A Search for Buckets Changes the Day
I never cease to be amazed at the timidity and naivety of the people in developing countries. I have seen this anomaly more since I have been here in Mozambique than any other place I have been so far. Now that I am once again absorbed into the society, activities and challenges of working here I find myself getting temporarily frustrated, wondering how much I am causing what I see and checking out ways that I might prevent these seemingly debilitating incidents that I casually cause. It has occurred to me that much of why countries like Mozambique have not progressed beyond the point that they are currently at is because of their gentle accepting attitude, and most important the naivety of the people in general. Day after day I see examples that make me wonder how they have even gotten as far as they are now in development and modernization. The example that I will feature in today’s blog to make this point is just a simple one, but is one that is so indicative of every day activities that I see and so frequently shake my head at that I have to surrender and let be. Here’s what happened most yesterday (Saturday, 29 March 2008):
Our Director came to the office early Saturday morning. She had told me on Friday that she had some work to do on the books and was going to organize the tool shed. She had brought the local consultant who does the accounting for Ascend and it was my expectation that they were going to do the work on the books that she had been talking about on Friday. It was near the end of the month and so it made sense that this was the goal. I, too, had a goal for the day, but its priority was very low, but I did want to get it done during some part of the day. So I mentioned it to the Director and said that we needed to do this sometime that day. The task I wanted to do was to meet with a local merchant in the city (Beira) who had promised to get some information on costs of PVC pipe from a manufacturer in Johannesburg. We had missed seeing this man on Friday as planned, as we had worked too late to get back into the city to see him, so I thought since his shop would be open, it would be logical to do it on Saturday.
The Director asked me when I wanted to do this (she speaks only a few words of English, but understands much more), and I told her that anytime during the day would do for me. She asked if I wanted to do it right them and I said it didn’t matter to me, but if she wanted to we could go right then. She said yes that she wanted to go right then, so I didn’t argue. She said something to the consultant, and in just a few moments we were loading into the vehicle for the ride to town. I was sure it would not take too long, so I didn’t oppose the idea since it seemed to me that her response to me that it would be best if we went right then was really what she wanted to do. At first I thought it was strange that the accountant was going with us, but I knew he spoke a few more words of English than she and he was going along to interpret. As we loaded up, on of the guards, a young man who also cleans the house and does my laundry got into the car with us. On the Director’s instructions he loaded some things in the car (packages and a box) and we were off for the trip to town.
There was only the conversation between the Director and the accountant as we went to town and the guard said nothing all the way in. When we arrived in the city in a few minutes and instead of going to the merchant’s shop she went to another part of the city and dropped the accountant off. He got out of the car as if his work was done, and I thought maybe he was going to take care of some business and meet us later. In a few minutes more of weaving through the streets of Beira, we suddenly arrived in front of the place where the Director lives. She said something to me that I didn’t understand, but figured she needed something from her house that she had forgotten. Instead, the guard got out, took the packages he had loaded into the car and disappeared into the corridor of the apartment. We drove off.
Our next stop was the Portuguese merchant’s shop where we spent a few minutes with the man only to find out that his contact in South Africa had been out of town the previous week and he was unable to get the information I needed. I would have to wait until Wednesday and come back to see him then. Okay, we could now pick up the accountant and go back to the office. I was through with the things I had to do. But no. Instead, the Director said, “We go lookey for buckets now,” and off we went.
I had been talking all week about the need to find some buckets for our water purification project, but I wanted a special kind of bucket that I had not seen in any of the hardware stores we had visited previously. She explained to me in more broken English that she knew this place and we would go there now. We hadn’t taken too long at the merchant’s shop, so I thought she was killing time before going back to pick up the accountant. I just went along. So in a few moments we were parking and walking to an Indian shop (most of the shops in the city are run by East Indians) that featured all kinds of Chinese-made buckets, basins, water cans and everything else that people use for their domestic needs that are made from plastic. There were buckets there, just like we had seen at many of the other places. In fact, they were exactly like all the ones we had passed over on previous trips. I tried to explain to the Director that these were not adequate because they were too flimsy, but she just took that as a challenge and soon we were going to another place. I kept my eyes open for a place that might have a bucket like I wanted, but didn’t see any quite yet. Over the next half hour, we must have gone to at least six of these same Indian shops but every one had the same kind of bucketa that the Director kept picking up and showing me, as if they were different than the last. But unfortunately, it was obvious to me that they were all made by the same Chinese manufacturer, and were only different colors or sizes. When we were walking to one of these places, we passed a vendor who was selling eggs. I mentioned that I needed eggs and wanted to buy some, but the Director said, “No good!! We go another place.” Now, suddenly, it seemed we were on another track not related to buckets or getting back to the office, so I just followed along after she refused to let me convince her that I didn’t really need the eggs right then.
We weren’t far from the egg shop, but on the way, there was a soft ice cream vendor on the sidewalk that had two of the kind of buckets I wanted sitting right my his machine, I guessed full of the mixture they were using in the machine. I stopped her and showed her the buckets, and she waved her finger at me telling me by showing me some paint on a post nearby that these were paint buckets, and that they were not what I wanted. It was what I wanted, but she insisted she knew another place that sold the buckets I really wanted. We got the eggs around the corner, and coming back as we passed the ice cream vendor, I stopped to look at the buckets again and tried to get her attention, but she was off to her own place. I followed and soon we were in another part of the city getting out of the parked car walking to another place to look for buckets.
This few minute stride took us through an open market place that was shop after shop of used car parts, bolts, tires, telephone parts, electrical things and every other used object one could imagine. It was a long way as I was walking without my hat and trying not to hit my head on the low hanging shades that prevailed along the narrow crowded path we were following. I had not known we were going to a market place when I got out of the car, so I didn’t bother to pick up my head protection. Finally, however, I figured out that we were in fact going to another plastic vendor (not the Indian shop kind, as all the shops in these open market places are always operated by Mozambique natives--another thing about this country that gets me—that only the lowest level of marketing is being done by Mozambique people. What a shame that the Indians have grabbed up all the good jobs in the country).
The plastic vendor, not to my surprise, had the same buckets as we had been seeing everywhere else we went. The Director tried her best to convince me that they were different and stronger (I guessed that since this shop was owned by a native, that it made the buckets stronger—I don’t know). We made our way through the maze, I was guessing, on the way back to the car, when suddenly I saw a young boy carrying a bucket just like the one I needed. I stopped the Director and pointed to the bucket and attempted to show her the difference between the buckets we had been looking for and reaffirmed that we needed to find this kind of bucket, not the others that were hanging all around our heads in the various shops nearby. She talked to the boy briefly and I was certain she was asking him where he bought it. I was relieved that we may now finally be on the right track as she left urgently heading back to the car. The next stop was at yet another Indian shop with the same Chinese buckets we had been seeing for the previous hour or more. Once again the Director tried to convince me that these buckets were different, but they weren’t. I guess the boy didn’t know where he bought the bucket or told the Director the wrong place. Well, anyway we didn’t get the bucket, and the Director seemed like she was anxious to go pick up the accountant and get back to the office to do her work, so she sort of ended the search for the day by saying that she would Sunday for a bucket for me. I thought at the time that she will for sure find buckets, but they will be the same old ones we had been seeing all along. I wouldn’t be surprised if she buys one of the Chinese buckets that she finds.
We found the car and instead of picking up the accountant, we were soon on the main street that takes us back to the office. The Director’s agenda had obviously changed by then as I was not really surprised when we got back to the office that she said she was going to organize the tool shed (a task she had mentioned before that she was going to do on Saturday along with working on the books).
You know, this is what I would label as a funny but sad story. But it is so typical of the day to day routines that go on as we attempt to get things done here in this country. The frustrations are never ending, and one thing that I have come to believe, is that I have to be very careful how I exert my own influence on these people when a simple statement like I made on Saturday that I wanted sometime during the day to go to this merchant’s shop, that turns into an agenda change that puts everything that was planned in the trash can. I haven’t as yet quite figured out how to avoid these things happening, but I have noticed that the same is true everywhere I have been. Somehow simple statements coming from me tend to carry a lot of weight with these naïve and inexperience people and I have to be very careful how I use that “hidden authority.”
I never cease to be amazed at the timidity and naivety of the people in developing countries. I have seen this anomaly more since I have been here in Mozambique than any other place I have been so far. Now that I am once again absorbed into the society, activities and challenges of working here I find myself getting temporarily frustrated, wondering how much I am causing what I see and checking out ways that I might prevent these seemingly debilitating incidents that I casually cause. It has occurred to me that much of why countries like Mozambique have not progressed beyond the point that they are currently at is because of their gentle accepting attitude, and most important the naivety of the people in general. Day after day I see examples that make me wonder how they have even gotten as far as they are now in development and modernization. The example that I will feature in today’s blog to make this point is just a simple one, but is one that is so indicative of every day activities that I see and so frequently shake my head at that I have to surrender and let be. Here’s what happened most yesterday (Saturday, 29 March 2008):
Our Director came to the office early Saturday morning. She had told me on Friday that she had some work to do on the books and was going to organize the tool shed. She had brought the local consultant who does the accounting for Ascend and it was my expectation that they were going to do the work on the books that she had been talking about on Friday. It was near the end of the month and so it made sense that this was the goal. I, too, had a goal for the day, but its priority was very low, but I did want to get it done during some part of the day. So I mentioned it to the Director and said that we needed to do this sometime that day. The task I wanted to do was to meet with a local merchant in the city (Beira) who had promised to get some information on costs of PVC pipe from a manufacturer in Johannesburg. We had missed seeing this man on Friday as planned, as we had worked too late to get back into the city to see him, so I thought since his shop would be open, it would be logical to do it on Saturday.
The Director asked me when I wanted to do this (she speaks only a few words of English, but understands much more), and I told her that anytime during the day would do for me. She asked if I wanted to do it right them and I said it didn’t matter to me, but if she wanted to we could go right then. She said yes that she wanted to go right then, so I didn’t argue. She said something to the consultant, and in just a few moments we were loading into the vehicle for the ride to town. I was sure it would not take too long, so I didn’t oppose the idea since it seemed to me that her response to me that it would be best if we went right then was really what she wanted to do. At first I thought it was strange that the accountant was going with us, but I knew he spoke a few more words of English than she and he was going along to interpret. As we loaded up, on of the guards, a young man who also cleans the house and does my laundry got into the car with us. On the Director’s instructions he loaded some things in the car (packages and a box) and we were off for the trip to town.
There was only the conversation between the Director and the accountant as we went to town and the guard said nothing all the way in. When we arrived in the city in a few minutes and instead of going to the merchant’s shop she went to another part of the city and dropped the accountant off. He got out of the car as if his work was done, and I thought maybe he was going to take care of some business and meet us later. In a few minutes more of weaving through the streets of Beira, we suddenly arrived in front of the place where the Director lives. She said something to me that I didn’t understand, but figured she needed something from her house that she had forgotten. Instead, the guard got out, took the packages he had loaded into the car and disappeared into the corridor of the apartment. We drove off.
Our next stop was the Portuguese merchant’s shop where we spent a few minutes with the man only to find out that his contact in South Africa had been out of town the previous week and he was unable to get the information I needed. I would have to wait until Wednesday and come back to see him then. Okay, we could now pick up the accountant and go back to the office. I was through with the things I had to do. But no. Instead, the Director said, “We go lookey for buckets now,” and off we went.
I had been talking all week about the need to find some buckets for our water purification project, but I wanted a special kind of bucket that I had not seen in any of the hardware stores we had visited previously. She explained to me in more broken English that she knew this place and we would go there now. We hadn’t taken too long at the merchant’s shop, so I thought she was killing time before going back to pick up the accountant. I just went along. So in a few moments we were parking and walking to an Indian shop (most of the shops in the city are run by East Indians) that featured all kinds of Chinese-made buckets, basins, water cans and everything else that people use for their domestic needs that are made from plastic. There were buckets there, just like we had seen at many of the other places. In fact, they were exactly like all the ones we had passed over on previous trips. I tried to explain to the Director that these were not adequate because they were too flimsy, but she just took that as a challenge and soon we were going to another place. I kept my eyes open for a place that might have a bucket like I wanted, but didn’t see any quite yet. Over the next half hour, we must have gone to at least six of these same Indian shops but every one had the same kind of bucketa that the Director kept picking up and showing me, as if they were different than the last. But unfortunately, it was obvious to me that they were all made by the same Chinese manufacturer, and were only different colors or sizes. When we were walking to one of these places, we passed a vendor who was selling eggs. I mentioned that I needed eggs and wanted to buy some, but the Director said, “No good!! We go another place.” Now, suddenly, it seemed we were on another track not related to buckets or getting back to the office, so I just followed along after she refused to let me convince her that I didn’t really need the eggs right then.
We weren’t far from the egg shop, but on the way, there was a soft ice cream vendor on the sidewalk that had two of the kind of buckets I wanted sitting right my his machine, I guessed full of the mixture they were using in the machine. I stopped her and showed her the buckets, and she waved her finger at me telling me by showing me some paint on a post nearby that these were paint buckets, and that they were not what I wanted. It was what I wanted, but she insisted she knew another place that sold the buckets I really wanted. We got the eggs around the corner, and coming back as we passed the ice cream vendor, I stopped to look at the buckets again and tried to get her attention, but she was off to her own place. I followed and soon we were in another part of the city getting out of the parked car walking to another place to look for buckets.
This few minute stride took us through an open market place that was shop after shop of used car parts, bolts, tires, telephone parts, electrical things and every other used object one could imagine. It was a long way as I was walking without my hat and trying not to hit my head on the low hanging shades that prevailed along the narrow crowded path we were following. I had not known we were going to a market place when I got out of the car, so I didn’t bother to pick up my head protection. Finally, however, I figured out that we were in fact going to another plastic vendor (not the Indian shop kind, as all the shops in these open market places are always operated by Mozambique natives--another thing about this country that gets me—that only the lowest level of marketing is being done by Mozambique people. What a shame that the Indians have grabbed up all the good jobs in the country).
The plastic vendor, not to my surprise, had the same buckets as we had been seeing everywhere else we went. The Director tried her best to convince me that they were different and stronger (I guessed that since this shop was owned by a native, that it made the buckets stronger—I don’t know). We made our way through the maze, I was guessing, on the way back to the car, when suddenly I saw a young boy carrying a bucket just like the one I needed. I stopped the Director and pointed to the bucket and attempted to show her the difference between the buckets we had been looking for and reaffirmed that we needed to find this kind of bucket, not the others that were hanging all around our heads in the various shops nearby. She talked to the boy briefly and I was certain she was asking him where he bought it. I was relieved that we may now finally be on the right track as she left urgently heading back to the car. The next stop was at yet another Indian shop with the same Chinese buckets we had been seeing for the previous hour or more. Once again the Director tried to convince me that these buckets were different, but they weren’t. I guess the boy didn’t know where he bought the bucket or told the Director the wrong place. Well, anyway we didn’t get the bucket, and the Director seemed like she was anxious to go pick up the accountant and get back to the office to do her work, so she sort of ended the search for the day by saying that she would Sunday for a bucket for me. I thought at the time that she will for sure find buckets, but they will be the same old ones we had been seeing all along. I wouldn’t be surprised if she buys one of the Chinese buckets that she finds.
We found the car and instead of picking up the accountant, we were soon on the main street that takes us back to the office. The Director’s agenda had obviously changed by then as I was not really surprised when we got back to the office that she said she was going to organize the tool shed (a task she had mentioned before that she was going to do on Saturday along with working on the books).
You know, this is what I would label as a funny but sad story. But it is so typical of the day to day routines that go on as we attempt to get things done here in this country. The frustrations are never ending, and one thing that I have come to believe, is that I have to be very careful how I exert my own influence on these people when a simple statement like I made on Saturday that I wanted sometime during the day to go to this merchant’s shop, that turns into an agenda change that puts everything that was planned in the trash can. I haven’t as yet quite figured out how to avoid these things happening, but I have noticed that the same is true everywhere I have been. Somehow simple statements coming from me tend to carry a lot of weight with these naïve and inexperience people and I have to be very careful how I use that “hidden authority.”
1 comment:
Jack,
Sounds like just a regular day in deep developing Africa. Your record of the days events brought back a lot of memories. I have very similar entries in my jounal from Ethiopia. Funny, I miss it now even though there were times that were frustrating. Best down there. Looking forward to updates.
ps. I started a blog as well: feel free to visit--I've posted a few poems recently. wiscombee81.blogspot.com
God Speed
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