entrepreneur, sort of

So you run a small cafe/restaurant in a small border town. Though actually relatively speaking it’s not small. Four or five streets lined with market stalls, a couple of banks, half a dozen mobile phone kiosks and miscellaneous shops.

I am waiting for one of the team to buy a bunch of stuff for our new clinic, over the border in South Sudan. I’m not comfortable buying our stuff here in Uganda, but it’s so much cheaper, and when you are with such a small charity every penny counts. And so I don’t go shopping either, the price will be higher due to the colour of my skin. Not racism, just the perception I’ll be from an NGO (correct) and that means we have plenty of money (incorrect).

Anyway, I’m waiting. I think of going for coffee whilst I wait, somewhere in sight of the vehicle. Not only so I can see when they want to load up, but there is a bag of cash under the seat…

It looks promising, some customers have just left after their breakfast. “Coffee?” I ask. “No, black tea?” she responds. “No coffee?” “No”. “OK” I say and move on. I mean all the effort; tables and chairs, tablecloths, a fridge even, breakfast, lunch and dinner. Coffee. No. It’s only instant anyway, she could buy from the shop literally next door. “No, black tea”.