When I arrived here in Mali, I was surprised to find that news of the MPs’ expenses revelations in the UK had made it this far (mostly met with a mixture of amusement and bemusement from my colleagues). For me, it raises more interesting questions about how other publicly-funded organisations - including much of the development industry - could and should be more open about what they spend money on.
A recent blog debate centred on whether the World Bank and UN should be spending their money on business class flights. I suspect for most people involved in international development who have any actual contact with the people they are really supposed to be working for (instead of solely talking about them in air-conditioned conferences) the answer would be: no, obviously the money could be better spent. (The original author’s own tongue-in-cheek verdict, after meeting his future wife in a dusty internet café rather than a five-star hotel, is that the cute aid workers fly economy anyway).
Others have come to the same conclusion that clearer reporting of what is actually being spent by the aid agencies might be a good start in allocating some of the money less wastefully. But while I’m quite happy to declare on this blog what I’m currently paid for my research (my grants, fees and expenses are worth around £20k a year, untaxed, and yes, on that budget I fly economy), it’s a trickier issue when I’m actually meeting the people taking part in my research. One of the questions I’ve been asking people is how they would define someone who would be considered “rich” in this part of Mali. The common response is “someone who can be confident of feeding their family for the whole year”. Most people grow and store millet as the staple part of their diet - but this is often used up before the next harvest, and it can be hard to raise enough money from their other crops or livestock to fill the gap.
So with this apparent* lack of cash it’s hardly surprising that I’m asked if I can help with the repair costs of broken handpumps. This is typically £50 for the ones I’ve seen so far, so clearly I could. But instead I remind people that I’m here to help investigate ways that local collaboration can develop effective maintenance procedures for itself. The unspoken logic is that it is better long-term value to pay £20k a year for my research than 400 hand pump repairs. I obviously hope this is true, but I wonder if people would be so happy to participate in research if they knew what else could be bought with the same money.
*I’ll try to come back to this in a later blog… one of the current interesting trends is how women’s associations are apparently better at collecting money in advance than male-dominated water management committees, who wait until a pump has broken and then try and collect money, leading to delays and frustrations.
