progress shmogress

As I sit here, looking out the window of my bedroom, there is a pole for electricity going up in the garden. The Chinese are here—about three of them from the CPCC power project, all dressed in their navy jumpsuits, brown work boots and grey baseball caps. Museveni has been true to his word. Electricity is being brought to Karamoja.

 When the workmen first came to our mission and asked about setting up the poles, I had the opportunity to talk to one of the hired drivers. He was Ugandan and had lived in Kampala his whole life. He asked me earnestly how in the world I managed to live up here with the Karimojong. “The Karimojong…” he spit out the word in disgust “they are only animals! How can they use this electricity?” I wasn’t shocked by his words because I have heard similar things from people down-country, but I was still deeply offended. I felt like retorting with a snide remark about who the real animal was. But instead I simply asked him if he had ever tried to get to know them. “No, they will kill me with their spears!” he responded. I then coldly asked him how it was that I had made friends with Karimojong people without being speared. “Ah! That is because you are mzungu and they want you to give them money!” he said with a smirk. Good grief! Why do people have to be so darn prejudiced? This is exactly the kind of mindset that has kept Karamoja behind the eight ball since the very beginning. No wonder it’s the Chinese actually putting up the power lines.

                I don’t really know how they do it, these Chinese. They speak very little English which makes communication with us, not to mention with the men they hire, very difficult. But somehow, it doesn’t seem to hinder their work. I am told they pay exorbitant prices to local people, men and women, to dig the holes and such. Last week, the holes were dug, about ten feet deep each. Yesterday, the trucks came with the poles and all day we heard the “one, two, three, GO!” of the Chinese providing direction to the hired men. To the regular count, the men pulled on the rope, dragged the treated poles off the truck and lugged them to their corresponding holes. Today, the same shout of “one, two, three, GO!” is heard all over Nakaale as they travel from hole to hole, setting the poles upright and filling in the dirt. I don’t think the power will actually be connected for a while, but for now at least, there are definite signs of progress. Karamoja is slowly catching up.