled in and there was a way that they really struck me as the urban poor that the people in the Acholi Quarters never did. They were a bit scruffier somehow. Except for one woman who was wearing this amazing blue dress with black ruffles on a bias and a matching headdress with a huge black bow, mostly it was T-shirts and wrap-around skirts and flip-flops.

I should describe where we met. We walked down this dirt road and stopped at what appeared to be an empty wooden shack with a doorframe but no door. Inside, it was covered with all sorts of political posters for various candidates: local council, Kampala mayor, Parliament, President Museveni, with slogans like “Working for the Common Man Revolution,” or “Politics with a Human Face.” Alle and I pulled out some small blue wooden benches and set them up for people to sit on when they came. Some boys peeked through the window at us—me mostly. I would smile back at them and they would duck out of sight. One boy, much later, who walked past the door did a classic double-take when he saw me sitting there.

There wasn’t a whole lot for me to do. I did try to do a couple of the Kiva intake interviews for the group loans, but English was not so easy in the circumstances and Alle kept having to interpret while counting money. Both of the group leaders dealt in waragi (which I heard pronounced “wallege”), a local brew, so I learned something new today.

Also tried to learn a Luganda greeting, which I need to review because the ladies were exceedingly amused that I knew absolutely nothing, not even the most basic thing. I think it’s “Ale de nyaga,” but I’ll have to double-check. “Aledenyaga,” a woman would say to me and I would stare stupidly and everyone would laugh. The proper response is to say, “Aledenyaga” back. So I’ll be working on that.

One woman brought a chicken to the meeting, tying its leg with twine that was put under a bench leg. Then she held it down by stepping on its feet. Then she bound its leg with twine. It seemed fairly resigned about all of this. I hadn’t known it was there for quite some time. It gave one squawk when she stepped on its feet, but then stopped. It made me a little uncomfortable, though not uncomfortable enough to stop me from having chicken for lunch (which turned out not to be the best idea).

Alle spent the morning filling out papers, marking passbooks, counting money, showing the group loan members where to sign. There wasn’t a meeting as such. It was just time to collect money and take care of business. The ladies sat and chatted and I have no idea what really went on. After I had finished interviewing the second group leader and taking the group’s picture, Alle said, “You might as well go,” so I made my way slowly home, trying to avoid the rain.

A change of venue

In the "But what is Laura actually doing in Uganda" category, I have been spending the week finishing up my work at Life in Africa. Next week I will be starting work at a new MFI called MCDT (MicroCredit something something), an organization that is just starting its partnership with Kiva. It will be a very different situation since Life in Africa is primarily a community development organization with a variety of programs and initiatives while MCDT is strictly and specifically involved in microfinance. I'll be very interested to see how that works!

Take 2

Yesterday was one of those days that by 2:00 I decided was never actually going to happen and I might as well give up and go home. I got to the office where there was no power. When the power came back, there was no internet connection. I was supposed to meet the loan officer at 10:00 to go visit borrowers and she arrived at noon. She didn't want to head out to our far distant destination without confirming that the center administrator had called them to let them know we were coming (since she has to pay her own transportation costs, this makes a lot of sense; no point in going for no reason). The center administrator hadn't arrived, the loan officer's phone needed charging (she had no power at home) and I was out of minutes so we couldn't call. When the center administrator arrived, we learned he hadn't called the borrowers' office. The loan officer and I rescheduled our visit for Friday and I called it a day.

One of the things Uganda is teaching me is how many things are simply out of my hands. A while back, Peter and I were going to visit the director of another MFI (microfinance institution) and got stuck in a jam (as they call it here). We were at a dead stop sitting in this matatu with our meeting starting in 10 minutes and I found myself thinking, "Oh well." Nothing I could do about it anyway. And we got there late where the man we were meeting was just finishing up with someone else and it was fine. But even if it wasn't, making the traffic go faster, turning on the power, connecting to the internet, arranging the loan officer's arrival, and so much else is out of my control. Nothing to do but do what I can and observe what's around me.

The Acholi Quarters

I've been trying to figure out what to write about the visits I’ve been making to borrowers. I’m still trying to figure that out, but I’ll start by telling you about the Acholi Quarters where I have gone for a few of the visits.

The Acholi Quarters is an area of Kampala mostly inhabited by members of the Acholi tribe, people from northern Uganda and southern Sudan, many of them displaced by the war that has been going on in northern Uganda for the past 20 years (and God willing will end soon as Joseph Kony, the leader of the Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA) has indicated that he will sign a peace agreement on April 5).

To get to the Acholi Quarters from the LiA office, Teopista (the loan officer) and I take a matatu through Ntinda to Spear Motors, a big transfer point, and then take another matatu to a stop about 1-2 miles further on. Then we walk through a marketplace consisting of stalls on either side of a dirt (or mud) track through a small valley (it can get very muddy) and up again, across the railroad tracks, across another paved road, and up a hill. That gets us to the Acholi Quarters.

From there, Teopista will ask someone to take us to the home of whomever we are visiting. The Acholi Quarters is a labyrinth, as far as I’m considered, densely populated with very small, usually one-room, houses. Houses have cement floors and often walls made from logs covered with red mud. Pigs are in pens; goats, chickens, cats and cows travel freely. Water comes from community taps, but many houses have electricity. The terrain is hilly and there are rock-lined ditches throughout the Acholi Quarters to aid in water runoff.

Quarrying is big business in the Acholi Quarters. I asked one of the borrowers why this area is so good for quarrying and she said, “God made it that way.” I also gather the rock is hard and good for construction, but at the moment much of quarry business is not possible due to the flooding of the rainy season.

It’s a tough place to live and the people who live here, I suspect, are always close to disaster. On our second visit, a day after some heavy rains, one of the borrowers told Teopista that a child had been killed by heavy waters on her (I think it was her) way to school.

Basics: What I'm actually doing

I’m sorry I haven’t posted anything in a while. My computer’s powercord died over the weekend, and it was the work of well over a day and two trips downtown to innumerable stores to get a new one. Shops were closed on Easter Monday, don’t you know, it and Good Friday being a national holiday, and so though many places such as restaurants continued to offer services, computer stores did not.

I am told that one reader commented, “I’m enjoying the blog, but what is Laura actually doing there?” I’ve added some more information on my role in the “about me” section to the right, but basically I’m helping a local non-profit (NGO, or non-governmental organization in local parlance) improve their microlending processes and practices, and especially how they utilize Kiva loans. And I cannot believe how well church work prepared me for this. There were all these people at the Kiva Fellows training from corporate and high finance worlds and I felt very intimidated, but we’re not talking about corporate high finance, here. We’re talking about basic do your best, seat of your pants tracking of relatively small amounts of money, managed by well-meaning people whose first love is people not money management. Just what I’m used to.

I probably won't be writing about work much as I want to preserve confidentiality both for Kiva and for the folks at Life in Africa, but I'm sure stories from the office will pop up from time to time.

In general, the mode of work seems to be of the “hurry up and wait” variety. Small bursts of activity interspersed with lingering stalls as I try not to be in the way and try not to feel bad about Not Getting Anything Done. It’s a very different pace from what I am used to in the U.S. where anything less than continuous activity or productivity is seen as wasteful. I really don’t know how much I will accomplish here. There are times when it feels like what I have been sent here to do should be cleared up in a couple of weeks; there are times when it feels like I will never accomplish anything. It is what it is, and I’ll do what I can. Resignation is an excellent discipline.