I admit that I haven’t followed the US Presidential race as closely as I might have were I still living in the USA, but this is a salient example of why it so acutely affects things in Africa. And a salient example of why McCain is an idiot who doesn’t deserve to run a country.

The following is from the NYT Political Blog (though all emphasis is mine):

A transcript of the encounter follows. (Weaver is John Weaver, his senior adviser, and Brian is Mr. Jones, his press secretary):

Reporter: “Should U.S. taxpayer money go to places like Africa to fund contraception to prevent AIDS?”

Mr. McCain: “Well I think it’s a combination. The guy I really respect on this is Dr. Coburn. He believes – and I was just reading the thing he wrote– that you should do what you can to encourage abstinence where there is going to be sexual activity. Where that doesn’t succeed, than he thinks that we should employ contraceptives as well. But I agree with him that the first priority is on abstinence. I look to people like Dr. Coburn. I’m not very wise on it.”

(Mr. McCain turns to take a question on Iraq, but a moment later looks back to the reporter who asked him about AIDS.)

Mr. McCain: “I haven’t thought about it. Before I give you an answer, let me think about. Let me think about it a little bit because I never got a question about it before. I don’t know if I would use taxpayers’ money for it.”

Q: “What about grants for sex education in the United States? Should they include instructions about using contraceptives? Or should it be Bush’s policy, which is just abstinence?”

Mr. McCain: (Long pause) “Ahhh. I think I support the president’s policy.”

Q: “So no contraception, no counseling on contraception. Just abstinence. Do you think contraceptives help stop the spread of HIV?”

Mr. McCain: (Long pause) “You’ve stumped me.”

Q: “I mean, I think you’d probably agree it probably does help stop it?”

Mr. McCain: (Laughs) “Are we on the Straight Talk express? I’m not informed enough on it. Let me find out. You know, I’m sure I’ve taken a position on it on the past. I have to find out what my position was. Brian, would you find out what my position is on contraception – I’m sure I’m opposed to government spending on it, I’m sure I support the president’s policies on it.”

Q: “But you would agree that condoms do stop the spread of sexually transmitted diseases. Would you say: ‘No, we’re not going to distribute them,’ knowing that?”

Mr. McCain: (Twelve-second pause) “Get me Coburn’s thing, ask Weaver to get me Coburn’s paper that he just gave me in the last couple of days. I’ve never gotten into these issues before.”

This went on for a few more moments until a reporter from the Chicago Tribune broke in and asked Mr. McCain about the weight of a pig that he saw at the Iowa State Fair last year.

Wronging Rights hilariously criticizing NYT headlines:

“In Zimbabwe, Some Flee While Others Vote.”

As Seth Myers would say, really!?! Some flee, but others vote? How on earth does the Times manage to gather such precise statistics?

I wonder what else some and others were doing. “In Zimbabwe, Some Eat Sandwiches While Others Read.” “In Zimbabwe, Some Put on Makeup While Others Play Cards.” “In Zimbabwe, Some Vote While Others Plot Ways To Prevent Those Votes From Being Counted.”

It’s headlines as mad libs. “Give me a verb….and another verb.”

Leo Africanus does an analysis of another NYT folly committed this time by bringing a Masai warrior to NYC, and among other places, the Natural History Museum on the Upper West Side. The piece is worth reading in full so I won’t chop it up and quote it here.

Black Looks chews out a stupid reader for a stupid comment (comment in bold, response follows). I enjoy that I’m not the only one who thinks (and does) such things.

I mean take the case of India for example, their population alone is greater than that of the African continent, colonized for more than 300 years,Gained independance [sic] 60 years ago and you can see substantial development. How come this is not the case in many African countries? English is not their mother tongue either.
It seems to me you might be making an error made by many, which is taking Africa to be a country. For the sake of clarity, Africa is a continent, a continent with many countries; India is a country, and is equivalent to one among the 53 states on the African continent. Due to this, India could not have undergone the same fate under colonialism as Africa. Let me explain.

In the nineteenth century Europe scrambled for Africa, and proceeded to carve it up like pie to suit its strategic needs. No concern was given to how the pie was carved, nor to what toppings were on each piece. In fact, “some 10,000 African polities were amalgamated into 40 European colonies and protectorates [source…].” Imagine that. 10 000 boiled down to 40!

Traditional foes were placed within the same borders, and villages were divided by new boundaries. Take a look at the map of Africa and see how many straight lines there are. India is one country and did not suffer this fate.

And who knew Charles Taylor has a poodle?

The New York Times has a funny article today about the high-brow literary set in NYC not dating people who read books of which they disapprove:

Naming a favorite book or author can be fraught. Go too low, and you risk looking dumb. Go too high, and you risk looking like a bore — or a phony. “Manhattan dating is a highly competitive, ruthlessly selective sport,” Augusten Burroughs, the author of “Running With Scissors” and other vivid memoirs, said. “Generally, if a guy had read a book in the last year, or ever, that was good enough.” The author recalled a date with one Michael, a “robust blond from Germany.” As he walked to meet him outside Dean & DeLuca, “I saw, to my horror, an artfully worn, older-than-me copy of ‘Proust’ by Samuel Beckett.” That, Burroughs claims, was a deal breaker. “If there existed a more hackneyed, achingly obvious method of telegraphing one’s education, literary standards and general intelligence, I couldn’t imagine it.”

David showed up in Uganda with “Theory of Justice,” and “Minimum Moralia,” among others, in his suitcase. I’m happy to report that one of the first times he had stomach problems, he threw up all over Adorno.

Thankfully, he’s read about as much of “Theory of Justice,” as I have. Which means none. Things are okay with us despite his initial book selection resembling a college syllabus.

But, as of now, my current book shelf is most definitely lacking. I get way too excited when Aristoc brings in something new.

There are a few book groups I know of in Kampala, but one is run by American Embassy ladies who frequently contribute books with a reading level of grade five and the words “cat” and “mystery” in their title, so I hear, and the other I know of meets during the day – not suitable for my working schedule.

So, I’d like to propose a book club: If you live in Kampala, have a book collection with things other than Adorno or cat mysteries, and would like to meet new people and read new books, let’s all gather once a month and do a swap of recently completed books.

Sound good? Drop me an email. And if you know other people who may be interested in joining in on this venture, feel free to forward this post.

In unrelated book news, the guys of StuffWhitePeopleLike just got a book contract estimated at $300,000.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me sometimes. I spend the majority of my life as cynical as can be, but when I see these little kids groups performing at various conferences I’m covering, I just tear up.

Watoto is actually a musically talented group, but they’re a little too polished for me to be really affected (and the picture of the bazungu pastors on the front of their webpage seems a little off to me). But today, at the Uganda Aids Conference, these fifteen little kids in yellow tshirts with overalls on sang “Lean on Me,” and one of their own creation called “I am special,” and I just melted. Maybe it’s the maternal instinct catalyzed by off key singing. Or more likely my desire to find something redeeming about Speke Munyonyo.

Then Glibert Bukenya, the Vice President of Uganda, walked in and tear evoking singing came to an end, to be replaced by the Ugandan National Anthem. It’s not that the anthem isn’t touching, but I need more than nationalism to make me shed a tear.

Bukenya proceeded to make a speech in which he ad libbed a reference to his speech writer, then he told HIV/AIDS researchers to not complicate their research when presenting it to the government.

Maybe we should have researchers train children to sing about circumcision and home-based health care? That could bring a tear to my eye.

In Argentina, DNA is being used to figure out the identity of skeletal remains from the prolonged “dirty war” and dictatorship that lead to the deaths and disappearances of as many as 30,000 people, reports the Associated Press.

Bottled water is the single largest unit seller at the American grocery chain Whole Foods, according to an article in Fast Company.

The New Yorker reports on the death of the newspaper, an industry specific article, which, in my opinion, has repercussions for general knowledge and civic society. (Not to mention my career options…)

World Politics Review covers the practically unknown conflict in northern Niger, and discusses some of the difficulties for journalists working in the region.

The price of a slave in Haiti may start at $100, but can quickly be bargained down to $50. Also, in prices adjusted for inflation, a slave purchased in 1850 cost $30,000 to $40,000 – pointing to the cheapening of human lives, Road to the Horizon blogs about Benjamin Skinner’s new book.

New York Times writes that family planning has a racist, sexist and ignorant past, with disclaimers about all that population control – often through educating young girls – can do in the future.

A friend of mine pointed me to the amazing photography of Marcus Bleasdale, who has worked extensively in Congo and Somalia, among other places.

An innovative new means of power generation is covered on Afrigadget. A teeter-totter with some kind of energy trapping mechanism (I don’t know the specifics), when used by school kids for an hour, can light a classroom for an entire evening.

The Guardian reports that Facebook is taking sides, and then trying not to, in the Israel-Palestine debate when users in contested territories list their addresses on Facebook and are automatically assigned to “Israel” or “Palestine,” with as many designation difficulties as the UN has.

Le Monde Diplomatique cites an old article of mine (see citation number 12, or for the article, “Does God Need Your Car?”).

My roommate just asked me to Google the Post Office to find the phone number. He wants to call and inquire about a package. I told him I hoped he has a lot of airtime.

During said Google, I found a photo of Posta Uganda from 1957, which lead me to the amazing site Kampala Online – which has a section dedicated to historical photos of Uganda.

My roommate decided to save his airtime, but I’m glad I did the Google.



Libyan leader Moammar Gadhafi, center, is surrounded by bodyguards Wednesday, March 19, 2008 during the opening of the Gadhafi Mosque in Kampala, Uganda. In his drive to spread Libyan and Islamic influence in Africa, Libyan leader Moammar Gadhafi inaugurates a huge new mosque in this predominantly Christian country, with several African heads of states attending and scores of Arab journalists flown in for the occasion. . (AP Photo/Glenna Gordon) (AP)

I was dreading covering the Gadaffi visit from the moment it was announced. These kind of assignments involve elbowing other reporters away to get the picture, battling with presidential body guards and pressure from your agency to file immediately. (AP in Nairobi first called me yesterday at around noon, asking when I would file photos. The event hadn’t even taken place yet. It didn’t start until 4 pm, which means I got several other phone calls requesting I send my photos as soon as humanly possible – if possible, before the event even takes place. Unfortunately my Photoshop skills are limited to editing and resizing.)



The process of covering such an event takes days: you pitch to your agency, wait for reply, tell Media Center you want to cover it, get accredited, drop your camera and equipment off the day before at the State House for security checks, and then finally actually do work on the day itself.

This kind of work is especially stressful because often all the waiting and preparation is for an event that will take just minutes from start to finish. If even one setting on your camera is off, your pictures are horrible, they won’t publish them, and you don’t get paid. Or, if you blink for too long, you might miss Gadaffi and also not get paid.



I went to the Mosque yesterday around 2 pm for the 4 pm opening. I wore my laminated pass, but still had trouble getting through the road blocks. Eventually I just walked the remaining distance. When I arrived at the Mosque, the equipment all of us journalists had dropped off the day before at the State House had yet to arrive. I’m always freaked out that someone is going to take my camera. I’ve done the camera-security-drop-off so many times, but every time I go to Okello House in Nakasero and add my camera bag to the piles of thousands of dollars of equipment, it’s still scary.



The cameras arrived just before the event started. Usually, it’s good to have your camera there before hand so you can meter the light and take some tests shots – no such opportunities yesterday.

First there was the arrivals of the dignitaries. And then everyone started going into the Mosque. They weren’t really letting any journalists in, and then since I was the only female photographer present, they tried to make me stand in the women’s section at the top of the mosque, where I wouldn’t be able to take a singe worthwhile photo.



The Libyan Press Corpe, who arrived in mass, had one female producer with them. I figured this was the person I needed to stick with. I followed her, and she managed to finagle our way into the ground floor of the mosque through a side door, speaking to the body guards in Arabic and being ridiculously polite.

But then we were in. There weren’t yet any other journalists in the mosque, so I was particularly nervous because a) I was a Western woman surrounded by leagues of Muslim men, b) there weren’t other journalists inside who I could cower behind for protection. I started wondering what the sharia punishment was for being a lady journalist in a Mosque where Gaddafi was speaking.



We waited, and waited, and finally he arrived. The photo-op lasted less than a minute, all of us sweatily fighting for the best angle.

Being a news photojournalist, even more than being a journalist, is a practice of sheer aggression and stamina, along with some knowledge of the workings of digital cameras.

They never taught us at Columbia how to elbow each other and bypass body guards. This should be added to the syllabus.


Name that African President!

Just a partial sampling of recent lamination expenditures.

IRIN and PlusNews don’t use bylines, but yes indeed, this is my work. A lot of the time I do work to finish it and invoice for it, but this is a story that I’m pretty happy with. Oh, and if you read my previous post about the taxi to Jinja, this article explains why I spent two hours going to Jinja, two hours on the way back, for a one and a half hour interview – ie, nearly four out of six hours in transit.

KAMULI, 17 March 2008 (PlusNews) – Admitting to being HIV-positive is a difficult task for anyone, but David Balubenze was faced with some special challenges as the pastor of Deliverance Church Nankandulo, in Kamuli, about 100 kilometers from the capital, Kampala.

READ MORE…

Last Friday when I went to the Jinja taxi park to get back to Kampala, I boarded a taxi with only a few passengers already seated. (For those of you outside Uganda or who aren’t familiar with the system, a taxi, matatu, like a big mini-van, has four rows of seats, and then two people sit in the very front, and every seat must be filled before the taxi departs.)

I like the second to last row, usually. In the front front, you have too good of a view of the impending doom traveling 120 kilometers an hour in the opposite direction. In the back, if you sit by the window, the tire takes up some of your leg room. Which makes the second to last row the ideal place to sit, and if you’re lucky, you’ll even get a window seat.

In the front row (not the front front, but behind the driver and the first row of seats) there was an older mzungu lady sitting in the seat by the window. I thought it odd that she sat there, since because the “conductor” also sits in the front row, along with three passengers, meaning there are usually four people sitting in that row, while there are three people in all the other rows.

(Side notes: 1. The conductor is the person who collects the taxi fare and tells the driver when to stop so someone can get out. 2. Often there are four people in the second row as well, to squeeze out the extra fare should another passenger wish to board the taxi, further supporting my preference of the second to last row as the most comfortable. 3. In Rwanda, they sit four people in every row, all the time, in taxis of identical size, and the conductor kind of stands up and bends over the front row of seats.)

The past middle-age lady wore a tie-dyed dress, a head scarf, and sunglasses. You don’t often see ladies of this age travel by themselves for a weekend in Jinja, so I thought that she might be someone who has lived here or worked here for awhile.

Her choice of seat should have tipped me off though. And sure enough, as the taxi slowly filled, another person, and then another person, sat down in the row next to her, as did the conductor.

“Hey! I paid for this seat!” she bellowed in a very American accent, causing quite the stir.

Of course, no one seemed to do or say anything about her discomfort or agitation.

“This is illegal!” she yelled, trying to displace one of the unwelcome passengers in her row. Of course, once again, no one did anything, other than the people in the back of the taxi snickering a bit.

The lady refused to move over to accommodate the extra person, and made three people crowd into two seats rather than four people into three seats. The last passenger practically had the conductor on her lap.

I thought about the debates ragging on my blog and about this lady: the longer you are in Uganda, the more likely you are to know how things work, like taxi seating. The fact that she chose the wrong row points to her lack of familiarity with the seating system, and the fact that she complained that it was illegal showed she had absolutely no knowledge of how anything in Uganda works. (Maybe the Attorney General has a personal hotline for complaints about all illegal happenings in Uganda, and the extra passenger in the front row may be high on his priority list. But maybe, just maybe, he also might be busy dealing with all of that damn torture that takes place in this country, or the rampant corruption which his office is supposed to stop.)

I thought next about all the Ugandans in the taxi, snickering at the old mzungu lady. Though surely they have had other interactions with bazungu, this one will contribute to their composite understanding of Americans. They will think of Americans as the people who complain about being crowded on the taxi, who say it’s illegal to do something that they think of as customary.

Every expat in Africa makes stupid mistakes when they first arrive. (I made too many to list that are all too embarrassing to mention.) But the thing is, the longer you’re here, the fewer of such surface level snafus you make, the less likely you are to offend your Ugandan hosts.

A lot of people have pointed to problems in my thinking about development tourists, and I’m glad for their comments because I now have a more nuanced view. But, I still think, in principle, the longer you’re here, the more likely you are to do something worth doing, and the less likely you are to do something that will only make Ugandans laugh at you.