The interview that changed my life

It was a terrifyingly hot day in Africa.

So, just a regular day for everyone else, but not for me. This was my first time visiting the rural part of Zanzibar, and I was on my way to interview someone about an app they were supposed to use.

They say some people find parts of Africa triggering, especially if they are reminded of their own difficult upbringing.

I was supposed to be one of those people. I always thought growing up in the middle of a civil war in Bosnia would make me grateful for the small things I once lacked, things you wouldn’t even think twice about, unless they are not there – electricity, hot water, your favour sweets, or God forbid, social media.

But in this hot, humid climate, I realised I always had it all. And I also realised, it wasn’t the poverty that triggered me. It was the reason I was there.

We approached a house, and I saw a person I was going to interview. This young lady cradled a baby in one arm and clutched her little boy's arm tightly with the other. She was shy, but warm. She knew why we came, but we were strangers after all.?

Still, she invited us into her home, and we quickly realised there is no place to sit (in fact, there was only some place to sleep). There was only one window, no floors, a single bed, and a very old, questionably functioning TV that was sitting in the dusty corner. These were all of their belongings. So, we threw a plastic blanket in front of her house, and we sat down.

I was getting hot, I really wanted to uncover my hair from a massive scarf I was wearing to respect their home, but I thought to myself, if they can do this throughout their whole lives, I will power through for an hour.

And then we started talking…

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Qualitative interviews can be awkward because people don’t know what is expected of them. You need to make them feel relaxed and create a rapport – except, I was doing this in my second language, which was translated to a third one. The words were failing us in generating empathy, but she was looking closely at my face. Somehow, she just knew. I wished her well. I was only there to uncover her truth.

For the context, an app was developed for women just like her. It was backed by a fancy machine learning model promising to solve a particular problem.?But, the app eventually failed, just like all the research efforts to understand the reasons why.

Nothing seemed to make sense. The model worked, the tech was sound, people were in place, but for some reason the app just wasn’t delivering results. The project eventually ended, and I was there as an executioner, tasked with putting the project out of its misery and closing the coffin... But, before that, I needed to understand what went wrong.

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Now, you may be wondering, why would someone care about an app when they barely have a place to sleep. And you’d be right to ask. Someone’s attempts to help skipped over a million steps and went from zero to delivering an app (dare I say – no one even asked for). As a result, the real problem was left unsolved.

Technology fixes so many things for us today, so we often jump to conclusions and think it is the be-all and end-all panacea.

But… Did we fool ourselves into thinking we were helping, if we were only helping in the way we saw fit?

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In fact, were we doing everyone a huge disservice, wasting resources and time? And worse still, creating false hope in people who don’t need a huge yacht to get them across the river.

They need a raft.

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I was getting nowhere with my interview, I was battling my own thoughts, I was hot, and no matter how much I was moving it around, the scarf seemed to be tightening around my neck. I had a list of questions that I wrote in my UK office, but so many of them had already been answered just by me being there and sitting under that palm tree.

I was ashamed. After 30 minutes of pointless questions, I finally got my courage and just asked: ‘But, why didn’t you just use the app? It could’ve helped you…’

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She looked at me patiently, with a sense of calmness only a mother could have. I was a 5-year-old child naively trying to convince an adult to buy me a second ice cream. Up until that point, she might have thought we were on the same page, but that one question made her realise we were worlds apart.

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[Isn’t it obvious…] ‘My husband didn't let me.’

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I looked at her in shock and I said…

Nothing.

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Like a pile of bricks falling on my head, this was too heavy. My job there wasn’t just done - it had never even started. I wasn’t there to execute the project; as far as I could see, the project never even existed.

The flashy, beautiful, and above all, perfectly functional app did everything except meet the context and the cultural nuances it needed to.

‘Could it be different?'

'Can't you just say something?'

'Don’t you understand…’

All of my unspoken questions remained forever on that plastic blanket.

It was time to leave. Just as we were going, the woman I interviewed stopped me and asked us to wait for a moment. She ran back inside her house and quickly returned, placing a small mango in my hand.

It was her gift to me... For interviewing her.

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I think about her often.

I think of her every time someone wants to spend a lot of money on a project that isn’t standing on the right legs. When they don’t think about the feasibility, context or the ‘why’. I think of her when I hear about all the pointless research and wasted resources that could have been used to make a real impact and change at least one life.

I think of her when I think my problems are too big.

I also remember her when I see a disbalance of power and the lack of justice we get as women.

But, above all else, I think of her when I see mangos.

And then I am forever reminded why I love my job and being a researcher. People are terrifying, strange and beautiful.

Just like a hot day in Africa.