Anim is The Food Project’s Associate Director.

Kampala, Uganda
November 27, 2005

* IF ONLY I SPOKE SWAHILI… *

I am writing this on a laptop borrowed from my dad, sitting on the lawn of his apartment complex in Kampala, Uganda. Less than 40 feet from me and on the other side of a tall wire fence are half a dozen soldiers guarding the entrance to State House, the President’s residence. If I spoke Swahili or Luganda, I could eavesdrop (which I would love to do!). Across the street and down the hill is the Sheraton Kampala, whose wireless network I will go use to send this message. Underneath me and the tree I am leaning against, I’ve counted at least five different kinds of ants going about their ant business.

The movement of the ants reminds me of the Kampala traffic, which my mother finds intimidating (OK, I do too, but the New Yorker in me is less willing to admit it). The bigger ants—big enough that you can easily see their jaws work–are like the matatus (small buses) that move relatively slowly but aggressively around the potholes and round-abouts; the small sugar ants are like the boda-bodas (motorcycle taxis) that weave fast in and out of traffic. The rules of driving seem to be: for pedestrians, show no mercy; for stoplights, show no regard. A Ugandan friend of mine told me that one of her cousins had been killed in a boda-boda accident just last week.

Here in Kampala, ants, marabou storks and lizards are the most common forms of wildlife. Last weekend, we (me, mom, and dad) were getting up close and personal with more serious wildlife up in Murchison Falls, a game park straddling two sides of the Nile, whose source is in Uganda.

* THE CHIMP LIFE *

My favorite encounter came on Monday morning after a 30 minute hike into the forested area bordering the park. I guess it’s fair to say that I am obsessed with chimpanzees. It’s also fair to say that they are not obsessed with me, since the most significant greeting we got from them was a shower of pee from an adult male in a tree above us. He missed, but the point was made: we were disturbing his breakfast, which he and his family take among the fruits and leaves higher up in the canopy.

We had come across a group of about 40 chimps that are relatively habituated to human presence, meaning, I guess, that they tolerate it when they have to. Our guide, Joshua, told us that the alpha male—“the leader,” he called him—hadn’t been around much lately, although he didn’t think that “he has handed over power to his deputies.” How would you know, I wondered. Apparently, during the few times that the leader has been spotted recently, the other males still come over to “pay their respects” by touching his arm, letting him get the best fruit, etc…giving the old guy his due.

Huddled among the trees talking to Joshua about the chimps, we sound like we are talking about people in a neighboring territory: discussing their social dynamics, their internal power struggles—and their external ones. The chimps apparently hate the colobus monkeys, Joshua says, because the monkeys make irritating noises and ruin some of their favorite fruit. So if they get a chance, they will kill them. Last week, he observed them stalk and murder one, positioning themselves carefully so that all of the monkey’s escape routes were blocked.

Joshua himself almost became a victim about a month ago. Walking alone in the forest, he spotted one male and then another and another, realizing that he had been followed and surrounded. Luckily, he said, he had his panga (machete), and by thrashing it around in the bush, demonstrated enough power to deter an attack.

In this way too, chimpanzees are like human people: they conduct warfare–they plot, they coordinate, they kill “outsiders” (including chimpanzees from other groups)—and not just for food but for revenge, for contempt….That’s what fascinates me about chimpanzees. The more I learn–about chimpanzee “politics,” about chimpanzees dying of heartbreak, about chimpanzees teaching American Sign Language to their kids—the more I see the dichotomy between human and animal melt away…the line between “man” and nature gets blurred. For me, it was studying chimpanzees when I first began to question this line, to un-learn this dichotomy, and ultimately to recognize our inter-relationship with the natural world.

* DICHOTOMIES *

Unfortunately, there are some dichotomies which don’t melt away no matter how much you understand about them. I saw something that really jarred me last week: a little girl, about 2 or 3 years old, left alone on the sidewalk, not two feet from the awful Kampala traffic—and not a block from the five-star Sheraton Kampala and the President’s house. I was walking with my mother who, like my dad, has worked off and on in Uganda for years—he in economic development, she in public health. From her experience, she guessed that the only reason the little girl hadn’t wandered or stumbled into the street like my own niece or any other active toddler would have is that she is lethargic due to malnutrition (which also affects her growth, so she could easily be much older than two). The little girl and her homeless mother spend a lot of time at that location, and sometimes the mother is begging across the street or just isn’t visible.

Another dichotomy: On one hand this president, Yoweri Musevini, has earned praise for keeping his country relatively stable, holding elections, and—maybe most significantly—talking openly about AIDS (bringing the HIV rate down to 6 percent of the population, an awful rate unless you compare it to many other places in sub-Saharan Africa, where it can reach up to 30 percent of the population). On the other hand, his leadership and democratic credentials are increasingly tainted by dictator-like dealings. Last week, his main political rival, Col. Besigye, was arrested and jailed last week on charges of treason and rape, triggering riots about several blocks from here. This, five months ahead of an election which threatens Musevini’s desire to be a three-term (he had the constitution amended to allow this). While I was in Uganda, posters raising money for Besigye were banned; selling petrol in canisters was banned (to deter riot violence); even discussion of the Besigye trial on radio talk shows was banned.

A little background: in 1986, Musevini’s rebellion kicked out Obote, who himself had kicked out Idi Amin in 1979, who had led a coup against Obote in 1972. SO, the young people today are the first generation since independence in 1962 to grow up in relative peace, unless they live in the north where the grotesquely named “Lord’s Resistance Army” has conducted what has to be one of the most twisted wars of all time, a 20-year rebellion with no discernable political aims and a practice of kidnapping children—and worse.

And here’s another dichotomy: in a country that has experienced so much violence and division over 40 years, there is so much pleasantness, diversity, and beauty. I’m getting more attuned to the differences in skin color and features which speak to the mix of Bantu, Sudanese, Nilotic, Arab and other peoples which have populated this region for 1000+ years—and live in relative harmony, or at least in creative tension. I’m waking up to morning prayers for Muslims being called out from the minaret; each one of Kampala’s seven big hills features the building of a particular religion or ethnic group: the mosque, the palace of the Buganda people, the Catholic basilica, etc. I’m loving the mildly warm climate and this particular breeze. I’m appreciating the gentle manner people have in greeting and welcoming each other and their generosity towards guests like myself. If there is such a thing as an East African flavor, I think I am beginning to taste it—and to like it. I think Uganda is one of the places where Africa’s promise stands out more clearly against its background of wrenching problems.

* GRASSHOPPER *

As much as I’ve discovered about Uganda and East Africa during this trip, I’ve probably un-covered and re-covered more about myself and my family. One of the most rewarding aspects of this vacation was getting to see what my folks have been up to for the last 20+ years when they’ve been on the road. On the five hour drive to Murchison Falls, for instance, my mother kept pointing to places where she had trained local people in ways to improve the nutrition and health of their children.

As for my dad, my two weeks in Uganda coincided with his last days at the World Bank and the end of a two-year posting in Uganda. I went to three send-off receptions for him and played in one soccer game in his honor. I’ve met a lot of his colleagues in microfinance—mostly Ugandans and European ex-pats. And I’ve heard so many nice and truly heartfelt things said about him, that my mother said she was afraid he would get a big head. A couple of the expressions of gratitude really stuck with me: someone called him “the grandfather of Ugandan microfinance”; someone else thanked him for being a “teacher”–for mentoring, for sharing knowledge; and it was remarked several times that my father, a white man named Biff who was born in Illinois, is “truly African”—African in his dedication to the continent and in his hospitable spirit.

Even the workers at the Sheraton Health Center, which my dad uses, gathered to give him a good-bye present. In his spare time, he had helped them set up their own savings and micro-credit program. It’s a little funny to say about your parents, but I felt proud of him,

I laughed when Frances, the woman who managed his apartment complex, said to me “the father is more African than the mother” (ironic since my mother IS African—Ghanaian). It was an appreciative comment about my dad rather than a dig at mom, although Frances was taking into account that my dad enjoyed her gift of nsenene, fried grasshoppers, whereas my mom would not touch that stuff. As for me, I had a couple and thought they were surprisingly tasty. I would have had many more if I could have gotten it out of my head that they were …well…grasshoppers.

In some ways, being in Kampala was like going home…I found many echoes of my childhood in West Africa. Certain similarities triggered memories of growing up in Abidjan and Accra: of how Melissa would play with ants by setting up elaborate obstacle courses for them; of how the black tar at the edge of the road would give way to red dirt which gives way to a dense green of vegetation; of the broken glass on the walls of the compounds where the middle class and the ex-pats live; of the many lizards we hunted in the yard and house with slingshots (in four years, I only remember hitting one. The lizard got away, but left its tail squirming in the dirt for minutes afterward).

There’s a thousand differences too: people don’t seem as loud here; they don’t like spicy food; they don’t shake hands and finger-snap the way Ghanaians do; it’s not so hot here….But in both the similarities and differences, I have a reinforced sense of place in the African diaspora…as well as of my Americaness.

* AND I THOUGHT I WAS GETTING AWAY FROM WORK *

Coming here has also reinforced for me why I do what I do. Even though I was on vacation and getting AWAY from work, I can’t help seeing things through the lens of The Food Project, of the vision “to create personal and social change through sustainable agriculture.”

There are some obvious reasons: a majority of people here earn a living from the land (including the lakes and the cattle). Here, for the most part, agriculture is survival…and the backbone of the nation. No farmers—no Uganda. It’s also clear that the quantity and quality of food you have can determine how often you get sick—or whether your little girl has the energy to play and to learn.

This too: Uganda can’t have stability or long-term growth without young people—the future voters, entrepreneurs, and politicians—who understand that the health of the nation depends on its natural resources, who work on behalf of ethnic groups and not just their own tribe (Uganda borders Rwanda, btw), who can build vibrant local economies while also participating in the global marketplace…

The same is true in America, although it may less obvious. We too, depend on our farmers, even if many of us never think about it. In Uganda, the threads that form the fabric of society may be more visible, in part because they are more frayed at the edges, but they are no more real or more vital than they are in the US.

Among the things I have found in Uganda that resonates with TFP is a newsprint publication called Farm Talk, which is aimed at “making agriculture rewarding and fun for learners and teachers,” and is directed especially at schools where there are AIDS orphans and kids with poor nutrition. The main headline in this issue was “Organic Manure Gives Big Harvest.” In the letters section, there was one from a boy named Otwikende:

“Since we started receiving FarmTalk we have changed from mere readers to maximum producers. We started a school garden measuring 4 acres with many crops! …Congratulations, FarmTalk!”

And also a girl named Amani: “Farming has helped me solve problems. I lost my father when I was in S1 but my mother taught me how to use a hoe in order to get fees and other needs. Now I am leading a healthy life. I lack nothing. Farming can help reduce poverty!”

Uganda and Boston couldn’t be more different, but the echo of our work at The Food Project couldn’t be stronger. Whether it’s Africa or America, we do what we do because, simply put: food matters. Leadership matters. Youth—and elders teaching youth–matter. When all the “stuff” is stripped away, nothing, I think, matters more.

NOTES / LINKS

Farm Talk is a publication of the Straight Talk Foundation, which “informs youth and concerned adults about adolescence, sexuality and health,” and is part of Uganda’s impressive battle against HIV/AIDS.
http://www.straight-talk.or.ug/stft/farm&tree%20talk.html

Next of Kin: My Conversation with Chimpanzees (Roger Fouts, 1997). This book blew my mind when I read it in 1998. Couldn’t put it down. Non-fiction but reads like a good novel. About a true, life-long experiment in primate language and the moral implications of it.
http://www.reasonforhope.com/books/bookdetails.asp?b=51

National Organic Growers Movement of Uganda (NOGAMU): I talked with an Alistair Taylor who works with this organization and the one below.
http://www.linksorganic.com/minilisting/nogamu/

Export Promotion of Organic Products from Africa (EPOPA)
http://www.grolink.se/epopa/

A Continent for the Taking: The Tragedy and Hope of Africa (Howard French, 2004). My dad gave me this book to read in Uganda. I highly recommend it to understand some of the recent disasters in Africa, including the role of Western press and governments.
http://tinyurl.com/aekhg

The Last King of Scotland (Giles Foden, 1998): A fictional but historically accurate account of Idi Amin’s reign in Uganda. I’ve just started it, but it’s good so far.

Here are some other great books about Africa that I’ve read:

King Leopold’s Ghost and the Poisonwood Bible actually make an excellent, moving, and riveting pair. Leopold’s Ghost is non-fiction account of the Belgian colonial endeavor in Congo…easy to read in terms of writing style, but hard to take in terms of details. Poisonwood Bible is a novel that, in a way, picks up where Leopold’s Ghost leaves off.

Things Fall Apart (Chinua Achebe): This is one I actually need to go back in read since I only got through part of it in high school English class. But it’s a now-classic story of colonization told from the African perspective.

You can get all of these books through Amazon.com.