A study in dialectics: Posh Life

Nov. 9^th, 2010

Posh life

I gaze around the room of the conference center from my plush swivel chair. I feel vaguely as if this chair should spontaneously turn me into the CEO of a large company, by the sheer nature of its plushness. Bottled waters line the finished surface of the conference tables around the room, resting on fancy coasters in front of each participant. Behind the speaker’s voice I can hear the tap-tap of typing on laptops, as participants take notes or distract themselves with wireless internet surfing. I wonder how many are on facebook at the moment.

I’m attending the annual AIDS Relief conference at the generosity of Florence, who was able to get me permission to sit in as a student observer while she, Richard, and Leonard from our office join representatives from about 15 other Ugandan organizations receiving funds in the fight against HIV. I am the only student, the only non-Ugandan, and the least well dressed (I unknowingly forgot my CEO outfit and realized upon my arrival that my jeans sorely stand out from the suits around me. Perhaps I’ve gotten a little too used to Seattle’s professional attire.)

Most of you have probably heard of AIDS Relief, or PEPFAR – the United States President’s Emergency Plan for AIDS Relief. It originates from the U.S., receiving funding from USAID, the Center for Disease Control, and Catholic Relief Services and then distributing these funds to organizations implementing HIV services throughout the world. Uganda has been the leading African country in the fight against HIV for many years, seeing continual decrease in rates of infection, until the past few years when this trend has slowed and even reversed in some areas.

The purpose of the meeting is to review the annual plan and talk about the upcoming “transition,” in which management that is currently in the hands of AIDS Relief will gradually be handed over to local partners in Uganda. It’s a process initiated by the U.S. President in an attempt to create a system where outside funding is directly managed and dispersed by Uganda itself, rather than by the U.S. In theory it sounds like a great idea by putting power and authority in the hands of local Ugandan organizations, rather than dictated from a foreign body. However it also causes a great deal of anxiety among those present at the meeting who are unsure how this transition might change or even interrupt their flow of funds.

There is also a great deal of fear because now local partners must compete for continued funding through the proposal of their work plans. While the representatives from AIDS Relief give the impression that all of the current organizations are almost guaranteed to continue receiving funds, and the competition was more of a formality, it still causes a stir within the room. Competition, to me, speaks of capitalism, and I thoroughly disagree with the way capitalism turns people against each other to compete over (supposedly) limited resources, in the end perpetuating oppression. On the other hand, competition can encourage organizations to create the best work plans possible and can increase the caliber of service delivery. There are both pros and cons to competition like this, and I am curious to know how more people perceive this locally. When I speak later to my supervisor Richard about it (a Ugandan born and raised in Gulu) he adamantly supports competition, saying without it people wouldn’t work hard or create good work plans.

But back to the plushness of my swivel chair… The conference is being held in Speke Resort in Munyonyo, a swanky area by the beaches of Kampala. Speke Resort contains more wealth than any resort or hotel I’ve ever set foot in, in the U.S. or Europe or anywhere else. Granted it’s not really in my nature to seek out excess glamour (which explains my arrival in faded jeans and tank top), so I don’t come across places like this often, but I’ve also attended my fair share of conferences hosted at such places, and this one tops the charts. Rooms range up to $500 (over 10 million Ugandan shillings) per night, and a cup of coffee set me back about 5 times what it would have in Gulu. There is a riding range, elaborate landscaped gardens, and a marina where you can boat onto Lake Victoria for the cost of your firstborn.

I visited a similarly fancy resort in Nairobi last year with my host, and realized with no small amount of discomfort that people can easily travel through the city, stay removed and isolated in wealth and comfort, and never know, for instance, that Nairobi holds the 2^nd largest slum in Africa. Same could be said for Kampala. Interestingly, this resort is named for John Hanning Speke, a horribly racist British fellow who had nothing positive or pleasant to say about Africans, but is nonetheless revered in many areas of Uganda for stopping the Arab slave trade in the 19^th century. The fact that his namesake resort probably contains more wealth than all of the families in Gulu combined seems to shout this irony fairly loudly

The Comboni driver and I, not being official invitees to the AIDS Relief conference, are not covered to stay in Speke Resort and instead sleep at the local Comboni Mission in the city ($10 per night, which is more average for your typical abode in Kampala). However everyone else – Florence, Richard, Leonard, and close to 90 others from other organizations – is sponsored to stay for the length of the 3-day conference. Buffet meals are also included, but I was too scared to look at the prices on the menu so I can’t report how much this might have been. All of this is paid for by AIDS Relief – out \of their annual budget for HIV prevention and treatment.

For most of the few days I am here, I move around attempting not to let my gape become too apparent. A few times I have to literally push my jaw back into place and consciously return my facial features to a calm expression. I bite my tongue around the AIDS Relief representatives so as not to interrogate them about who is in charge of allocating budget funds to, say, a meeting, rather than the beneficiaries themselves. I don’t know the whole picture, I only know what I see, and granted what I see is pretty disturbing – but it does no good to make assumptions. (Even if these assumptions are probably right.)

The most personally distressing parts for me are the times when Florence or Richard make comments about how much I must like this place, how it must be similar to what I enjoy in the U.S.. Richard even says I should tell my parents there is a good place for them to stay here, so they’d be more comfortable coming to Uganda. These comments make me cry a little on the inside, because I would never of my own free will choose to stay in a place like this, even if I could afford it, simply out of principle. I even explain how my parents, having humbly raised us kids on one teacher’s salary, would never be able to afford a place like this either. If any of us were ever lucky enough to afford it, we wouldn’t put our money back into a place that clearly didn’t need it. I notice my immediate need to defend my values to them, to separate myself from the other munus at the resort and clarify any misperceptions they might have of me – but in reality their comments probably have little to do with me. Again, I wonder how the whole experience is for them. At least Richard and I are able to share our views that it didn’t seem right for an HIV funding organization to spend so much money on a conference, but Florence remains mostly quiet, so it’s hard to read her thoughts.

In many ways my reaction is an attempt to separate myself from wealth, when (although I genuinely can’t afford Speke Resort) the truth is I have an enormous amount of wealth, comparatively. While I technically have negative financial capital at the moment, I have the wealth of opportunity to attend a prestigious college for my master’s degree, with pretty much a guarantee of earning financial capital in the future.

I’ve been thinking a lot about my reaction to privilege and wealth while I’m here and how uncomfortable I can be acknowledging how wealthy I truly am. This is especially difficult when strangers and friends alike here solicit me for money. It’s also so easy for me to fall into that trap of comparing myself to the upper class of America and focusing on my relative lack, instead of appreciating my relative abundance. I think my greatest fear is that if I truly acknowledge to people here how relatively wealthy I am (and not fall back on the “I’m a student” excuse), then I will have no excuse for why I am not giving money away left and right, and I will appear selfish and unwilling to share. This is probably an irrational fear, but one that I’m grappling with.

So in the end, I sit in my plush chair and swivel gently, listening to the presenters and wondering what the participant on my left just posted on facebook. At the moment this is all I can do. Later when we’re leaving and Florence has me pack her things, I make it a point to pack the extra soap and shampoo from the room, feeling momentarily Robin-Hoodish in my effort at wealth redistribution, temporarily empowered in my fight against the man – until I remember that hotels budget for such things and raise their prices accordingly. Oh well, at least we’ll have free soap for a while.