simplicity 2

Simplicity 2

In Saturdays Monitor(national daily newspaper) there was a full page devoted to “Top 10 Time Saving Gadgets”, complete with pictures. I left the paper somewhere and can’t remember them all, but included in the list were;

Washing machine

Vacuum cleaner

Microwave oven

Blender

Egg whisk

And, my own particular favourite;

Long handled broom.

It is truly a wonderful privilege to have spent a year living in an environment where these items are seen as something other than basic necessities....

Florence

Florence

We’re leaving soon. On the whole I can’t wait. But there are a couple of people who’s future I’m worrying about.

One of them is Florence.

She’s a nurse who came to work at Hope just after my arrival. I thought her appointment was a mistake and didn’t take to her at first. During the ‘rationalisation process’ in May several members of staff were sacked. Florence survived by the skin of her teeth. She came to see me the following day, told me how much she needed her job and asked me what she needed to do to keep it.

“Make yourself indispensable” I replied. And she has.

Why does she need the job so badly? She’s twenty something, has two children of her own (aged 6 month and 2) plus two more that are her husbands by one of his other wives who ran away. When she married she was unaware that he already had two wives and a handful of children, and he’s married again since her. He hits her, and the kids, doesn’t give her any money and refuses to use condoms despite his multiple women.

So, recently she left him. She could only do this because of the £9 a week she earns working for the clinic. With this she has to pay rent, employ a house-girl for childcare, feed herself and four kids and pay for medicines when they get sick. I have absolutely no idea how she does it. She doesn’t know how she is going to manage to pay for their schooling but is determined. “I’ll manage, somehow.” She says if I ask.

Now she knows me she’s lost her reserve. She’s actually warm and clever and funny. I’ll miss her and I just hope she’ll be OK...

Shopping again

I went to get a SIM card for Fred and Sara who arrived from the UK yesterday.

The conversation went something like this:

Hello, how are you? I’m fine, how are you?

I’m fine. Do you have an MTN SIM card? Yes, 10,000 shillings.

No, I won’t pay 10. I know they cost 5. Oh, where are you from?

I’m from England, but I’ve been in Uganda for a year. Oh, do you like Uganda?

Yes, very much. When do you go home?

Next month. Can I come with you?

No, but you can sell me a SIM card for 5. Why can’t I come with you to England?

Because my husband and children wouldn’t like it. No, it’ll be OK. I like England too much. Take me with you.

What about this SIM card? Which premier team do you support?

Sheffield Wednesday, what about you? MANCHESTER UNITED! Sheffield aren’t a premier league side.

No, but they used to be good. Oh, are they historic?

Yes, one of the oldest. Can you give me your email address?

No, what about a SIM card for 5? Oh OK........Give me your phone number?

No, no phone number, but thanks for the SIM card.

Smiles and handshakes all round.

How can you not love it?

TB lab progress

Work has begun on converting the aviation office at International Hospital into a small microbiology lab specialising in TB. We’ve had promises of $26,000 for all the work and equipment necessary to get us to start up and should be able to set up our first culture on 25^th July.

The technique we’re using, called the MODS (Microscopic Observation Drug Susceptibility) test, allows us to offer a cheap and reliable test for TB for the first time in Africa.

The ambition of the International MODS Network is to make this tool a routine component of TB management in low resource settings. In practice this means we will diagnose and treat people with TB much more quickly. We can also identify those with drug resistant TB before we start treatment.

Gorillas - 29th June

We finally got round to seeing the gorillas when Ad arrived last week. I’d been ambivalent – its an expensive, luxury tourist trail affair. But they are remarkable. For an hour the 8 of us in our party stood in a tropical woodland glade while a family group of 10 got on with their lives around us. They’re huge and impressive and it’s easy to anthropomorphise as they have such familiar expressions and behaviours.
Their mountain rainforest habitat is protected now but not very big and under constant threat from the rapidly growing population all around.
There are less than four hundred mountain gorillas remaining in the world. I was left with a demoralising sense of humanity as a destructive plague....

Soweta - 23rd June

At 7am on Saturday morning we picked up Rachel and Gaye and headed for Jinja. This time, we weren’t there for the white water. Twenty five of us, including fourteen VSO volunteers from Kampala were heading for Soweta. It’s a displaced persons camp just outside Jinja. Hardly anyone knows it’s there and, it seems, even fewer want to know. Four thousand mainly women and children from Northern Uganda, displaced by the war, live there in unbelievable squalor. No latrines, a few standpipes, open sewers, mud huts crowded together, no place to grow food. An overpowering smell of home brewed banana spirit hangs over the place.
Mark and I had gone to visit the week before and had met the extraordinary Mary Kafuka and her daughter Grace. Mary is a social worker who volunteers there with some financial help from the Catholic church. Grace helps her mum “because she gets very tired”. Together they provide the only source of hope and assistance in the whole place.
“What can we do to help?” I asked.
“Anything” she replied.
So we went. With de-worming pills and vitamin A and cream for ringworm and sticky eyes and antibiotics and malaria tablets.
In the longest surgery ever we saw 720 people. They queued patiently in the sun, a number on one palm in marker pen and a cross on the other when they got their pills. We saw everyone who wanted to be seen, and some of the more enterprising ones twice.
And we “did a good thing”. And we left. Driving away in our four-wheel-drives to cold beer and hot showers and good food and a comfortable bed for the night…

Huw's blog - A tourist Awakes

We had a great time when Huw visited last week and asked him to write a blog for us:

Its not every day that this could happen and it must have been a great floor show for the children as they flocked to see the muzungus make fools of themselves. The road up the hill was really rather gentle, if quite long, but what had caused the matattu to come to a final slithering stop was the mud - the red clinging treacherous Ugandan country road mud. The mud was very slippery and the hill was very long and now the muzungus were pushing. The timing could not have been better - the school had just finished for the day. In seconds we were engulfed by bright chattering laughing faces and crisp clean purple cotton shirts and dresses. Hellohowareyouimfine, again and again and again. Hello man, how are you? I am Huw, who are you? We answered happily, and laughed at ourselves, ridiculous in swimming shorts and T-shirts, still wet from this morning’s White Nile rafting. Our exhilaration and euphoria persisted, the red mud would wash, the banter with the children felt sparkling and who would not be moved by such a sea of smiling laughter. Soon we would be in a nice warm shower, bathing in the glow of self congratulatory well being.

Then Jan, working here for a year now, the old hand, whispers urgently in my ear - Huw, do you see the boy with the huge spleen. That one with the big abdomen in the blue T-shirt. No. thats just malnutrition, the one next to him. See him, with the red shirt. See him. And I saw him. And I saw that not all the children wore the purple cotton and carried the school notebooks, and that although most had the happy smile a lot had stick thin limbs and swollen abdomens. And I saw the sunken eyes and tiredness of hardship and malnourishment in their faces. And behind them, on the fringes, were the quiet ones, reticent and watchful. And then those peering round rickety house fronts or through dark dark sacking covered doorways and window openings. What about them?

The hill was long. Too long for the children who slowly gave up the pursuit. The grinding poverty now all too obvious, the muzungus, quieter now, trudged on with sandals and feet choked with the cloying red mud, until kicking and scraping we tried in vain to clean our feet before struggling back into the comfort of the matattu. As we did so, the white MRC four wheel drive pick up eased comfortably by. Through the open window came the quiet sly mocking of its Ugandan driver, “Welcome to Africa”

This is entirely true. After all as Jan would say “In Uganda, all muzungus are millionaires”

Reasons

Reasons

Ten reasons I love Uganda

1. The climate – out at dinner last night someone recalled “getting into a cold bed” – we’d all completely forgotten
2. The variety – honestly, no two days are the same
3. The challenge – anyone who knows me knows how I love a challenge
4. Walking – always something amazing, interesting or funny to look at, always someone to talk to
5. Fruit – fantastic pineapples, mangoes, passion fruit, tomatoes, bananas, papaya.....
6. The work – it’s the work I was born to do
7. The smiles – Even if people look somehow serious they are usually grinning within a couple of seconds of greeting
8. The colours – green lush vegetation, red soil, blue skies, bright clothes
9. The money – at 3400UGX to the £ it’s the only way I’ll ever be a millionaire
10. The versatility – everything has value, everything can be mended, everything is reused

Ten reasons I hate Uganda

1. The corruption – see previous blogs. It’s everywhere
2. People die – poverty and ill health takes a massive toll, death is everywhere and often needless
3. Dust and diesel – I walk a lot. Dust and diesel fumes are my enemy
4. Not enough novels – ran out a while back
5. Power sharing and water cuts – part of daily life and a real pain
6. Bugs – despite discovering ‘repel’ at a magnificent 55% deet I’m still sporting a fine collection of mozzie bites
7. Internet speed – honestly, you can make a cuppa and go to the loo whilst waiting to connect
8. An undercurrent of violence – intimidating crowds can gather very quickly
9. Timekeeping – shocking and irritating lateness for a type A like me
10. The noise – dogs bark, babies cry, birds and frogs sing and people party ALL NIGHT
11. “Yes please” – why can’t people just say what they mean?

Yes, I know there are eleven. Can’t decide which one to leave out....time to go home?

Dr Dollar

Dr Dollar

For the last month or so Kampala has been decorated with billboards announcing the imminent arrival of Dr Dollar. He is an evangelical preacher from the US who will appear at Namboole Stadium in front of a full house of 80,000 later this month.

His message is the usual televangelist one. Unquestioning faith and espousal of rigidly conservative moral views will bring you wealth and happiness.

This stuff angers me.

The hypocrisy angers me. Preachers are often tainted individuals who persuade an impoverished flock to part with money and goods to enrich them. One famous one here drives around in a brand new pink $100,000 Humvee.

The blind and unthinking superstition angers me. Last month Billy Hinn captured the first 4 pages of the principal national daily paper. The headline: “MIRACLES!” Not one but eleven miracles took place whilst he preached to the masses. All eleven miracles (the lame walking, the blind seeing, the deaf hearing etc) were reported in uncritical detail. No comment or question.

American evangelists love it here. There is a large audience for the deeply conservative views propounded – no sex except within marriage, no condoms, no abortions, no homosexuality. This is dangerous and hypocritical rhetoric. Uganda is a very sexual society with an average age of 14. Having multiple partners is the norm. Even the preachers juggle more than one wife. HIV and STI prevalence is high. Young women are dying everyday from illegal abortions and unwanted pregnancies. Time for a liberal revolution....

Matatus

I love matatus. It’s a sure sign of my increasing Africanisation. At first sight they don’t seem ideal. Often ancient and rickety, they have cracked windscreens and hanging off bumpers. Inside there is an instantly recognisable smell of blended BO and wood smoke. The seat padding and suspension are definitely insufficient for the deeply rutted and potholed dirt roads of Uganda’s capital city. But I love them!

They’re the most efficient form of transport ever, and my favourite way of travelling (after flip flops of course). They pass along every major and minor road in the country, stop everywhere to drop off and pick up and cost pennies to go miles. They run every few minutes, not according to a timetable as they leave the taxi park only when they’re full. The music is good and the other passengers are friendly . There will be an occasional grumpy goat, but given they’re destined for the pot I can’t really blame them....

I admit I’ve been lucky so far. I’ve not been on one that has broken down or had a drunk driver. The closest I’ve come to a bad experience was driving around Kampala for 45 minutes looking for diesel in a fuel shortage. But, hey, I got to go the wrong way up a one way street in the rush hour (quite exciting) and saw parts of Kampala I didn’t know existed.

When I first arrived in Uganda I was intimidated by the taxi park, which seemed chaotic and dangerous. Now I understand the system, it’s an organised chaos that works. And there are hawkers selling everything from knickers to watches and biscuits to keep me entertained while I’m waiting for my matatu to fill up.

The other day I fell asleep on the way into Kampala and woke in the taxi park to find it was raining. The driver and conductor were both asleep too, and the only other passenger was a woman carefully arranging a carrier bag over her hairdo (rain plays havoc with braids). She knotted the handles together, tucked the ends in, checked herself in her make-up mirror and went off into the rain.

Global Fund Shenanigans

A manic and slightly surreal last week. In common with thousands of other organisations in Uganda we were working long last minute hours to submit grant applications to the Global Fund for Malaria, HIV and TB. These are to support some of our health promotion activities at Reachout. Two out of three were wonderfully politically insensitive. First a programme to work with 25,000 local teenagers on sexual health and STI (sexually transmitted infection) screening. Some of our Catholic board members will become apoplectic about that one. The second is a plea for improved TB diagnostics and preventative treatment for HIV positive people. This is against national policy and so in a very conservative bureaucratic environment beyond the pale again.

All of this frantic activity was going on at the same time as dawn raids on the homes of several of those named in the 2005 Global Fund corruption saga. Jim Muhwezi, thought to have stolen $1m, slipped off to London the night before the raid but has returned “to proclaim his innocence” and has hogged the front pages with multiple press statements ever since. He is playing an interesting game with an unpredictable outcome.....

Weighty matters

The biggest compliment you can be paid here is “You have become fat.” Actually, that’s not strictly true. As a woman, it would be “Your husband has become fat.”

Thinness in Uganda is associated with poverty and ill health. Especially with the severe wasting seen in people with advanced HIV, it is feared as a precursor to death. Women discuss how they can put on a few kilo’s, and particularly want to gain weight around their hips and buttocks. Our mzungu neighbour Dan marries his Ugandan girlfriend Alice next month. His future father in law, in accordance with tradition, wanted to confine Alice to a hut and feed her milk and meat for the next 30 days to make her suitably fat for the wedding. Dan has had quite a job persuading him (successfully) that it is not vital to their marital happiness.

None of this is surprising. Even people employed in relatively well paid jobs have no sense of food security. The bitterest arguments I’ve witnessed at work have been about food, for example allegations of ‘being greedy with milk’. I no longer take in biscuits because of the trouble it causes. Sugar and salt are taken to houses as presents in the same way I would take chocolates or flowers.

Exercise, particularly walking, is also regarded as a sign of poverty. If you have any money at all, you take a boda.

This can make giving health advice difficult. I do see people with high blood pressure or diabetes. Often they are overweight. My standard “Eat less and do more” advice is not only unwelcome (lets be honest; it often is in the UK too), but is sometimes insulting. I’ve had interpreters point blank refuse. “I can’t translate that. He is the big man in the village.”

Where is boss?

Life here for a middle aged feminist can occasionally be distinctly trying.

At the weekend I sometimes run the seven kilometres to my favourite pool for a swim. I needed to drop something off, so went via work. Kamoga, and excellent, earnest graduate nurse asked to speak with me ‘on an important matter’.

He started with “Do you mind me asking, how old are you?” I told him how old I was. “Oh! It’s even worse than I thought. You are older than my mother. You should not run. It is very dangerous. Do you not fear dying?”

I explained that where I come from I am not considered old. In fact, I am only half way, and it’s quite OK for people of my age to exercise. He looked doubtful. “I agree, you look strong. But you have become very old. It is time now for you to rest.”

As I set off to continue my run he waved me off, looking very sad.

On arrival at the pool I was greeted by the pool attendant. “Good morning Mrs Mark. How are you? Where is boss?”

Tuberculosis and poverty. Time for more donations please.

TB is one of the archetypal diseases of poverty. Malnutrition, poor and crowded housing and now of course the HIV pandemic increase the toll. 20% of the worlds population are infected. Half of Reachout’s HIV clients will at some point have active TB and half of the clients who die will die from TB. That’s approximately 50 deaths a year among our 2400 clients.

It’s also an archetypal disease of poverty because it is ignored by richer countries. Our primary diagnostic test is examination of sputum by microscopy invented in 1882 by Robert Koch. Our standard treatment regime requires 8 months of treatment with drugs that are now more than 50 years old.

Access to HIV treatment has leapfrogged care for TB. Half our clients are on antiretroviral agents (costing hundreds of dollars every year) that offer them the possibility of longterm control of HIV. Yet we don’t have the capacity to screen for TB or offer preventative treatment for it.

New culture techniques have been developed that dramatically improve our ability to diagnose TB at low cost (see MODS test at http://www.upch.edu.pe/facien/dbmbqf/mods/mods.htm). I want to help set up a TB lab at the International Hospital in Kampala that uses these new techniques and improves access to TB diagnosis, treatment and prevention. So if you have a centrifuge, an inverted light microscope, a vortex or just some cash please get in touch:

Mark299@gmail.com

The picture shows Mycobacterium Tuberculosis in culture using the MODS technique

Old men learning new skills

Another birthday and with it growing confirmation that things probably can't only get better. Learning to kayak constitutes this years refusal to relax the grip on youthfulness. The Nile is probably the most perfect place in the world to kayak. It's huge, beautiful, warm and studded with challenging rapids. Eight of the worlds top ten kayakers were training here in the weeks running up to the world championships. I'm struggling with it. I'm nervous and tense and so wobbly and easily flipped by the least demanding of waves. I just have to keep reminding myself why I'm doing it!!

Global Fund Fiasco

Yesterday’s Daily Monitor carried reports of an investigation by GAVI (The Global Alliance for Vaccines and Immunisation) detailing the misappropriation of Global Fund for Health money in Uganda in 2004/2005. Several requisitions for funding totalling about $500,000 came out of the President’s and his wife’s offices. This money was supposedly for immunisation and health promotion campaigns but hasn’t been accounted for.

There is a high tolerance of corrupt practices in Uganda (“It’s normal”), so it’s unlikely that there will be any consequences. Shame that the Queen is visiting and will shake his hand in October.......

VSO critique

My flight home is booked, so it's time to commit a few thoughts to paper before the resumption of normal life. First, I need to say that I have a longstanding admiration for VSO and the concept of facilitating skilled volunteers to work in low resource settings. My concern is that, for institutional reasons, VSO may be failing its volunteers and the development process.

Many VSO placements don't seem to work out. VSO tradition and predeparture training emphasise that this is often because the volunteer is insufficiently emotionally equipped for the rigor of working in a resource poor setting.

Our experience is more that many placements are problematic. The jobs are often poorly thought out and in organisations that have made little or no commitment to change and development.

VSO's attachment to the notion that volunteers should be "placed" rather than exercise choice over where they go, perpetuates this problem. I would change the system so that volunteers could choose their own placements from an advertised list. They would make their choice according to their own skills and experiences, their preparedness to engage with a challenge and feedback from previous volunteers. Good postings would be competed for by many applicants. Bad placements would fall rapidly by the wayside.

In-country offices seem to be overwhelmed by issues of policy development and planning. They have little time to attend to volunteer support and placement development. Strange for an old pinko to say but maybe its time to liberalise this particular market..........

Buying shoes

Mark needed new trainers. Playing tennis on a clay court wreaks havoc on your footwear, apparently. He hates shopping, anywhere. I find it quite entertaining in Uganda so volunteered to go. I headed for the ‘sportswear zone’ of central Kampala. My purchase went something like this;

Hello, how are you? I’m fine, how are you? I’m fine.

I’d like to buy some trainers in a size 43 for my husband.

These are a size 40, is that OK? No, they’ll be too small.

Then what about these, they are a size 46? No, they’ll be too big.

But not too too big? Yes, too too big.

Then what about these, they are size 43? No, they are pink and have ‘Fame’ in glitter on them, he won’t like them.

Yes, they are OK, they are size 43, you can buy these. No, he won’t wear them. Do you have any others in size 43?

Then what about these? Yes, these ones are good. Are they genuine or a Chinese copy?

No, (shocked) of course they are genuine, they are second hand! I don’t want second hand trainers.

But, madam, second hand is the best quality, genuine product, it’s best to buy second hand. I know, normally I agree with you, but not trainers. I want new ones.

I finally settled on a pair of black Nikes, size 43. Genuine (I think). New (ditto, although admittedly no box and only £18 - but they looked and smelled new).

Job done.

Financial crisis at Hope

Hope has hit the financial buffers. There won’t be enough money to pay salaries at the end of the month. Philip is quietly heartbroken. He started the clinic seven years ago with his wife and they have bankrolled it ever since. They have been in Kampala for eleven years and have reached that point where they go home soon, or stay here forever. So they go home next year. They want the clinic to be independent of them before they go. I have spent the last three months trying (gently and completely unsuccessfully) to explain why that won’t work. So this week I got tough. Laid out for Philip his choices, which are;

1. Continue to spend £12000 of his own money every year indefinitely. Plus much of his free time and emotional energy.

2. Sack two thirds of the staff, run a much more limited service and spend significantly less of his own money and time supporting the clinic.

3. Sell it to an entrepreneur, or give it to a big NGO (like MSF) and let them run it. If they’ll have it.

He (the accountant) keeps asking me how we can do the impossible and continue to provide an almost free service to people who need it and might die without it.

I (the doctor) keep showing him the figures and pointing out the awful reality he has to face up to. Bite the bullet or shut up shop.

He’s thinking about it over the weekend.

I’m wondering how NOT to spend the next three months rearranging the deckchairs on the Titanic....

Reachout Catchup

I’m now half way through my placement at Reachout and enjoying it. Its whole philosophy is heart-warming (laying aside the contradictions of our conservative catholic condom averse sponsors). A parish project borne out of the effort of a group of volunteers and now providing income to hundreds and care to thousands of HIV positive clients.

I also love many of the characters here. The noble and wise and gentle Father Joseph. Our dynamic,hotheaded director, Stella. The manic and highly skilled Dr Charles. And many others....It’s a busy, busy place with a constant stream of visitors, but it’s easy to impress them with what’s being done.

I’m learning lots about TB and HIV when I’m not reluctantly sidelined into organisational management stuff. This week we’ve been interviewing for all the senior management positions in the organisation. This is part of a broad restructuring process to better equip us now that we’ve grown so huge. It’s an uncompromising process. Existing postholders are having to compete for their own jobs. Many will be unsuccessful. I’m often impressed by the calibre of the people I’m meeting and my hopes for the future here brighten somewhat.

Father Joseph is understandably ambivalent. We are transforming ourselves. A very low cost community organisation that arose out of a spirit of volunteerism will become yet another professionalised NGO in the two tier economy of Uganda (NGOs vs the rest). Our senior financial officer currently earns $150 a month. The new financial manager will be offered 10x more.....