Running out of gas...literally
The other day I had a meeting with a satellite health center about 30km away. I was actually going to work with a Village Health Team (VHT) volunteer to collect some baseline data in a nearby village. The VHTs were created in the early 2000s by the Ugandan government and a host of non-government organizations (NGOs). The basic idea was to create a network of volunteers from villages that could assist the satellite health centers in operations; mainly immunizations, health education and census information. Problem was, although they were well trained at the start of the project, there was almost no follow-up or continued funding to train and assist the VHTs. And although the concept of volunteer health workers for isolated villages in Uganda may make you feel warm and fuzzy, the reality is the same as anywhere; no one wants to work for free. So although the VHTs are named as integral project partners by nearly every government agency and local NGO, it's apparent that they are inconsistent in their abilities, motivation to work and even their very existence.
Luckily our pilot district has a few motivated VHTs. We were told in a very under-the-table kind of way that they would not work for free, though they would need to receive a modest "feeding allowance" for a day's work. I wanted to be careful to follow precedent, so after checking in with a few groups that work with the VHTs it was agreed that about 5,000 schillings (about $2) would be appropriate . Apparently huge aid agencies, like Oxfam, have come through and basically spoiled the VHTs by buying them bicycles, motorcycles and giving them absurd stipends. This makes it easier for them to achieve their goals, but when they leave town after their programs are done, the precedent remains and it makes it more difficult for small NGOs to work with the VHTs.
Anyway, I had a date set with a VHT to go to a village and gather some baseline data. As usual I went to the workshop at the hospital and requested a bike. There is always a bit of confusion over the bike availability (we have about five) and even if you tell them days in advance, there are no guarantees. It's also funny because sometimes there is word that the traffic police are on the road, in which case there are only two bikes that can be used. Well this particular day I went to pick a bike and one of the workshop guys gave me one. One of the other workers said "That one doesn't have enough gas, give him this one," at which point I swapped bikes with him. And I was off.
My work day was pretty uneventful, though it did involve a lot of driving through the village. The dwellings in the villages are spread out and I was quite happy to buzz around on the motorcycle rather than walk in the heat. The starter on the motorcycle didn't always work but the villagers certainly enjoyed watching the VHT push me as I revved the bike to push start it.
At the end of the day I was tired. I dropped off the VHT and started to head back towards Kitgum. The 30km ride takes about a half hour and doesn't have a lot of highlights. It is a single lane dirt road that passes by a few settlements and a large amount of agriculture lands. Being the end of the dry season, the main crop available for harvesting is cotton. Other than that, it's pretty bland, dry savannah. However, there are quite a lot of people on the road, both walking and bicycling. Some are going to farm, some are going to the nearby settlements and others, well, I can only speculate.
About 15 minutes in I began to think about the amount of fuel I had. I had thought about it when we were in the village and I told myself I would check before leaving Kitgum Matidi but I had promptly forgotten. It had been a while since I had run out of fuel and nightmares from my previous experience in Nigeria sent me into a state of near panic. I told myself to calm down and at least this road wasn't as isolated as the roads I frequented in Nigeria. Just as soon as I had calmed down, my motorcycle sputtered.
Naturally I was out of gas at the base of a big hill. I dismounted, popped it into neutral, and began walking to the nearest settlement. It was hot. Like, real hot. Much of this time was spent cursing myself for not checking the fuel level before I left the hospital, and again after I left Kitgum Matidi. I eventually reached a small settlement where a family was grinding sorghum into flour. They had a machine that was run by an engine and I got there just in time to hear it basically explode. I witnessed a pretty aggressive argument that I didn't understand (aside from the fact that everyone was pissed). I awkwardly stood there, not even being noticed, when I suddenly saw a motorcyclist going past on the road. I couldn't hear him since his engine was off (he was coasting downhill to save fuel, something I should have done) but I flagged him down. I had walked past him on my way to the settlement and I asked him if he was going to town. I explained my predicament and I gave him 10,000 schillings to buy a few liters of gas. A liter of gas here is about 4,000 schillings and I hoped it was enough money to get me a sufficient amount of gas while at the same time not being enough money for him to be tempted to leave me there. I don't know why but I didn't ask for his number or even record his license plate number (he pointed it out when I begged him not to leave me).
I made my way back to the site of the exploded engine and they had seemed to resolve their situation. One of the men was a former school teacher who spoke excellent English and he was very friendly. He initially seemed concerned at my lack of intel regarding the motorcyclist I had sent for fuel. I didn't get his number plate? Or even his phone number? His concern made me worried; had I been stupid? Was this guy going to return? How long was I going to wait? After his initial concern, the man said "It's okay, the people here... it would be very hard to cheat you like that." I thought about it and realized that even if he cheated me, I was happy to give me the chance to prove me wrong. After living in Jamaica and Nigeria where I was conditioned to be skeptical, this place felt different. And I was tired. Tired of chasing people down, threatening them if they lied to me, following them around, suspicious of their motives and actions...I wanted to be the naive-happy-go-lucky traveler again.
Within 20 minutes the man had returned. He had bought what appeared to be the maximum amount of fuel for the 10,000. I told him that I didn't have anything smaller than the largest denomination bill (50,000) which I felt absurd saying. I could imagine this being stereotypical of foreigners here and I hated it. I'm poor damnit, it's just by chance that I have this bill. He said that it would normally be 5,000 for transport to the town and back (which was exactly what my teacher friend told me) and said it was no big deal, we could go to town together and I could pay him then. We went into town and I got change at the gas station. I told him that "Although I know I should only give you 5,000...I am going to give you 10,000 (it helped that the change I got was five 10,000 bills)." I said that I really appreciated him dealing with me honestly and if anyone back at the settlement asked, tell them I gave you 5,000 schillings because I don't want them to think that every foreigner is rich.
Luckily our pilot district has a few motivated VHTs. We were told in a very under-the-table kind of way that they would not work for free, though they would need to receive a modest "feeding allowance" for a day's work. I wanted to be careful to follow precedent, so after checking in with a few groups that work with the VHTs it was agreed that about 5,000 schillings (about $2) would be appropriate . Apparently huge aid agencies, like Oxfam, have come through and basically spoiled the VHTs by buying them bicycles, motorcycles and giving them absurd stipends. This makes it easier for them to achieve their goals, but when they leave town after their programs are done, the precedent remains and it makes it more difficult for small NGOs to work with the VHTs.
Anyway, I had a date set with a VHT to go to a village and gather some baseline data. As usual I went to the workshop at the hospital and requested a bike. There is always a bit of confusion over the bike availability (we have about five) and even if you tell them days in advance, there are no guarantees. It's also funny because sometimes there is word that the traffic police are on the road, in which case there are only two bikes that can be used. Well this particular day I went to pick a bike and one of the workshop guys gave me one. One of the other workers said "That one doesn't have enough gas, give him this one," at which point I swapped bikes with him. And I was off.
My work day was pretty uneventful, though it did involve a lot of driving through the village. The dwellings in the villages are spread out and I was quite happy to buzz around on the motorcycle rather than walk in the heat. The starter on the motorcycle didn't always work but the villagers certainly enjoyed watching the VHT push me as I revved the bike to push start it.
At the end of the day I was tired. I dropped off the VHT and started to head back towards Kitgum. The 30km ride takes about a half hour and doesn't have a lot of highlights. It is a single lane dirt road that passes by a few settlements and a large amount of agriculture lands. Being the end of the dry season, the main crop available for harvesting is cotton. Other than that, it's pretty bland, dry savannah. However, there are quite a lot of people on the road, both walking and bicycling. Some are going to farm, some are going to the nearby settlements and others, well, I can only speculate.
About 15 minutes in I began to think about the amount of fuel I had. I had thought about it when we were in the village and I told myself I would check before leaving Kitgum Matidi but I had promptly forgotten. It had been a while since I had run out of fuel and nightmares from my previous experience in Nigeria sent me into a state of near panic. I told myself to calm down and at least this road wasn't as isolated as the roads I frequented in Nigeria. Just as soon as I had calmed down, my motorcycle sputtered.
Naturally I was out of gas at the base of a big hill. I dismounted, popped it into neutral, and began walking to the nearest settlement. It was hot. Like, real hot. Much of this time was spent cursing myself for not checking the fuel level before I left the hospital, and again after I left Kitgum Matidi. I eventually reached a small settlement where a family was grinding sorghum into flour. They had a machine that was run by an engine and I got there just in time to hear it basically explode. I witnessed a pretty aggressive argument that I didn't understand (aside from the fact that everyone was pissed). I awkwardly stood there, not even being noticed, when I suddenly saw a motorcyclist going past on the road. I couldn't hear him since his engine was off (he was coasting downhill to save fuel, something I should have done) but I flagged him down. I had walked past him on my way to the settlement and I asked him if he was going to town. I explained my predicament and I gave him 10,000 schillings to buy a few liters of gas. A liter of gas here is about 4,000 schillings and I hoped it was enough money to get me a sufficient amount of gas while at the same time not being enough money for him to be tempted to leave me there. I don't know why but I didn't ask for his number or even record his license plate number (he pointed it out when I begged him not to leave me).
I made my way back to the site of the exploded engine and they had seemed to resolve their situation. One of the men was a former school teacher who spoke excellent English and he was very friendly. He initially seemed concerned at my lack of intel regarding the motorcyclist I had sent for fuel. I didn't get his number plate? Or even his phone number? His concern made me worried; had I been stupid? Was this guy going to return? How long was I going to wait? After his initial concern, the man said "It's okay, the people here... it would be very hard to cheat you like that." I thought about it and realized that even if he cheated me, I was happy to give me the chance to prove me wrong. After living in Jamaica and Nigeria where I was conditioned to be skeptical, this place felt different. And I was tired. Tired of chasing people down, threatening them if they lied to me, following them around, suspicious of their motives and actions...I wanted to be the naive-happy-go-lucky traveler again.
Within 20 minutes the man had returned. He had bought what appeared to be the maximum amount of fuel for the 10,000. I told him that I didn't have anything smaller than the largest denomination bill (50,000) which I felt absurd saying. I could imagine this being stereotypical of foreigners here and I hated it. I'm poor damnit, it's just by chance that I have this bill. He said that it would normally be 5,000 for transport to the town and back (which was exactly what my teacher friend told me) and said it was no big deal, we could go to town together and I could pay him then. We went into town and I got change at the gas station. I told him that "Although I know I should only give you 5,000...I am going to give you 10,000 (it helped that the change I got was five 10,000 bills)." I said that I really appreciated him dealing with me honestly and if anyone back at the settlement asked, tell them I gave you 5,000 schillings because I don't want them to think that every foreigner is rich.
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