ave maria website launch

Ave Maria Bead Company Website

the trip home

It’s been inexcusably long since I last wrote on this, and the worst part is I feel like a lot has happened in that time. The big roadblock was my month-long trip back to America, which was planned as a surprise for my Mom, but there were a handful of blog-worthy happenings in there as well which I hope to eventually get to in later posts. Mainly, what I want to deal with here is the notion of culture shock, or reverse culture shock to be specific to my experience.

The initial move from Ohio to Uganda was a bit jarring to say the least, but so much of that was cushioned by my expectations. I knew I would come here and meet all new types of people and see a different way of life than I am used to (cultural norms, poverty, corruption, etc.). When you expect the unexpected, a lot of the edge can be taken out of the shock. It also didn’t hurt that I was in the same boat as 28 other future Peace Corps Volunteers. The return trip a year and a half later was something else entirely.

Setting foot on that plane was like stepping through some kind of science fiction wormhole through time and space. All of the sudden, the headaches were gone, everything was clean and functioning properly, staff were going out of their way to take care of me. It was awesome, but it didn’t feel right.

When I arrived in Chicago (after a quick overnight stay in Istanbul – I won’t go into it here, but what an amazing city! I highly recommend it.) my friend Dan was there waiting for me at the airport. The switch was unceremoniously thrown from African time, where the concept of tardiness and urgency are completely foreign to American punctuality. My little delay in Turkey had cost me a whole day in the states, and we had a schedule to keep. After a stop-off at Art of Pizza, my absolute favorite, we picked up our friend Jon and went back to Dan’s place so I could grab a quick shower. From there it was straight to the My Morning Jacket concert that was a birthday present from Dan (thanks so much again, buddy).

Surprisingly, the blaring music, flashing lights, and droves of people that make concerts what they are didn’t have much affect on me. It wasn’t until we went out to a bar afterward that I realized the full extent of the culture shock. As people sat there and talked about relatively normal things – the job market, the newest iPhone apps, HBO’s Game of Thrones – I realized that I was completely incapable of contributing to the conversation. A year and a half ago, I would have been right at home. I knew all of these people. I had talked with them about the exact same things, but something was different and I knew that something was me. What was I supposed to say when someone was talking about apartment shopping? “Oh really? A two bedroom just a block away from the Red Line with a great view? Sounds great! That reminds me. I was recently thinking about zombie proofing my own apartment. You know… Just in case.” While I didn’t go through with it or even say it out loud, yes, I was seriously considering it for a while.

Though I really did love every minute of my trip home, it was a bit marred by my difficulties in re-acclimating. Sure, things like wastefulness and constant attention to the iPhone are things that I would have expected to annoy me, but it didn’t stop there. Nice dinners, easy transportation, time with family and friends, good customer service, even tap water caused me more than a little anxiety. At first I couldn’t understand it. These things are all positive, and I have thought about each and every one longingly since I arrived here, so why wasn’t I able to fully enjoy them without some nagging anxiety?

I have thought about it for a while, and the only thing I can come up with is a skewed sense of equilibrium. Life in Uganda can be incredible at times. Work can be so rewarding. Time with friends is so refreshing. Good food is a rare, but always much appreciated treat. I have rafted the Nile River and safaried in savannahs. The thing is, every good is paid for, and I don’t mean in shillings or dollars. For every breakthrough at work, there’s countless hours wasted waiting for people to show up, convincing (sometimes begging) them to try things your way, and doing your best to protect everything you’ve built from corruption, infighing, outside jealousies, and so many other problems. For every weekend adventure with friends, there always the cramped, smelly, agonizingly slow public transportation and the people outside of your safe community who see you as if you had a target on your back. Headaches seem to accompany just about everything here. I’ve had the opportunity to do things here that I never dreamed I would get a chance at, but, as I said, these things are paid for by a million headaches and frustrations. It’s a balance.

I think the root of my culture shock in America stems from that lack of equilibrium. I got a chance to hang out with friends and family every day. When I wanted good food, all I had to do was open my Mom’s refrigerator. On the rare occasions I didn’t find something that I was excited to eat, I could just hop in a car and go get something. I know this sounds great, but the problem was, I was experiencing all of this stuff while I think my mind was still keeping a mental tally for me. It thought that for every shower and glass of water, a grueling trip to the well loomed that much closer. For every good meal, a dirty, long matatu ride into town should be made. For every day of fun with my family and friends, at least five more would have to be spent in solitude. And that’s the way it went in America. With my good, easy times continuing to heap up on one side of the scales while the frustration and headache side remained empty. The more things that piled on the good side, the bigger the shit storm would have to be to balance it out. Luckily for me, that shit storm never came.

Even still, it’s hard for me to believe how profound the culture shock was in coming home versus that of when I came to Uganda. I guess it goes a long way in saying how we can get used to anything, even things that seem so so foreign to us.

the cynicism of a development worker

Last week, my Peace Corps training class got together for our Mid-Service Conference (MSC in Peace Corps’ acronym happy lingo), a landmark that represents the halfway point of our service. The idea is that by the time you reach the halfway point, most of the bumps and bruises that come along with moving to a foreign country will be behind you. The first year of Peace Corps is there for you to get acclimated in your new community, run through some trial and error on your projects, and start to hone in on what works best for you. The second year is to solidify the work you are doing and make it sustainable. After ten weeks of Pre-Service Training, a year in the field, and a handful of other training sessions we’d attended, further trainings are a bit redundant. That’s why MSC is set up just as a chance for us to come together and reflect on our time so far with Peace Corps staff and friends.

You might think that the tone of a room filled with people who have given up their lives for the last year to help communities on the other side of the world would be overwhelmingly upbeat, but unfortunately that’s not always the case. In stark contrast to the optimistic, starry-eyed discussions I vividly remember from when we first got here, the current mood in regards to our work is often jaded and tired. Idealism has turned into realism and, at times, cynicism. We slam the concepts of charity, foreign aid, and especially short-term “voluntourism”, and question whether our impacts are even being felt by our communities. I was actually hesitant to write this entry because, even though these things are natural to the seasoned PCV, I feel like it might be misunderstood by someone who’s never walked a mile in our shoes.

So what happened? Why such a drastic shift in attitudes? There could be any number of reasons, I suppose. We’ve been here for so long now. We miss our homes; our families and friends. We’re tired of being outsiders. We want a decent, sand-free meal. We’re frustrated by any number of the differences that are the norm for both Uganda and Ugandans, but would be unimaginable in America.

I guess these would be the easy things to point to, and I would never completely discount any of them. Things can wear on you pretty quickly when you’re on your own the way nearly all of us are. But I think there’s a deeper reason behind the cynicism. Simply put, it’s because we still care. As a friend and I were just discussing, most Americans aren’t used to failure. We came from a country where you are expected to achieve, and all of the tools are there for everyone to make that happen. We PCVs came here with grandiose ideas about the work we were going to do and the impact we would have, and yet despite our good intentions and our American university degrees, we have all faced daunting failures. Usually things just don’t work out the way we’d hoped, but sometimes there are failures so epically catastrophic that the only possible conclusion to draw is that everyone would have been better off if we’d never even attempted the project. Everyone wants to see their efforts bear fruit and see that things are getting better. Unfortunately, for many here it can be difficult to see. It’s something that none of us was used to, and it’s definitely taken its toll.

What gives me hope, though, is that we’re still here. Not one of us has given up, and despite any bitching we might do, I know that each one of us is going to go out there and keep working for what we believe in. We aren't perfect. We get worn out and retreat within our own safe little American circle. We complain to each other because we're not sure outsiders will really understand and sometimes you need to vent. We make jokes because sometimes you just have to laugh. In the end, the people I've met through Peace Corps are still some of the best people I've ever met, and I feel incredibly lucky to count them as my friends.

the joys of living without

I’m often asked what the most difficult part of living in Uganda is. It’s not an easy question to answer. There are, after all, a lot of difficult parts about living here, not just for me, but even for the people who have never, and probably will never, leave this place. When asked how hard it is to live without all of the amenities and luxuries I got used to in the states though, that is a question I feel like I can answer more readily. While it’s undeniable that there certainly is a very substantial gap between the US and Uganda in almost all the amenities that make up daily life, it is far from the hardest part of life here. In fact, in a lot of ways, it’s one of the best.

I don’t want to be misunderstood. I am not some kind of masochist. There are times when I feel like I am losing my mind. I would give anything for some decent food (or even some food without rocks and sand in it), my own seat in a safe, odor-free car, a sit-down toilet, a good friend to hang out with on short notice, running water, reliable electricity, really just for anything to work out on time the way it should. After enough time, you get used to these things, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t still mentally and sometimes physically taxing. The really amazing part about this experience, however, is in the newfound appreciation that you gain for all of those things that were taken for granted before.

I once received a bag of Cajun trail mix in a care package that ants had burrowed into and were devouring. I wouldn’t say that the ants were the bulk of it by the time I got to the bag, but I would say they’d probably be up there on the ingredient list; behind the corn nuts and roasted peanuts, but ahead of the almonds, sesame sticks, and toffee peanuts. Well, I had been looking forward to this package for months, and I was going to be damned if I let a couple of ants piss on my parade. I put the bag into a Ziploc and sealed it to kill the little beasts off and set it aside for the night. Even I wasn’t about to eat live ants. I’m not a total heathen. The next day, after the ants had earned their just reward, I dove right in. I had originally intended to pick the ants out as I ate, but I’d be lying if I said that process lasted more than the first few minutes. In the end, I figured it would send a good message to any nearby ants that had funny ideas about the rest of that care package.

When I told my friends about this story, I heard two distinct reactions.

My friends from home: Dude… that’s pretty nasty. How gross was it?

My friends in Peace Corps: Dude… I LOVE Cajun seasoning. How good was it?

And the truth is it was fantastic. I can tell you without hesitation that I have never enjoyed trail mix as completely as I did for those next few days (the two pound bag lasted about half of a week).

In America, Cajun trail mix is one of my favorite snacks. I really enjoyed the stuff, but there’s something lost when you can run down to the supermarket anytime, anywhere, pick a bag up, and fulfill your cravings. Such a feat in Uganda is not just difficult, it is flat-out impossible. I had lived for months on crumby porridge, rice, beans, and a handful of other equally uninspired ingredients so that when something like a bag of Cajun trail mix finally did come along, it wasn’t just an enjoyable snack, it was an earth-shattering enlightenment for my deprived taste buds. The really high highs, the things that make this experience so unique, may not come from the act of living without, but they do come because of it.

update: ambc

****The following is an article that I wrote to hopefully be published in celebration of Peace Corps' 50th anniversary.****

I arrived in Kisoga, Uganda under a fair amount of uncertainty. The organization I was assigned to had been operating for ten years, and was essentially the philanthropic arm of a Catholic Parish in Italy. Over those ten years, Mirembe Maria had sponsored hundreds of children’s school fees, built dozens of buildings for both local individuals and the Catholic Church, founded several conventional and vocational schools, and funded countless other similarly minded ventures. Funding began to dry up with the global recession, and so I was brought in and given one task: better the economic well-being of the people of my community. It was straightforward enough, but still had no idea how I was possibly going to accomplish it.

As I integrated into Kisoga, I sat down and spoke with hundreds of individuals about their lives, their problems, and, most importantly, their goals. While people’s lives are as diverse here as anywhere else on earth, there seemed to be a very common theme in terms of their goals and most immediate problems: money. People needed money to feed their families, to buy their own land to farm, to send their children through school, to open their own businesses, and to pay for things like medical treatment and their other necessities.
It was not exactly a revelation for the ages. The question of, “how?” still loomed larger than ever, but it was a start. I looked deeper into my community for the solution. I wanted to know the types of things people were already doing, and to see if a fresh perspective might take a stale idea to new heights.

It wasn’t until my sister, Jenna, called me from Ohio that the project finally started to come together. She had told me that she seen a booth in her university student union selling African handicrafts for charity. When she told me the prices these items were fetching, I couldn’t believe it. I immediately remembered that I had spoken with a handful of women who used to be part of a group that made beaded necklaces out of recycled paper, but had stopped because the local market was completely oversaturated and profits had been nearly impossible to come by. It seemed that, if the right connections with people and businesses back in America were be formed, the paper beaded necklaces could make an ideal product to export.

I believe that, far from being at ends with it, the private sector is one of the best tools we can use for development. I knew that similar programs with craft sales had already been put into practice; after all, that was how I had the idea in the first place. I thought, however, that if we could draw on ideas from businesses as opposed to charities, we might be able improve upon their models. First of all, nothing would be given away. Group members would buy all of their own material up-front, pay for their share of shipping and handling, and would earn only as much as they were able to sell. I hoped that these measures would discourage corruption, infighting, and opportunism while building a base of real business knowledge and encouraging hard-work and quality products. I had also decided to encourage any retailers who would support us to make their own profits on our goods. In this, the goals were to provide an incentive to push sales of our jewelry as well as promote expansion into shops and even regions where we might not otherwise have a presence. All of this, I hoped, would combine to build a better, more economically sustainable business.

Things were slow in the beginning. While dozens of people in Kisoga expressed interest in forming the group, less than ten initially joined. Of those, perhaps only four showed anything in the way of commitment. Meanwhile, I had only found one American business that was interested in picking up our products: a salon in Columbus, Ohio that my aunt owns and operates with my Mom.

We pushed ahead anyway, and before long Ave Maria Bead Co. sent a shipment to the salon. That first package contained just a small number of basic necklaces and a flyer with a photo and a brief explanation of our group. I was terrified that the product wouldn’t sell and that these women, who had put their trust in me, would be rewarded with only the loss of their time and money. Less than two weeks later, however, we received word from the salon. The necklaces had sold out, back orders had been placed, and some of the customers wanted to carry our products and retail them in their own businesses.

Just a few months have passed since that first shipment, but Ave Maria Bead Co. has continued to grow by leaps and bounds since that point. The group grew seemingly overnight from its original nine members to now over forty. They have elected their own leadership and make their own rules and regulations. Another big development has been every member’s enrollment to their own mobile banking account. Savings accounts have long been perceived as inaccessible by so many in this area, but this new technology has changed that. It will give our members not only a safe, secure way to send, receive, and store money, but will hopefully encourage a culture of savings and financial responsibility.

The retail side in America has grown just as quickly as the production side, meaning more profits for everyone involved (everyone except me, of course!). Volume and revenue continue to increase. There are even two regional teams now, one in Ohio and one in Mississippi, who are dedicated to sales and distribution. Our products can be found in seven retail locations, and this number is growing all the time. The customer experience has also evolved as all jewelry now comes with a tag identifying the artisan who made the piece. The card also points buyers to a web page where photos, stories, and letters from the artist can be found.

The success of Ave Maria Bead Co. has been exhilarating for everyone involved. Our retailers in America are happy to help out a cause they believe in, while still making some profits for themselves. Many of our customers have sent encouraging words supporting our products and our goals. Our group members are better off financially, but they also take immense pride in knowing that they have earned their own money and have not taken any handouts. Some have even begun to move into their own ventures, taking with them their skills, knowledge, and new found self-confidence. As for me, I am just happy to have been a part of this. To have helped create something, watch it grow, and continue to work for its future.

prejudice is bad

Growing up as a white, middle class male in the American Midwest never exposed me to much in the way of prejudice. I can’t remember ever feeling isolated or different from the people around me. The only real way I’d ever stood out was the freakishness with which my body developed, but luckily for me, a sixth grade giant who already has to shave everyday is not exactly a target for ridicule.

My days of blending seamlessly into my surroundings ended abruptly when I moved to Uganda. The communities here are so homogenous that people can tell when you are from a different region of this country. Imagine, then, how much I stick out. I am literally the only white person in my town. A minority of one in a community of 80,000. I try to treat every experience in country, good or bad, as a learning opportunity, and what has this lifestyle taught me? Racism and prejudice is bad. You can quote me on that. It’s a revelation, I know.

The fact is that no matter how hard I try to fit in, I never will in Uganda. I will always be seen as an outsider while I am here. My name is often muzungu, the color of my skin. I am asked dozens of times per day for money. I get talked about by gossiping women in the market as if I am not standing right in front of them. I am overcharged for almost everything. I am so berated by requests that I am often suspicious of anyone who approaches me. Most days I am able to take it all in stride, at least hiding my aggravation usually by ignoring rude behavior, but sometimes stopping to address things in a constructive way. There are rare occasions though, when I’m caught on a bad day and my temper gets the best of me. By American standards, it would seem pretty mild, but I’m still not at all proud of these moments.

In the past, this is the part of my blog where I would try to come full circile and explain things away, usually citing some differences in culture. While the fact that I, along with my other Peace Corps Volunteers, get treated more like tourist attractions than people probably can be explained in terms of differences in culture, I don’t think that excuses anything. Being singled out for standing apart from the majority is a terrible thing to experience. Even on my best days it is extremely hurtful and always takes a bit of the wind of sails.

I didn’t write this blog to create some kind of pity party for myself. My suffering here is miniscule, and there hasn’t been a single day when any of it has outweighed the good parts of my service. I love it here, and for the most part I love the people here (although, like anywhere else, there are good and bad). What encouraged me to sit down and write this was a conversation I had with my friend, Jake. Like me, he’s been frustrated by the prejudice he receives in his community, but he said something that really put the whole situation into perspective. He said something to the extent that even though it was obnoxious and even hurtful at times, we get treated the way we do for two main reasons: the people in our communities perceive us to be very smart and very rich, two incredibly positive things. With that said, I realized that I can’t even imagine how alienating it must feel to be a part of a people judged for being intellectually, physically, morally, or in any other way inferior. I am not advocating that we ignore all of the differences that make us unique and interesting, as is often the case in today’s overly politically correct world. Rather, my experience has just reinforced in me the notion that we should treat everyone with the love and respect that they deserve.

back to business

I remember the first time I seriously considered becoming a Peace Corps Volunteer. I was sitting at my desk, absolutely miserable, when I received a Facebook message from my old high school buddy, Chris, a PCV in Ecuador at the time. I decided to check it out for myself at peacecorps.gov and was immediately enthralled with the idea.

I had strived my entire life to put myself into the position I was in, working as a consultant in the big city of Chicago. I was just out of college and only three months into my job, but my thoughts were already straying toward the idea of leaving the corporate world behind forever. I wanted to experience something different. I wanted to help people, and I felt compelled because to be in a position to do so. I wanted to do something that I loved, and just as importantly, that I believed in. Peace Corps would give me the opportunity to do all of these things. Finally, after about a year and a bit of a winding road, I found myself out from behind my desk and bound for Uganda.

Despite the 27 month stint I had committed to, I still got a lot of questions from people about what I wanted to do after Peace Corps. I knew there was plenty of time to consider my options, but I told most people that I would probably end up returning to school for a master’s in some form international development or economic policy and then try for the State Department. Here I am now, though, more than a year removed from my courageous escape from corporate America, and I am set on getting an MBA and rejoining the business world (after I finish my service here, of course). What’s more, I am sure this is what I want. Absolutely positive. If you don’t believe me, consider the fact that I studied my ass off for the GMAT (just finished Thursday!), and this has got to be something that no human being would put themselves through unless they were convinced that they wanted to go to business school.

I know what this looks like. You must be thinking to yourself that old Dave sold out. The truth is, I still believe in all of those things that made me want to leave my desk job. I still believe in doing what you love and believe in and I still think that people who are lucky enough to be in a position to help others should do so, I just see the methods a bit differently now.

When I look around me, I see thousands of NGOs in Uganda dumping millions of dollars in the country. The intentions are almost always good, but as they say, the road to hell is paved with good intentions.

There are countless examples that I could point to in Uganda alone to emphasize some of the failures of gifted aid, but I will just use one here. The clean-cook stove was developed to replace the more traditional three-stone cooking fire (literally just three stones that hold pots slightly elevated over burning firewood). Clean-cook stoves burn a fraction of the wood that three-stone fires do reducing deforestation and the price of fuel, they cook things faster, and they minimize the smoke and ash that young girls and women are subjected to inhale three times per day. Countless NGOs have installed these stoves in homes all over Uganda, but I have yet to see one being used in my year in country. At my first site in, while I was still just a bush baby, I proposed the idea of installing these stoves. I figured the people as well as the park we neighbored would greatly benefit. The people were ecstatic about the idea. Everyone wanted a stove. I went to the first house to have one installed, and was shown a great place for the stove. It was so great, in fact, that there was already a clean-cook stove installed, tucked neatly behind the three-stone fire the woman was making lunch on. The next three houses were the same thing. All the members of the group had clean-cook stoves that they didn’t use, and every single one of them, without a trace of irony, wanted me to install another one for them. I still think that the clean-cook stove is a fantastic idea, but the way in which it has been implemented to this point has utterly failed.

Unfortunately, this is not a unique example. You see things like it all the time, and it used to give me a sense of hopelessness, but now I can see that changes are coming. There are actually some great things that are starting to happen in the developing world. I am seeing ideas that are lifting people, slowly by slowly, out of poverty, but perhaps surprisingly to some, they are mostly coming out of the private, for-profit, sector. Products and services such as micro-loans, mobile phones, and commoditized solar energy have already changed the face of my village. These ideas work not just because they are good for the people who consume them, but because it is in the best interest of the people who produce them to make sure the consumers are well-informed of the benefits and uses of their products.

Even my own project, Ave Maria Bead Co. has benefited greatly from using the models of the private sector. Tying the earnings of the group to direct sales and profits ensures that they stay motivated and focused on quality assurance, while allowing profits to be made by the retailers and distributors we sell to has helped us grow larger in a few short months than I thought we ever could. Ave Maria will also soon switch from cash-based transactions to mobile phone banking, another private sector idea. Within the matter of minutes that it takes to sign up, all 41 members of the group will have their own savings accounts, something few have had access to and even fewer have an understanding of its benefits. Only one of the 41 members has previous experience with banking (Sylvia’s husband has an account).

In my opinion, private business, not aid and government, is the best tool for fixing some of the pressing issues of the world. This is why I decided to return to business and get my MBA. Business school, I hope, will allow me to be a part of these solutions and be surrounded by a culture that thrives on innovation. The same ideas about making the world a better place that motivated me to leave corporate America do still exist, I am just going about realizing them a little differently now.