I expected to be idle, even bored. And then, the light dawned – almost
literally.
Between the time we arrived at Nyaka and our trip to Queen
Elizabeth National Park a mere five days hence, I had nothing official to do at
Nyaka. Unlike Emily, who is increasingly
involved with curriculum matters, I was the deadbeat. What could I possibly do that would be useful
in 4 days (Monday – Thursday)? That
changed when I was conscripted on Sunday by the new guests bearing the light.
Linda, the founder of the NGO, Fifty Lanterns International,
arrived with her friend Kelly from Minnesota with 250 solar powered
lights. Linda and, Nyaka in-country
manager, Jennifer – friends since meeting in Rwanda when Jennifer was running a
refugee camp for Amercian Refugee Committee – had been conspiring for a number
of years to get these solar power lights to Nyaka’s Grandmothers program. Basically, the lights consist of ~10 x 10 cm
solar panels that plug into a small rectangular LED light powered by a rechargeable
cell phone battery. Accompanying the
basic package are two cell phone adapters so that the power cord from the solar
panel can charge a cell phone.
The day after the light brigade’s arrival, they were
scheduled to meet with some 90 Grannies, as they are called, to distribute
these lights through the Nyaka Grandmothers program – conscript in tow. In brief, this program trains Grannies in
practical life skills and provides, on occasion, items that will enrich their
lives. For example, on my farm tour
yesterday, I learned from the farm manager that his stable would have had more
goats had most not been given away to Grannies.
Today, they were getting solar lights.
For the light brigade giveaway, we met at the Nyaka library,
just down the war torn, boulder strewn road from the school. When we arrived at 9:00, about 20 Grannies
were already there sitting around and chatting, so we started to unpack, assemble,
and test the lights. As we did, more and
more Grannies came walking down the last approach to the library – for all of
the Grannies arrived on foot, decked out in colorful skirts, shawls, head wraps,
and the like. At one point, a dozen or
so Grannies arrived and paraded by our preparation area, stopping by each one
of us assembling lights and extending the most sincere, grin-filled, hearty
greeting, usually beginning with, “Good day, suh” and a bow, both hands
extended either for a hug or a double fisted hand shake. “How are you?” or “Nice to meet you” was my
reply, followed by the double entendre, “You’re welcome.” It was a 5-minute period of cultural
immersion the likes of which I have never experienced, and at one point, I actually
had an out of body experience – transcendent.
After I alit, the assembled lights needed to be stuffed back
into their boxes for distribution and brought into the assembly hall. The lights were given out after Grannie names
were called off of a roster by the Grandmother coordinator, each Grannie
arising, being presented by with a solar light by either Linda or Kelly – in a
manner akin to getting the MVP award for the local football team, and returning
to their seat awaiting training. After I
finished my appointed assembly functions and clean up duties, for I had ascended
from deadbeat to gofer – I took a seat in the back, actually a front row seat
to this extraordinary play unfolding before me.
Linda began the training to a noisy hall, her English
instructions and Rukiga translation made all the more inaudible by a seasonal
downpour exploding on the tin roof of the assembly hall. While the solar light was a fairly simple
device, at least by western standards, it must have been more or less
unfathomable to the Grannies, or at least some of them, because from the back
of the room, I saw several struggling to figure out how to get the box open,
which contained the now assembled solar lights.
Nevertheless, Martin, the associate coordinator for the Grandmothers
program, took the stage and was doing an admirable job getting audience
participation, asking that various parts be held up, with Jennifer roaming the
audience for one-on-one tutorials as needed.
Still, as I watched from my front row seat, I sensed only a
mild excitement for the advantage the new solar light would afford the Grannie
household, providing portable light to an otherwise darkened house for
who-knows-how-long into the evening when there may or may not be something to
keep a light on for.
When the basic training was completed, the subject of the
two cell phone adapters came up. By that
time, I had taken an intermission from the front row seats of the play and had
wandered out on the patio – the rain had stopped – to chat with Richard, the
Nyaka farm manager who had lost his goats to the Grannies. As we made small talk, all of a sudden the
assembly hall erupted in to a cacophonous cheer. Did the local football team score a
goal? Oh, that’s right, there is no TV
here. I looked at Richard and he
returned my puzzled look with a broad smile.
“They just told the Grannies that they could use the adapters to charge
cell phones.” Seemingly bored by the
idea of evening light, the Grannies had gone ape over the possibility of
charging cell phones!
They knew something I did not and this is when I learned
about cell phones, or more specifically – cell phone charging, in developing
countries, like Uganda. I knew, of
course, that cell phones usage was ubiquitous in even the poorest areas. Some of the most advanced cell phone systems
are going up in these areas because, of course, if you are going to install
phone service, why would you do land lines, and if you are going to install
cell phone service, you are going to use 21st century
technology. Look, for example, at mobile
money, ubiquitous all over Uganda or the fact that even at Nyaka in remote
western Uganda, I have no trouble uploading this blog from an Airtel
modem. What I had never considered,
however, was that all those cell phones need to be charged. And it seems that electricity is a far
scarcer commodity than cell service connection.
That is why, even in Kampala, there is a market specifically for
charging cell phones – sometimes by kiosk, sometimes by mobile charging
stations. A charge cost about 500 UGX,
about 20 cents.
But the value of the “charging service” may well be much
greater than 20 cents for the Nyaka Grannies because now they have something
everybody wants, the essential basis of bartering. “Can you pick up this medicine from the drug
shop for me? I will charge your cell
phone.” “I will charge your cell phone
this week if you will apply another coat of mud on my house.” “Can you cut that tree for firewood, for a
phone charge.” Or maybe power will come
from the light, too. “Come to my house for the community meeting tonight.” Ostensibly, light, in reality – empowerment.
I think back on the vulnerable parade of beautifully dressed
and gracious Grannies parading by me and now think they must have dressed up
because they essentially knew they would return, Queen of the Villlage, thanks to
the charge of the light brigade and the Nyaka Grandmothers program.
