For the past 2 weeks, I’ve been staying with Susan, a Ugandan woman to whom Jessie, my research assistant, introduced me in January. Susan continually catches me off-guard by her terseness and candor. Those are two qualities that are so uncharacteristic of most Ugandans I’ve met that I can’t help laughing in her presence. Susan works as an International Liaison Officer at Makerere University here in Kampala, so, she’s spent a lot of time around foreigners. It’s fun to have a young, Ugandan friend with whom I feel comfortable.
Lest I forget the cultural division that exists between the two of us, however, Susan continually reminds me that I am a “muzungu,” Swahili for “white person.” “You muzunugs,” she’ll say, completing phrase with a generalization that is usually scathingly accurate. Susan has transformed “muzungu” from a noun into an adjective. I’m a “muzungu neighbor” if I don’t stop by during the day to spend some time hanging out with her and her housemate. Yesterday, Susan gave me “muzungu nuts,” Trader Joe’s cinnamon-covered almonds that were given to her as a gift by another muzungu. Her nose crinkled as I devoured them.

Last night, we were chatting about tourist attractions in Uganda and I was asking her for advice. She suggested whitewater rafting on the Nile. “Yeah, I’ve thought of that, too,” I responded, “Have you ever done it?” Susan sucked her teeth, rolled her eyes and gave me the exasperated look to which I’ve become accustomed: “Natalie, of course I haven’t gone whitewater rafting, I’m Ugandan.”

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(For the record, this concept was thought up before Nat’s post)

I’ve recently been bothered by something.

On Fletcher’s top-page, the prominently placed “News & Events” bar is meant to show the great things going on in the Fletcher community and announce our relevance in academia, world affairs, etc.

For the past several days, this has been one of the five most important things going on around school: “Bill Richardson, F71, endorses Barack Obama for President”

I have been turning this over and over in my mind. Yes, Richardson is an extremely famous Fletcher alum. When he was running for President, many Fletcher “headlines” referred to him.

(As an aside: it should be noted that the same coverage is not given to another Fletcher alum, still running for President, Cynthia McKinney.)

But Bill Richardson is no longer a candidate for President. Must his every move still be followed? Is there something more mischievous at play?

No way, I thought. There are thousands of Fletcher alumni, many of whom — I’m sure — have a preference for one candidate over another. I’m sure some alumni (not to mention faculty) even work for or advise different candidates. Surely, the Fletcher media team would list all these endorsements and appointments.

A quick Fletcher in the News search for “Clinton.” Who’s endorsed her? I know one of my professors advises her. Odd, nothing about Hillary there! Just a professor’s 2005 Boston Globe quote about former President Bill Clinton.

It gets better when I search for McCain: “Oooops…Not Found”

Maybe I’m crazy. Maybe this Richardson thing is a fluke. Fletcher is probably staying out of the Presidential election all together. But, just to be sure, I did an “Obama” search. Three hits for Barack Obama!

The Richardson endorsement.

Two weeks ago, a professor — in an article how practical Obama’s FP would be — stated “It seems to me he’s really receptive to good ideas no matter where they come from, including his opponent.”

As early as a year ago, how “unusual” it is that a foreign Ambassador (and Fletcher alum) attended an Obama fundraiser.

OUT WITH IT, FLETCHER. Put your cards on the table. Is there a plot to support Barack Obama over other candidates?!

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The first discussion I had about American politics here in Uganda was in the Lira market in January. I was buying some avocadoes and pineapple from a mommy, responding to the usual questions posed to “muzungus,” when she looked up at me quizzically and asked, “Who are you supporting?” Initially, I felt disoriented; where was I? The sunlight filtered through the market stall slats, flies flickered across my ankles, whiffs of recently-harvested produce mingled with those of freshly-butchered meat. I glanced around at the people who were eagerly awaiting my response: “Ermm… Obama.”

Since then, I’ve grown accustomed to these political conversations with Ugandans. I’ve realized that even the mommies in the market are following the democratic race as closely as any American. They are overwhelming supportive of Obama.

Last night, I was up late chatting with my Ugandan hosts in Kampala. They’re young adults, like me, and when the discussion turned political, Paul fetched the copy of Obama’s Speech on Race that he’d printed and insisted on reading the entire speech to us. And we listened—as the banana leaves rustled outside and the first drops of the impending rainstorm bounced off the tin roof.

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It’s back to school today. I think my “Spring Break” was the worst of both worlds: I didn’t go anywhere exciting, yet I wasn’t very productive either. Is this the sad state of my life that leaving Somerville for a few hours is an adventure?!

I’ve come to realize, in grad school, “break” does not refer to a whole bunch of free time falling into your lap. It simply means there’s a short “break” in the stream of new work coming in.

This just in: Started the day off right. I got a phone call while sitting down to write this post. I may not have landed an internship yet, but one of my business cards was picked out of the fish-bowl at Qdoba in Brookline: I’ve received a free meal for myself and four friends!

… Hmm, I wonder if I can find four other people who have the time to leave Somerville for Qdoba?

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Yesterday, I weaseled my way into a two-day conference in Kampala entitled, “Building Consensus on Land Conflict Prevention in Uganda.” It’s perfectly in line with my thesis, and so, I’m feeling lucky to be here. Yesterday, President Museveni opened the conference. He spoke about land use policy, comparing Uganda to the U.S., where he noted that less than 1% of the population is involved in agriculture. He’s hoping that Uganda is also headed in that direction. One policy of the government is to encourage direct foreign investment—even to the abandonment of land rights of local communities.

This policy is overly hasty and ambitious, especially given the current land conflicts and insecurity surrounding land tenure. I don’t dispute the value of private investment—especially ventures that are sensitive to the needs and involvement of community members. However, industrialized agriculture is not something that can or should happen overnight—if, indeed, industrialized agriculture is desirable.

Rather, land policy should encourage community-oriented activities that evolve away from a pure system of subsistence agriculture. These activities could include the following: the establishment of farming cooperatives, agricultural microfinance groups, intensive and efficient agriculture techniques, and alternative land-based income-generating activities. Not only will these activities promote development at the community-level but they will also encourage cooperation amongst communities that are increasingly threatened by land-related conflict.

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At the end of Mama Santa’s road, there’s a sign that formerly read “Joint UNDP/UNHCR Mission.” But before I arrived here, the letters for “UNHCR” and its logo were painted over—hastily enough that you can still make out the pale blue letters. I’m not sure what the role of UNHCR was here, especially since most people were internally displaced, but since I arrived, I’d been wondering, “At what precise moment does someone decide that the work of UNHCR is finished in a country?” What arbitrary indicator determines that the refugee crisis is over and “development” can begin?

And then, the other day in the late afternoon, I heard a sound that shed light on my ponderings. It was an obnoxious, repetitive, electronic tune that grew louder and louder until it was unmistakable—The Ice Cream Man. And sure enough, within a few minutes, the ice cream man’s motorcycle was bouncing along the dirt lane in front of Mama Santa’s. He was wearing a white sailor hat, a long white coat, sunglasses, and he’d bungee corded a Gatorade cooler to the back of his motorcycle. Out of the cooler, he scooped fluorescent pink slush.

It must’ve been him. He was the one who made UNHCR decide that they could brush the dust off their shoes and head out of Uganda. Maybe when this ice cream man’s motorcycle becomes a truck, UNDP will decide that it’s alright to leave, too.

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“… and, finally, it takes some merit: but it’s mostly luck.”

Thus concluded a two-day lesson on “How to get your Op-Ed published” in my Politics of Statecraft course. That didn’t mean, however, that we shouldn’t still try.

I won’t fill you in on the whole lesson (after all, we could be competing for column space, and you’ll just have to wait until the course is offered again. Related tips, however, are provided by the Op-Ed Editor of the New York Times). But be aware that you’re starting from behind if you’re not already important or selling a book or Angelina Jolie.

Taking this in stride, my colleagues and I set out to be published. We are encouraged: “Have confidence.” We took some punches. Unanswered Emails to Op-Ed desks hurt the ego. It didn’t help when a guest-speaker (fitting two of the above three categories) shared the fact that he still needs to work hard to get his pieces published — though, with the essay he discussed, he was eventually successful.

I decided to shoot for getting my Op-Ed published in The Boston Globe. I wanted to write about Pakistan, the nation had just had an election, and I disagreed with the only opinion piece the Globe had published on the topic (That’s right: I think I’m better than Graham Allison).

So I hunted down the contact info for the Globe’s Op-Ed Editor and sent her a polite Email regarding my interest in writing an opinion piece for her to publish. Slightly more than 24-hours later, I got a response: “i’d be happy to consider it.” This brief message turned me into class hero, as no one else had even gotten as much of a reply.

That high lasted about a day.

That evening, I sent what I thought was a pretty good Op-Ed to the editor. A day went by and I heard nothing. On the second day I took the initiative to call the editor. “Oh yes,” she said. “I am hoping to read it this afternoon.” I thanked her and assured her I looked forward to working with her and her staff in anyway necessary.

No response that afternoon.

The following day, The New York Times and The Boston Globe both ran prominent stories on the issue. I felt I had nothing to lose by Emailing the editor, again, and noting that my Op-Ed was timely as ever.

No response.

I understood why when, the following day, The Boston Globe Op-Ed page ran “Hope is on the rise in Pakistan.” Shuja Nawaz has a book to sell.

No luck.

(In total fairness and honesty, Mr. Nawaz is an actual scholar with extensive knowledge of the issue — vastly more qualified than I to write an Op-Ed… book or no. I mean, on a follow-up policy memo on the topic, it was I who cited a previous speaking engagement of his: not the other way around. At the same time I was attempting to publish, I learned through a friend that Senator John Kerry was also shopping around a Pakistan Op-Ed. I’m at least glad that it wasn’t his piece that made it into the Globe over mine!)

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This is my first post for Reflections, so I’ll provide an intro to the readers. I’m a second year MALD student. Which means, this being the second semester of my second year, I’m starring my as of yet unwritten thesis in the face. That said I’m enjoying the process of getting it done.

My concentration at Fletcher and the topic of my thesis is business, development and energy. Right now I’m trying to bring these three topics together into a useful and well written thesis — hopefully I will succeed. I am trying to determine how success can be defined and replicated in non-grid solutions to lack of energy access.

If I’m not working on the thesis, then I’m doing research for a consulting client. I’m taking a course with Professor Rusty Tunnard that involves little to no course work and a lot of real world client interaction and deliverables. Its both fun and overwhelming. There has been a lot of learning going on as my team (there are 5 of us) piece together research and analyze it to get to a final product that we will be able to hand over to the client to make them very very happy

The topic is the Bottom-of-the-Pyramid and technology, so there is a lot out there. Some of the cooler findings have to do with mobile technology, mbanking, egovernment, ehealth and how free developer tools being used by people outside the developed world can create tech goods that the very poorest will benefit from.

I will write again about both these projects, that have come to dominate my life, as I post more often on Reflections. I first started reading this blog when I started my Fletcher career last year, I found it, and still do find it, really  fun to read up on what my fellow students are doing. We lose track of each other’s real interests in the slog of classwork. This blog always provides a good reminder that our students do and think pretty cool things.

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In honor of International Women’s Day, I decided to bake banana bread for Mama Santa and for all the other people living with us (the number of other young people fluctuates between 7 and 10).  I’m pretty confident in my banana-bread-baking abilities, though I realized yesterday that maybe my confidence is a little unfounded, at least in the culinary context of Uganda. 

The batter was disappointing, mostly because the flour I’d bought was full of weevils, so we kept having to pick them out of the sticky mush.  Plus, even though I take pride in having made banana bread many times, I still rely on the measuring units at home and without them, I felt a little lost.

The women here cook using charcoal.  There’s a small cook-stove made of mud with a hole in the front, where you fuel the charcoal, and a hole in the top, upon which you place the pot.  With a bit of creativity, we prepared a “marmite oven,” something that had worked so well for me in Cameroon.  Irene, my banana-bread sous-chef, was wary about our make-shift oven, but I was ready to shock her with my resourcefulness. We put some sand in the bottom of a pot and carefully laid the bread molds on top of the sand. 

45-minutes into the baking, Irene gently suggested that we check on the status of the bread.  “It’s fine, just let it bake,” I assured her—my confidence, as yet, unshattered.  She was skeptical enough that I reluctantly allowed her to open the lid of our little oven.  Upon removing the bread, we discovered a 4-inch hole in the bottom of the pot through which all of the sand was pouring.  There was a corresponding 4-inch black circle on the bottom of the bread.  I felt spectacularly embarrassed.  We scraped off the scorched portion of the bread and everyone humored me by tasting it—lingering black crumbs, weevils, and all. 

I’ll buy them a new pot today, along with a perfectly-baked treat from the “Daily Fresh Bread” shop in town.

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Shuffling outside to brush my teeth at the water spigot this morning—squinting even in the early-morning sun—I was surprised to find a herd of five cattle contentedly grazing in Mama Santa’s lawn.  I eyed them warily as I brushed my teeth.  Really, the unfenced cattle here are so docile it’s almost funny, but their long horns intimidate me, and I always give them a wide berth when I pass them on the street.  So, it was a bit unsettling to have them as companions for my morning routine. 

Next Wednesday, Mama Santa will be receiving a dairy cow of her own through the Northern Uganda Social Action Fund’s (NUSAF) Vulnerable Group Support (VGS) program.  The purpose of the World Bank-funded program is to jump-start development in Northern Uganda.  In terms of human development indicators, Northern Uganda lags far behind the South.  There have been a lot of criticisms of NUSAF’S implementation, and there are allegations of corruption.  It’s affirming, though, to think that at least the program is working for Mama Santa.

Mama Santa’s home is the Arc of her neighborhood—animals’ refuge from bothersome children.  If I were to join Mama Santa under her mango tree, I’d encounter a steady stream of animals throughout the day.  The chickens usually arrive before I leave for the field and are followed by ducks, dogs, cats, and the occasional goat or pig.  I’m wondering how these frequenters of Mama Santa’s yard will welcome the new arrival.

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