When you’re not quite sure what to do with that extra $40 million…

Hmmm, what to do after cutting all government budgets to finance the cost of hosting a $130 million international conference?

Restore funding to the agency charged with bringing electricity to rural Ugandans?

Nah.

Invest in the Ministry of Works to ensure the miles and miles of new roads built and fixed for the conference can be properly maintained?

Psh, yeah right.

Oh I know. How about increasing relief to the hundreds of thousands who are still recovering from flooding in the eastern regions?

Nah, let donors handle that problem.

Instead, let’s buy a big-ass jet to fly the president around.

Brilliant.

Rural IDPs priority for refugee body

A follow up in today’s paper, to this story that ran last week.

 

CHRISTOPHER MASON

Kampala

A lack of resources has forced the United Nations to prioritise its resettlement efforts on camps in the north over those who sought refuge in urban areas during the Lords Resistance Army conflict, according to a spokesperson for the international agency.

“The reason our focus is not on urban IDPs is strictly a priority issue,” said Roberta Russo, spokesperson for the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR).

“We have limited funds so we focus on where the highest needs are.”

Most of the 4.5 million people living in northern Uganda were displaced during the conflict. The majority went to camps that were established to provide security and allow aid organisations to access those in need. But estimates say anywhere between 300,000 and 600,000 fled to urban areas, like Kampala, to escape instability.

Now that the conflict has ended and the resettlement process is underway, it is becoming increasingly apparent that most of those going home are from camps and not the urban areas where so many fled.

On Wednesday, Daily Monitor published an article detailing life in Kireka on the eastern outskirts of Kampala where some 10,000 urban IDPS, mostly Acholi, live.

Many work in a nearby stone quarry for as little as Shs1,000 per day.  All those interviewed said they would like to return to their homes, but said they have not received any support from the government or international organisations that would help them do so.

A 2006 report by the John Hopkins Bloomberg School of Public Health in the United States illustrates how many people in the north, especially Acholi, fled to urban areas rather than camps. That report found that 33 per cent of Acholi displaced between 1988-1996 came to Kampala.

The report found that 75 per cent of Acholi IDPs in Kampala ate only one meal per day and that 44 per cent could not afford to eat meat.

Many of those conditions continue to persist today. Recently, an NGO, Kids Inspiring Kids, organized a Christmas party for children living in the Acholi section of Kireka (often called Acholi Quarter). At the party, a cow was slaughtered and cooked for the children, marking the first time many of them had eaten meat in months and in some cases years.

Ms Russo, in outlining the UN’s strategy for resettlement, said IDP camps had been prioritised over urban IDPs in part because security concerns in the camps are motivating officials to evacuate the camps as quickly and safely as possible.

“Most of the protection concerns are in the camps,” Ms Russo said.  The high mortality rates and documented assault cases in many of the camps illustrate those concerns.

But urban IDPs say they should get greater support in their efforts to rebuild their lives back home.  Ms Russo said no IDP, whether in camps or in urban settings, would receive money for transport back home. Instead, the support is focused on the areas to which people are returning.

The Forgotten Urban IDPs

This story ran in today’s paper, following my trip to the stone quarry on Saturday. I’m working on follow-up pieces detailing government/UN policies on resettling people following two decades of rebel fighting. But this piece shines a light on the everyday life of those who fled to urban areas during the conflict.

CHRISTOPHER MASON

Kireka

Under the heat of the mid-day sun, the hills that surround Banda, a Kampala suburb, ring with the distinct chink-chink-chink of metal hitting rock.

Following the sound along winding paths that descend into a massive rock quarry, reveals groups of women and girls, each wielding an engine gear fixed to a wooden stick, methodically crushing rocks.

Many, like 11-year old Irene Abalo who is a three-year veteran of life in the quarry, came here to escape violence in the north. Now, with tentative peace between the government and the Lords Resistance Army (LRA), a massive effort has begun to help the millions who fled to IDP camps in the north during the 20-year conflict.

But those who fled to urban areas in the south instead of the camps, estimated to number between 300,000 – 600,000, have so far been left out of the resettlement process and so continue to live a subsistence life as though the conflict never ended.

Abalo and her mother, 25-year old Paska Akello, work side-by-side in the quarry in the hopes of filling enough 20-litre jerry cans with crushed stones to make Shs2,000 between them.

“We came here to escape the LRA,” Ms Akello says. Asked whether she would like to return home to Pader, she nodded yes.
Abalo and Ms Akello are among about 10,000 Ugandans who live in an area that has come to be known as the Acholi Quarters.

Unlike most in the north, they did not flee to IDP camps, but instead sought refuge in Uganda’s urban areas.

Though they put distance between themselves and the violence, these urban IDPs are difficult to distinguish from the broader urban population even though they often have the same resettlement needs as those living in camps.

“The manner in which IDPs are identified tends to exclude urban populations, most of whom have the same needs as those in the camps,” said Mr Moses Okello, the head of research at the Refugee Law Project (RLP), which recently released a report calling on the government and international organizations to include urban IDPs in the resettlement process.

As hundreds leave the camps for home, many like Ms Akello and Abalo continue with subsistence living, unable to afford the costs of transport back home and the start-up costs of rebuilding homes, replanting crops and waiting for the first harvest to come in.

This has angered organisations such as the RLP who say the government’s own definition of an IDP, as established by the National Policy for Internally Displaced Persons, focuses on anyone who has fled their homes due to conflict, regardless of whether or not they fled to a camp.

“The fact that urban IDPs have been left out of the resettlement process is contrary to the government’s own definition of an IDP,” Mr Okello said.

Repeated phone calls to both the Minister for Relief and Disaster Preparedness Tarsis Kabwegyere and State Minister for Northern Uganda David Wakikona were not answered. Strict roles define life in the quarries.

Men cut the rock with hammers and chisels and transport the large chunks to open areas where women and girls use their metal-topped sticks to crush them into small pieces.

There is a stark difference between life here and life in downtown Kampala, only eight kilometres away. George Lajul, 57, is among the men chiseling rocks out of the high walls of the quarry. He fled Pader in 1993 because of LRA fighting. He once went back home but fled again because of the instability.

“If I could go home, I would,” he says. “But there is not enough money.”

The area around the stone quarry, part of Banda village, has become known as the Acholi Quarter because of the high Acholi population.

It became a magnet for people from the region because many lived here working for the Kireka Tea Estate. But the estate was closed in the early 1970s when Idi Amin expelled Asians.

Many Acholi stayed in the area and began extracting rock. When violence broke out in the north, many there fled to areas where they had relatives. In this case, thousands eventually came here.

Today, those Acholi continue to work in the quarry, where many have died from falling rocks or floods. Many of the workers have cracked and dry hands with broken fingernails from the work.

They talk of those who have died in the quarry, most recently a woman who was crushed by a rock.

“The people in the IDP camps left their homes, but so did those in the urban IDPs,” Ms Milly Grace Akena, 47 said.

She is the chair person of the committee that looks after the concerns of Acholi living in Kampala. After working in the quarry for sometime, she turned to alternative work and today makes paper bead necklaces.

“The government has ignored the urban displaced people,” Ms Akena says while standing in the quarry. “But we are all displaced.”

To catch a falling grasshopper, or “I just ate a freakin’ grasshopper”

Approaching the office yesterday I watched dozens of people, mostly women and children, running around in the tall grass that lines the rail line running behind the newspaper office.

“What are they doing?” I wondered.

So upon walking into the newsroom I went to back wall of windows to get a second look at the commotion. But I realized what the fuss was all about before I could even lay eyes on the people because there, covering the windows, were hundreds of massive grasshoppers.

Down below people were running around with plastic water bottles, containers and grocery bags, catching grasshoppers by the bucket load.

Apparently the grasshoppers are migrating and so were passing through Kampala yesterday. I watched with fascination as some others in the newsroom laughed at me for being so amazed at the activity below

“Have you never had grasshopper?” they asked.

Laughing, I said no, grasshopper is not something I’d eaten before.

All day long, reporters were reaching through the windows to pluck grasshoppers off the exterior of the building and putting them in whatever containers they could find. By the end of the day, many were going home with bags and big containers jammed full of grasshoppers to cook up that night.

One promised me she would bring me grasshoppers today to try.

I thanked her. Wearily.

And so, with a smile and a laugh, this was plopped in front of me today as I was writing an article:

Yep, those are grasshoppers alright. All beady-eyed and delicious-looking. Everyone laughed as I sized up my foe, but I had said I would try them and, having tried ground termites earlier, I knew that grasshoppers and black ants were the two common foods here that I had not yet tried.

So I went in for the kill.

 

 The verdict?

 Not bad. Crunchy. Beady-eyed. Kinda tasty, really. I’m not sure quite what to compare the taste to, though it’s definitely not chicken.

A trip to the quarry, in photos

 On the eastern outskirts of Kampala, some 10,000 people from Northern Uganda have formed a community. Over two decades of war in the north, they sought refuge here, at the site of a stone quarry where most of them work for less than a dollar a day crushing stones for construction.

Myself and a reporter friend went out there Saturday with another friend to do stories on these people. With tentative peace in the north, the government and international organizations have dedicated significant resources to getting people out of the camps and back to their homes. But no similar program has been put in place for those who fled to urban areas instead of the camps. So while so many are returning home, thousands continue to work so cheaply that they cannot afford the bus trip back north.

Here are some pictures from our day in the quarry.

This is 11-year old Irene Abalo. She has been working in the quarries alongside her 25-year old mother (wearing black in the background) for three years. Their family fled the north in 2003 because of rebel violence and have been here in the quarries ever since.

Most of the women’s hands are thickly calloused with broken finger nails and cracked skin.

Many of the women bring their children to the quarry with them because there is no one at home to look after them. With so many steep ledges and falling rock, they said there is a constant fear that the children will be hurt or killed.

This is George Lajul. He is 57 years old and has been working in the quarry since 1993 when he fled the rebel fighting in northern Uganda. He tried going home once but had to flee again because of the fighting. He cuts the rock out of the quarry by hand and then transports it to a pile. His goal is to make the pile big enough to earn him 5,000 shillings a day (or about $3).

This is George dumping a load of rocks onto his pile. This photo was taken at about 5:30 p.m. So the large red rocks you see are his day’s work. He was about two-thirds of his way towards having a pile big enough to earn him 5,000 shillings.

A reporter friend of mine interviewing Milly about life in the quarry.

On the day we were there, an NGO had organized a Christmas party for kids in the village. All the kids were given a bag of popcorn. Most ate it immediately but this young girl hid hers under a bowl so she could enjoy it later on.

 

 

 

 

Hanging out with Ebola

It’s been a bit of a strange week here. An Ebola outbreak has surfaced in the west, though curiously it became public more than three months after the first cases appeared and one week after the end of the Commonwealth meetings. There are now questions being raised over whether officials deliberately kept the outbreak quiet so it did not interfere with the Commonwealth meetings. Yesterday I met someone who has been working since August in the district where the outbreak started. Needless to say he is not happy that he was working amidst an Ebola outbreak for months without even knowing it. Luckily he did not get sick, but he knew one of the people who has died from it.

Numbers are sketchy, but it appears as though some 350 people have been suspected to have been exposed to it and at least 20 have died. One of those deaths came here in Kampala when a health worker from the west came to the city to pick up his child from school for the holidays, only to come down with the virus once he arrived (it can take anywhere from 2 to 21 days to surface once you’ve been exposed to it). So there are a few fears here in the city of whether that one case can spread, but so far the outbreak has been contained to the west.

The fact that it surfaced in the west isn’t entirely surprising. The east of the Democratic Republic of Congo, which borders western Uganda, had an Ebola outbreak in September. That part of the DRC is notoriously unruly and all but ungovernable for the country’s capital Kinshasa, thousands of kilometres away and essentially cut off from the east because there are few roads. So when an outbreak surfaces in the eastern DRC it can be left to the modest international presence to work to contain it.

I was in eastern Uganda covering the flooding there when the DRC Ebola outbreak surfaced. Those floods had displaced hundreds of thousands of people and a cholera outbreak loomed as malaria cases also rose dramatically. “My God, if that Ebola crosses into Uganda we’ll be in a real shit show,” a humanitarian worker told me there while we were discussing the floods (pardon the language). He was saying that their resources were so stretched by the flooding that they could hardly handle an Ebola outbreak on the other side of the country at the same time.

It didn’t come then, but it’s building now. Health workers in parts of the west have been told to evacuate the area. A small group of health care workers in Gulu, who handled an Ebola outbreak in that area a few years ago, have actually volunteered to go into the area because they say they know how to handle it.

Here in Kampala the risk hasn’t become much more than a topic of regular conversation. Though I did meet a friend of a friend last night who said he refused to go to Mulago Hospital (where the one patient died) to have the torn ligaments in his knee examined because he was worried about Ebola there. Mostly, people have been taking precautions like washing hands regularly (some bank workers have taken to wearing gloves while handling money) and keeping an eye on any sign of a more widespread outbreak.

A couple nights ago a group of us journalists were out at a bar and took to talking about Ebola– about who had done what reporting and what everyone had been hearing. Someone said how it was interesting that often at the first sign of a big story we all hop in a car/jump on a plane to go cover it. But in this case, everyone was staying here in Kampala covering it from afar. Nobody’s too keen on hanging out with Ebola, though one cameraman offered to go to the region to film. The response from his editors? ‘No, you can’t go. We need you alive to cover the Kenyan elections later this month.’

In Search of an Alternative to Cattle Raiding

An article that ran recently… 

By Christopher Mason

MOROTO, KARAMOJA

INSIDE one of the offices in the UPDF barracks here, the results of the army-led disarmament effort in Karamoja are on full display.

There, on a board, is a collection of photographs showing rows of guns that have been collected during the campaign. Others show men sitting with the guns they have surrendered to the UPDF, including one elderly man who is said to have surrendered some 150 guns.

The photographs are meant to illustrate that guns are beginning to dissipate, or at least become less prevalent, in Karamojong villages.

With the threat of gun violence beginning to subside, government and international aid officials working in Karamoja say they are pleased with the gains made by the disarmament effort. But to a person they all agree that the key to ensuring lasting peace is providing alternative livelihoods for those who otherwise stole cattle.

“We need to give people a way out of poverty because we are trapped in a situation where there are no jobs,” said Peter Ken Lochap, Moroto district chairperson.

“Presently, when you lose your cattle, that is the end of you. When you lose your crop, that is the end of you.”

Providing alternatives to cattle, and cattle-raiding, as well as small crops that are vulnerable to Karamoja’s notoriously inconsistent rainfall is easier said than done. Unlike many other parts of the country, Karamoja lacks even the most basic infrastructure that any business needs to function.

Local officials identify three main types of infrastructure that the region lacks electricity, an acceptable system of roads and the threat of road ambushes that makes travel dangerous and expensive because of the security required to protect against such threats.

There are few examples of business enterprises in Karamoja that employ any significant number of people.

Recently, the central government took a modest step towards supporting business ventures in Karamoja by helping start a co-operative called the Uganda Gum Arabic Cooperative Society.

The start-up is trying to recruit members, at Shs20,000 for a share in the business, who will collect the sap from trees that will then be used in beauty and cleaning products.

The operation has gotten off to a slow start, and with plans to build a factory in Karamoja, its leaders will soon face the problem of how to function in a region that lacks even the most basic support infrastructure.

“This region needs power,” said Timothy Lolem, the cooperative’s chairman, adding that it will likely take private investment in wind and solar alternatives for electricity to reach Karamoja.

The entire region, covering five districts and nearly one million people, is not connected to the electricity grid. Moroto town has a large generator that provides power to about 7,000 residents for five hours most evenings.

Otherwise, Karamojong have to produce their own electricity through generators or solar-power systems both too expensive for all but the best-funded institutions.”The region has been kept in darkness for too long,” Mr Lochap said.

Road infrastructure, like much of rural Uganda, has been a significant problem for business prospects in Karamoja. The centre of Moroto boasts the only sealed road in Karamoja. Many other roads routinely cross dry riverbeds, so in periods of heavy rains these roads can easily become impassable.

And then there is the issue of road ambushes. Moroto district officials boast that the district has not experienced a road ambush in over nine months, and international aid agencies in the area say the security situation has improved.

But assessing the threat of road ambushes is difficult, given the presence of many variables. All it takes is a group of cattle raiders returning empty-handed, a cattle herder who feels threatened or a vehicle being in the wrong place at the wrong time for an ambush to occur.

In an effort to address the problems of both road infrastructure and travel security that hinder potential business enterprises, the European Commission has funded a project to rebuild 600km of unpaved roads in Karamoja, particularly along the region’s eastern border with Kenya. The project is meant to improve transportation capabilities and also increase the ability of the government and UPDF to patrol the region.

On top of that, the EC and Uganda’s Office of the Prime Minister are offering some Shs9 billion to NGOs with project ideas that will offer alternative livelihoods in the region.

The move is seen as an important step to fill the void left now that cattle-raiding is becoming an increasingly less viable option. It is an effort local officials in Karamoja say is needed in settling whether the current trend towards peace will be a temporary phase, or part of a long-term cultural shift.

“The key is to divert people from the cattle, the guns, to an alternative way of life,” said Moses Kapolon, acting CAO for Moroto district.

Snippets of conversation, or ‘Why there ain’t no ring on this finger’

Scene: Entering the newsroom, Chris runs into a colleague from the paper. The colleague takes Chris by the hand, a common gesture here during conversation.

Colleague: Chris, how are you?

Chris: I’m good, I’m good. How are you?

Colleague: I’m good. How is Canada?

Chris (jokingly): I wouldn’t know, I’m not there.

Colleague: But you must talk with people in Canada. How is Canada?

Chris: Canada is good. But cold. It is very cold there now.

Colleague: How is your wife?

Chris: My wife? I do not have a wife.

Colleague, responding with mock horror: Why do you not have a wife? Do you want to die alone? Don’t you want to have children?

Chris, a little unsteady about having several major life decisions thrown at him before his day has even really begun: There is plenty of time for that. Just because I don’t have kids yet doesn’t mean I won’t ever have any. And look at you, you’re not married.

Colleague: But if I had enough money I would be married this year. I do not yet have enough money so I will be married next year.

Chris: Ah, ok.

Colleague: Do you not yet have enough money for a wife?

Chris, laughing: I suppose not…

When it rains it pours…

Just when you thought having ebola on your doorstep was bad enough, the bubonic plague apparently shows up for the party…

Cranking-up to get connected

One of the last things I bought before heading to Uganda was a $40 wind-up shortwave radio. It took me a while to finally buy the thing because I was worried it would take up too much space in my backpack. Now, nearly five  months later, I look at it as one of the most valuable things I brought with me.

Many of my mornings and evenings begin and end with the whirring sound of the crank that charges up the radio’s battery. One minute of cranking gets about one hour of play, so every now and then the voice on the radio begins to fade and so the whirring sound of the crank seeps out of my room as I wind up for another hour of listening time.

To say that I’ve been completely disconnected from issues outside Uganda would be wrong. The Internet has been a great way to keep up on things, but between the connection being unreliable (and slow, so no downloading video clips) and it just not being the same as reading the papers and listening to the radio every day, the ‘net doesn’t fully fill the void.

That’s where the wind-up radio comes in. The BBC World Service has been a blessing. Each day I spend about an hour tuned into whatever program happens to be on when I happen to crank-up the radio.

Sometimes it is current affairs programming; other times it is music programs. Sometimes it is even drama, like yesterday when I happened to tune in to a drama program about a rocking horse…

Regardless, it has been great, and definitely worth the effort it took to cram into my already over-packed backpack.

Critter companions

I have come to embrace the animal companions that are a part of everyday life here. There are the monkeys who are more often heard than seen, the chickens and hens that, with the church choirs and mosque calls to prayer, fight for the right to wake me up in the morning. There are also the marabou storks who simply creep the heck out of me and flock to the trees around my house in the dozens. If ever there was a creature lacking a redeeming quality, it would be a marabou stork.

Inside the house, the odd cockroach pops by to say hi. But it is the geckos that rule the roost. Come sundown, these little critters emerge from shady corners to prowl the walls in search of bugs. Given the ability of a single mosquito to drive one mad at night, I would gladly host a gecko commune.

The geckos are mostly shy, and tend to prowl most of the house. But one little guy seems to have taken quite a shine to my room, so much so that he has a name: Gord. This little guy has a curious streak that has him turn up at the least expected times.

A couple nights ago I was digging around in my backpack for something when, with all four legs flailing, Gord came flying out of my backpack, soaring for a few feet before he landed softly and made a dash for the outside world underneath my bedroom door. On more than one occasion, he and I have come eye to eye when, in the middle of the night, I roll over in bed to find him perched on the wall a few inches from my face. We stare at each other for a few seconds before I go back to sleep and he returns to his nocturnal hunt.

This morning I was coming home, eager to get some sleep before the sun crested the horizon, when Gord came wandering out from underneath my bedroom door just before I opened it. He, looking for somewhere dark and cool to rest after a long night looking for bugs, and me, doing the same. Except for the bugs.