THE LEFT HANDED BLOGGER-ETHICAL DILEMMAS: 2ND IN THE SERIES

I am not often associated with struggles in ethics but before I get on to the main theme of this offering, I want to put something straight. There is a scurrilous rumour being perpetrated following my first in series that I was in fact coming back from a bar when I fell in the ditch; this would suggest that some of you think I like a beer or two and that this led to my demise. Not true and in fact my mishap has been repeated by another volunteer, also on her way out. We have therefore started a new society, for which we are trying to think of a catchy name (any ideas?), that is for people traumatised by open drains. The aim of this new society is to campaign for all open ditches and drains to be covered. We are not optimistic about success but you have to start somewhere and I am sure that we can rely on your support. Being a founder member, I am of course Chairman, a role that I will take very seriously!

Now to the main theme, that of ethical dilemmas. Anybody that knows me will be aware that anything to do with Colonialism or colonial behaviour is abhorrent to me. Imagine then my discomfort when we learned that not only is it normal that volunteers have guards to their properties but that VSO pays for them. Furthermore it is also quite normal for people to employ help in the house. You may say that there is nothing amiss with this arrangement because it provides employment, adds to the economy etc. That is a fair and accurate point except that the pay is about 1.5$US per day for the guard and they are expected to work seven days a week.

Do not have a guard I hear you say, unless you can and want to give more. Again a fair point but our 'guard' came with the house and sacking him is an even bigger ethical dilemma! Giving him more, even if our allowance could go that far (it is actually quite expensive to live in Kigali-the only relatively inexpensive items being beer and meat) would not be welcomed by anybody but the guard.

We will not be having house help.

To the guard himself then. His name is Claude and as far as I can make out he was homeless or near to it before he came to our house. He started guarding two weeks before we arrived and took up residence in our garage/VSO storeroom. He has a mattress and the room is dry. He was not sure at first if we would allow him to continue to live there and he was eager to please. So much so that we had to get an interpreter to explain to him that we did not expect him to work 24 hours a day and that it was OK if he stayed there. So he guards at night and we generally converse in sign language as he has no English or French. We are learning Kinyarwanda but slowly and after some negotiation he now earns a little more from us for doing the garden.

I have to be honest and say that as a guard he is probably not fit for purpose being much smaller than me and quite young but then again I am not sure what he is guarding. I do not feel unsafe or threatened and our house has more locks than fort Knox.

It never occurred to me that I would ever have to what amounts to a servant. There is no contract of employment or agreement other than verbal and we are not allowed to give him one. No security of work and no expectation of any. I do not feel at all comfortable with this but reconcile myself to the fact that Claude is very happy (we checked this out through the interpreter) and that asking him to leave would be worse than accepting the status quo. Stay well and more to come.

 

 

 

THE LEFT HANDED BLOGGER 1ST IN THE SERIES

You will probably know that I am not left handed so this title deserves some explanation. I am going to try to put stuff on more regularly than before but I doubt any future piece will reflect such stupidity on my part.

I am having to type this with my left hand because I have single handedly (forgive the pun) invented a new sport for Rwanda and in the process I have disabled myself temporarily. Pavement diving is well known to all of you I suspect but I doubt you have heard of Drain Ditch diving. For this you need a concrete ditch of at least three feet in depth, a really stupid player and a dark night without street lighting. All these prerequisites came into play on our first night in Rwanda.

I was truly knackered having flown with Ethiopian Airways and spent four hours sitting on the floor in Addis Ababa airport waiting for our connection. It is quite frankly a shithole (the airport I mean, I am told that the city is very nice). We were given an excellent welcome by the in-country staff and taken to our home for the first two weeks and although I could have slept for a long time we agreed to go out for a drink because it was one of our parties birthday. Oh silly me!

We started walking to the venue but the street lights went out (well This Is Africa) and I was without torch and dreaming as I do. Quite suddenly the ground denied me access and, leading with my left leg, I fell into an abyss with what can only be described as a perfect half turn, slamming my right hand into the concrete wall and landing squarely on my arse. There was no head involved in the collision so concussion was not an issue but there was enough blood to keep the transfusion service happy for a while had they been able to collect it.

Now you can imagine that the sort of people that do VSO have an abundance of concern and empathy and, bless them, they showed it and as there are 25 of us here I was overwhelmed with it. Sensible suggestions were made, like going to hospital but I was determined not to let a little blood stop me having a beer. I wrapped my hand in a handkerchief and manfully, without complaint, walked to the bar.

Needless to say, the first beer did not touch the sides (and by the by the beer is cheap and very good). The manageress of this fine establishment noticed I was having some difficulty pouring my beer. This was fairly obvious at this point because I was bleeding all over her floor but her concern was genuinely for me and not her decor. She sent out for first aid stuff, dressed my wound with iodine that stung like shit and wrapped it in a bandage. So I got a bit pissed but not very and slept like a log.

Next morning I was ‘invited’ by VSO to go to a clinic to have my hand checked out. I was provided with a driver and got to the clinic in no time at all. Let me say now that the treatment that I eventually received was without fault. I say eventually because after being registered very quickly I was shown into the doctor’s room. I expected him to be concerned and to look at my injury immediately. This was not the case and we had, at his behest, a very long conversation about? Yes indeed, Manchester United, that just goes to prove that Phil is not alone in being a fan with absolutely no connection with the town. Eventually and after a further long conversation about the difference between Irish and Scottish names he gave me a prescription and told me to go and see the nurse without even looking at my wound. He was however a very nice chap.

The nurse spoke no English and we got by in a sort of French. He was very thorough if without finesse but would not have won prizes for embroidery as the dozen or so stitches I had to have have made my hand look somewhat like spaghetti junction.

So here I am, stitched, badly bruised but not broken in body or spirit and do you know what, I already like this country. Stay well you all. Next instalment from our house, (Yes, we do have one this time. J)