Where The Money Stops

Yesterday I journeyed to a village about 30 kilometers away to observe some beneficiaries of LUGADA's revolving fund at work. There were so many bizarre and ridiculous events in what should have been a straightforward day that I'm still shaking my head at the craziness.

            Because the village is far from Masaka, my facilitator Florence and I decided to leave by 10 o'clock. I was surprised by this because she's usually very busy in the morning: but ten was agreed on. I left my house at 9, got to Florence's home in Nyendo at 9:30, where I learned that Florence ran to the bank and would be home soon.

            At 12:30, Florence calls me and apologizes, saying she's on her way back right at that second. She doesn't actually arrive in Nyendo until 3:30, when I should have already been back from the trip to the village. I was frustrated and angry that I was kept waiting for over five hours, especially after we had a chat about punctuality the day before. But she was all apologies and sweetness and we set off for the village.

            I won't attempt to spell the Luganda word for the village, but it translates to "Where the Money Stops." I think the money probably stopped a few kilometers before this village. The roads were so dusty that we honestly could not see where we were driving and I think the driver just assumed he'd see another car if one were coming. The village itself consisted of shacks, garbage, a fruit market and many children who were very surprised/terrified to see me.

            Florence disappeared quickly to find our group, but I was seized by a conference from the Lutheran World Federation. Apparently, LWF was funding a workshop on savings and loans to women who had been abused. The facilitators of the workshop thought that I was their representative from America who was coming to check on my donation and see how the workshop was going. They brought me to the front of the room and heartily welcomed me to Uganda, thanked me for my donation and my time and described what they were doing. I didn't want to embarrass the leader of the workshop, so I accepted their thanks and then was called upon to deliver the Token Mzungu Speech.

            Scott the Canadian warned me about Token Mzungu Speeches, so I was prepared. Ugandan functions always include lots of speeches. Even a party will include welcome speeches, celebration speeches and farewell speeches, so naturally the auspicious occasion of a white person wandering into the wrong conference room merits a speech. The Token Mzungu Speech should address how Uganda is welcoming, development is inspirational, blah blah empowerment/global partnerships/struggle to prosperity….I delivered my token mzungu speech and then scampered off.

            Fortunately I was rewarded with a cup of tea and popcorn before I took the journey back to Masaka.  

 

Other journey? I was about ten minutes late heading home and my brother in Kampala called me "Where are you? Mom doesn't know where you are, she's worried, who are you with?" I try to calm him down, explaining that I was in the car back to the house. When I returned, I learned that my host mom thought I had been kidnapped.

                                    It was 9:45. 

These photos show the event I was at in Where the Money Stops. The women pictured are members of St. Maria Goretti Women's Group and organized a catering business. They have very little education and cooking is one of the few marketable skills they have: fortunately, there is a huge demand for catering in the area and the women reap a pretty nice profit.