C.millenii  or as I have come to discover it’s many local names Ngoma ngoma; mukebu; mukumani or drum tree is not an easy seed to get hold. Joseph Ochwo the seed procurement specialist explained to me seeds which are collected from around Uganda’s forest reserves are driven by the demand of sales rather than a conservation effort, even though the centre is funded by the National Forest Authority (NFA).

I have witnessed with my own eyes the level of deforestation of C.millenii  in just two compartments of the Budongo Forest Reserve and even without running any statistical analysis I know what my result are likely to show. The tree is endangered and it is protected but it is being illegally pilfered at an alarming rate to fuel the timber trade, specifically for boat building and furniture making.

Mr Ochwo said that C.millenii  seeds are becoming scarcer because the mother trees remaining in the forests are few.

“We don’t have security over tree resources. We are not responsible to protect them. Sometimes we don’t even manage to get the seeds necessary for the centre.

“From what we know C.millenii  is grown from seeds. We have not tried any other method such as cutting roots. This method involves applying hormones to a root less than a foot or half a foot, it is then able to start sprouting. But this is an expensive technique and it is not convenient. Usually this method is used for research purpose, so we prefer seeds.”

The centre recommends that anyone buying C.millenii  seeds carry out a pre-treatment. The seeds should be soaked in cold water for 24 hours before planting.

He continued: “The seed has dormancy so in order to soften it you have to put it into water. There are nutrients that come out from leaving it in water. The coating of the seed becomes soft and it is able to be peeled off. By continual soaking, the embryo would have expanded and we can then get hold of the seeds found inside the pockets of the shell. One complete a large seed can produce two to three seedlings. It is what we call a poly-embryo seed.”

The trees produce seeds once a year. They are meant to flower and fruit between February and May. However I did not see any evidence of this in Budongo during my study. By June and July the seeds are meant to have matured for collection.

“It is possible that fruiting may be delayed for different forest environments,”he told me. “There is also an insect called Weevil which attacks the seeds before they have a chance to mature, so that is also another issue. We collect seeds from areas in Uganda based on available means.

“Our C.millenii  seeds come from Kalangala Central Forest Reserve, an area on Lake Victoria and also from Kitoma Forest Reserve in Kasyoha, Bushenyi in the south-west part of the country­­.”

The centre sells seeds, exactly what it says. It only raises seedlings when it needs to test a batch of seeds for quality. The tests which are run include viability; purity; germination; weight and disease, all following the protocol of the International Seeding Testing Association (ISTA). After all the laboratory tests are complete the experts here can tell a farmer how many seeds he needs to buy for a species of tree in order to grow a specific amount of seedlings.

“We don’t raise seedlings for commercial purpose. People have a negative attitude towards indigenous species because they are slow-growing. Some NGO’s who get funding are emphasising the importance of growing more indigenous species; and only when this happens do we order more in.

“If a species is not attracting orders or is not needed for a project then we don’t collect them. Some seeds have a storage life. C.millenii  is an inter-mediate species and the seeds cannot be stored for more than 12 months. After that time they lose the ability to germinate.”

He told me the best way to germinate a seed is to plant it in sand not soil.

“Sand has some characteristics which is suitable for germinating tests. It does not retain water for long. The seed survives in only the water required and the excess is drained out. When a seed sits in water for a long time it can rot. Sand also carries limited bacteria and will not attract insects which are prone to attack the seeds during germination. After germination you can then put it into a medium that has the relevant nutrients so that the seed can grow further.”

C.millenii  takes 21 days to germinate at its earliest stage, but it can be monitored up to 47-52 days later. The soil which it thrives best in is ferrous clayloam. Maturity depends on a number of factors, but it is possible that if conditions are good, slow maturing trees can grow very large much earlier than anticipated.

“I was in Tanzania and I saw a very large muvule (Milcia excelsa) which should take between 50-100 years to fully mature grown and it was only 12 years.

“I think that if C.millenii  is planted and left in the wild it can grow. It needs climbers and animals and nature will take its course. But under management I am not sure, because the removal of certain climbers and other plants may affect its growth.”

When it is collected 50kg of C.millenii seeds are kept in storage. But unless it becomes a national strategy to sell more C.millenii  for the various industries that are driving its extinction, the tree seed centre says it is not going to increase its stock.

I decided to treat myself to a bit of luxury after ‘slumming’ it and working non-stop over the last eleven and a half weeks. On Friday night I met up with my lovely mate Richard Kavuma, the journalist, and we went to The Lawns. This restaurant is in an area of the city that can only be described as the Beverley Hills of the capital. The roads are home to international embassies, mansions sit on enormous plots of land and beautiful gardens. Every home is hidden behind giant gates with high walls covered in barbed wire and armed guards posted outside. It’s also where the jogging community live, both Muzungus and very fit Ugandan men with bulging muscles battle the steep hills in order to stay fit and keep the love handles at bay. The restaurant is close to the private airstrip. It’s an area of the city I had no idea existed until a few days ago.

“So have you been to The Lawns?” I asked Richard getting into this new car.

“No, never hear of it,” he replied.

“Ah-haa, stick with me Richard, and I’ll show you where to hang out Asha Bradshaw style,” came my response as we set off.

I’d been playing around on Google and had been surfing all the places I wanted to eat at. Anyone who knows me well knows food is a passion. My other half is a chef it kinda goes with the territory. The Lawns is famed for a menu sporting unusual meat – crocodile, ostrich, various antelope as well as your regular pork, chicken, beef and fish. The setting is as the name says – huge, well-manicured grass that is dotted with enormous comfy sofas set in a pristine garden. There are pretty hanging lanterns, a gorgeous al fresco restaurant/bar as a backdrop and two pet rabbits that are very habituated to people. They will even attempt to steal your dinner if you’re not careful. I felt like a small child as I walked in and then half ran half skipped and jumped towards the giant-sized sofas. I turned around and took a mini leap crashing into the soft cushions.

“Ahhhhhh this is luuuuurvlie,” I squealed.

We settled in and chatted over fruit cocktails of fresh watermelon and pineapple for a few hours as the light faded and then ordered a sumptuous meal. I’m definitely going back before I leave the city, I have to try crocodile.

After Richard dropped me back to my digs, the sound of the Friday night rabble in the bar boomed through the complex and filled my room. Oh God I’m going to be kept up all night, I thought, so I put my headphones in and prayed I’d drop off quickly. At 0412 precisely I was woken up by a loud bang. The room next door was opened and slammed shut followed by drunk voices half talking and giggling. Then the sound that no one wants to hear – other people shagging. And I might add doing a poor job too. He was clearly too pissed as he took forever and she was definitely faking it. I wanted to shout through the wall: “You’re not fooling anyone love, get on with it!”

The sound of flesh slapping flesh was too much for me and I scrabbled around in the dark to find my ipod, low battery – seriously bad timing Asha – I had no choice but to pull the duvet over my head and listen to the drama. Once the post-coital slumber had taken hold of the porn-stars next door, the morning call to pray began at the local mosque at 0500. This was preceded by the neighbour’s cockerel cock-a-bloody-doddle-doing at 0530 and at 0600 I thought bugger it, I’ll just get up early and seize the day.

After breakfast I headed off to find the boutique hotel, The Emin Pasha. I’ve been searching for the perfect location with a swimming pool and wanted somewhere that wasn’t going to be full of screaming children. The Emin is a gorgeous small hotel, it’s made up of a main house with lots of other houses  to it. It’s simply decorated with an elegance and style of an Italian villa. The staff are friendly and attentive and the grounds are well maintained. I lay by the pool for most of the afternoon reading, catch some rays, taking a dip and even caught up on the sleep I’d missed out on. I booked myself in for a massage in the last afternoon and an early dinner in the restaurant afterwards.

When I arrived there was a buzz of activity in the garden. A large stage was being put up with a crew rigging up lighting for what looked to be an outside show.

“What’s happening tonight?” I inquired.

“There’s a fashion show this evening. It starts around 8pm,” said the poolside waitress.

“Ahh, so If I am eating in the restaurant, I’ll get to see the whole event?” I asked.

“Yes, very good timing,” she smiled.

That’s Saturday night’s entrainment taken care of. The models began arriving all afternoon. Young, tall, lithe, and pretty but my God the attitude that came with them needed a room of its own – Naomi Campbell and some. They lapped up the attention making any excuse to strut around the grounds parading themselves. Distracted waiters looked flustered as they glided by sashaying. All the girls were sporting long jet black weaves with a fringe, I wasn’t convinced it was the best look as it their hair just looked far too fake (Yes all right meow!). Well, not everyone can afford a weave like Beyonce!

At 5pm I conked out on the massage table hoping to drift off. A young woman with bony fingers and ironically by the name of Grace began my session. As she reached the top half of my back and neck I thought I was doing to pass out with pain. The knots in my shoulders were being given a proper going over rebel milita style, at one point I asked her to stop.

“But Madame, you have paid your money. You will leave the same as you came in if you don’t let me finish,” she protested. “You have left your massage too long.”

“Yes but I’m in agony,” I mumbled through the sheets. “I only have one massage a year, you’re going to have to apply less pressure.”

With that the door opened and closed. Where’s she gone I thought. She returned a few seconds later and slapped a hot towel over my shoulders.

“I start again in a minute,” she said.

To her credit I did feel better, very tender but the pain eased up. After peeling myself off the table I got dressed for dinner. Joining me was the Budongo intern vet Ricky. He was travelling back from Queen Elizabeth National Park so I invited him to be my guest.

He’ll be so excited to be surrounded by all these glamorous models I chuckled to myself as I sent him a text with directions. We had a fantastic dinner and a great ring-side seat to the show as well as the guest arriving. I was truly surprised by the amount of care and attention the women coming to this event had made. Each one wanting to out-do the other – frocks, skyscraper high heels and lots of bling – could have easily have been an event in LA or London – expect the hemlines would definitely have been closer to the knee rather than the crotch. Ricky escorted me home after midnight, to my door I might add, even though it was a 40-minute detour and we agreed to meet up the next day.

This afternoon he took me to Wandegeya  – an area where Makerere University is. The campus is HUGE! We must have walked around for about 3 hours in the sun and the rain as he showed me the various faculties and halls of residence and filled me in on the gossip of what goes on where. After working up an appetite we went to Joy’s Joint, a spit and sawdust place close by where the food is honest and hearty. We scoffed pork, cassava, chapatis and avocado. With full bellies we decided to “foot it” and made a 30 minute journey to Garden City passing alongside various golf courses and very grand buildings. Each area of the capital is divided into districts and like London, each one has its own personality. It’s quite easy to come to Uganda and completely avoid poverty and be none-the-wiser. The rich and middle class live a privilege life in glorious surroundings, but the reality is one-third of the population (30m) lives below the poverty line. Garden City is an upmarket shopping mall where, as Ricky puts it, rich not simple people go.

“Well we’re here aren’t we?” I said jabbing him in the arm.

“But you are definitely not simple,” he said laughing at me.

We weren’t there to shop but to watch a movie. It’s one of my favourite past times and i have missed not seeing all the latest releases. I studied film for part of my first degree and I love escaping for a few hours through cinema. I finally saw The Avengers Luton Boy (cinema buddy in the UK)! I thoroughly enjoyed the blockbuster and while it wasn’t amazing, (we can discuss and dissect LB when I see you) it did what it said on the can, which was a great way to finish off a perfectly decadent weekend.

Halfway through a chapter, a young man asked me if he could join my table. “Oh here we go I thought,” but with a quick glance up I saw he too was clutching a book. “Sure, go ahead,” I motioned to the empty chair.

At least if I’m forced into a conversation it will be someone with a modicum of intellect, I consoled myself.

In fact he didn’t bother me at all. After about 30 minutes I instigated the banter because I wanted to know what non-fiction he was reading. A few moments later I discovered I was sat with a charming, fellow scientist. Dr Bryce Carslon is an assistant professor at the College of Liberal Arts at Purdue University in West Lafayette, Indiana, USA. He joined the department of anthropology after completing his PhD at Emory University and he’s in Uganda to carry out research in Bwindi Impenetrable National Park as well as Kibale National Park.

I was absolutely delighted and somewhat shocked to find another like-minded person at my hostel. It was nice to be able to have an in-depth chat with someone about my study who also had a very good knowledge of both my species (Cordia millenii and the chimps, Pan troglodytes). I was also fascinated to learn about his work too. He’s investigating the dietary ecology of wild chimps by analysing the stable isotopic makeup of their hair. The end goal is to be able to develop a method of being able to reconstruct an organism’s dietary history from a single strand of  hair which could reveal what our evolutionary ancestors were eating – very complicated stuff, and I was slightly in awe. How on earth he was intended to collect hair samples intrigued me. You can’t exactly go up to an ape and pluck one out. He has to be very patient and wait for the animals to groom each other or themselves and then riffle through the undergrowth afterwards. I wish him lots of luck. We ended up jabbering for four hours and I’ve promised him a pint on his one-day stop-over in London on his return flight home.

Sated on beans and stimulating conversation I hit the sack at around quarter to midnight, well past my bedtime. The next morning was a struggle to get up, but I arrived at the conference half an hour early to avoid rush hour traffic jams, register and collect the various bumpf being handed out. Of course there was no need to be punctual because typically the conference started nearly 40 minutes late.

In summary some of the issues discussed over the last two days were of relevance to my thesis: the rate of deforestation; initiatives aimed at private landowners and farmers on how best to preserve the landscape while still earning a living; human-wildlife conflict issues; tourism and habituation of endangered primate species and zoonotic diseases (human and wildlife disease cross-species transmission).

At the end of my thesis I am expected to make a series of recommendations. I could actually write a separate thesis on just this given what I’ve learnt and discovered.  But one recommendation will be specifically about what future does the tree species Cordia millenii have in Uganda for wild chimps.

One scheme currently being lobbied at private landowners is Payment for Ecosystem Services (PES). It’s an attempt to attach an economic value to being eco-friendly while enhancing their livelihoods. It’s run the world over, but one NGO here is running PES in several districts in Uganda – The EcoTrust. So far two thousand six hundred farmers have signed up to the scheme in western and middle Uganda. Now the organisation is looking at districts in the east of the country.

Curbing deforestation is potentially a cost-effective way of reducing carbon emissions – which is contributing to global warming and climate change. The United Nations pledged funding to developing countries to reduce deforestation an initiative known as Reducing Emissions from Deforestation and Degradation (REDD+). REDD+ could be incorporated into global carbon markets under the next international climate treaty which IF successfully, could generate billions of dollars in forest conservation from wealthy countries.

In an area called Manafa, next to the district of Mbale, in the ea­st of the Uganda, private landowners are being encouraged to retain their forests or plant alongside their agricultural crops a choice of ten indigenous seedlings – ideally a ratio of 50:50. If they comply with the criteria drawn up they receive payments. Yesterday was the launch of the project.

It’s not easy convincing a Ugandan farmer to think long-term because most people want to see an immediate return due to poverty levels; slow-growing species requires patience and commitment. Over the last two days I have learnt that one of the indigenous seedlings being offered is Cordia millenii.  Hooray! The tree can take up to 40 years or more to fully mature and it needs a lot of light. I’ve learnt that the ideal crop to grow alongside it is coffee – which needs a lot of shade. But we can’t get too excited. There has been a lot of discussion about whether Cordia seedlings can be grown successfully in forests if they are specifically planted, a process called enrichment planting. Natural regeneration is considered the best method for maintaining tropical forests. Any seeds which are swallowed by animals pass out during defecation and germinate well in faeces. The seeds end up being scattered throughout the forest according to how large the animal’s home range is. Some of the issues experts have flagged up for “enrichment planting” include the type of soil and environment seedlings are put in – they need mixed forest, like the Budongo Forest Reserve. There has to be regular monitoring on climbers and browsing animals; viruses and insects that could all hamper or stop growth. Then there’s a very high level of care needed over a long period. Another concern is that some trees simply won’t grow in stands. It’s an enigma. I’ve been told that mahogany, teak and paper mulberry are good examples. They have all been tried commercially and did well at first but then failed to continue growing.

Cordia millenii plantations alongside coffee may be a solution and right now all eyes will be watching Manafa to see if this is indeed the case, but it doesn’t solve the problem of illegal logging in Uganda’s forests. It’s estimated that Uganda is losing 80,000 ha of forest every year and in less than 30 years the country could be forced to import wood. A frightening statistic. The survival of primates and other animals in these areas is threatened due to habitat loss. not to mention the climatic knock-on-effect that will be felt elsewhere. So while the Cordia tree may have some hope of seeing in the next century, the same may not be the case for our closest kin the chimpanzees unless the natural forests are saved now.

“Who did that to you? Do you want me to have a word?” I said grinning at him.

“Ja it’s gone, better,” he replied rubbing his hand over the back of his shiny scalp.

I bought them both a beer. “Only one drink Moses, you’re getting back on that bike,” I said sternly.

He nodded. It was nice to get visitors and they filled me in on their news. I miss camp especially the forest, even with the Red Ants it’s somewhere that has firmly cemented itself in my memory and heart. Living away from the security of Budongo and other like-minded people has been tough going. Although all the staff (six girls and two lads) at the B&B have been fantastic, the townspeople (more village people really, minus the leather chaps and the mincing) have been disappointingly inhospitable. Everyone has tried to rip me off in some way or another and I’ve had to argue for a fair price for everything. It’s been exhausting. It was bound to happen and eventually it culminated in me having a blazing row with one cabbie who saw me turn green. Trust me, no-one likes me when I am angry. I know my friends will be laughing when they read this as I have a reputation for having a barney with taxi drivers the world over. I have not uttered a single expletive since I have been in Uganda and I’ve had zero stress or anxiety until the last two weeks. The cabbie’s aggressive complaint was the last straw. A semi-circle of boda guys formed around me and people stopped what they were doing to watch me bawl him out screaming like a Trini Banshee punctuating every sentence with the letter F until he could no longer be heard. He finally decided the best option was to take his money (which was the correct fare not the Muzungu price) and get back into his car and drive away quickly. What can I say? I am my mother’s daughter. Thankfully that is the first and hopefully the last time I “lose it”.

On Sunday I interviewed the local MP for Buliisa district who is also the national chairman for economy and is a member of the natural resources committee. The two policies appear to me, to contradict themselves. I was not entirely convinced by his answers. He talks about being a man of the people, but his staff at the B&B do not get a day off. They work very hard, 24 hours a day 7 days a week and he shows them very little gratitude. The manager, Christine has not seen her eight-year-old daughter since September and is unlikely to until the end of the year she says.

He told me he is not from the school of preservation, he is for sustainability (the caveat being as long as it’s good for the economy). I fear the forests have no place left in Uganda under this current government and that goes for the animals and other flora too. The politicians seem to think it’s not a problem, but their assessment of the situation is so skewed and advice from researchers and conservationists are falling on deaf ears. A recent biofuel study found that Uganda only has enough timber to last 4 years and firewood to last seven years! But no one in power seems worried about the future, their view is very much focussed on the present day. For a country that prides itself on large families, no one seems to give a damn about the next generation. My interview was robust but not nearly as tough as I would have liked. I was not however about to probe further than necessary. I’m already paranoid about being kicked out of the country from looking into the illegalities fuelling both fishing and the timber trade. I think he is somewhat suspicious of me because he asked a hell of a lot of questions and took my photograph even though I protested – I didn’t like that at all. My friend Paul says perhaps he has more of a personal interest in me. If he was flirting he was rubbish at it because I missed that completely! Mind you he did give me three mobile numbers and asked me to call him. Not a chance mate. I walked away from the interview no more enlightened or hopeful than before.

Yesterday there was a frenzy of activity in Biiso as people were gossiping like mad and moving back and forth past our shop window (the veranda where I take my breakfast). “What’s going on?” I asked Rogers as he came bounding down the reception stairs.

“Someone got shot,” he said.

“Really! What happened?”

“There was a man who (allegedly) defiled a young girl. He took her away from school and kept her for a few days before letting her go. When the police found out who it was they went to arrest him and he resisted. He was being protected by Boda Boda guys, so police opened fire and shot him in the leg,” he said.

Wow that’s one way to dispense a crowd I thought. The guy in question won’t be going to the local prison a few doors away from us, that’s for petty criminals.

“He’s probably going to be going to Masindi Prison,” added Rogers.

Good luck, I thought to myself.

After the excitement had died down, the day turned into quite an emotional one for me because I had to say goodbye to the staff.­­­­ My work in Biiso is complete. I bought a pineapple in the market to share with everyone. We talked and laughed, drank soda and they even dressed up for the evening to spend an hour with me before getting back to the grindstone of serving letchy, drunk lorry drivers and unemployed bums. I don’t think anyone has ever treated them with any respect or been polite to them. I hate the way men leer and boss the girls around, but they take it in their stride, even running errands for them which is not their job. Before I left I called everyone into the kitchen and handed out a modest tip to each of them, they were overcome with happiness, it was hard not to get teary eyed as they squeezed me tightly with their embraces. It brought back memories of my time as a waitress back in the 90’s. It’s a thankless job and good customers make the world of difference. I sincerely wish I could have given them more money, they are incredible young people who have big dreams and realistic ideas that I pray one day will materialise for them.

So now I’m somewhere else. I’ve decided to leave that detail out, not that anyone unsavoury is pouring over my blog, but you never know. Tomorrow I am attending a two-day conference on forest regeneration. My friend Paul picked me up this morning and we made the drive in his very comfortable and safe 4X4. Another perk of having an NGO vehicle is that it has red number plates like government ones, so at road checks police never pull you over and hassle you. He’s giving a presentation tomorrow on the progress of tree planting with private landowners and one of the species he will be talking about is Cordia millenii.  My visit to Hoima last week was more fruitful than I could have expected. With any luck I’ll be surrounded by botanists other preservationists who I can also include in my data for my ever-expanding thesis.

I had brought Moses Lemi with me in case I needed a translator and we waited patiently to one side as the other civilian visitors were answering a roll call of names. After leaving our belongings behind, nothing is allowed through, we were led through another locked door to the superintendent’s office.

“Oh God, is he gonna want a bribe,” I thought to myself. “A bag of sugar just isn’t going to work inside here.”

Patrick Kanyonyi has many teeth, maybe more than Mukaali (my ex-Boda guy I no longer use) and that’s saying something. He was surprisingly straight-talking. No mention of the hassle it would be or the lack of resources. After looking over my research permit, British student ID card, Moses’s Forest Ranger ID and satisfied that my request was for academic purposes, he took us into what can only be described as ‘The Yard’.

First hurdle passed I thought.

“How many prisoners do you have here?” I asked looking around at the convicts dressed in bright yellow stripped pyjama-looking prison attire walking past me.

“There are around 800.”

“Wow that’s a lot, and what are they in for,” I continued, also noting how young many of them were.

“Murder, robbery, defilement, rape, we keep the most serious criminals here,” he said.

I tried not to look worried. The first thought that went through my head was how lax the security was between visitors and cons. The prisoners freely wandered around interacting with each other and the public who had just been admitted in. This would never happen in Britain and I know, I’ve been inside Armley Prison in West Yorkshire and Feltham Young Offenders’ Institute. If someone wanted to start trouble, civilians would not stand a chance.

We were shown to a room where a ‘man-child’ called Joseph Kule went through the records book to find us our case study. Joseph is 30 years old but looks more like 15, his petite build and height don’t do him any favours either. But he tries to talk tough, maybe it’s to compensate for his “small man syndrome”.

He disappeared for about 20 minutes while Mose and I caught up with what’s been happening in both our lives in the last week. When he returned a sheepish looking character stood lurking behind him. Shaved head, filthy feet and hands, short legs, and stocky build. This was our case study.

“He only speaks Alur, I hope you do,” barked Joseph as he left us with the inmate.

Hurdle number two passed – Moses knows Alur.

We went outside into The Yard and pulled up two chairs while the prisoner sat cross-legged on the concrete floor. Throughout the interview he barely gave me eye contact but would occasionally glance at Moses.

Ironically he is also called Moses (surname: Omirambe) and he is 35 years old. A repeat offender this is his third time in jail and his crime is illegal pit-sawing in the Budongo Forest Reserve. He is originally from Biiso and more interestingly he is from the same village as the cutter I interview on Monday, Kalengeja. We had a precious 40 minutes with him and this is the information he told me:

“I’ve been cutting in the forest for about ten years and yes it’s always been in Budongo. The timber that everyone wants right now is Ngoma ngoma (Cordia millenii) and Mujwa (Alstonia Boonei). Ngoma ngoma is used for boats, everyone knows that and we all know it’s protected. The demand is high and the price is good, right now it has gone up because the timber has finished. I mean in the forest only the small trees remain. These will be for our children to come and cut as they will take time to grow.

“I was cutting Mujwa at the time when I was arrested. I was with three other people but they managed to run away. We had gone back into the forest to cut another tree. The wood carriers had taken all the planks out of the forest and we wanted to get more timber, that’s when it happened. I tried to escape but my feet got caught in the vines in the forest and I fell, two rangers got me and arrested me.

“It happened in the day, around 11am, they brought me straight to the high court and I was held in remand. Those who are remanded are usually convicted they have no chance of getting out. I was sentenced to one year and I have been in here around seven months. But this is not my first time inside. I’ve been in jail two times before for cutting. The first time I was jailed for six months and served three months; the second time I was jailed for five months and again served three months; now they say they will release me early, I am leaving July 15th.

“Ask him what life is like in jail,” I said to Moses Lemi.

The inmate paused and sighed deeply: “We all stay together, we eat pocho (maize flour) and beans, we sleep in the same ward. I live with the murders and robbers. We are only separated during the day when we have to work. I am not afraid. But every weekend you are canned five times if you do not give up your soap to the leader. No one does anything, what can they do? The guards don’t care.

“Prison life is not so bad. I am treated well and I get looked after. When I get out and go home I will have no job and it is difficult to look after a family (four children and one wife). The only thing I know how to do is split timber so of course I will go back to the forest. If there was an alternative job I would not waste my time going into the forest.

“Of course I think I have been unfairly punished. I know why they have put me in here but else can I do? I miss my family.

“I don’t fear the forest but I fear being caught again because I do not benefit from cutting as I end up in prison. When I was released the second time I stayed out of the forest for about one year and one half and had only gone back for two months when I was arrested again.

“When I work in the forest I go with people not alone. We sleep in there for either one month or two months, we don’t come home we live in there. The timber we cut is ordered from a buyer in Butiaba or Panymur. I split the money we get with my partner, if it is good we can get USh$400,000 each (£105). Then we hire another two people to help cut the timber into planks. They get paid per piece maybe Ush$3,000 (less than £1). The amount of timber we cut varies but it is usually around 250 pieces in two months, around four to five trees. I sell my timber for about USh$12,000 per piece.

“The rangers they are there. But if you come across one or two you can negotiate with them and offer say Ush$40,000 or Ush$50,000 (£10-£13). Bribes happen of course they do and they let you continue cutting. There is only one other pit-sawyer in Masindi Prison that I know, all the others are taken to Isimba Prison. There is a farm there and prisoners who are used to being in the forest are also good at digging, so they take them there to work.”

As we wrapped up the interview another two men clutching gum boots were being escorted to the cells. I nodded in their direction.

“Are they from the forest?” I asked.

The inmate replied “Yes, looks like they will be held on remand, but they will be going to jail.”

Once again a lot of people are blaming the Congolese for the spread of the infection saying they are dirty and have brought it with them to Uganda. I can’t help feeling sorry for them, they are the scapegoats for every domestic problem.

This morning I met a man called James who works for the Ministry of Health. His van has been parked outside my room for the last couple of nights. Today we finally had a chat.

He told me 22 people had cholera in the town, but that it has now been contained and that figure has dropped to five. Hygiene is the main reason. Culturally people make more food than they intend to eat in case they have an unexpected visitor. This is also how Asian people behave and my grandfather was a prime example. He was always feeding the neighbourhood strays. The problem is, if you don’t have that unexpected guest, you end up eating the same food for two or three days on the trot. Fine if you have a fridge, but if you don’t, it’s a recipe for all sorts of bacteria unless the food it reheated to a very high temperature.

James is trying to make people aware of the risks. He’s telling them to only eat hot food; to cover it to prevent flies from spreading disease and to wash their hands before eating. It’s basic common sense but it’s not easy to change how people’s habits.

“People were selling pancakes in the market and we told them: “You are not covering them after cooking so flies are landing on them and it’s causing a problem. You must stop selling for a while until we can contain the cholera. It is not helping the situation.”

“Did they listen? No, some continued to sell, so we arrested them and put them in jail for a few days so show these people we were serious,” he explained.

“But they have to make a living, so it’s inevitable they are not going to listen to you, how else can they earn money to feed their families?” I said.

“They won’t die of starvation from a few days of not selling. But they will die if they get cholera here,” he said.

Point taken.

When I arrived in Buliisa I was so paranoid about contracting cholera my OCD for cleanliness (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder) went into overdrive. Every day while I was working in Piida, I drank a 250ml carton of warm long-life milk and ate a banana for lunch – living the highlife me. I didn’t eat anything from anyone or accept a glass of water. The food at the B&B is nice but I wish it was hotter. I have a feeling they cook it early and then reheat as and when someone orders.  But the place is clean and I have no major concerns.

In some of the other villages closer to Wansenko which is the last landing site on Lake Albert and very close to Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC); people have become so weak from dehydration and severe diarrhoea that health workers have started handing out mattresses with a hole already cut in the centre of it, so they don’t have to move. They just place a bucket underneath….grim I know. A course of antibiotics, clean water and food soon clears up the illness but this all takes time.

James and co. say their work is almost complete and will be heading back to the capital this weekend. I do admire people who work in areas like this, but I still didn’t shake his hand when he greeted me this morning.

The interviews with both the natural resources man and the fisheries man at district level were very disappointing but not surprising. The pathetic excuses for not cracking down on illegal activity were the same: “We don’t have the resources…..or we don’t have the funds……there are only three of us in the office…..we are not trained in law enforcement…..we are planning a draft proposal to present to the ministries.”

Errr what exactly do you do all bloody day?!

I learnt yesterday that the commissioner for fisheries Dr Wilson Mwanja Waiswa, was interdicted (arrested and formally investigated) last year (June) following allegations of abuse of office together with the fisheries senior inspector Eric Nadiope. The fisheries man wouldb’t go into detail but I’ve done some digging and found out that Dr Waisawa was asked to handover office but his lawyers brought up a clause about retirement. In the end the case was dropped by the anti-corruption court in Kampala and no one has been able to find out why. His position has been temporarily filled by someone else who is “acting” commissioner. I’m not 100 per cent sure whether the last commissioner has retired or whether he will return.

The fisheries officer knows the boats are made from endangered timber but hasn’t done anything to stop it. He even admitted that people can still register new boats, so they haven’t even put a cap on the number.

He told me: “Corruption is at all levels and it is a disease that is eating up Uganda.”

I’ve also learnt that there are some concerns about the way Nile Perch is exported to Europe. There are allegations over mismanagement in some of Uganda’s fish factories. In the past there were concerns raised by the EU on the product quality – the fish was deteriorating far more quickly than it should. There are claims which suggest the use of unregulated additives being used to falsely increase fish weight. Smaller catches now means that the export market has shrunk. According to the fisheries ministry the export market was valued at US $83.4m in 2010 contributing around 15,000 tonnes of fish – and 90 per cent of Nile Perch products are sold for exports.

Seventy per cent of fish harvested in Uganda is immature (that’s from all the lakes), this is illegal. But these fish can be found selling locally and in Kenya, Democratic Republic of Congo, Central African Republic, Sudan and Angola…..estimates for the market value is around US $100 million.

With regards to illegal timber felling, the natural resources officer told me that as long as an official district letter is presented at road checks, the lorries can go through.

“What about inspections? How can you be sure the timber being carried is the same timber stipulated in the letter,” I asked.

“Sometimes we check, using a hammer.”

“You’re telling me you check all 200 individual pieces of timber using a hammer on every lorry,” I said doubtfully.

“Ok we can’t check all of them, you are right,” he said defensively.

“But that’s the point isn’t it. Wood like Cordia and whatever other species are endangered are being smuggled and you’ve said you’re aware of it. So what are doing about it? Why can’t you pool resources and work together with the National Forestry Authority?”

The excuses were endless and even he didn’t look convinced by what he was telling me.

“And what about planting trees?” I continued.

“We plant Pine, Eucalyptus….”he stuttered

“…..but they are not indigenous species. Why are you not planting species native to Uganda, is it because they don’t earn you money?” I butted in.

He refused to answer the question.

“If an NGO like the Chimpanzee Sanctuary and Wildlife Conservation Trust can start a project at grass-roots level and get the community involved, why can’t you? Isn’t your job to lobby the government for better practice?”

The interviews were exhausting, but necessary. At the end of the day they both passed the buck telling me I needed to speak to the ministries. There seems to be a lot of people employed but doing very little in my opinion.

This afternoon was the second incident. I was returning back to the B&B from Buliisa in a matatu. The journey down to the lake wasn’t that bad. I sat in the front and we were cruising comfortably at around 70 km/hour over the potholes. I was on my way to an interview with a senior official for natural resources at the district sub-county offices. En route I got to pass through Bugoigo, the village I should have been staying in but had a fortunate escape. And boy am I glad I changed my mind!! I saw lots of illegal fishing gear and paraffin lamps. Plus the majority of the sand was covered in Mukene being dried for animal feed. I photographed it all. Then a further 20 minutes down the road I saw Tullow Oil’s new camp for its workers. They are situated very close to all the villages that the company is keen to get their grubby hands on. These poor people have no idea about their land rights or the scale of the prime real estate they are sat on. Some have already been forced to sell for a mere few thousand pounds so that oil exploration can begin. I digress….

…..The road to Buliisa District is one of the worst in the area for the entire two hours. My return journey along country roads was nothing short of a lucky escape because the driver at the helm was a lunatic. I was picked up by the roadside at around 3pm and as the side of the taxi door slid open I could see it was full to capacity. “You get in the back,” barked the conductor. I hoisted myself up and squeezed inside and moved to the back row where me and a boy of about 8 shared a seat – half a buttock cheek each. Then as the door slid shut Schumacher put his foot down. It was a white knuckle-ride. I am not afraid of speed or indeed a bumpy ride but there was a point where I thought: “Maybe I should get out and wait for another one.” I don’t know why I didn’t. Perhaps I thought I would be ok. I don’t know how fast we were going but everyone looked scared. We were flying over the potholes so it must have been more than 90 km/per hour. A woman sat to the right of me, in the row in front was holding her toddler tightly. Next thing I knew, there was vomit everywhere! The little boy pebble dashed the floor and the stench of sick filled the taxi. Those in front began to turn around to see what and where the odour was coming from. It was bound to happen, the driver was going über fast. I should have taken this as a sign to get off, but stupidly I didn’t. Why Asha? Why? The driver was going at such a speed that he even managed to catch up with a taxi that left Buliisa a good 40 minutes before we did and he then over took him going up the escarpment which is very steep and dangerous!

As we began to approach Biiso, the road surface changed, it had rained heavily this afternoon, where as it was dry as a bone in Buliisa. The front tyres of the taxi hit something and the taxi spun, we slammed into the side of the embankment. The wheels went into the muddy ditch spinning furiously to get a grip, the back-end of the vehicle swinging left and right. Bags hit the ground and I flew into the side of the door hurting my knee as the weight of everyone else pushed against me. The woman with the baby ended up on the floor AND IN THE SICK. And there was fish everywhere as one sack opened up and spilled its contents. As the driver struggled to gain control we skidded across the other side of the road zigzagging as we went, while people were screaming and shouting. At one point we were on two wheels and I was sure we were going to topple over and roll. Thankfully no other traffic was coming the other way or it could have been serious. It must have only been seconds but it felt like minutes. Once he gained control of the vehicle we were almost home. I fell out of the taxi slightly shocked, dazed and confused by the close shave. I stumbled around the vehicle surveying the damage to the left hand side of the door, turning over what just happened. Then I found myself at the driver’s window: “YOU F@CKING MANIAC!” I screamed leaning in towards his face. Tuesday is market day in Biiso, so I had an audience. I’m already the talk of the town so God knows what they now make of the “crazy” Muzungu. He looked bemused probably because (a) he didn’t have a clue what I was saying and (b) if he was as mental as I think he was, he probably thought it was a compliment.

By the time I hobbled into the B&B scowling the reality of what happened hit me. I ordered a strong coffee and just sat staring into space for about 20 minutes. The girls apologised on the idiot’s behalf, but seriously it was a bit of a wake up call how loony the drivers are on country roads. I am not taking any more taxis to Buliisa. I was actually quite unnerved by the incident and I’m not easily rattled. I was hoping to go back that way next week, but that plan has now been biffed. I’m fine other than being peeved. The road traffic police are totally pointless and redundant, what they actually do in these towns is a mystery. They ignore the bad driving, the over loading of goods and passengers because they all “allegedly” take bribes!!! One fat copper comes into the B&B everyday to stuff his face and sit on his A_double-S, I’ve not seen him do anything constructive in a 8 days.

I don’t have concussion or anything, I didn’t hit my head, but my left knee and leg are a little tender and will no doubt turn purple by the end of the week, just as all my bruises from forest walking accidents have disappeared. Typical, I really am going to return home looking like a domestic.

I’ve waited nearly ten weeks to bag an interview from a cutter. I wasn’t even sure if it would materialise during this study, but today I met one man who clearly explained his day-to-day life in the forest and the risks he says he faces in order to earn a living.  It’s not a lifestyle he aspires to and given the chance, says he would leave tomorrow if there was an alternative. The fat cats in the big cities have created a lucrative black-market that sucks in the poor and desperate. It’s fuelled by a chain of command that probably goes very, very high, but the likelihood of prosecution for those responsible is very, very slim.

John is 41 years old and has lived in this village all his life. His father was a pit-sawyer and he used to follow his father and his co-workers into the forest every day. It was a trade he was weaned on, so after his father died the only way to make ends meet was to pick up where he left. This is his story:

“The Budongo Forest is close. You can see it there,” he points behind the trunk of a small tree we are seated under. He squints and fidgets before settling.

“I tend to go into the forest for two weeks at a time and I go on foot. When I return to the village I am here outside for about week before going back again. There are many of us who work, maybe 12, sometimes 15.

“The demand for wood is high now and the price has gone up because there are not enough trees. Ngoma ngoma (Cordia millenii) and Musizi (Maesopsis eminii) fetch good price and it is what we go to cut because that is want people want. When we cut a tree we take maybe between 30 to 50 pieces from it depending on the size. We can cut 12X1 (11,000 Shillings per piece) and 4X2 (5,000  Shillings per piece). One year and a half ago the price was less, we were only getting 7,000 and 2,000 each piece.

“Most people want Ngoma ngoma for canoes and boats. Munyama (mahogany) is also popular but it is restricted and difficult to get.

“These buyers who come to see me here, can be from all over – Masindi, Hoima, Kampala even the lake. They buy the timber and then charge more when they sell it on because they have to pay for a vehicle to transport it, carrying timber is very expensive, so the price is higher. I can’t charge those prices as I can’t offer transport.

“Everyone in the village knows who is a cutter. So when people come looking for timber they just ask the people, it is common knowledge. I started cutting when I was 28 years old. I don’t make a good living out of it. By the time I pay people to carry the wood out of the forest for me, I am left with very little. After removing all the expenses I earn, in a month, maybe 120,000 Shillings (£32) and this is used to­ provide for my family (two wives and 11 children).

“The forest life is hard. There is sickness all the time. We get bitten by Tsetse flies and mosquitoes, there are snakes, ants, wild animals and we are chased by the rangers. We fear. I have never been caught, but I have run, and when you run you leave your timber behind.

“It can take us two days to chop a mature tree. We use two people and one saw, we work maybe 7 hours and in that time we also have to set up camp and fetch water from the river. Sometimes we are quite a distance from water, so it takes time to walk there and back. We also have to cook for ourselves – usually we bring pocho and beans to eat for two weeks. And when we sleep, we build a fire and sleep on the timber, it is safer. We live like that.

“We fear the chimpanzees. They disturb us, they come to our camp and take our food and they chase us. We also fear the researchers. They come into the forest in very large groups and use the pathways. When we hear their voices we hide in the bushes.

“Cutting the planks is dangerous. We first have to build a rack and we need very many people to help roll the tree up two planks onto the rack. The tree can be very heavy and it’s very tiring. We need everyone to help lift it.  When we roll it up and get tired, we use other bits of wood to stop it rolling back down, for us to rest. People have been crushed, it can kill you, I have seen one man die.

“We then take a long rope and coat it in charcoal. We have one person each end of the rack holding the rope straight on the rack until it is tight. Then someone pulls the middle part of the rope up and releases it, this leaves a black line on the rack. We use that mark as a guide to cut the planks straight. The log is first cut in half and then divided and then we use a tape measure to cut 12X1 or 4X2.

“People from everywhere are cutters. Some are local, some come from Bakiga near Kibaale, there are Congolese but it is mainly Ugandans who work in Budongo Forest. Most people start cutting at around the age of 20 and will work like this probably until 50. It is heavy work.

“The rangers are not there that often. Maybe they come once in a week, sometimes twice. If they see us before we see them, then there is the danger they will catch you and prosecute you. But if we see them first, we will hide rather than run. If you spend a lot of time cutting one tree it is not good to leave the timber because there is stealing in the forest. Timber that has already been cut is taken by thieves. Once you have cut planks you then have to walk out of the forest to go and fetch the people who carry it for you. Sometimes when you come back the timber is gone. Those people who carry the wood are paid a deposit. We give them almost half the full amount as an advance and they get the rest when they bring the timber back. But if the timber is gone, they keep the money and you get nothing. The price they are paid is negotiated.

“The rangers have been more strict these days so it is more difficult to get Ngoma ngoma. It is less than it used to be in the forest.  I know because the forest is very big and for me to realise there is less shows how much further we have to enter to find it. We used to cut just here, very near to the village but now we can start walking at 7am and not reach an area until midday. That means we have entered deep because we are also then meeting cutters from the other side of Budongo near Masindi. Only once we find the trees do we start to make our own paths to be able to carry it out. If you find a tree you want then you clear the area around it, so another cutter knows it has been ‘booked’ or you mark it with your Panga like a cross, deep in the wood.

“It is true the people in the cities get more money for timber than we do, but you need to have a lot of money to work in this trade. You have to be able to also afford to pay bribes along the route or your timber gets confiscated. You have pay the police, forestry officers, rangers everyone takes money from you.

“Yes I know Ngoma ngoma is endangered and it is becoming more hard to find. I think it will run out if the cutting continues at this rate…..hmmm, maybe in 7 or 8 years. But if it runs out we will use another wood Mujwa (Alstonia boonei) and there is also Red Nongo, the bark is somehow red and white, they can be used instead.

“Why do I do this? It is because there is no work around. If I had an alternative I would leave, it is not easy working like this.”

After our interview John took me to where he keeps his stash. Like many other cutters, he does not keep his loot on his property for fear of being searched and arrested. His neighbour has an empty mud hut. As I pushed past the straw and plastic covering the entrance I ducked down to see inside. I was met with the sight of a large pile of freshly cut wood. John took a seat and was happy to pose for photograph.

As the taxi groaned into the bus park, we jumped out and fixed a time to meet up later. The girls went off to do their shopping and I set off to meet Paul.

PAUL:

Paul is someone I briefly worked with two years ago through the Chimpanzee Sanctuary and Wildlife Conservation Trust (CSWCT) which runs Ngamba Island. I last saw him in Hoima when he took me to see the conservation work the organisation was doing with school children in the district. We’d agreed to meet at a hotel in town at 2pm.

It was fantastic to see him and after a huge hug and a catch up over coffee in the garden, I began to tell him about my thesis and what I had discovered both in Budongo as well as in Piida. He listened attentively.

“I want to visit this timber yard in Kiryatete, will you come with me please?” I said pulling out a piece of paper from my pocket and carefully unfolding it onto the table.

He tilted his head to side and looked at it closely “Uh-huh yes I know where that is,” he said.

“Great I don’t want to go on my own and I want to pretend that I’m buying wood to make furniture.

“My source in Piida claims I can get hold of Cordia there without any problems and apparently it is officially stamped, I wanna see if that’s the case,” I added.

“Sure,” he said.

We jumped into his 4X4 and headed off to grab a bite to eat at a local restaurant first and to meet up with Philip.

PHILIP:

Philip is a charismatic, bright young man with a forestry degree from Makerere University and is one of the few people I know who can challenge me when it comes to talking. The first time we met we got on like a house on fire. We were debating Ugandan politics over dinner in a rundown curry house sipping on Masala chai. I’ve not spoken or emailed him for almost two years but as soon as he saw me he broke into a huge smile and opened his arms to embrace me.

“I can’t believe you are here,” he said excitedly.

“I know who’d have thought! Look at you,” I said giving him the once over. He’s matured in the face but still has that cheeky-look.

He’s been following my blog closely and has been busy getting stuck into his new role in Hoima.

I filled Philip in on the state of play over a meal of fried chicken, cassava and beans. He was definitely up for coming with us and of course volunteered to do the talking. He is a very smooth operator and I was delighted to be in such capable hands.

THE TIMBER SELLER:

The timber yard is off one of the main roads. It’s the sort of place you don’t find many women unless they are carrying wood on their heads and certainly not a Muzungu. En route Philip suggested my story should be that I am moving to the area and want to furnish a house I’m renting. As I got out of the car I was flanked by my two bodyguards. There are a lot of shady characters lurking in the shadows of the large timber sheds. I saw piles and piles of wood everywhere, some marked with chalk others with marker pens, and a few engraved (those are the officially stamped planks). I decided it was not a good idea to pull out my camera. This time I would just be observing.

Philip whispered for me to let him do the talking and to stay close, I nodded obediently.

A man in a bright yellow shirt unbuttoned to his navel approached us. His baseball cap cocked to one side. He eyes were bloodshot. He looked at me intensely before speaking to Philip in the Lugandan. Then he beckoned for us to look at the wood in one of the sheds.

“Good wood – mahogany,” he said in his broken English and tapping a pile.

“Mahogany is expensive, I can’t afford that. My friend has a table made of good wood, what’s it called Philip……hmmmm….ah yes Cordia, she says it’s very good for outdoor furniture, and it’s light. Mahogany is too heavy.”

“No more Cordia” he barked.

“Oh why?” I asked.

“Finished,” he said turning to Philip and continuing in Lugandan.

They turned on their heels and I quickly followed. We crossed the road and turned down another road behind the main strip where there were yet more stocks of timber in another yard. Some workers were on a break and were sat around smoking cigarettes in the sun.

He and Philip continued to chat, then Philip said: “This is Munywamaizi (latin name: Mirtagyna stipulosa), it has the same properties as Cordia and water-resistant. It’s also the same price 30,000 Shillings a plank.

“Nah, if I am going to pay 30,000  then I want the real deal, not an alternative,” I said getting into the role play.

By this time a large suspicious looking woman had joined our timber seller and was hovering. “What do you want it for?” she said putting her hand on her hip and resting against the shed door.

“She is making a small dining table and some chairs,” said Philip thinking on his feet.

“It’s for outdoors – a friend has a set made of a nice wood and I want the same one she has,” I added.

“We have a carpenter, let me bring him,” said the woman getting pushy.

“No, no it’s ok,” said Philip in a soothing voice. “She has her own carpenter already, we’ll bring him next week and we can talk about the size with him and how many planks she needs,” he added.

“What’s that over there,” I asked nodding to a pile that had been engraved. Sadly it wasn’t Cordia but it was wood marked officially by the District Forestry Services (DFS). It was Muvule (Latin name: Milicia excelsa) mahogany that has been heavily exploited over the last 60 years.

Philip said something else to the man shook his hand and we headed to the car. Once back on the main road I turned to look at Philip in the back seat: “Right tell me everything.”

It turns out there was a large stock of Cordia last week but it was sold. The man is not sure when the next load is coming in, but there will be another shipment. I asked Philip whether he’d be willing to go back and play detective for me and he has agreed. He is going to take his cousin, who is a carpenter to keep up the charade. I’m not going back to Hoima, it’s not worth the risk and as The Northerner will say to me, it only takes someone to join up the dots and put you in the picture. Philip is safe because he’s not known in Biiso or indeed Piida.

“Does your phone take photos?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Ok good, you tell the man I have had to go to Masindi for business when you next go back and I want you to send me a picture of the wood before I decide I want to buy it. Try to see if it is officially marked and photograph the stamp if it is. If it’s not stamped just photograph the pile as best you can.”

“Of course!” said Philip delighted to be given an undercover assignment.

THE TREE PLANTERS:

In the meantime I have learnt some very positive news from Paul today. The CSWCT is involved in re-planting indigenous trees on privately owned land as part of its manifesto to regenerate fragmented areas of forest. One of the species they are planting is Cordia millenii. They have been given a grant to be able to buy seeds and they have given 6,000 Cordia seeds to landowners who are then paid 70,000 Shillings per hectare to maintain and care for the trees each year. The seeds are germinated in pots first and once they sprout roots, the seedlings are planted. The first batch was planted last September and they appear to be growing well. This is fantastic news and could be a way forward. Paul is giving a talk at a conference about this in Kampala in a few weeks’ time and he’s invited me to attend. If I continue to gather data in Biiso at the same rate as I did last week then I may head back to the capital early and tie up all my loose ends.

Tomorrow I’m hoping to meet a pit-sawyer. Ashuman is coming up to town from Piida. Did I tell you he has two wives? I know who in their right mind would want to have two wives? It’s twice the trouble and the expense especially in Uganda. Anyway wife number one lives in Biiso so he’s gonna see her and work with me. He told me on the phone that he may have just the man for me.