A Farmer

One of the farm leaders I work with is a big shot.

She’s an old, old lady. Short and chubby. The first time I met her, she was wearing a fluffy, pink sweater and a wool hat covering her ears. The outer rims of her eyes are sky blue.

Everyone from my company suspects she stole over 1000 to 2000 bags of fertilizer from her group members. And she’s probably still stealing, after being taken to the police and detained. Of course, even if she’s guilty and there’s evidence, we doubt anything would actually happen to her.

Everyone’s scared of this frail-looking grandmother. Some farmers started to make complaints that she stole fertilizer from them. The very next morning, she called a meeting, and no more complaints could be found. Whenever she stands and speaks, there’s hush silence. No one dares contradict her.

She used to be the head guard at the regional prison for over 20 years. Rumour has it that she sold all the prisoners’ food for her own gain. She wasn’t convicted.

Whenever the President of Uganda comes by this region, he has to go to her house to greet her. The latest news is that the President invited her to Sweden for his party. She has all the plane tickets and hotel reservations to prove it.

Trying to get her removed from our scheme is practically impossible.

Who ever said farmers are powerless? Everyone’s a farmer in this part of the country. Including the politicians, the big business people, even the elite in the capital often own land and hire people to farm it for them. If you have an image of all farmers as poor, marginalized, oppressed, with tattered clothes and no shoes, scrub it clean from your brain this instant.