27 March 2006

Long time, no read everybody. Sorry I’ve fallen off the face of the earth (I do live in Rwanda after all), but at least I come armed with excuses.

First, my computer is still not back from Kampala. The logic board is sitting in Ugandan customs, just waiting to push its way through. The computer store guy said he expected that to happen today. After they get the part, we’ll see if they correctly diagnosed the problem. I’m fairly confident they did.

The only obstacle standing in my way is getting the computer from Kampala to Kigali. I’m still working on that. One option would be to go up there, but I really only have time to do that if I’ve got other stories to do. I’m still waiting to hear about a few pitches, and will keep you posted.

A second option would be to have a friend pick it up. That may happen also. The third, and least appealing, option is Elite Computers DHLing the thing down. That would cost millions of dollars and probably hundreds – maybe thousands – of lives as I fought through Rwandan customs, so here’s hoping that we don’t have to go that route.

So, how does me not having my computer prevent my loyal readers from wasting time at the office reading this nonsense? Well, Rebecca has kindly lent me her laptop for the time mine is in sickbay. But because she is working on a major project for CRS, she needs to use the machine at night and on weekends, prime blogging time.

There is excuse number one.

Excuse number two is Focus eats up a whole lot of time. Editing stories, working with the reporters, taking advantage of the free Internet access all take more energy and thought than one would expect. Fortunately, the hard work is starting to pay off. We’re at the beginning of Hell Week, where a group of stories, opinion articles, editorials, photos and just a smattering of advertisements become a newspaper.

But unlike past editions, we’re actually a day or two ahead because of cooperation from everyone, and I’ve calmed down enough that it looks like I won’t have pop an aneurism. We intend to come out every two weeks now, so let’s all keep our fingers crossed.

My schedule is so packed that I haven’t even had time to tackle a story that DaMN asked for, or pursue an opportunity that came up suddenly at the end of last week as much as I’d like. Again, since I don’t want to jinx this, I’ll keep the opportunity a secret. All I’ll say is that if it works out I’ll be converting from pounds to dollars.

I left off my three-part extravaganza on the trip to Uganda at a discussion of the elections there. I trust you’ve all read my DaMN piece, so I won’t go into anymore. But it looks like in some ways I was right, and some ways I was wrong. A Canadian guy I met in Kampala who writes for the Economist and the Washington Times got kicked out for being a “security threat” and other journalists told me they’ve “been warned.”

But you don’t want that. You want the Complete Idiot’s Guide to covering an African election. I am your complete idiot guide.

Unfortunately, over the month that I’ve been back in Kigali I’ve forgotten much about the little things that happened, but I’ll try to remember a few.

What do the boys on the bus talk about when traveling from Besigye campaign rally to Besigye campaign rally? The Winter Olympics. More specifically, biathlon and skeleton. My mom’s theory about the beauty of the skeleton is that it looks like you could just throw a dead guy onto the sled and send him down the chute – a Weekend at Bernie’s situation, if you will.

As I was advancing this theory – which met with great approval – we got word that the Ugandan military had plowed through the cheering throngs (I wrote about this on March 8), killing four people. As I wrote before, nobody got killed. I did see one guy who was run over, but nobody got killed.

So one would think that after this potentially important incident – hell, we even got off the bus and investigated – we would be talking about what it all means.

“So how did they figure that going head-first down the chute was a totally different sport than going down on your back?” either Rob or Hans, my fellow travelers, asked almost immediately after getting back on the bus.

I wrote earlier that the elections were basically a journalism convention. I met the New York Times correspondent (I even got to ride in his car), the NPR and Christian Science Monitor correspondents (who took me to Jinja, on Lake Victoria, and didn’t make me pay) and ran into my friend Fred from Human Rights Watch.

When all the journalists heard my deal with DaMN, they said I needed to find a new string. (“They don’t pay expenses? How do they expect you to do anything?” was the common refrain.)

The Friday nights I spent in Kampala were neat bookends. On the first one, I had to wake up at 4:30 the next morning for the 75-hour trip to President Museveni’s ranch (okay, it was only six). The next one, I was out until 4:30 in the morning with the rest of the hacks. That’s when I found out that Times reporters were not allowed to expense prostitutes, but some creative ones have managed to expense items like Russian sable coats. I don’t need a sable coat, but I could sure use an expense account where I can exercise my creativity.

So, that, in a nutshell, was my Kampala experience. Sorry that I forgot all the good stories. Next time you see me, corner me and I’ll make something up. Now get back to work. And congratulations, Maura and Kelly. Welcome aboard, Julia.

13 March 2006

The wait is finally over. DaMN published my story on March 12. Hey, it's a Sunday. You can find it here: http://www.dallasnews.com/sharedcontent/dws/news/world/stories/DN-uganda_12int.ART.State.Edition1.3f54744.html

The site requires registration, but it's free.

Now, it's time to work on the next projects.

9 March 2006

I'm such a doofus. I forgot to post the links to my two CNS stories (here: http://www.catholicnews.com/data/stories/cns/0601041.htm and here: http://www.catholicnews.com/data/stories/cns/0601141.htm).

Unfortunately, they don't post the photos publicly. But the photo editor apparently told the international editor, "Evan sure sees some interesting stuff."

Meanwhile, the vigil on my DaMN story continues. Two weeks after election day and counting. However, I do appreciate that they've taken a chance and keep asking me to do stuff for them.

8 March 2006

Shyaka did not like my last posting. After several creative differences that were building up to the ultimate event, he fired me on Sunday.

But my guys came through. Apparently everyone in the newsroom was unhappy – the office manager, the designers, all the reporters – and they said they wanted me back. So they forced him to talk to me, and after both of us made concessions, I will be back at Focus tomorrow. Shyaka apparently told the staff I would be there on Friday, but we had agreed on Thursday and that’s when I’m heading there. I love my reporters.

Anyway, that’s enough of that. No need to get myself into more trouble.

It’s time for me to talk more about Uganda.

I already wrote about Kampala, and while I did enjoy the city, I was working. And was there a lot of work to do. I got three stories out of it – two for CNS and one for DaMN (I’ll talk about that later) and at least two photos sold – and met pretty much the entire Nairobi press corps. Kenya’s capital is where most East Africa reporters live. It was pretty much an African journalism convention.

Today, I will give you the basics of the Uganda elections. President Yoweri Museveni came to power in 1986 following a five year guerilla war. For 10 years, he did not hold elections, instead ruling by what he called the Movement system, which I don’t necessarily understand. In 1996, after pressure from donor countries – Uganda gets around 50 percent of its operating budget from foreign countries, especially Britain and Ireland – Museveni instituted what he called “one-party democracy.” Candidates from within the National Resistance Movement (if you’re in government, what exactly are you resisting?) competed with each other for parliamentary seats. Museveni won election handily. They had similar elections in 2001, and Museveni won again.

This is where Dr. Kizza Besigye enters the scene, and Ugandan politics turns into high school drama. Besigye was Museveni’s personal physician during the 1981-1986 bush war that brought the NRM into power. Besigye’s wife, Winnie, was far more. The rumor is that Winnie, who was a guerilla fighter, was Museveni’s mistress during the war and even moved into State House in Kampala after victory. The rumor continues that security agents basically had to pull Winnie out of State House when Museveni’s wife Janet came in from Nairobi. Whatever the truth, the two couples loathe each other.

Meanwhile, Besigye was serving several high-level positions throughout the government until he had had enough. He and Winnie married during this period. Besigye was Museveni’s opponent in 2001, and lost badly. Soon after, he fled to South Africa after claiming that he was threatened by agents of the NRM. Again, rumor has it he fled on a Rwandan passport. The Ugandan and Rwandan governments don’t like each other and their forces have fought in the Democratic Republic of Congo, with the Rwandans winning handily each time.

When Uganda instituted multi-party democracy last year, again under international pressure, Besigye’s supporters started up the Forum for Democratic Change. Museveni also had the constitution changed so he could run for a third term. Besigye returned to Kampala in October – the normally 45-minute drive from Entebbe airport to central Kampala took almost an entire day due to his supporters dancing in the highways. Soon after his arrival, Besigye was arrested on charges of treason, associating with criminals and rape and had trials in both civilian and military courts. The government claimed that Besigye was supporting rebel movements acting against the government and the rape charge is fairly self-explanatory. Besigye was acquitted of rape yesterday, and the Ugandan civilian court system tossed out the treason charges, saying that the military courts had no jurisdiction because Besigye had not been a member of the military since 1999.

But Besigye spent some weeks in jail, and spent much of his campaign shuttling from court to campaign stop. The government did all it could to intimidate Besigye and his supporters, going so far as to surround a court house with a shadowy paramilitary group called the Black Mambas – elite commandos from the army and police who don’t wear uniforms.

The campaign itself was relatively peaceful until the last few weeks. With a little over a week to go, a reserve soldier shot and killed at least three FDC supporters. And a military convoy drove through a Besigye rally/convoy, running over four people, who survived, and allegedly hitting Besigye’s car. I was in that convoy and saw the army pass. They had their weapons ready to go, which you can imagine puts a damper on a celebration. But I would be willing to believe that they did not intend to hit the four people as much as I am willing to believe they were aiming. The crowds were mobbing the streets and it was impossible to drive. People were hanging off the back of the bus, and there were points where we literally could not move. “I know that I should feel like I am witnessing history as it happens,” Rob, an English freelancer who was in the mini-bus with a few other guys and me, said. “But all I want right now is for these people to get out of the way so we can get on with it.”

There were a few more teargas incidents throughout the campaign – I missed them all – but no other serious violence.

The violence people feared was going to happen after the election.

Election day itself was fairly boring, as voting days usually are. Not much happened, although there were a few incidents around the country of violence and intimidation. The biggest problems involved names not being on the voter roles. People were afraid that when Museveni won – and there was never really a question of whether he would. We only questioned how much vote rigging he would need – Besigye’s supporters would take to the streets. When the supporters took to the streets, then the soldiers would turn their guns on them. One journalist I knew was even guessing a death toll – he figured 16. I refused to play that game.

Anyway, when the results were announced there was basically no violence in the streets. A few Besigye supporters were teargassed by riot police, but they earned it. They were throwing rocks at cars along one of Kampala’s main roads in front of FDC headquarters. I missed the gassing, but there was still a whiff of it in the air when some colleagues and I arrived. Yucky.

Now Besigye and the FDC are challenging the results in court. They did this last time, and the courts ruled there was fraud but not enough to turn the election. So we’ll see what happens.

A few of the FDC supporters – young men who were probably drunk – asked me to get them machine guns from the U.S., but I told them I didn’t know who to contact about that. No one thinks anyone will go to the bush to fight for Besigye, and Besigye himself said he would not be going to the bush. But one never knows in this part of the world.

The saddest part of all this is that Besigye, from everyone I spoke to, was not much different than Museveni. Same imperiousness, probably similar corrupt people around him. The most qualified person to run the country was probably Winnie, everyone told me. The legal problems made Besigye look like Vaclav Havel or Lech Walesa. He’s not. He was just an unhappy guy who wanted his piece of the pie, in my view. Even most of his supporters said they supported Besigye only because they wanted change. I saw one guy running around screaming “Give me my change!” and was a little confused. I went into my pocket until I remembered I hadn’t sold him anything.

People don’t go out into the street to die for “At least he’s not the other guy.” That was the theory I put forward when the other journalist was guessing body counts. Everyone in the car laughed, but it looks like I was right.

Anyway, this is long enough. Now that you’ve got the background, I’ll show you the glamorous life of a foreign correspondent next time. Stay tuned for long bus rides at 4 a.m. and watching speed skating in a tropical country.

5 March 2006

So I’m back from Kampala and the March issue of Focus is up there getting printed. Now I can put my intestines back where they go, because it felt like somebody ripped them out over the course of the last week trying to get the paper out.

I think that rather than regale you all with the details of what happened last week here at Focus – to put it succinctly, even if I leave instructions nothing gets done here unless I do it – I will begin spinning stories about Uganda.

First off, it was just fabulous to get to do what I actually love doing. I like editing this ridiculous little newspaper just fine (although I fear what will happen to it when I’m no longer in Kigali), but I’m a reporter. Being in an office all day is entirely too constricting.

I took the Jaguar Executive Coach from Kigali, an eight-hour drive that is dominated by Celine Dion, Backstreet Boys and N’Sync videos and terrible Nigerian movies. You have no idea how bad a Nigerian movie is until you’ve had to sit through three of them. These movies follow families through generations, and they come in two, sometimes three parts.

Destroying one’s family in order to make a larger point is one of the characteristics of a Nigerian movie. For example, in one a woman faked her step-daughter’s death to show the young woman’s father just how much he would miss his daughter if she were gone. The step-mom hid the daughter out in their home village and when the father shows up to explain to his parents that their granddaughter died during a botched abortion, the daughter comes out.

The step-mom then explains that she faked the whole thing. Rather than ending up in a divorce or fist-fight, the movie ends in hugs. They’re all like this, and my Rwandan friends can’t get enough of them.

Anyway, I survived the movies, the videos and the people jabbing foot-long skewers of meat into the window every time we stopped inside Uganda. I almost took one in the eye because my window was open. On the Rwanda side, every time we stopped people rushed the window begging.

It’s possible to feel the grip of the police state I’m living in ease almost immediately after crossing the border. And when we finally got to Uganda, I saw just what a deranged country Rwanda is. People are on the streets in Kampala at all hours. Vendors sell food in stalls, bodaboda drivers (that’s what they call the motorcycle taxis there) are available at 4 in the morning. There are movie theaters, bowling alleys, tree-lined avenues with comfortable places to eat outside – it’s a real city. Kampala is just as safe as Kigali, but it’s far freer.

People who say they speak English in Uganda actually speak the language. And I got far less of the muzungu nonsense. When I did, it was much friendlier.

I don’t want to make Kampala sound perfect, because it’s not. It’s dirty and congested. I thought the bodaboda men would be the end of me on several occasions. There are drastic power cuts there that can last 24 or 36 hours in parts of the city. The police are ineffectual and take bribes. It’s hot and muggy and smelly. But I think we could’ve made a comfortable home there.

I fear that this will come out too long if I try to cram everything in. I’ll leave the election stuff until next time. But I’ll leave you with a few closing items:

My laptop died on my third day there. Fortunately, there is an Apple licenser in Kampala and they should be taking care of the repairs. So it’s good that it happened there. And it showed to all the established foreign correspondents there that I’m a guy who can solve problems. That’s never bad. I may not have the computer back for a while. That’s really bad.

Ugandans tend to switch their l’s and r’s. Hilarity often ensued when we discussed elections.