Unraveling, Tacking, and Mending

In another meeting with the ladies from WAW, together with Mama Cave, Joe and myself, we came together to negotiate the budget and come up with a schedule that was amenable to everyone. What I thought would be relatively straightforward, and build on the momentum from the last meeting, we would be able to walk away with tangible results.

These meetings always come with another level of added complexity, however this meeting took an even more interesting twist. When the ladies presented their thoughts and counter-offer to Mama Cave, she decided the price was wrong and literally walked away. I think this shocked everyone else at the meeting, myself included. Especially because if you did the math, she would still be making pretty good money, for even less work. Sometimes it just doesn’t work out.

Left to Right: Judith, Nighty, Concy, Myself and Joe. The ladies are elaborating their thoughts on moving forward

With Mama Cave’s exit, we tightened up the circle of chairs and began discussing what to do next. We decided to continue to plan to begin the training, most of the pieces were already in place. With Nighty and Judith leading the training, since they had experience tailoring and getting the other ladies up to speed. During that time, they would find and hire a trainer that could show them the more sophisticated designs for dresses and bags. 

I told them I’d run this plan and budget up the chain of command to see if we could get them that money (it would be approved). In the meantime, I made a draft business plan and budget plan with blank spaces, and asked them to talk to the whole group and fill in the blanks, which they seemed agreeable to. Once that money comes in, I will help them procure and schlep the sewing machines to the GDPO compound, and their training can commence. 

Bite-Sized Setback

As I was leaving the hotel around 6 a.m. for my usual gym session, I woke the night watchman to open the gate as I always do. On Thursday, however, he must have fallen asleep before putting away the guard dogs (normally kenneled by 5 a.m.). A rottweiler named Bruno stepped out of the shadows. I froze. I extended my hand, hoping he’d remember me from the daytime. Maybe my movement was too sudden—or maybe he just didn’t care. He lunged and bit me on the hand. Not hard enough to cause serious damage, but enough to draw blood.

Still determined to get my workout in, I walked the dark streets to the gym, inspecting my hand under the first streetlight I found. It was bleeding—not profusely, but noticeably. I rushed through my workout, spraying it with disinfectant in between sets. When I returned, the morning cleaning crew was already working. I showed them my hand and said I needed to see a doctor—and that they should contact the hotel owner.

“The owner will be here at 9,” one of them replied. That was two hours away.

“Don’t they live on the property?”

“Yes,” she said, “but they’re sleeping.”

“This is an emergency. I think you should wake them up,” I said, my tone sharpening.

“But they’ll fire me,” she murmured.

“Then I’ll wake them up. They can’t fire me,” I replied.

She didn’t move. I turned and walked toward the nearest room and banged loudly on the nearest door (of which I knew was unoccupied). “No, please stop!” she begged. “I’ll get them. Please just wait.”

Twenty minutes later, Sunil, the Indian owner of the hotel, arrived with a first-aid kit. He cleaned the wound with iodine, showed me the dog’s vaccination records, and then personally guided me through Uganda’s patchwork health care system.

Getting first hand experience with Ugandan healthcare

We drove into town, pharmacy-hopping in search of medication. At the third pharmacy, we found what we needed: tetanus and rabies vaccines. Sunil inspected the packaging and expiration dates before purchasing—something he said was always necessary here. We then went to a private clinic he trusted, where we paid up front for the doctor’s time, the nurse’s time, two syringes, a pair of gloves, and the injections themselves. Sunil made sure I saw the nurse open both the gloves and syringe packaging before administering anything.

The whole ordeal—medicine included—cost about 60,000 UGX (~$16.75). I was almost grateful to have been bitten in Uganda; the same experience back home would’ve easily cost hundreds, if not thousands, of dollars.

Wanting to minimize delay, I quickly boda’d to the office. I was only 15 minutes late—and not even the last to arrive. That honor went to our driver, who was “running errands” and didn’t return with the vehicle for another three hours. My anxiety about being the one to hold things up had been entirely misplaced.

Back to Finishing My Final Rounds

Once we finally made it to the field, I was happy to see that most schools had made some visible progress since our last monitoring visit. The two outliers were Abaka and Ogul, schools notorious even amongst the other villages as being troubled. Their latrines remained unclean, and neither had any place for the children to wash their hands. Joe dryly pointed out that while the students had nothing, the teachers had set up a wash area…for their mangos.

At the entrance of Ogul Primary, there is a mural that reminds children to always use soap when washing their hands

We brought them free soap nonetheless, telling them that we want to continue to work with them, and that we hope to see the soap available to the children next time. Joe also reiterated to the headmasters that the soap was for the children, not for the teachers to siphon off and take home (something previously seen at Abaka).

However, this was only water tank for hand washing around Ogul

The contrast between schools was striking. The five that had shown progress not only made improvements but were also proud to show them. They welcomed us, thanked us for the soap, and took careful note of the suggestions we made for next time. The two stagnant schools, by contrast, never said thank you. They treated our visit as a nuisance, not an opportunity.

Still, I found encouragement in watching my colleagues work. The GDPU monitoring team no longer needed my nudges to write things down or bring backup forms. They were taking initiative, managing logistics, and taking ownership of the process. That quiet redundancy felt like a win, proof that the work will carry on, even without me.

Joe taking the lead with the headmaster of Abaka

The wheels of progress do not spin in northern Uganda; they grind. Slowly, unevenly, and often with resistance. But they do move, and when they do, the effort shows in every inch gained.