Seeing in Kampala

Driving in Kampala (Uganda) is challenging. I won’t list all of the things that make swimming in its teeming transportation ecosystem difficult, but I will discuss one aspect that I take for granted in the US — my ability to “see.”

Unlike the physiology that gives us “vision,” the act of seeing is learned. As a result we become conditioned to see what we expect to see. Studies show that the highly valued eyewitness to a crime in the courtroom isn’t always that reliable, not as you would expect due to failing memory (recall), but because they failed to “see” what was in front of their eyes during the event in question. Humans aren’t video recording devices with legs. We do a great deal of processing images through a culturally shaped lens before we determine what we’re seeing. The shapes and colors perceived by rods and cones are open to interpretation and, as we build up these images into objects that we give meaning, we come to expect that certain scenes will be furnished with particular things performing predictable motions.

I’m slowly building up courage and eventually will pull into traffic more quickly. Right now I spend a lot of time looking. Occasionally, by the time I’ve looked in front of me then right and left (or should that be left then right?), the entire scene has changed in the earlier directions and I have to go through the process again. Unlike what I’m accustomed to, the drivers in oncoming cars don’t possess a spot in a regulated lane and plow on certain the drivers around them will do the same. Instead, they form lanes with other cars by mutual agreement through split second collaboration. Frankly, it’s a little more like walking on a very wide, busy sidewalk, but of course you’re encased in metal and running into someone will take more than a brief apologetic “excuse me” — or, you would think it would. I’ve seen a few drivers, moving at slow speeds, bump a motorcycle then sheepishly shrug and move on.

As I’m waiting to pull out and join the dance, cars appear in my field of vision in unexpected places. Motorcyclists zipping around the hunks of metal, along with the still lighter, but not as fast moving bicyclists join them. Pedestrians, a category of which I’m often a member, walk along and through traffic at a practiced, unhurried pace. Yet, vehicles seldom slow down for people crossing the street. They don’t even give a slight cursory deceleration to acknowledge they’re aware of the person in the middle of the road. I suppose this little signal that they see them is completely unnecessary and the drop in speed is rather inefficient when you think about it. The hierarchical assumptions that seem to power the flow of Kampala traffic makes more sense. Drivers assume motorcyclists will get out of the way, motorcyclists assume pedestrians will get out of the way, and pedestrians, well, they stroll through the traffic accustomed to the calculus required to get out of everyone’s way. The larger danger as a pedestrian seems to be paying too much attention to traffic and falling into an unexpected hole.

I’ve become fairly familiar with all the categories of obstacles in Kampala’s traffic, but it will be a while before I’m certain that I’m truly “seeing” everything. It will take even more time for me to be confident that I can accurately predict how the moving objects in front of me will most likely be configured a nanosecond after I attempt to join them. Drivers of Kampala, please be patient with me. My vision is fine (with corrective lenses), my seeing however, not so much.

The six phases of a design project

1. Enthusiasm
2. Disillusionment
3. Panic
4. Search for the guilty
5. Punishment of the innocent
6. Praise for the non-participants

Notice on the wall of the Greater London Council Architects Department. (According to Astragal AJ March 22 1978)

In Lawson, Brian (1990). How designers think: The design process demystified (2nd ed.): Butterworth Architecture.

limitless reading lists

A friend emailed me and asked, “when doing research, I feel as if the reading could be limitless. Do you have a heuristic you use to set a limit on the number of sources you pursue?”

I always feel like my reading lists are limitless, so I didn’t really think I would have much of an answer for him. However, I thought about it for a minute and realized that I actually do have a strategy for avoiding that overwhelmed feeling. Here’s my reply:

I have such difficulties knowing when to stop! Usually, I have a writing deadline which helps. At some point I just have to stop and start writing. However, given the right boundaries on your topic, it is possible to feel that you have a manageable amount to read. You can set these boundaries in a few ways but here’s how I think about it in an eight step process. (Argh, more reading.)

1. Topic

   Narrow down your topic. No, that’s still too broad. No seriously, narrow it down. Got it? Okay.

2. Research paradigms

   You’re researching topic X. First you decide, “am I interested in research that takes a normative, analytical, interpretive or critical approach?” That narrows your reading list significantly. Base your choice on your goal for reading about topic X (what discipline/community of practice you are in or, if writing something, what your audience is familiar with, combo of the two, etc.)

   I should point out that there are other research paradigms than the four I mention. Some disciplines have a few others and some don’t consider a few I listed, or call it something else …no one’s in charge of the overarching taxonomy. To make things more difficult, researchers don’t often explicitly state their research paradigm(s) so you only come to recognize them by doing a lot of broad reading. (If “research paradigm” sounds unfamiliar to you, just read the dialogs under “Appendix E” and you’ll get the gist.)

   If you are writing something, and you choose a different research paradigm from those your audience is accustomed to when they consider topic X, then you will have to be familiar with what your audience is accustomed to as well so you can explain the difference in your approach and why it’s of interest. Your reading list has now almost doubled but that’s what you get for being interdisciplinary. Serves ya right, troublemaker.

3. Foundational works

   Find out which books/articles everyone cites about Topic X within a particular research paradigm and read them. Don’t rely on just reading what others say about them. There won’t be that many — seriously, these are only the ones that everyone cites.

4. Recent authors

   Determine the major living (or recently deceased) authors/researchers of Topic X who work within your research paradigms of interest. Read their most highly cited work on Topic X. You might also glance at their most recent works (particularly the bibliographies) but they will most likely be building on their most cited works and they will assume you are familiar with them.

5. Talk about it

   Talk about it with people. They’ll say “have you read […]?” If they seem to understand your goal for reading about topic X, then go read […].

6. Topic (again)

   At this point, you realize that your original topic was way too broad and it was really based on a lot of assumptions that should be questioned. You shake your head at how young and naive you were back then. Narrow your topic. Your topic is now Topic x (lowercase x).

7. Patterns

   At some point in your reading, you will have a cluster of authors, writing within a particular research paradigm who basically say the same thing or describe the same idea. When this keeps happening, you can probably stop reading now — at least about that particular idea. Sort them into a category (authors within research paradigm Y who write about Topic x and idea Z). If you are writing something, in your article/paper/book/whatever, summarize their idea, cite all of the authors, and then say why you do or don’t agree with them. Or, if idea Z is a bit more mixed or nuanced, mention the questions idea Z raises.

8. Profit

   Rake in the dough this work will bring you (not).