"Apres Moi, Le Deluge...."

Translation? When it rains, it pours……right through the hole in the roof of your $50,000 radio production studio, the one that was created by Gulu’s version of construction workers (a.k.a. hungry, exploited street urchins) who were specifically told NOT to touch the tiles on the roof of said studio.

Remember my vow to write something every day during September? Well, if I had, you’d be fearing for my sanity at this point. At the very least, you’d be busy trying to resurrect Johnny Cochran so he could come over here and get my ass out of a Ugandan jail for killing 3 or 4 of the aforementioned urchins. Hands down, this past week has been the most dysfunctional of my entire stay in Gulu.

It started with the unpleasant task of dismissing our bookkeeper. Then, we opened the door to the studio and found that while we were away for a week in Arua, there had been at least 2 inches of standing water in the room, based on the water marks on the bookcase and desks, and the damp throw cloth covering our equipment.

This all happened, of course, during a period of back-to-back week-long workshops, the one in Arua and a quick turnaround in Gulu. Sadly, the third time was NOT the charm for our training program, because we somehow managed to choose the most intellectually-challenged, timid group of journalists I’ve seen in 4 years of doing this kind of work. I mean, these guys and gals came off as dumb as a box of rocks. I almost had to use a crowbar to pry anything out of their mute faces. This was after inheriting them from the expert GBV trainer, Karen, who HAD to have been wildly eager to get the hell away from what seemed to have been a hoo-doo curse placed on Internews Gulu. She left on Friday, and then I had the next few days to take up the slack. Or should I say the slack jaws.

Oh, did I tell you that during all this Gulu-based glee, I got a nasty note from a noxious nun in Arua? It seems our surly sister was upset that we gave such “high” per diems to the workshop participants ($25 USD per day.) For the two reporters from her radio station, that came to 6 days, or $150. Now, you need a little background on the whole African workshop per diem thing to understand why this turned into such a big freakin’ hoo-hah. Most African journalists go to workshops expecting to be bored silly by some patronizing white guy who drones on for 8 hours daily over two or three days, pick up a five or ten dollar per diem, and then go back to their stations even LESS interested in what the heck they’re supposed to be reporting on.

Internews does NOT play that. The whole idea is to challenge journalists to think critically
about their profession, to give them access to the smartest, most plugged in people related to the workshop theme, as well as practical field reporting experience. AND we expect them to produce stories that are ready to air before they return to their stations. To my American way of thinking, $25 dollars a day is slave wages for how hard we push these journalists to become more than they could have ever imagined.

Not so fast, said Surly Sister in a 1,000 word e-mail screed. Having a high-faluting US-funded training group come in and hand out per diems in one week that amount to just a little less than what her station pays journalists in a month did not sit well with her. Frankly, God's Girlfriend was pissed. And then she had the nerve to grill me about who else from her station I had worked with to set up the workshop.....AND to be upset that I had paid a local youth drama group affiliated with the station to perform a play about domestic violence.

That’s just part of the nunnish nit-pickery I had to confront while we were trying to figure out if our studio equipment had been destroyed or not. Thankfully, I had the presence of mind to wait a few days before responding, or I’d have forced Ms. Sister to do about 870 Hail Mary’s to get the offensive imagery in my reply out of her head.

Long story short, we made it through the rain, and did our own holy hosannas last night at 9, after dropping off the journalists at the hotel. The best news of all? Our radio production equipment still works, so our Technical Director, Akiiki, and The Intern, who is now officially the smartest, most mature member of the Internews Gulu office, celebrated by knocking back a few tequilas at one of the local boites. As pour moi, all I wanted to do was crawl into my bed and pull the covers over my head. But as I was fumbling with the key to the front door of my cozy little cottage, I looked down and saw the hideous little garden-gnomish, rabbit-type thingy that one of the journalists had given me as a present.

In a way, it was kind of sweet. He’d wanted to show his appreciation for the rigorous training he’d received, which he assured us would make him a better reporter. Maybe he even had a little crush, who knows? But gifting me with a demonic-looking rabbit with large, fiery red eyes was probably not the best way to endear himself to me.

So now I have another member of my own personal Manaical Menagerie to contend with. Last Monday, it was the bitter Meth Monkey who’d raged over being fired. And now, every time I come home, I’ll be greeted by a rabbit that looks like it's been free-basing for 4 days straight.

(You already know what I’ve named him, don’t you??? I’m SO looking forward to being welcomed at my cozy little cottage each day by my good friend ‘Base Bunny.)

P.S. You will NOT believe this, but as I am typing these words, I’m cowering under my mosquito net while a bird flies around in my room. Hopefully, he’ll have sense enough to get out the way he got in, but until such time, I’ll be lying here wide awake, hoping the mosquito netting is fine enough to prevent any drippage from the inevitable attack of explosive diarrhea my winged visitor will have right over the head of my bed.

P.P.S. Won’t somebody please come and take me home??? I might be wearing a straight-jacket, but just come and get me, for God’s sake…..