Another kind of field cred

Normally, when I think about field cred, it’s about one-upping each other on “exotic” and dangerous situations with fellow expats. It’s not an activity I particularly enjoy, although I must admit I like listening to all the stories. Generally, though, the one-upping just becomes ridiculous; I lose interest quickly when it becomes a bitching-fest.

Recently, I realised that “field cred” also works with my field officers. They’re Ugandan and have lived in the rural areas and the capital. They’ve seen the country in high times and low times. It’s not so much their own field cred that they seem to care about (although I’m sure the one-upping probably happens amongst them also), but mine.

As I have no transport right now, I use “public means” (a semi-Ugandan English word that I think is endearing), i.e. taxis (buses) and bodabodas (motorcycles). Taxis take a long time and bodabodas are a bit dangerous. When I tell my field officers this, they’re always surprised. I can’t help but detect an undertone of approval when they ask “Really? You use public means?” It’s as if I had passed some sort of test because I take similar methods of transportation.

Same goes for eating Ugandan food, for walking in the field all day long, for dancing to local music.

In a way that’s hard to articulate, I understand. My field officers have probably worked with other expats in the past; after all, aid money is everywhere. Their expat colleagues, however, probably always came and went with a private SUV, stayed at hotels, and ate “western food.” Although these actions would garner respect by showing off your status, they would hardly help you understand a bit more of how a normal person lives here. Not that how I live is representative at all. But at least I’ve tried. At least I’ve waited in a taxi for 2 hours. At least I’ve sweated in the field for hours. In a strange way, I think my field officers appreciate my attempts at living a more normal life. And in a way, they respect me for that.

It may use a bit more of my time, but I enjoy (well when I’m in a normal mood) taking the taxis. I enjoy the food (I just discovered groundnut sauce with bamboo shoots. Forgive me, but OMG). I love going to the field. If I wanted to live like I do at home, why didn’t I just stay at home?

***I’ve actually met an expat who’s never had Tanzanian/Ugandan food. Never taken public transport. And never really engage with Tanzanians/Ugandans. I’m quite perplexed as to how that is even possible.