Tessa Laing

Farming Fails: Attempt 1

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The time has come to document a bit of a disaster…

“Farming. We all farm, but we are struggling. We need a farming group, so we can make bigger profit.” The words of Ocen, one of the members of our local church who convinced me we needed to start a farming cooperative in 2014.

Our fledgling group voted, and in response to overwhelmingly enthusiasm, I started researching cooperative farming. It seemed straight forward enough. Cooperative farming is successful in Tanzania, Kenya, and other parts of Uganda. Essentially, you acquire good seed as a group, train up on best methods, then each member farmer plants, weeds, harvests and processes at approximately the same time, brings their produce to a central store where it is kept until prices are high, then sold collectively. If you farm by yourself, you can’t afford to hire a store to save it till there is a shortage, and you wont have enough maize to interest a big buyer. If you do it collectively, BOOM. Higher profits.

I’ve tried for three seasons. Behold, attempt number one:

Suburban farmers from our church

20 farmers from our church signed up, including Nick. Members insisted on writing a constitution, and appointing a full executive committee. They paid a membership fee ($5 NZ). We decided to have weekly bible studies and monthly meetings. A church in NZ donated some capital for a ‘seed loan,’ to be paid back to the farmers group when the crop is sold. We ordered a hybrid seed from a local supplier. When we opened the seed bags, we discovered we had been supplied the wrong variety- a much cheaper seed. The local supplier refused to refund the difference, and the group refused to take him to the police, because they feared the corrupt police would also want payment. Despite our agreement to plant within a few weeks of each other, the last farmer planted over a month and a half after the first farmer. Because we planted at different times, our farmers also harvested and started processing (picking the kernels off the cob, drying in the sun, winnowing) at different times. We rented a store, ready to receive the maize. Nick was the first to bring his sacks. We expected 3 sacks. from each farmer. One farmer called Julian brought 4 sacks (hallelujah!). Nick brought 3 sacks. Three ladies brought 1 sack. Three farmers brought half a sack each. This all took several months. Out of 20 farmers, 12 brought nothing. There was not enough maize to make it cost effective to fumigate it and store it till prices rose. We sold it immediately before weevils could eat any more, and distributed the profit (minus the seed cost) to those who brought produce. Because 12 farmers didn’t bring any produce, suddenly I became a debt collector. 4 months and many wasted hours later, 7 farmers returned the loan. Almost 2 years on, 5 have still not paid.

Why the epic fail? 

So there were some small fails. It became obvious we needed to test seed samples before buying, and never to trust intermediary suppliers. Maybe our first failure could give us the jolt we need to actually get organised and plant at the same time.

But there were also some epic fails. At the beginning, we mapped out the location of all the farmers land. They were spread far and wide. I asked, will it really be cost effective to bring our produce to a central store? “Sure, yes, why not!” was the answer. “We’ll just hail down a passing truck, and pay a small amount to chuck our sacks on the back.”

None of the farmers with further flung farms brought any produce. It was too expensive and logistically tricky to transport it. It was much more tempting to eat the maize, and sell small amounts to get money fast.

With this in mind, we planned attempt 2. Hold your breath for the next installment.

What’s changed?

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“You’ve grown SO fat! Are you pregnant?”

She prods me in various places, including my chak, which she insists must contain milk. I grit my teeth reminding myself that it is customary here to tell people returning from a long trip that they have put on weight. Its supposed to suggest you had a good time! After assuring her (only a little defensively) that I am not pregnant, I change the topic, asking:

“Whats new? Whats changed?”

“Oh, nothings new, nothings happened”

I’ve asked many people this question since we got back, and this is almost always the answer. Nothings new? Really?

There are new speed bumps on the main road running through our centre, which will hopefully prevent further deaths by speeding trucks. In a last-second bid to votes in the North, the government tarmacked multiple new roads in town, and built … wait for it … footpaths! New businesses have sprung up, including a new pharmacy that looks like Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory, painted in bold purple, white and green stripes and advertising drugs that look like candy.

The week before we returned there was a horrific wind-spread fire that burned over 20 grass thatched huts in our local centre in under 30 minutes (see the video above). Our close friend Isaac lost his home. Uganda held local and national elections, and Gulu watched as the current president cheated blatantly to remain in power. There are many new appointments to local government. An abnormally long dry season has brought massive water shortages, preventing national piped water from reaching urban-dwellers homes. The cues at the boreholes have become massive, and water prices have sky rocketed.

To us, there seems to have been quite a lot of change. But to someone who grew up here, perhaps it doesn’t seem like change. Businesses come, businesses go. Buildings burn down, and new things built. Museveni has been in power for thirty years, and that certainly didn’t change this election. Droughts come, rain comes back.

But someone coming back from a trip always changes…. they are always fatter!

Marching for Kingdom Restoration (Snapshot 2016)

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The following is one of the articles from the 2016 NZCMS Snaptshot Magazine, our annual publication that gives you a ‘snapshot’ of NZCMS today. If you didn’t receive a copy please request one from office@nzcms.org.nz 

During the war, Angee Santa lost a lot. She lost children, family members and her land. At one point she lost all hope – she attempted to kill herself. Along with her son, she turned to alcohol and became addicted. Drinking compounded her mental health struggles.

I sit with her now as she calmly sorts beans under the shade of her grass roof. It’s hard to imagine the drunken chaos she describes. Angee is hard to forget. She loves bright clothing, shiny headscarves and chunky jewellery. She speaks with passion. Her legs are swollen, scaly, and almost elephantine due to an unusual medical condition. Sometimes it’s hard for her to walk, but her eyes always dance.

Angee isn’t the only member of our Community Organizing group with a story about alcohol. Last month we buried Rose Lam’s eldest son. For months he wandered out of reach of his family, drinking and drinking. He failed to take his HIV drugs. Rose stayed by his side in hospital for a week while he died. Then there’s Abalo Helen looking after her struggling brother. He regularly steals her money to buy alcohol and comes home in a drunken rage, yelling and breaking her things. Isaac’s mother, Florence’s son, Miller’s brother, Paul’s neighbour. I could go on and on.

Twenty years of violence, displacement and loss has left so much brokenness here in Gulu. Money-hungry vultures prey on brokenness. Northern Uganda has the highest rate of alcohol consumption in the country, and Uganda has the highest rate in East Africa. There’s no regulation. Bars are open 24/7, and alcohol isn’t only sold in bars but in every tiny shop that sells everything from toothpaste to batteries. Worst of all, 40% strong spirits is sold in tiny plastic sachets of 100ml for 20c(NZ). The ethanol is imported from Kenya by various Ugandan companies who add flavours and colourful packaging. Forget the 50c mixtures; these are so cheap children buy them and slip them in their pockets to take to school. It doesn’t take many to knock you out.

Where is God amongst this brokenness? Where is God’s Kingdom? So often this world seems like a kingdom of capitalism. The king is the company and the ‘rule of law’ is the free market. And yet Jesus teaches us to pray to our Father, ‘your Kingdom come, your will be done on earth as in Heaven.’

I love the Message translation of Colossians 1, which tells us that through Jesus’ death “all the broken and dislocated piece of the universe, people and things, animals and atoms, get properly fixed and fit together in vibrant harmonies.” While the Kingdom is not fully here yet, sometimes we can see God starting to put things back together again. We can see the ‘vibrant harmonies’ of the Kingdom peeking through.

 A couple of years back Angee came to know Jesus. God gave her the reason and the strength to stop drinking. This year, she walked into our little church to our group’s strategy meeting, ready to join our fight. Our small Community Organizing group, ‘Wakonye Kenwa,’ is about finding strategic solutions to address problems facing our community. We want to be part of God’s Kingdom project, putting back together just a little piece of the broken and dislocated universe. Specifically, we wanted laws regulating alcohol, including a ban on plastic alcohol sachets. So we tackled Gulu District’s local government.

Members like Angee walked around our community collecting data and personal stories about the impact of alcohol on people’s lives. We submitted a big report to the district government and lobbied till they agreed to start writing the law. As it turned out, government can be a slippery bunch. Keeping the law making process moving and making sure our major demand (the sachet ban) was included in the law proved the hardest part. So we started collecting signatures for a petition calling for a sachet-alcohol ban. We made friends with the biggest local radio station who let us run a six week series featuring former alcoholics from our group and the wider community. Each week we pushed for the ban on sachets.

It hasn’t been an easy year! Part way through the campaign, Angee spent a week in the mental health wing of the local hospital. Her son, who she thought had left his days of alcohol abuse behind him, got raging drunk again, resurfacing her past struggles. We visited her in hospital. Her usually spirited eyes were dull, staring blankly. She spoke about haunting voices and an uncontrollable sorrow.

The year was difficult for others in our group as well. The day before we filmed our short video calling for a ban on sachets, Paul’s neighbour died of alcohol poisoning. He spoke about it in the film. When Josephine’s hut was burned down by a drunken person, she told me she was thankful that at least the anti-sachet petitions she was collecting were stored in another hut, safe from the fire. For me, working closely with local government in Gulu has been like wading through a bureaucratic swamp of incomprehensible, head-ache inducing inefficiency.

Our campaign climaxed with a march through the streets of Gulu to present the 9500 signatures we collected to the district council. We invited the major religious and cultural leaders of the district to lead the march. That day I got to see the members of our group proudly marching through the streets, followed by hundreds of supporters. Only two weeks after returning home from hospital, struggling with her swollen legs, Angee made it all the way carrying her sign. No one chanted louder than her! The district chairman received the petition and with the media’s cameras rolling, publicly declared that the law would be passed by the end of the year.

I believe we’re starting to see moments of God’s transformation. Moments where broken, dislocated pieces of our universe are starting to be put right. Moments where people’s love for the King leads them to work to see the Kingdom grow in the here-and-now. Gulu’s new law banning sachet alcohol is on its way. Angee doesn’t define herself by the losses of her past, her disability, the drinking, or the demons in her head that still return to haunt her. She is God’s person, who marched boldly through the streets of Gulu demanding justice and praying ‘God, today your will be done.’

March on Video

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We proudly present to you a 2015 highlight: Wakonye Kenwa’s March to End Sachet Alcohol in Gulu

You might be wondering…

What is sachet alcohol? Watch the video clip above, and Isaac from Wakonye Kenwa will explain all… Who is Wakonye Kenwa? We are a community organising group launched from our wee church in Lacor, Gulu town. We are the ones making lots of noise. Why march? Because we wanted to make Gulu Local Government publicly accountable to their promise to us to ban sachet alcohol Did it work? Yes! The District chairman publicly promised to complete the law before 2016, and the media spread the news far and wide. Our law is almost finished.

Messy Discipleship (Issue 24)

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The title on my Word document read “Alcohol in Gulu District: Health Impacts.” An army of Google tabs linked me to recent journal articles. A small ginger cat purred on my lap. A mug of steaming spicy tea sat patiently beside me. As someone who loves the calm methodical nature of research, I should have been at peace. Writing this report was a necessary part of our group’s fight for new laws regulating alcohol.

But I was deeply uneasy. It’d been weeks since I’d been out on my bike on the dusty paths, meeting with members of our community group in their homes. There’d been a few meetings in town with council officials, but I’d gone by myself. It was easier to go alone than to bring along someone inexperienced that might turn up late or say something unpredictable. In that moment, I felt a long way from those early meetings in our small church hall when we discussed Bible passages alongside community problems.

What was missing? What was I forgetting? Was I simply trying to get a new law passed in the most efficient way possible?

I prayed.

In that moment, I felt God remind me why I’m here and what our group is really for. Our group started from our little church, St Catherine’s, but now it’s a melting pot for anyone in the surrounding community who wants to strategise for social change. Our hope was that through the group, believers would discover new ways to be followers of Jesus by caring about the people Jesus cares about. We prayed that others would discover that their drive for social justice came from God and that they would come to know Jesus, the ultimate social radical and source of true transformation! But in my tea-fuelled fervour to do a good job on our Alcohol report for our District Council, I’d lost sight of a key ingredient: discipleship.

It’s been two months since my discipleship-revelation moment. Since then we’ve made some changes. Last Saturday we held the second of our new monthly group Bible study. We examined the story of Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego, who defied the king’s new law by refusing to worship his statue so were tossed in a furnace. The story launched us into a discussion about following God’s way rather than bowing to human demands. Some people talked about defying their family’s insistence on trips to the witch doctors when they get sick. And we talked about what happens if powerful people start to resist our efforts to have alcohol regulated in our district.

I’ve also resolved to avoid doing meetings by myself. Last week there was a meeting with councillors from the district council. I took a motorbike into town with Betty for her first meeting with an official. The trip gave us a chance to talk about her faith, why she joined the group and the challenges she was facing. We prepped for the meeting… and she ended up doing most of the talking! The icing on the cake: the councillor promised his support.

As productive and safe as I might feel behind my computer with my cat and spice tea, I was being nudged towards the messier, less predictable world of discipleship. Discipleship may be messy, but it’s how God is building his Kingdom on earth.

Tessa and her husband Nick are NZCMS Mission Partners in Uganda. Tessa heads up a Community Organising group that tackles various social issues in the broader community. For more from the Laings visit ugandapanda.com


For discussion

In what ways are you tempted to choose efficiency over discipleship?

Are there ways you can invite others into your Kingdom efforts?


Exploring today’s missional issues from a variety of angles, each edition of Intermission will equip you and your group to engage with God in your community and beyond. Why not take up the challenge and start using Intermission in your community? For more information or to order copies click here.

“He sells his land to drink”

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‘What problems does alcohol bring in this community?,” Geoffry asked an old lady leaning against the edge of her hut, picking tiny stones from a shallow basket of rice.

“Alcohol breaks up families. Liver disease. Young boys steal from their families to buy alcohol. It makes men do nothing, no farming, they just sit drinking” Then solemnly she added.. “Impotence. Women are not satisfied these days.”

Wakonye Kenwa (our community organizing group) has been out and about with our survey, asking our community in Lacor about alcohol. What kind of alcohol brings the most problems? What time should bars open and close? Do you support a ban on sachet alcohol (100ml of ready to drink 40% spirits sold for 20 NZ cents)? And the trickiest last question… “Do you know anyone who is negatively affected by alcohol? Can you tell us about their life?”

Our survey served two purposes. 1) To hunt out keen people who care to recruit to our group. 2) To collect evidence to support our campaign for new alcohol laws in Gulu District.

Our research taught me a lot about alcohol use in my community. But I’ve learned more about how (and how not) to do research with keen but new-to-research volunteers. Take that last question. Each volunteer was asked to try and capture an example, a story, about how alcohol impacts on people’s lives. We did role plays to drum it in. Yesterday I translated and typed our 98 questionnaires into excel. Approaches to answering to that last question were varied…

The most unhelpful response: “Yes I know someone” or “I know lots of people!” (no elaboration)

The break-all-confidentiality response: A list of names (but no stories), usually followed by a plea of sorts “they need help.” One lady wrote, “my neighbor, David Komakech.” The next form I picked up was..wait for it…was David Komakech. In response to the last question he answered “Yes. Alcohol is a problem for me. I’ve lost all my money.”

The story response: And of course, some interviewers understood the question properly and got their interviewee to give a detailed example. Here are a few:

“I know many people, but the one closest to me is my mother. Any money she gets, anything you give her, she just sells it to drink alcohol… sugar, food, anything. If she drinks a lot then she gets accidents. I have taken her to hospital many times. It disturbs me so much. She is always asking for money. I don’t give it to her, because alcohol is killing her:” (41 year old man)

“Yeah, me. It can be a problem for me. Yesterday on the way back from the bar I stubbed my foot. My foot still hurts.” (24 year old man)

“My husband drinks, he uses all our money for drinking, and he is hardly ever home. When he is home he hits me when he gets drunk. I know he sleeps with other women. I’m worried I will get HIV aids” (30 year old woman)

“My uncle drank so much he passed out and has now been in hospital for one week with liver problems. He has drunken alcohol for many years now. He doesn’t work, he sells things like his land to eat food and drink more. Last week he sold his motorbike. He no longer sends his children to school” (32 year old woman).

I did 20 interviews myself with members of our group. So, so many people had stories like this.

We won a borehole

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Last November I announced a big win for Wakonye Kenwa. Our research and persistent lobbying won a promise from the District Water Office to drill a new borehole for the community of Obiya West. Its now February. So, you may ask, what happened?

We continued to hassle sporadically. Lots of excuses. Then, one day in late November, many of us were gathered for a kindergarten graduation. Yup, you read that right- a kindergarten graduation complete with brass brand-led march from Lacor Hospital, all the way down Juba road to the Kindergarten, 4 year olds in full regalia. Several hours into this lengthy event, a truck pulls up. The contractor hadn’t contacted any of us, but was lucky enough to arrive on a day when half the community were together.  We briefly abandoned the nackered wee 4 year olds to hunt for water with the contractor and his fancy equipment. Water spouted forth.

BUT, its still not complete. It remains a deep pipe poking out the ground, no spout for the water, no handle to pump with. After continual hassling, the contractor said he’d return when the community has appointed a committee to oversee protection and maintenance. A meeting was called to appoint the committee. Then our usual problem reared its ugly head. People didn’t show up. From the fifteen attendees, we scraped together a makeshift committee to fulfill the requirement.

Then the best moment came. A member of group, Kidega,* who has worked dam hard to bring this borehole to his community stood up looking pretty frustrated:

“When this borehole is finished, I will come and lock it, and it will stay locked until we hold a proper meeting.”

His point is that the community must actually meet, agree on use rules and an adequate monthly household contribution for repairs before it starts getting used. It’s a community asset, and it needs to protected collectively, or it will become broken and abandoned like so many boreholes around here. More over, our group wants to make sure the community knows the story of how it got here. We want them to know it didn’t just drop randomly from the pockets of distant donors. They need to know their own neighbors worked and fought for it. We want them to believe they can make change.

So I was quietly stoked that Kidega played hard ball. Some time this month, they’ll come finnish the work. Kidega will lock the borehole, then we’ll see if people can get their act together and show up.

Note: I don’t use peoples real names in this blog


For more from Nick and Tessa visit their blog.

Big problem, small scale solutions

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To tell  you the truth, we almost gave up before we started.

I remember a very early meeting. We sat in front of a big piece of paper. One side of the paper read: possible sources of a new borehole. Scrawled beneath this heading: St Mary’s Hospital (compensation), NGOs that focus on water, local government. I stood up and wrote another heading in Acholi: challenges.

“National Water” replied Ocan, bluntly.

Everyone nodded. Lacor center officially falls within the municipality (town) boundary. The contaminated water source Lawula itself is exactly on the border between town and district. The national water company (100% government owned) has an agreement with the municipal authorities that there shall be no new boreholes drilled within the municipality.

Why? Well, the official reason is that Gulu must aim for city status. In cities, apparently, there should be no peasants walking to public boreholes. Rather, civilized city folk should all drink from private piped water. The real reason can be easily extrapolated. To use a private tap, people must pay for installation and ongoing use. National Water wants to make money. If more public boreholes are drilled, people will pay an ‘up-keep’ fee of 1000 Ugandan Shillings (50 NZ cents) per month for all their families water needs, rather than the much great cost of piped water. Therefore, don’t allow more boreholes, and eventually more people will be forced to buy their water.

In theory, people living within the municipality are supposed to be able to afford piped water. Some can. But many also cannot. Recently, our local borehole broke. The nearest public source is very far away, so we tried to find someone with a tap close by to buy water. We found many people with taps. However none of them had paid for their water recently, so it wasn’t flowing! They just couldn’t afford it.

In that meeting, we resolved to persist anyway. Where else but Uganda might we be able to find some way around this ‘agreement’?!

We took our research to ‘Feed the Children’ in Gulu. Respectful of National Water, they don’t work the municipality. We approached World Vision. They also only focus on the District. In fact, all the groups we talked with would not consider drilling boreholes within the town boundaries.

Finally, armed with our research paper, maps and a recommendation from our local health inspector, we knocked on the door of the District Water Officer. He listened to us, and read our research, and understood the depth of our problem. He came and met with local residents and leaders of our group. He said if we could raise a community contribution by collecting from every household, and organize a volunteer team to help with some manual labour, they would drill us our borehole. None of us mentioned the National Water Agreement.

After many weeks of our volunteers collecting from every household, we delivered our community contribution. We wait for drilling day! Sometimes, in some circumstances, the rules can be overlooked.

But my fear is that unless this ‘agreement’ is broken all over the township, Gulu’s obsession with city status will succeed in pushing its poor back to the villages

Messy Meetings

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Our big Wakonye Kenwa meetings always make me a bit anxious. The trickiest part comes before the meeting even starts. Unable to kick my western habit, I always arrive on time. After about 20-25 minutes, your early birds arrive. After 45 minutes its time to start guessing whether you will get enough people for the set agenda. If the goal is to pick your next big community issue to tackle, but you only get 8 people, it won’t feel legitimate…better to turn the meeting into something else. The next task is to gauge when to get the meeting started. Are more people on their way? If we delay will we lose people’s interest? When the meeting actually starts, I breathe and feel the stress slipping away.

On paper, our community organizing group has 43 members. At any big monthly meeting, we usually get between 15-25 people. Interestingly, the people that come are not the same people every time. Whats going on? Its an important question. Why is it so hard to get consistent turn up? Do people just not care enough? Is our meeting at the wrong time of day?

At first I assumed it is hard to get our members to meet for the same reason it’s hard to hold a community meeting. That is, people are used to being paid to attend meetings or at least receive a soda and a meal. We don’t give soda, therefore our meetings are unattractive. I’ve since realized I was wrong. I underestimated our members. Most of them get it. Unlike the wider community, they know what we are here for, and what we can achieve. So why is it so hard to meet together?

Here are five top factors, from my observation (in no particular order):

The reality is, people die here much more often than in NZ. In Acholi culture, if you are connected in any way, whether you knew the deceased or not, you are expected to attend the burial. If you live nearby, you should go. If you know any relative of the deceased, you should go. Lacor where we live is small enough that people are very connected, but big enough that there are frequent funerals. Almost every meeting, several people will be attending a burial. Patient ‘attendants’. If you go to hospital in NZ, hospital staff will bring you food, change your sheets, and bring you your drugs. That’s not how it works here. You need to bring a friend/relative to do all that for you- to be your ‘attendant.’ Being an attendant is a full time job. Again, people get sick here way more than in NZ. The kind of people we get at our meetings are the responsible types that often get the job of attending the sick relative. Almost everybody that lives in Lacor farms, at least part time. However, its common for people’s family farm land to be far away. Those that rent land also often choose far away land, which is often cheaper AND more fertile. Therefore, trips to the far away village to farm are frequent! Life logistics. When you don’t have running water, life simply takes longer. Washing clothes, washing dishes, fetching water, cooking, walking to the market everyday for food (no fridges). Throw in childcare (most women have small babies). Sometimes the logistics of managing to complete all these tasks before it gets too dark prevents people from making it. The unknown timing of any other events Last week we attended a friend’s child’s kindergarten It was scheduled to start at 8am. It started at 11:40, and finished at 4:45. Family meetings, community events, parent-teaching meetings…its pretty hard to predict the start and finish time. Therefore any other important meeting or event on the same day as our meeting can prevent members coming.

To sum up, life is difficult and unpredictable!

Dawn to dusk research

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Our own community borehole supports 50-60 households – about 300 people. That’s about the right number of people for one water source. We live on one side of the road to South Sudan. Our community organising group, Wakonye Kenwa, quickly identified that on the other side of Juba Road there is an extreme water crisis. In 2009, the health inspector of the area tested the water and declared it contaminated. There are so many long drop toilets nearby its no surprise the ground water flow brings lots of nasties to the spring. But what we really needed was evidence of just how many people rely on this water.

So, 15 members of our group took shifts to sit by the protected spring called ‘Lawula’ for several days and record data about every single person who came to get water.

Our results? While my borehole supports around 300 people, this protected spring supports 1596 people – a total of 289 households. We discovered people don’t mind so much how far they have to carry the water – they primarily care about how long they have to wait in line. In rainy season, its not so bad: 15 minutes to 1 hour. However in the dry season when the water flow reduces to a trickle, people reported waiting up to 7 hours to get water. Lawula is not only a huge health problem – it’s a time waster, a drain on the community’s productiveness.


Heres a few memories from those research days:

– A couple of ladies make their full time work to collect a jerrycan, carry it up the hill to the market to sell. That’s slow, heavy, hot work. They sell each jerrycan for 200 shillings (10 New Zealand cents).

– Isaac, one of our volunteers brought his guitar and played the same four chords he knew in our down time. As the sun sank, I was mysteriously transported to youth group camp in New Zealand.

– We had a print out of satellite photo of the area from google maps and stuck it on an old plastic tray, so everyone could ‘dot’ their home on the map. There were two reactions. Older water collectors were confused or disinterested. Younger folk reacted with extreme excitement to a) see their home from a photo taken in space and b) know that anyone in the world could see their home too. I think it made them feel connected.


For more about Nick & Tessa Laing and the work they are involved with in Uganda click here.