Dublin. Last Minute.
How I got lost, rained on and made to deliver an impromptu speech in a foreign city
"I know close to nothing about the coffee industry."
"You're an economist. You know English more than me. You'll find something to say," he said, smiling.
In saying 'you know English' he was directly translating from his vernacular. He meant, 'you speak good English'.
The irony of it all. That his point was made in the sentence he used to make it.
"Also, you're a woman. They like women-owned businesses."
This was my boss asking me to step in for him for a speech. Same boss who would, until a few days ago, have been attending this meeting on his own.
"I told you about this trip but you didn't seem interested," he had said when he told me he would be traveling to Dublin.
He had mentioned it to me. In passing. An afterthought. But yes, he had mentioned it to me.
It was early days in our working relationship. I had been working in this coffee organisation for only a few months.
I hadn’t yet understood that this is how he passed on information about anything whether important or trivial.
We were discussing a Trade, Tourism and Investment Forum that the Ugandan Ministry of Foreign Affairs had organised in conjunction with the Irish government.
Since our organisation represented a good number of coffee farmers, we were invited to be part of the delegation, as long as we could pay for the air tickets to Dublin.
I quickly worked out that if he’d mentioned it to me, perhaps it was possible that he was open to paying for me to be on the trip. But at that point, the travel date was only a week and a half away. There were so many reasons why it would not work. But, it seemed like a good opportunity career wise, not to mention a trip to Europe! I determined to at least try and get myself onto the Ugandan delegation. First step would be to visit the Foreign Affairs department.
"At this point, the best that you can do is to speak to the Irish officials directly.”
This was what the lady in charge of the trip at Foreign Affairs had concluded our meeting with. She, however, allowed me to attend the final meeting for the delegation going to Dublin where I would meet some of the officials from the embassy.
"Why wasn't your passport included with the rest?" the Irish man asked me.
"My travel was only approved this week," I answered.
He consulted with another of the embassy officials seated to his right.
"If you can bring all your documentation before close of business today, we shall consider it. I cannot promise anything, unfortunately. It is very late now." he emphasised.
Visa Application
This was definitely encouraging but I was also aware that it would be no easy feat. The visa application process is one of the more dreaded experiences of developing country citizenship. From details like rightly-dimensioned passport size photos (different for every single embassy) to larger matters such as the printing off of six months' worth of a bank statement.
Also, it was midday on Thursday. The embassy would close at 4PM and would remain closed until Monday. Travel date was set for Thursday. Meaning that even in the best scenario, a visa decision would have to be made within three days. It was definitely an impossible situation. Visa applications are rarely processed faster than two weeks.
I had, earlier in the day, sent my friends AP and D in Dublin a text asking whether it was okay for me to stay with them for a few days.
I had apologised profusely for the short notice and had made various promises including saying that I would be sure to bring them as much of the best Ugandan coffee as I could get through customs.
Generous as ever, AP had written back excitedly saying: Yes.
We discussed the subject of an official letter confirming my accommodation. "Do I need to do anything? Write a letter or something?"
I quickly drafted a letter that she could edit and sign off, and I underscored the urgency of it all. Apologising again.
AP responded within the hour with a formal letter ready to be delivered to the Irish embassy.
Meanwhile, I’d put together all other necessary documentation and even managed to get the Irish-approved passport pictures taken.
First miracle happens; the Irish visa was granted.
Who’s Paying for All This?
But a second snag presented; At such short notice, this was proving to be quite an expensive trip. Visa now issued, all the costs became more real to me. Travel insurance, a week’s living costs, and so on. Having been confirmed late, the price for the air ticket had shot up in the days nearing the departure date. My office would only cover a part of the total cost of the trip.
It would be more prudent to give it all up and wait for another time when I would be more prepared.
Mum watched as I pondered what to do.
I was seated in her office to which I had driven, having got the call to collect my passport. It was near both the Irish embassy and the travel agent. It was also one of the few places I would find parking in the middle of a week day.
She sat on the other side of her large work desk.
"How much is the extra on the ticket?" she asked.
I tell her.
"Let me cover it," she says.
"No. It's too much."
"What are the chances that you will get another such opportunity? Look at the way it has worked out; which European country grants you a visa within a week?"
I remain quiet. How do I, who is already a mother, dip into my mother's pockets?
"Also, it will be good for you to go away a bit and enjoy yourself. After everything."
After everything. After everything.
"Thank you," I said.
Dublin
I got up early. Very early. This is not a day that I could be late.
Because of my late registration, I could not stay with the rest of the group in a hotel somewhere near Dublin city centre.
I had spent some time checking on the bus times to get me from Drogheda where I was staying with AP and D, to St. Stephen's Green well before 8:00AM.
My mobile phone didn’t have Irish internet so once I was out of the house WIFI range, I’d be on my own. To that end, I’d made screenshots of all the relevant maps. Nothing to worry about.
I made it to Iveagh house easy enough. On entering, somebody told me that the meeting that I was enquiring about was happening in another place close by, at the Department of Defence.
She pointed, "Go that way."
Those words with which my fate was sealed for the next one and a half hours.
It had been half an hour of going ‘that way’ before I decided to turn back.
I had asked every friendly-looking face (there are lots in Dublin) but no one seemed to know where the Department of Defence was. Why, I wondered? Everyone in Kampala knows where the soldiers hang about. At least the uniformed ones.
I tried to go back to the starting point but someone, about eight minutes back had pointed to a possible turn so going back was no longer a straight route. For another forty or so minutes, some of which included a light drizzle, I continued on my unguided tour of Dublin.
I eventually found my way back to Iveagh House. Thankfully, somebody else was headed in the general direction of the venue which turned out to be only a ten minutes walk away.
I arrived at the meeting frustrated and feeling rather foolish. My smart red dress, smart for its heavy material, still bore signs of the raindrops that had sunk into it. I was cold and desperate for a toilet. There was also the small matter of the explaining that I would have to do, regarding my lateness.
The lady at the welcome desk asked for my name and handed me a tag. A mad dash to the toilet and then I was back to the entrance of the hall.
I peered inside, looking for a seat as far away from my boss as possible. Hopefully, he’d assume I’d come in late but never know just how late. The hall had about 20 large round tables with 8 to 10 people sat at each one.
"Most of the seats are already taken," the lady at the desk said, from behind me.
Someone, an usher, leaning on the door from inside and noticing me instructed that I follow her.
Before I knew what was happening, I was being led right to the front, to a seat left of the lectern. Surely, there was no way that he had not noticed my grand entrance. But my problems were about to get bigger.
I had not failed to notice that the last speaker returned to a seat at my table.
"Is this the speakers' table?" I asked my neighbour.
"Aren't you a speaker?"
She would have to wait for my answer as a tea break was announced and my neighbour rushed to catch up with somebody before they left the room.
"They've asked us to give a speech,” boss said when he finally managed to intercept me on my tea break trail that I had designed to avoid him.
I stared at him, uncomprehending.
"They are saying that the person who was supposed to speak on behalf of Ugandan-owned businesses in the coffee sector was not able to travel."
I was still slightly absent-minded. The conversation that I had mentally prepared for was the one about why I had arrived late for the very thing I had come to Dublin to attend.
"I think you should be the one to speak," he said.
"What!" I was now paying attention.
"I know close to nothing about the coffee industry,” I whispered emphatically.
"You're an economist. You know English more than me. You'll find something to say," he said, smiling.
"Also, you're a woman. They like women-owned businesses."
"I don't own this organisation. You own this organisation. When is the speech?"
"After the break."
"What!"
But he had moved away already saying someone was beckoning him to come over.
Somewhere in the room was Uganda's Minister of Trade and Industry. Present too was the Irish ambassador to Uganda. Probably his Ugandan counterpart too. This was not the time to wing it. Not the time. Not the time.
But wing it, I did.
The conversation with your mother! I loved this.
Wow, that can't have been easy. Your boss sounds... "interesting" to deal with. Congratulations though. And this reminds me how lucky we are in places like the UK to have such powerful passports (even post-Brexit). I can't believe you had to provide a bank statement.