Visiting "the field"

I find it funny how the term "the field" gets bandied about. When I was sitting in my comfy chair in my apartment in Berkeley, anywhere outside the US felt like "the field". When I'm sitting in my less-comfy chair in my office in Kampala, being a couple hours due East in a microfinance bank branch in Iganga seems like it's out in "the field". When I'm sitting in that branch in Iganga, "the field" consists of the markets in surrounding villages.

[I could launch into a tirade on how the field (heh...) of international development in general, and Africa specifically, basically has its own language... but I won't.]

I've spent the past couple days doing "field" visits for one of my projects (SaveMoRe, for those of you who are following): visiting the FINCA (microfinance bank) branches where the project will be taking place. Yep, that's right, Daniel's taking work trips. And what's more, Daniel has to pretend like he knows what the hell he's talking about. Daniel's a big boy now.

Monday morning, bright and early and in accordance with the plan by my colleague who I'm conducting these field visits with, I arrived at the street corner near the office at 7:20 (shudder). Aaaaand I proceeded to stand there until he arrived at 8:20. In all fairness, he was coming from Entebbe (which should be about 40 minutes away) and apparently there was massive construction on the road.
Aaaanyway. Away we drove, through Jinja, to Kamuli (North of Jinja an hour or so) on the pot-holiest speed-bumpiest road I think I have EVER seen.

A digression: this country is speed-bump obsessed. And we're not talking American, yellow-stripey-painted, singular little "sleeping policemen". They have VARIETIES here. You've got your standard American-style single medium-sized bumps. Then you've got your standard speedbump about 8.5 months pregnant. Then imagine that pregnant speedbump had triplets: three little speedbumps RIGHT in a row. Now mix all three of these varieties up and apply them on one-lane roads with no marking and no signage and no streetlights (if you are unlucky enough to be driving at night). And then add potholes the size of small lakes (see prior post) and you've got yourself a recipe for completely dismantling your car's suspension (and your passenger's spine) WHILE you drive!

And Americans think they need SUVs... HAH.

Oh yeah! And don't forget to add matatu (taxi-van) drivers who decide it's a good idea to pass you while you pass a semi-truck on a one-lane-each-way road when another semi-truck is approaching in the opposite direction!
Suffice it to say I'm glad I wasn't driving. Sorry, Julius!

To Kamuli, from the car window:

to Kamuli

(click the picture to go to the album)

Okay okay, anyway, back to the matter at hand: field-visits. Sooo we arrived at the Kamuli FINCA branch and had an interesting couple-hour chat with the good folks there. Following this (okay, following lunch... which cost all of US$4 for 2 people!) we ventured into the nearby market to informally interview people about their savings behavior and opinions of banks.

After a couple of hours in the market, we hit the road again. Since we would be going to Iganga, east of Jinja, the next morning, it didn't make sense to go all the way back to Kampala. Instead we spent the night in Jinja. Julius knew of a place called the Busoga Trust Guesthouse which a friend of his started and whose profits go to the Busoga Trust charity. Though the rooms were Spartan, the building itself and gardens were remarkably idyllic (and the shower actually had REAL water pressure... and was high enough that I didn't have to squat to get my hair wet! Marvelous!):

Busoga Trust guesthouse, Jinja

Sitting on the porch overlooking the garden made the process of writing up the day's notes much less odious.


Nine hours of sleep later (I guess field visits make me sleepy!), we were on the road again. Actually that's a lie. Julius had a meeting in the morning in Jinja, so I sat in the car for an hour or so and did some work (love mobile internet!) while he met. And theeeen we hit the road. Fortunately for my spine, Julius' sanity and the car's suspension, the road to Iganga is FAR less bump-hole-y. Another branch meeting (I definitely faked it much better the second time through), and more adventures in tell-us-why-you-think-banks-suck land.

To Iganga, then back to Kampala:

to Iganga

Today we visited a branch in one of the outer districts of Kampala. Just to mix it up, we talked our way around the market before our meeting at the branch office. Some funny moments:


-We had to talk to the market chairman to get his OK on us doing research in his market. When he found out I was American he asked me "how is our son Obama doing?"

-When I introduced myself to a woman we were interviewing, she decided that Daniel Katz wasn't Ugandan enough... so she renamed me Bukenya Daniel (Ugandans usually put their family name before their given name). Also, Bukenya is most known as the name of the current vice president.

-I'm not sure how this happened, but after talking to the above lady, suddenly EVERYONE within a 20-stall radius knew my name. It's hard to maintain a professional/scholastic demeanor when everyone around you is in turn yelling "Daniel! Hey Daniel! Come here Daniel!" and giggling. Julius laughing didn't help either.

-When we told one guy we were students (a little white lie doesn't hurt, right?), he went on a long (completely irrelevant) tirade about how important it is that we study hard. Then when we walked away the guy said something to someone near him. Julius started laughing and translated: "See! I didn't even go to school and the mzungu wanted to talk to ME!" If only he knew that most of the time he was talking (in Luganda) I was daydreaming about what I was going to have for lunch.

-In the hunt for our last interview we apparently accidentally wandered into a different market. As such, we were directed to speak with the chairman of that market, who also owned a stall. I figured he'd be interesting to interview... until he proceeded to verbally vomit for 15 minutes straight with a wandering diatribe about the woes of Ugandan market vendors. I made an honest attempt to get him back on topic a couple times... then gave up and told him he'd been very helpful. Julius informed me he'd "switched off" about 5 minutes in. Much smarter than me.


Tomorrow we visit our last branch in another district of Kampala: Kawempe. Okay maybe it would have made sense to wait to do this post until I'd finished the visits... but I felt like writing it now. So there. If anything hiiiiilarious happens tomorrow, I'll be sure to report back!


The whole experience of doing these field interviews was fascinating. I was amazed at how willing people were to talk about what could be a pretty sensitive topic with a couple of complete strangers (one of whom MIGHT have been a foreigner). I found myself ruminating a good deal on the bigger picture of what I was doing. At some times this took the form of "MAN! Look at ME! I'm doing stuff! In Uganda! Hah!", and at others it was more of a wandering exploration of the big idea of research-based development in general. It's a big topic that I don't have the energy for right now (but I'm working on a great simile of all the white United Nations SUVs being like white blood cells or something), but there's a lot to argue about how development is done.

Supposedly I'm here to help people, and what's more, IPA's mission is to help the people who want to help people to help those people better. But when someone is helping me and giving me personal information, and then asks for my advice about where to get a good account... and I can't give them that advice because it would be contaminating the research population (well, and 'cause I have NO idea what I'd tell them anyway), it feels a little... cheap I guess. I don't have any solutions, but I just figured I'd share the thought. I suppose the best thing to do is to take a step back and remember that what I'm doing is going to help in the long-run.


Welp. To bed and then back to figuring out how to fight the good fight tomorrow! Good night, all. Or good morning. Or whatever.