Working for peanuts
Mid-way through another week at work, which seems to be going a lot better. The first week was hugely unproductive, although I still managed to put the page out and it looked fairly decent. It was a lot of sitting around waiting for the reporter, Sheilla. She and I will write one story a month, but we still haven’t quite worked out how that will all go. She wants me to set up interviews, go with her and split the writing. I’m working with a student journalist, named Neora, who seems really eager. I’m hugely afraid of her writing abilities, though, since she showed me one page and it was just a re-write of a study we’d just looked at with no credit.
I had a slight meltdown on Monday as I was trying to find my way out to my first interview. The salary JHR is paying us is so shoddy, I’m scrimping and saving any way I can, including taking tros to interviews. Figuring out the system, however, isn’t easy. I’m completely reliant on strangers and there are times when they don’t know where I’m going either. This was one of those times. The directions were poor to begin with, then I got on a tro that dropped me in the wrong spot, I ended up walking for about 45 minutes in the blazing heat, asking strangers here and there if they knew where I was supposed to be. I finally stopped to ask three guys and they suggested getting a cab. The first cab wanted c10,000, I asked for seven because I thought it would be nearby. He drove off and the three yokels on the bench started braying like hyenas. I then asked another cab, who quoted c15,000, even though he didn’t have a clue where we were going. I ended up in tears in the cab out of a sense of frustration, heat exhaustion and the idea that every third person in this country is either mocking me or scamming me.
Getting to and from work seems to be fine, I’m learning more about the area and the businesses and people there. I’ve been taking the tro-tro in the morning, then walking back to Circle and catching the tro at night. This morning I ended up in a shared cab because the tro just wasn’t coming. The cab driver, of course, tried to rip me off. I made mention of the special obruni price and he backed off. I ended up slamming his car door, though, which didn’t make me feel any better.
I’ve been approached more and more lately by people who want money, who are hungry or need medication. Kids are the hardest, the disabled or homeless aren’t great either. I’m surprised, though, at how easily people beg here. Some kids were asking me for books last night and I promised to deliver some. As we were speaking, a man walked up and started asking for food. They got quite angry and shoed him away. Then, when I met them as I was walking home, they asked me for money for food, claiming they were hungry.
Last week, a family stopped me to make friends. Three took my address – not sure why – and my email and they were petting my hair and my arms, etc. when out of the blue the mum turns to me and says, “Give me c10,000 for milk and tea leaves.” I took a look around. The children were probably the fattest I’ve seen yet in Africa, the mum was plump and her sister was downright obese. The only thin person in the place was the grandmother, and I think that had more to do with her age. I just shook my head no and made my way out. It’s just too bad that nice interactions with locals end with demands.
It just seems like everything you do has a high point and a low point, whether it’s taking a cab, meeting a family or eating dinner.
Our salary really leaves us unable to help most people. I haven’t been eating lunch out since I got here. Alex has been walking to and from work, a distance that takes about 40 minutes. We’ve all been complaining that we’re not making ends meet. So we had a meeting on Monday with our boss, Ben Peterson, who told us that he knows the salary is small, but they never promised us a rose garden. I was infuriated and said so. Being mealy-mouthed isn’t an excuse. We all said so, actually. By the end, I think he understood that he was asking for the impossible. He agreed that he would try to reorganize the budget when he arrived back in Canada. Either way, it has left a really poor taste in my mouth.
I had a slight meltdown on Monday as I was trying to find my way out to my first interview. The salary JHR is paying us is so shoddy, I’m scrimping and saving any way I can, including taking tros to interviews. Figuring out the system, however, isn’t easy. I’m completely reliant on strangers and there are times when they don’t know where I’m going either. This was one of those times. The directions were poor to begin with, then I got on a tro that dropped me in the wrong spot, I ended up walking for about 45 minutes in the blazing heat, asking strangers here and there if they knew where I was supposed to be. I finally stopped to ask three guys and they suggested getting a cab. The first cab wanted c10,000, I asked for seven because I thought it would be nearby. He drove off and the three yokels on the bench started braying like hyenas. I then asked another cab, who quoted c15,000, even though he didn’t have a clue where we were going. I ended up in tears in the cab out of a sense of frustration, heat exhaustion and the idea that every third person in this country is either mocking me or scamming me.
Getting to and from work seems to be fine, I’m learning more about the area and the businesses and people there. I’ve been taking the tro-tro in the morning, then walking back to Circle and catching the tro at night. This morning I ended up in a shared cab because the tro just wasn’t coming. The cab driver, of course, tried to rip me off. I made mention of the special obruni price and he backed off. I ended up slamming his car door, though, which didn’t make me feel any better.
I’ve been approached more and more lately by people who want money, who are hungry or need medication. Kids are the hardest, the disabled or homeless aren’t great either. I’m surprised, though, at how easily people beg here. Some kids were asking me for books last night and I promised to deliver some. As we were speaking, a man walked up and started asking for food. They got quite angry and shoed him away. Then, when I met them as I was walking home, they asked me for money for food, claiming they were hungry.
Last week, a family stopped me to make friends. Three took my address – not sure why – and my email and they were petting my hair and my arms, etc. when out of the blue the mum turns to me and says, “Give me c10,000 for milk and tea leaves.” I took a look around. The children were probably the fattest I’ve seen yet in Africa, the mum was plump and her sister was downright obese. The only thin person in the place was the grandmother, and I think that had more to do with her age. I just shook my head no and made my way out. It’s just too bad that nice interactions with locals end with demands.
It just seems like everything you do has a high point and a low point, whether it’s taking a cab, meeting a family or eating dinner.
Our salary really leaves us unable to help most people. I haven’t been eating lunch out since I got here. Alex has been walking to and from work, a distance that takes about 40 minutes. We’ve all been complaining that we’re not making ends meet. So we had a meeting on Monday with our boss, Ben Peterson, who told us that he knows the salary is small, but they never promised us a rose garden. I was infuriated and said so. Being mealy-mouthed isn’t an excuse. We all said so, actually. By the end, I think he understood that he was asking for the impossible. He agreed that he would try to reorganize the budget when he arrived back in Canada. Either way, it has left a really poor taste in my mouth.
posted by Palmer in Africa at 6:13 AM
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