Swamp
Confessions of an Academic Pseudo-Giraffe
17.1.06
Wrapping up
Finishing a dissertation is a strange business. It never feels finished, and it is reluctant to stop being worked on. I had reached the point where I was reasonably content, but now, after a decision to stop for now (until after the pre-examiners statements arrive in a few months), a few extremely relevant articles I hadn’t even looked at popped up from my hard drive. If nothing else, they make the vulnerabilities of my work, of which I am aware to the point of sleepless nights, still more visible.
I need to send the thing to Finland in three identical hard copies, in bulky files. Goody goody, say the guys at DHL. The files are big because everything has to be printed on one side of the paper only, with ample spacing. The final shipment will contain 825 sheets of paper. Goody, goody.
So this Sunday I prepared to print it all at Kaija’s (WFP’s) office here in Kampala. They have good printers at the mapping unit. I had checked and rechecked the file because when the stakes and page numbers rise, tabs tend to shift by themselves, extra line breaks tend to appear, and the styles of the template suddenly tend to get ambiguous on their in-built paddings. That is one of the fundamental laws of technology. My relationship with printers is usually less problematic than with photocopiers. But as I saved the file on two memory sticks and packed the other files, the ones of plastic and metal, in a bag, I sensed that this was going to be no walk in the park.
As it happened, there was only one problem, but that was sufficient. The paper we had brought with us was the wrong size. Apparently not everyone here uses A4. I didn’t print a single page, for the WFP has developed a new meaning for the term “paperless office”. In this meaning, it denotes maximum printer presence with minimum paper. The bulk of it, I assume, is stacked somewhere in the cellar for emergencies, catering for which is the organisation’s main purpose.
But it’s done now. Thanks to my dear wife, and her workmates who conveniently disappeared for a day, the piles of paper are now sitting in my closet, waiting for the word go. 08:03
I need to send the thing to Finland in three identical hard copies, in bulky files. Goody goody, say the guys at DHL. The files are big because everything has to be printed on one side of the paper only, with ample spacing. The final shipment will contain 825 sheets of paper. Goody, goody.
So this Sunday I prepared to print it all at Kaija’s (WFP’s) office here in Kampala. They have good printers at the mapping unit. I had checked and rechecked the file because when the stakes and page numbers rise, tabs tend to shift by themselves, extra line breaks tend to appear, and the styles of the template suddenly tend to get ambiguous on their in-built paddings. That is one of the fundamental laws of technology. My relationship with printers is usually less problematic than with photocopiers. But as I saved the file on two memory sticks and packed the other files, the ones of plastic and metal, in a bag, I sensed that this was going to be no walk in the park.
As it happened, there was only one problem, but that was sufficient. The paper we had brought with us was the wrong size. Apparently not everyone here uses A4. I didn’t print a single page, for the WFP has developed a new meaning for the term “paperless office”. In this meaning, it denotes maximum printer presence with minimum paper. The bulk of it, I assume, is stacked somewhere in the cellar for emergencies, catering for which is the organisation’s main purpose.
But it’s done now. Thanks to my dear wife, and her workmates who conveniently disappeared for a day, the piles of paper are now sitting in my closet, waiting for the word go. 08:03
7.1.06
Voting in the bedroom
This past Wednesday I marched into the Sheraton in Kampala and announced to the receptionist that I am there to vote in the presidential elections of Finland. She looked first bemused, then slightly amused, and gave me a top floor room number.
When I got in, the ambassador and his co-worker (who'd both flown from the nearest embassy in Nairobi) seemed very energised. I was the first voter in Uganda, and they had been slumbering on the sofa, watching CNN. I was handed the ballot and directed into the bedroom, where the voting station was located by the night table. I sealed the ballot in an envelope and addressed it to the election board in Tampere.
The ambassador complained about the hotel. He had had to switch to a new room after nothing had worked in the previous one. The night before, he had bumped into a door in the dark and bruised his lip because the lights didn't work. He had become familiar with the Ugandan brand of service, which often consists of apologies and smiles with no action. "First time for me in a Sheraton like this". Then we talked about the state of democracy in the country. He was rightly concerned that cutting aid because of the recent developments will only make matters worse. The elite, against whom the action is ostensibly directed, will never suffer from it. It is questionable, we agreed, whether western-style multi-partyism works in a society divided along tribal lines.
It is certainly hard to imagine both corruption and democracy thriving simultaneously.
There were some more voters, and the room was getting crowded. On my way out I met an elderly couple who live just outside Kampala. They are leaving in February, before the elections in Uganda. Apparently I also have my nationality written on my face, since the man asked me about the right room, in Finnish, immediately after stepping from the elevator. 08:53
When I got in, the ambassador and his co-worker (who'd both flown from the nearest embassy in Nairobi) seemed very energised. I was the first voter in Uganda, and they had been slumbering on the sofa, watching CNN. I was handed the ballot and directed into the bedroom, where the voting station was located by the night table. I sealed the ballot in an envelope and addressed it to the election board in Tampere.
The ambassador complained about the hotel. He had had to switch to a new room after nothing had worked in the previous one. The night before, he had bumped into a door in the dark and bruised his lip because the lights didn't work. He had become familiar with the Ugandan brand of service, which often consists of apologies and smiles with no action. "First time for me in a Sheraton like this". Then we talked about the state of democracy in the country. He was rightly concerned that cutting aid because of the recent developments will only make matters worse. The elite, against whom the action is ostensibly directed, will never suffer from it. It is questionable, we agreed, whether western-style multi-partyism works in a society divided along tribal lines.
It is certainly hard to imagine both corruption and democracy thriving simultaneously.
There were some more voters, and the room was getting crowded. On my way out I met an elderly couple who live just outside Kampala. They are leaving in February, before the elections in Uganda. Apparently I also have my nationality written on my face, since the man asked me about the right room, in Finnish, immediately after stepping from the elevator. 08:53
4.1.06
Bwejuu, Zanzibar, at eight in the morning. The women from the fishermen's village are wading out there harvesting their seaweed farms.
The snows of Kilimanjaro. Snapped the photo during the first leg of our return trip from Zanzibar. We have a tentative plan to climb these slopes some time in April. 07:54
