How was your day?

I spent last week working at the Directorate of Public Prosecution’s office as a break from the High Court. It was an eye-opening experience, much of which I’ll document later.

During my time there, I, along with the other Pepperdine student I’m clerking with, traveled to a DPP office in Masaka, about three hours from Kampala with our host, Jane. On the way to Masaka, we stopped at the equator. As you can see from the picture, when I roll to the equator, I dress for the occasion. You never know who you might run into in the southern hemisphere. The woman I’m with is Jane Francis, a state attorney for the DPP’s office.

Jane was our chaperone for the week. She’s an amazing lady whose daily life reveals both the burden placed on the women of Uganda and a little something about the politics of this country.

She is one of eleven children to her biological mother. Her father had seven wives and 45 children. When Jane was married to a man from her district in northern Uganda, as is customary of her tribe, cattle was paid by her husband as a dowry. 72 cows. When I asked how they arrived at the number 72, she told me that there is a certain allocation for each relative. Six for her mother, four for her father. One for each whole brother, three for each of her biological grandmothers, two for each biological grandfather, and at least one for each of her step-mothers and step-grandparents. So that’s how you get to 72.

Jane married well. Her husband is an ambitious man who sought to represent his region as a Member of Parliament. Against Jane’s wishes, he ran and was elected as an MP in 2006. If you can’t understand why a woman wouldn’t want her husband to be elected to a prominent position in government, affording her and her family opportunities only dreamed of by most Ugandans, just keep reading.

Prior to his election, Jane and her husband purchased land about a two-hour commute from Kampala, and moved there with their two children. When I asked her about her home, she described a sprawling estate with guest quarters, a veranda, and plenty of space for her children to play. These are some of the perks that come with being an MP, presumably.

The drawbacks will soon become apparent.

***

Last week as we were driving to Masaka, Jane told us the story of a man from her husband’s village that had been staying with her and her husband. That morning, the man had learned that his eight-month old child had died from malaria the night previous. Malaria is rampant in this country killing tens of thousands of children a year, and afflicting millions more. Experts say many of these deaths could be prevented with mosquito nets. They cost ten dollars. That is more than a week's salary for many Ugandans.

Earlier in the week, a woman in the DPP’s office met with us on Monday morning, but told us she wouldn’t see us again until Wednesday. She had to go to the doctor; she was getting sick. Only later did we learn she had malaria. When we had lunch with her on Thursday, we wondered how she knew she had malaria before going to the doctor.

“You learn what it feels like when it’s coming on,” she told us.

How many times have you had it?

“I don't know. I get it every few months.”

The infant who died, obviousy, did not have the experience of knowing what malaria felt like, nor the ability to inform her parents. By the time they figured it out, it was too late. So the morning that the man learned his daughter had died, Jane drove him to the bus station and paid for his day-long journey back home.

She seemed a bit angry with the man, and it wasn’t until she explained that we understood why.

The man had learned a week earlier that his child had malaria. He did not return home. He had been staying with Jane and her husband since February, since his daughter was three-months old, and at no time before had he tried to get back home.

Why had he been at Jane’s for five months?

When constituents vote for an MP, they feel like they have done something for that person and that the man or woman they have elected is indebted to them. For that reason, many of an MP’s electors will expect something in return. This often manifests itself in the form of an unannounced, prolonged visit.

So how many people are staying at your home, Jane?

“I don’t know, Shan.”

You don’t know how many people are staying at your house?

“Probably twenty. Or more.”

These people that come “visit” often stay for months at a time. They expect to be fed. They expect a place to sleep. When Hotel Jane reaches maximum occupancy, they sleep outside. And when they leave, they often take "mementos" with them. Jane says she buys new sheets every three months.

The “guests” do not pay for their food. They do not work. When they are finished with their meal, they will wait for someone to clear the plate from in front of them. If asked to do anything, like say, fetch water from the well, they complain. Not just to Jane, but to their family and friends when they finally decide to head back home. For that reason Jane employs two girls to help her, because she cannot possibly do it alone.

On a normal day, Jane wakes before 6 a.m. to get her kids up and get them ready for school. She drives them the two hours into Kampala and drops them off before getting to work between 8:30 and 9. Remember, this woman is a federal prosecutor. From her arrival at work until she leaves around 4:30 p.m., she is either in her office reviewing files and preparing for court, or actually in court arguing cases. That is, of course, when she’s not chaperoning two American law students across western Uganda. She’s also doing whatever else her boss asks of her.

The day we went to Masaka, she was asked to bring him a female fish. (How do you know if a fish is female? Look up its skirt. Or ask the guys in the picture.) Only, because she was busy keeping us occupied and buying two 50-lb. bags of charcoal—remember, she’s cooking for more than 20 people every night—she forgot to get the fish. The girl fish. So at 5 p.m. when we were returning to Kampala and she remembered the fish, we had to drive to Lake Victoria and visit Gabba Market. By the time she dropped us off, it was 6 p.m. on Friday night. She still had to drop off the fish for her boss, who had tired of waiting and gone home. Then pick up her kids. Then drive the two hours home. Then prepare a meal for 20+ people. Then put her kids to bed. Only then, maybe, could she rest, put her feet up, and have a well-deserved drink.

Just not in her sitting room. There was a soccer match that night, and the men who consume 30,000 Ugandan shillings worth of beer every day (about 30 beers) would be watching.