Sorry, Sorry

One of the most surprising things I learned about Uganda when I moved here in 2012 for six months was the shockingly low cost of human capital.  While goods imported from Europe or the United States are quite expensive here, the cost of goods and services produced and delivered locally is miniscule.  It is literally possible to subsist on very little income in Uganda because the price of local food is so low.  The reason for this, however, is the cost of local labor is so low.  Unskilled laborers make in the neighborhood of a couple dollars a day.  An unfortunate side effect of this low cost of human capital is the impact that even a relatively small amount of money rolling in from the West can have on the delicate balance.

Friday night, I was the beneficiary of this imbalance, though I didn’t feel guilty about it.

I called the airport at 9:00 p.m., an hour after my prodigal suitcase was supposed to have arrived from Nairobi, Kenya.  (I had earlier been told that the afternoon flight had been cancelled).  After putting me on hold for a few minutes, the Kenya Airways spokesperson triumphantly declared that my suitcase had arrived one hour earlier.

“Excellent.  Is it on its way to me right now?”

“No, sorry, sorry.  The driver is not around.”

“So what time will he be around, and what time will he be delivering my suitcase tonight?”

“Oh, sorry, sorry.  He is not coming back tonight.  He will deliver it to you tomorrow.”

“Oh, sorry, sorry, but I need the suitcase tonight.”  I barely resisted the impulse to tell her I had her “sorry, sorry” right ‘ere.

I didn’t think telling her my two remaining pillows, sound machine, ambien, et al., really missed me and needed to see me tonight would do the trick.  So I tried a different approach.

“Is there anyone there I can pay to deliver the suitcase to me tonight?”

“(Pause) Let me check.”

A few moments later, she “sorry, sorried” some more and told me no one was around with a car.

“If I send a driver out to the airport, will he be allowed to pick up my suitcase?”

“No problem.”

So I called the taxi driver I have been using this trip.  He didn’t give me any “sorry, sorries” – he gave me my suitcase.  When I called him, I prefaced my request with the caveat that it was late and that he should feel free to decline if he didn’t want to go out again.

To the contrary, he told me he would do it for 85,000 shillings.  I countered with 100,000.  (The extra 15,000 is only about six dollars, but that will feed him and his wife for several days).  The fuel costs are nearly double those in the United States, and the trip to the airport is about twenty-five miles each way.  He does not own the car he drives, but pays a flat daily to rent the car.  Accordingly, after a certain level, he gets to keep what he makes.

By midnight, I had my suitcase, pillows, sound machine, and ambien.  The world was right again.  (Incidentally, Friday night was likely the last night on ambien – I am not an addict, just some poor soul trying to adjust to the eleven-hour time difference in time to leave again.).

On Saturday, the same driver picked me up at 9:30 and took me to the Commercial Court.  I am working in the office of David Nary (Pepperdine Nootbaar Fellow living in Uganda for one year) while he is on a weekend trip.  After a few hours of refining my oral argument preparations for Tuesday’s hearing, I met up with an American family who is here in Uganda in the process of adopting two Ugandan children who are badly in need of a permanent home.  The mother and father are good friends of a few of my good friends, so it was nice to spend some time getting to know them.  They have hit an unexpected delay in the process, so they are here longer than anticipated.

Toward the end of the conversation, I asked them where they are living while they are here.  I was stunned to learn that not only are they staying in the same hotel we stayed in for six months in 2012, but they are living in the same exact three-bedroom suite where we lived.  Very cool, and a bit eerie.

After a few more hours of oral argument prep, I met up with a Ugandan lawyer I got to know during my prior work here.  We ate dinner at my favorite restaurant (Emin Pasha Hotel), and he coached me a bit on the logistical aspects of arguing before the Ugandan Court of Appeals.