Following is an appeal for calm that I wrote as Vice President of the Friends of Kenya. It is also posted on the FOK web site (www.friendsofkenya.org).
Statement of Concern
The board of Friends of Kenya and, as we well know, many members of our organization have followed events in Kenya over the past month with a great sense of sadness, concern and apprehension. We send our condolences to the families who have lost loved ones and our pole to those who have been displaced. We hope that peace will be restored soon in Kenya
As a non-political organization, FOK has always refrained from expressing political views. We will continue to adhere to that policy and thus cannot support either President Kibaki or challenger Odinga.
However, we can and do take a stand in support of the Kenyan people. We support all Kenyan people at this time of crisis. We abhor ethnic enmity and tribal violence. We adamantly stand for truth and justice and call for the cessation of the senseless hostility that divides Kenyans from each other. We endorse the efforts of UN and African mediators to craft, along with Kenyan leaders from both sides, resolution to the crisis.
The toll in Kenya in lives, homes, jobs and prospects is already much too high. We deplore the destruction of neighborhoods and especially of the social comity that enabled Kenyans to mix together without rancor in pursuit of national development. It should be of highest priority to regain that lost ground, that togetherness, that sense of nationhood, that sense of being Kenyan. Success in pursuit of this goal will require a workable political settlement between the warring factions which is something that only they can author. The world insists that they achieve this. But beyond that Kenyans themselves will have to set aside suspicions and fears. Each person will have to take the brave steps to instill peace and forgiveness in his or her heart and to extend that peace to fellow citizens.
Friends of Kenya as an organization composed of individuals who harbor a great respect for Kenya want Kenyans to know of our concern for them and their nation at this time of crisis. We pray for peace and for reconciliation so that the nation that we all love so fondly might regain the vibrancy and the tolerance that served so well for generations.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Tribalism in Kenya
Understanding Tribalism in Kenya
Recent rioting, score settling, ethnic cleansing and other tribally motivated violence in Kenya was sparked in the aftermath of the December 27, 2007 presidential election when incumbent president Mwai Kibaki, a Kikuyu, flat out stole the election. Opponent Raila Odinga, a Luo, had led in all polls and by early counts seemed to be almost a million votes ahead as tallies came in. When that reality struck, Kibaki and his “Kikuyu mafia” inner circle simply had the results changed to assure a second term. They were probably prepared to do this all along and probably correctly assessed they could get away with it. So far, they have succeeded, but not without turmoil.
It is not genocide
First, despite the horrific video clips of mobs and police running amuck, it is important to understand that what is happening in Kenya is not genocide. The situation is not analogous to what transpired in Rwanda or to what is ongoing in Darfur. In Kenya there is no government policy of extermination of an ethnic group. There are no government backed armed militias. There is no official propaganda machine egging murder on. In short, tribal violence in Kenya is not genocide; nor have killings occurred on a truly massive scale.
It is also important to point out that tribalism in Kenya is not atavistic. It does not arise from ancient hatreds or warfare from cultures clashing over the eons. In fact, the two opposing groups, the Luo of western Kenya from the shores of Lake Victoria and the Kikuyu from central Kenya surrounding Mt. Kenya, had little contact with one another until the 20th century. Accordingly, Kenya’s tribalism is a relatively new phenomenon. It is a product of modern times arising from colonialism, urbanization, the population explosion and independent Kenya’s political culture. Yet, however induced, the tension and the hatred are very real and quite damaging.
Historically apart
Traditionally in Kenya, tribes lived in their own distinct areas with their own cultures, i.e. language, customs, myths of origin, etc. People interacted from time to time with neighboring tribes with some sporatic clashing over cattle or land, but given the space available in lightly populated east Africa, what long term animosities that there were grew up between the nomadic cattle keepers – the Masai – and their sedentary neighbors – the Kikuyu and Kamba. The Luo and Kikuyu were separated by miles of inhospitable Masai and Nandi land. With the coming of Europeans, being Kenya’s largest groups as well as chiefly farmers, the Luo and the Kikuyu accepted outside ways, especially Christianity and education (the two often went hand-in-hand). Individuals from these tribes were at the forefront of early politics. Many moved from home areas to work on European farms or to the towns and cities. Thus the ethnic mix of present day Kenya began.
British rule in the colony was founded on the principle of divide and conquer. British administrators accentuated differences and sought to play groups off against each other. So from the beginning of multi-tribal life, seeds of discontent were sewn. Mau Mau compounded such distinctions when the British recruited Luo and other tribesmen into “loyalist” forces to combat Kikuyu nationalism. Negative tribal stereotypes became embedded in popular belief. Lazy, uncircumcised, fish-eating Luos contrasted with clever, cheating, arrogant Kikuyus. And so forth.
With the achievement of independence in 1963, the spoils of government accrued to the victors. First President Jomo Kenyatta rode multi-tribal support to office, but his regime reverted both to the reality and to the perception of favoritism towards the Kikuyu. This manifested itself in greater government expenditures for social infrastructure in Kikuyu areas, corruption benefits to insiders, privileged access to governmental and parastatal jobs. Such favoritism for one group was coupled with blatant discrimination against the other, including intimidation of opponents and even assassinations. Politics since has essentially pitted Kikuyu against Luos, with each side attempting to attract other tribal groups to its banners. This political struggle continued even while Daniel arap Moi, a Kalenjin, was president. Even though Kalenjins emerged as new contenders in the graft game, divide and rule tribalism remained the basis for politics wherein Luo and Kikuyu leaders vied for prominence either inside Moi’s camp or in opposition to him.
During the last half of the last century as Kenya’s economy grew and its population expanded, there was more movement of people, especially Kikuyu tribesmen into Rift Valley Province in search of land at the expense of Masai and Kalenjin groups. Also, Kikuyus were becoming Kenya’s small traders and as such establishing themselves in cities, towns and villages throughout the country. As is true with Jews and Koreans in American ghettos, Kikuyu traders were resented by the local population that viewed them as exploitative. Such resentment was reinforced by national politics when patronage jobs, contracts, secondary and university school slots, etc. went to Kikuyus at the expense of other tribes. Consequently, Kikuyu economic success (humble as it might be) was seen as due to unfair factors. Thus, the ethnic pot boiled over onto both national and local fires.
Passions enflamed
Even though Luos and Kikuyus reluctantly joined forces to oust President Moi in 2002, the coalition between Kibaki and Odinga quickly dissolved, essentially because Kibaki reneged on the power sharing terms. It was back to winner take all, divide and rule. In 2007 the election was more clearly cast as tribal, Kikuyu and affiliates versus Luo and allies. Election issues of change, economic and social policies got subsumed into tribalism. It was time, Odinga supporters argued, to rotate the presidency; time to try to improve a system that was not performing. This theme struck a chord among voters who rallied to Raila’s banner. Entrenched Kikuyu interests in the presidency, in the administration, in the courts, in the military and in the private sector opposed dissolution of the status quo. So far, they have shown the power to prevail.
The outburst of violence in the wake of the stolen election has to be seen as the eruption of frustrations due to that egregious act; the arrogance of which underscored the stereotypical conviction of Kikuyu pride. The wave of anti-Kikuyu emotion expressed the pain of democracy usurped. Sadly, Kikuyu people became easy targets, blamed as a group for the actions of the Kibaki clique. Rioting also expresses itself in anti-government actions, challenges to the police and the disruption of civil order. As in any such mob scene, those engaged in violence while espousing political motives, quickly moved to acts of personal vengeance, destruction, looting and crime. Sadly, as elsewhere in Africa, Kenya has an abundance of unemployed bored young men who are willing participants in violence. Once they have the taste for this odd sort of adventure, it is difficult to restrain them. Now, it will be hard to avoid the emergence of rival tribal militias.
What can be done?
I fear the social fabric of Kenya has been irreparably torn. The clock cannot be turned back. Ethnic cleansing has occurred. Kikuyu have been driven out of some areas, Luos and Luhyas from others. Loss of relatives, friends, livelihoods, homes and opportunities will only entrench hatred in the hearts of victims. Slowly, of course, life will return to more peaceful patterns, but there will be a consolidation of tribal enclaves, greater separatism and sensitivity to tribal slights. Rioters will fade away and/or be beaten into submission by the police. A grievous price will have been paid, most perniciously in terms of people’s faith in each other, but also in terms of the economic system and in politics. The venom of tribalism will poison the society for years to come.
Both Kenyans and outside friends, including the U.S., seek modalities to defuse the immediate crisis. The first espoused option is to encourage the formation of a government of national unity including both Kibaki and Odinga. Essentially this asks the winner Odinga to be magnanimous in victory and to concede defeat to the man who cheated him out of his win. Second is to re-do the election. Neither looks especially promising. If there is no progress of this sort, donors and friends of Kenya will likely keep the government at arm’s length. This will have consequences in terms of bilateral relations, aid budgets and Kenya's prestige in the international community. Shunning Kenya will undoubtedly impact adversely on tourism. Kibaki’s team, however, is probably prepared to sit tight, weather the storm, grant a concession here or there, but otherwise to wield power as before. However, none of the possible resolutions or next moves can diminish the fact that tribalism is loose in the land and that Kenyans are worse off for it.
Recent rioting, score settling, ethnic cleansing and other tribally motivated violence in Kenya was sparked in the aftermath of the December 27, 2007 presidential election when incumbent president Mwai Kibaki, a Kikuyu, flat out stole the election. Opponent Raila Odinga, a Luo, had led in all polls and by early counts seemed to be almost a million votes ahead as tallies came in. When that reality struck, Kibaki and his “Kikuyu mafia” inner circle simply had the results changed to assure a second term. They were probably prepared to do this all along and probably correctly assessed they could get away with it. So far, they have succeeded, but not without turmoil.
It is not genocide
First, despite the horrific video clips of mobs and police running amuck, it is important to understand that what is happening in Kenya is not genocide. The situation is not analogous to what transpired in Rwanda or to what is ongoing in Darfur. In Kenya there is no government policy of extermination of an ethnic group. There are no government backed armed militias. There is no official propaganda machine egging murder on. In short, tribal violence in Kenya is not genocide; nor have killings occurred on a truly massive scale.
It is also important to point out that tribalism in Kenya is not atavistic. It does not arise from ancient hatreds or warfare from cultures clashing over the eons. In fact, the two opposing groups, the Luo of western Kenya from the shores of Lake Victoria and the Kikuyu from central Kenya surrounding Mt. Kenya, had little contact with one another until the 20th century. Accordingly, Kenya’s tribalism is a relatively new phenomenon. It is a product of modern times arising from colonialism, urbanization, the population explosion and independent Kenya’s political culture. Yet, however induced, the tension and the hatred are very real and quite damaging.
Historically apart
Traditionally in Kenya, tribes lived in their own distinct areas with their own cultures, i.e. language, customs, myths of origin, etc. People interacted from time to time with neighboring tribes with some sporatic clashing over cattle or land, but given the space available in lightly populated east Africa, what long term animosities that there were grew up between the nomadic cattle keepers – the Masai – and their sedentary neighbors – the Kikuyu and Kamba. The Luo and Kikuyu were separated by miles of inhospitable Masai and Nandi land. With the coming of Europeans, being Kenya’s largest groups as well as chiefly farmers, the Luo and the Kikuyu accepted outside ways, especially Christianity and education (the two often went hand-in-hand). Individuals from these tribes were at the forefront of early politics. Many moved from home areas to work on European farms or to the towns and cities. Thus the ethnic mix of present day Kenya began.
British rule in the colony was founded on the principle of divide and conquer. British administrators accentuated differences and sought to play groups off against each other. So from the beginning of multi-tribal life, seeds of discontent were sewn. Mau Mau compounded such distinctions when the British recruited Luo and other tribesmen into “loyalist” forces to combat Kikuyu nationalism. Negative tribal stereotypes became embedded in popular belief. Lazy, uncircumcised, fish-eating Luos contrasted with clever, cheating, arrogant Kikuyus. And so forth.
With the achievement of independence in 1963, the spoils of government accrued to the victors. First President Jomo Kenyatta rode multi-tribal support to office, but his regime reverted both to the reality and to the perception of favoritism towards the Kikuyu. This manifested itself in greater government expenditures for social infrastructure in Kikuyu areas, corruption benefits to insiders, privileged access to governmental and parastatal jobs. Such favoritism for one group was coupled with blatant discrimination against the other, including intimidation of opponents and even assassinations. Politics since has essentially pitted Kikuyu against Luos, with each side attempting to attract other tribal groups to its banners. This political struggle continued even while Daniel arap Moi, a Kalenjin, was president. Even though Kalenjins emerged as new contenders in the graft game, divide and rule tribalism remained the basis for politics wherein Luo and Kikuyu leaders vied for prominence either inside Moi’s camp or in opposition to him.
During the last half of the last century as Kenya’s economy grew and its population expanded, there was more movement of people, especially Kikuyu tribesmen into Rift Valley Province in search of land at the expense of Masai and Kalenjin groups. Also, Kikuyus were becoming Kenya’s small traders and as such establishing themselves in cities, towns and villages throughout the country. As is true with Jews and Koreans in American ghettos, Kikuyu traders were resented by the local population that viewed them as exploitative. Such resentment was reinforced by national politics when patronage jobs, contracts, secondary and university school slots, etc. went to Kikuyus at the expense of other tribes. Consequently, Kikuyu economic success (humble as it might be) was seen as due to unfair factors. Thus, the ethnic pot boiled over onto both national and local fires.
Passions enflamed
Even though Luos and Kikuyus reluctantly joined forces to oust President Moi in 2002, the coalition between Kibaki and Odinga quickly dissolved, essentially because Kibaki reneged on the power sharing terms. It was back to winner take all, divide and rule. In 2007 the election was more clearly cast as tribal, Kikuyu and affiliates versus Luo and allies. Election issues of change, economic and social policies got subsumed into tribalism. It was time, Odinga supporters argued, to rotate the presidency; time to try to improve a system that was not performing. This theme struck a chord among voters who rallied to Raila’s banner. Entrenched Kikuyu interests in the presidency, in the administration, in the courts, in the military and in the private sector opposed dissolution of the status quo. So far, they have shown the power to prevail.
The outburst of violence in the wake of the stolen election has to be seen as the eruption of frustrations due to that egregious act; the arrogance of which underscored the stereotypical conviction of Kikuyu pride. The wave of anti-Kikuyu emotion expressed the pain of democracy usurped. Sadly, Kikuyu people became easy targets, blamed as a group for the actions of the Kibaki clique. Rioting also expresses itself in anti-government actions, challenges to the police and the disruption of civil order. As in any such mob scene, those engaged in violence while espousing political motives, quickly moved to acts of personal vengeance, destruction, looting and crime. Sadly, as elsewhere in Africa, Kenya has an abundance of unemployed bored young men who are willing participants in violence. Once they have the taste for this odd sort of adventure, it is difficult to restrain them. Now, it will be hard to avoid the emergence of rival tribal militias.
What can be done?
I fear the social fabric of Kenya has been irreparably torn. The clock cannot be turned back. Ethnic cleansing has occurred. Kikuyu have been driven out of some areas, Luos and Luhyas from others. Loss of relatives, friends, livelihoods, homes and opportunities will only entrench hatred in the hearts of victims. Slowly, of course, life will return to more peaceful patterns, but there will be a consolidation of tribal enclaves, greater separatism and sensitivity to tribal slights. Rioters will fade away and/or be beaten into submission by the police. A grievous price will have been paid, most perniciously in terms of people’s faith in each other, but also in terms of the economic system and in politics. The venom of tribalism will poison the society for years to come.
Both Kenyans and outside friends, including the U.S., seek modalities to defuse the immediate crisis. The first espoused option is to encourage the formation of a government of national unity including both Kibaki and Odinga. Essentially this asks the winner Odinga to be magnanimous in victory and to concede defeat to the man who cheated him out of his win. Second is to re-do the election. Neither looks especially promising. If there is no progress of this sort, donors and friends of Kenya will likely keep the government at arm’s length. This will have consequences in terms of bilateral relations, aid budgets and Kenya's prestige in the international community. Shunning Kenya will undoubtedly impact adversely on tourism. Kibaki’s team, however, is probably prepared to sit tight, weather the storm, grant a concession here or there, but otherwise to wield power as before. However, none of the possible resolutions or next moves can diminish the fact that tribalism is loose in the land and that Kenyans are worse off for it.
Thursday, December 6, 2007
Djibouti - I remember a Gift
In 1986 I was making a tour of U.S. embassies in eastern Africa. I was in Djibouti, a small desert country at the southern mouth of the Red Sea. Neighboring Ethiopia and Somalia, then at relative peace, had been warring for years. As a result many thousands of ethnic Somali tribesmen from the Ogaden Region of Ethiopia had sought refuge in Djibouti. They were confined to United Nations run camps located in the arid hinterland of one of the most desolate nations in Africa. I visited one of the camps, which grouped several thousand refugees who had lived there for months; essentially on a moonscape.
This refugee camp was a bleak and seemingly hopeless place. Yet, the elders of the camp committee greeted me graciously and guided me on a tour of their squalid domain. Green plastic sheeting provided cover from the sun. Bags of U.S. donated maize and tins of vegetable oil were stacked in the food distribution warehouse. A one-tent school was operating, as was a small clinic. Flies buzzed incessantly. However, the camp committee was most anxious that I see their newly acquired well, water pump and garden.
We walked up a rock-strewn ravine past the cemetery where several new graves provided mute testimony to the ravages of disease and malnutrition. Beyond, nestled in slope of the valley in the region where there was not a blade of vegetation visible for miles, was a small patch of green. The elders showed me how boys carried water from the new well to the plots where they had managed to coax several scraggly tomato plants and other vegetables from the hard earth. The chief pointed with pride to the first water melon, about the size of a small soccer ball. He then had it picked. He presented it to me with great ceremony and thanks for America’s concern and assistance. I was overwhelmed. The camp’s children were desperate for this sort of nourishment, yet it was given unhesitating to a stranger – to someone who obviously had no need for it. Yet, I had to accept. This was a gift from the heart. I managed to utter thanks and a few words of encouragement. We then shared the bits of melon.
In the years since, I have always been struck how people with so little and with such great needs could give so easily. Yet we with so much, find it hard to give a little.
This refugee camp was a bleak and seemingly hopeless place. Yet, the elders of the camp committee greeted me graciously and guided me on a tour of their squalid domain. Green plastic sheeting provided cover from the sun. Bags of U.S. donated maize and tins of vegetable oil were stacked in the food distribution warehouse. A one-tent school was operating, as was a small clinic. Flies buzzed incessantly. However, the camp committee was most anxious that I see their newly acquired well, water pump and garden.
We walked up a rock-strewn ravine past the cemetery where several new graves provided mute testimony to the ravages of disease and malnutrition. Beyond, nestled in slope of the valley in the region where there was not a blade of vegetation visible for miles, was a small patch of green. The elders showed me how boys carried water from the new well to the plots where they had managed to coax several scraggly tomato plants and other vegetables from the hard earth. The chief pointed with pride to the first water melon, about the size of a small soccer ball. He then had it picked. He presented it to me with great ceremony and thanks for America’s concern and assistance. I was overwhelmed. The camp’s children were desperate for this sort of nourishment, yet it was given unhesitating to a stranger – to someone who obviously had no need for it. Yet, I had to accept. This was a gift from the heart. I managed to utter thanks and a few words of encouragement. We then shared the bits of melon.
In the years since, I have always been struck how people with so little and with such great needs could give so easily. Yet we with so much, find it hard to give a little.
Friday, November 30, 2007
Zambia - Book Review of The Unheard
The Unheard – a memoir of deafness and Africa
by Josh Swiller; Henry Holt and Company, New York, 2007
If you yearn to relive the angst, frustrations, self-doubt and self discovery of your Peace Corps experience, this may be the book for you. Josh Swiller who served in northern Zambia in the early 1990s was an unusual volunteer who apparently had an unusually conflict ridden tour. Perhaps, as he himself would admit, it was his combative personality, but also – as he repeatedly refers to in the book – it was because the town where he was assigned was just mean and devoid of effective leadership. In any case, common cultural misunderstandings often flared up into major confrontations, especially when our idealistic hero put his foot down and stood firm on his scruples.
Josh’s experience was sadly typical in many respects. He was puzzlement to the community. Why was he there? Why was he impotent to wave a magic wand and heal the diseased and dying or provide wells, jobs or education? Ultimately since he could not work wonders, what was amiss? On Josh’s side, he too wondered why he was there. What was he to do to promote development? And how to do it? Especially since the community’s response was nearly zero. Finally, what did he accomplish?
Josh carried an additional burden as a deaf man. He could partially understand one-on-one when his hearing aids were working, but in crowds or with background noise intelligible sounds ceased. Josh wrote frankly about his deafness and the issues that he had to deal with - exclusion from group conversations for example. But part of his motivation to join the Peace Corps was to find himself and to find a place where deafness mattered less. He said he found that in Zambia. Being white and American was odd enough; no one seemed concerned with his deafness.
Josh forged a solid friendship with Augustine Jere who served as his guide to Zambian culture and the strange town they lived in. Ultimately, this friendship was tested by culture and corrupt, even evil, circumstances. Without divulging the story, let me say that it tracks. Zambians, their town, expectations and frailties come alive. The author writes compellingly. Former PCVs will recognize the reality of the world Swiller so ably describes and will admire his tenacity even while deploring his (self admitted) foolishness in attempting to deal with it.
Reviewed by Robert E. Gribbin, December 2007
by Josh Swiller; Henry Holt and Company, New York, 2007
If you yearn to relive the angst, frustrations, self-doubt and self discovery of your Peace Corps experience, this may be the book for you. Josh Swiller who served in northern Zambia in the early 1990s was an unusual volunteer who apparently had an unusually conflict ridden tour. Perhaps, as he himself would admit, it was his combative personality, but also – as he repeatedly refers to in the book – it was because the town where he was assigned was just mean and devoid of effective leadership. In any case, common cultural misunderstandings often flared up into major confrontations, especially when our idealistic hero put his foot down and stood firm on his scruples.
Josh’s experience was sadly typical in many respects. He was puzzlement to the community. Why was he there? Why was he impotent to wave a magic wand and heal the diseased and dying or provide wells, jobs or education? Ultimately since he could not work wonders, what was amiss? On Josh’s side, he too wondered why he was there. What was he to do to promote development? And how to do it? Especially since the community’s response was nearly zero. Finally, what did he accomplish?
Josh carried an additional burden as a deaf man. He could partially understand one-on-one when his hearing aids were working, but in crowds or with background noise intelligible sounds ceased. Josh wrote frankly about his deafness and the issues that he had to deal with - exclusion from group conversations for example. But part of his motivation to join the Peace Corps was to find himself and to find a place where deafness mattered less. He said he found that in Zambia. Being white and American was odd enough; no one seemed concerned with his deafness.
Josh forged a solid friendship with Augustine Jere who served as his guide to Zambian culture and the strange town they lived in. Ultimately, this friendship was tested by culture and corrupt, even evil, circumstances. Without divulging the story, let me say that it tracks. Zambians, their town, expectations and frailties come alive. The author writes compellingly. Former PCVs will recognize the reality of the world Swiller so ably describes and will admire his tenacity even while deploring his (self admitted) foolishness in attempting to deal with it.
Reviewed by Robert E. Gribbin, December 2007
Saturday, November 17, 2007
Book review - The Camel Bookmobile
The Camel Bookmobile
Marsha Hamilton
Harper Collins, New York, 2007
This novel has an odd, but quite descriptive title. The story revolves around a camel carried bookmobile that operates out of Garissa into Kenya’s northern reaches. The delivery of books to isolated nomadic villages brings into play the tension of the novel - the clash of worlds. Modern Africa and America represented by the books and the warm-hearted do-gooder young New York librarian on one hand and the tradition bound villagers of Midima on the other.
Books turn the village topsy turvy. Some welcome the introduction of new ideas and wider windows on the world. They – a teacher, a progressive grandmother and many youths – see that change in Kenya is inevitable and that the village or at least some villagers ought to join the outside world. Elders and cynics scorn the effort seeing it realistically as undermining the culture, tradition and bush knowledge that sustained the tribe for generations.
Our heroine Fi Sweeny brings her naiveté about Africa and western values to bear. She gets caught up in the inner tensions of village relationships where she herself is a catalyst interrupting the predictability of rural timelessness. As is true with PCVs, Fi learns more about love, hope, and life than she gives in her exchanges with villagers. The engaging story plays out against the backdrop of impending drought where the very survival of the semi-nomadic people is menaced.
The various elements of the plot and characters permit the author to observe alternatively cynically or sympathetically about the intrusions of the modern world into traditional life, the role of women and motivations behind humanitarian good works. The various characters are nicely developed. The village setting is authentically rendered. The story has good pace and keeps the reader guessing until the end.
Marsha Hamilton
Harper Collins, New York, 2007
This novel has an odd, but quite descriptive title. The story revolves around a camel carried bookmobile that operates out of Garissa into Kenya’s northern reaches. The delivery of books to isolated nomadic villages brings into play the tension of the novel - the clash of worlds. Modern Africa and America represented by the books and the warm-hearted do-gooder young New York librarian on one hand and the tradition bound villagers of Midima on the other.
Books turn the village topsy turvy. Some welcome the introduction of new ideas and wider windows on the world. They – a teacher, a progressive grandmother and many youths – see that change in Kenya is inevitable and that the village or at least some villagers ought to join the outside world. Elders and cynics scorn the effort seeing it realistically as undermining the culture, tradition and bush knowledge that sustained the tribe for generations.
Our heroine Fi Sweeny brings her naiveté about Africa and western values to bear. She gets caught up in the inner tensions of village relationships where she herself is a catalyst interrupting the predictability of rural timelessness. As is true with PCVs, Fi learns more about love, hope, and life than she gives in her exchanges with villagers. The engaging story plays out against the backdrop of impending drought where the very survival of the semi-nomadic people is menaced.
The various elements of the plot and characters permit the author to observe alternatively cynically or sympathetically about the intrusions of the modern world into traditional life, the role of women and motivations behind humanitarian good works. The various characters are nicely developed. The village setting is authentically rendered. The story has good pace and keeps the reader guessing until the end.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Nigeria - book review of Half of a Yellow Sun
Book: Half of a Yellow Sun
Author: Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
Published: Farafina, Lagos 2006
Reviewer: Robert E. Gribbin
I spent the last three months in Nigeria. It was indeed a fascinating place. Under new President Yar'Adua it was full of energy and the expectation that problems can be solved and that the nation can look forward to a brighter, more prosperous future. Nigeria today has moved far beyond the passions of the 1967-70 Biafran civil war, yet some of the issues of disenfranchisement and tribalism remain as troublesome impediments to true national unity. Chimamanda Adichie's novel, that all of Nigeria is reading, is a haunting reminder of the enmity of the war, the arrogance, the violence and the hardship that was visited upon the Igbo people.
The title of the novel evokes the half of a yellow sun that was the central emblem on the Biafran flag. The sun also figured on the uniforms of Biafran soldiers. The half sun initially is symbolically seen as a rising sun representing the hopes and expectations of the new state. However, as the story progresses and Biafra descends into a besieged hell of poverty, starvation and collapse, the sun is clearly setting. Dreams are over and lives are irreparably changed.
The story focuses on a rich Igbo family, especially twin sisters, Olanna and Kainene, whose personalities are quite different. Tracking them and their various relationships to family, lovers and friends provides background for the war and a soap operatic setting for the plot that finally gathers together and moves forward seriously to delve into what happens when the normal stresses of living are overwhelmed by senseless violence. Much of the novel is viewed through the perspective of Igwu, a young naive houseboy called to service in the home of Professor Odengigbo, a fervent believer in the Biafran cause, who becomes Olanna's husband. Although Igwu does not understand his social superiors, he carefully observes them and gets to love them (and they him). Several delightful passages in the novel reflect Igwu's village naivete when he puzzles about middle class life style.
Hanging over the domesticity of Odengibo and Olanna's university household in Igbo territory were the tribal politics of Nigeria in the sixties. Following the assassination of Prime Minister Balewa (a northerner) in 1966 by Igbo officers, a series of pogroms and massacres were visited upon Igbo migrants in northern Nigeria. Thousands died and tens of thousands retreated to the Igbo heartland. Another coup d'etat brought northern officers to power. Rejecting that change, Igbo nationalists declared Biafra independent. The Federal Government responded by beginning a "police action" that morphed into civil war.
Although it only presents the Igbo perspective, this book is not about the politics of the war. Rather, it is about people - rich, middle class and peasant alike - all of whom become victims of forces beyond their control. Part of the tragedy of the Biafran civil war was the absolute conviction by the Igbo people, as represented by characters in the novel, that their destiny was to be free and independent. Consequently, they stoically accepted the enormous hardship visited upon them as Biafra was battered and starved into submission. This is that story: the pride, the courage, the resourcefulness and the initiative as folks coped with the collapse of their lives, with death, disease, starvation, betrayal and ultimately, defeat.
The central characters of the novel fill out nicely as the story progresses. They become real as they struggle with circumstances and against the doom that the reader knows lies ahead. Dramatically told, Chimamanda Adichie has written a compelling narrative of human resilience in the face of tragedy.
Author: Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
Published: Farafina, Lagos 2006
Reviewer: Robert E. Gribbin
I spent the last three months in Nigeria. It was indeed a fascinating place. Under new President Yar'Adua it was full of energy and the expectation that problems can be solved and that the nation can look forward to a brighter, more prosperous future. Nigeria today has moved far beyond the passions of the 1967-70 Biafran civil war, yet some of the issues of disenfranchisement and tribalism remain as troublesome impediments to true national unity. Chimamanda Adichie's novel, that all of Nigeria is reading, is a haunting reminder of the enmity of the war, the arrogance, the violence and the hardship that was visited upon the Igbo people.
The title of the novel evokes the half of a yellow sun that was the central emblem on the Biafran flag. The sun also figured on the uniforms of Biafran soldiers. The half sun initially is symbolically seen as a rising sun representing the hopes and expectations of the new state. However, as the story progresses and Biafra descends into a besieged hell of poverty, starvation and collapse, the sun is clearly setting. Dreams are over and lives are irreparably changed.
The story focuses on a rich Igbo family, especially twin sisters, Olanna and Kainene, whose personalities are quite different. Tracking them and their various relationships to family, lovers and friends provides background for the war and a soap operatic setting for the plot that finally gathers together and moves forward seriously to delve into what happens when the normal stresses of living are overwhelmed by senseless violence. Much of the novel is viewed through the perspective of Igwu, a young naive houseboy called to service in the home of Professor Odengigbo, a fervent believer in the Biafran cause, who becomes Olanna's husband. Although Igwu does not understand his social superiors, he carefully observes them and gets to love them (and they him). Several delightful passages in the novel reflect Igwu's village naivete when he puzzles about middle class life style.
Hanging over the domesticity of Odengibo and Olanna's university household in Igbo territory were the tribal politics of Nigeria in the sixties. Following the assassination of Prime Minister Balewa (a northerner) in 1966 by Igbo officers, a series of pogroms and massacres were visited upon Igbo migrants in northern Nigeria. Thousands died and tens of thousands retreated to the Igbo heartland. Another coup d'etat brought northern officers to power. Rejecting that change, Igbo nationalists declared Biafra independent. The Federal Government responded by beginning a "police action" that morphed into civil war.
Although it only presents the Igbo perspective, this book is not about the politics of the war. Rather, it is about people - rich, middle class and peasant alike - all of whom become victims of forces beyond their control. Part of the tragedy of the Biafran civil war was the absolute conviction by the Igbo people, as represented by characters in the novel, that their destiny was to be free and independent. Consequently, they stoically accepted the enormous hardship visited upon them as Biafra was battered and starved into submission. This is that story: the pride, the courage, the resourcefulness and the initiative as folks coped with the collapse of their lives, with death, disease, starvation, betrayal and ultimately, defeat.
The central characters of the novel fill out nicely as the story progresses. They become real as they struggle with circumstances and against the doom that the reader knows lies ahead. Dramatically told, Chimamanda Adichie has written a compelling narrative of human resilience in the face of tragedy.
Thursday, September 6, 2007
Sudan's Lost Boys - a book review
What Is the What – the Autobiography of Valentino Achak Deng
Dave Eggers, McSweeney’s, San Francisco, 2006
Whew! In novel form this book tells all you ever needed to know about the Lost Boys of Sudan. The story begins with the civil war violence in 1983 that shattered the peaceful villages where Sudanese of various backgrounds lived together more or less harmoniously. Fleeing destruction of their world by Arab marauders, first hundreds, then thousands, even ten thousands of black African youngsters – mostly boys, but a few girls and later whole families - began to trek from their villages into the unknown in search of safety and peace. Months and hundreds of miles later, these refugees found little succor in squalid camps in Ethiopia. Later they were forced to move hundreds more miles back through the Sudan into northern Kenya. There they settled into a teeming camp that became home for ten years. Finally, several thousand of these wanderers were granted refuge in America.
Their walk was of epic proportions. The traumatized children were afflicted by disease, weariness, malnutrition, hunger, lack of leadership and rogue SPLA soldiers. They were pursued by raiders, shunned by most villagers, attacked by government warplanes and some were eaten by lions. Yet they mustered their courage, buried their dead along the way, supported one another and buoyed by hope, they marched onward across the swamps and deserts of Sudan. Pinyudo camp in Ethiopia was not the paradise they envisaged, but offered a year’s respite. Yet that too unraveled in an orgy of violence. Again the boys trudged onward. Beset by troubles and responsibilities that most children never encounter, they grew up on the walk and in the camps.
They settled into a more predictable limbo in Kakuma camp in northern Kenya where they went to school and became young adults. Ultimately as word of their travails spread, several thousand Lost Boys and Girls were admitted into the United States to begin new lives in America. It was a dream, but the reality of the dream was fraught with new obstacles of how to cope with America and how to come to terms with themselves and their pasts.
The novelization of Achak’s story with him as an engaging narrator permits the Lost Boys saga to be told in detail and with great emotion. The author uses flashbacks from present day Atlanta to recall events. Achak’s insight into himself and his relationships with others is genuinely touching. Not only are readers educated on the terrors of Sudan and the trek, but also on the reality that unsophisticated young African men confront in contemporary American society.
Geographical fault finder that I am, I noted two errors: Kitale, Kenya was referred to as Ketale in several passages and Kenyatta Airport was regularly misspelled as Kinyatta.
In summary, the saga of the Lost Boys is overwhelming. This book delivers a full dose of intensity - at times it was too much. I had to take a few breaks. Even so, What is the What is a worthy read. Finally, even though it was mentioned from time to time during the narrative, I never really understood what the what might be – perhaps some sort of universal truth - so the title of the book escaped me entirely.
Dave Eggers, McSweeney’s, San Francisco, 2006
Whew! In novel form this book tells all you ever needed to know about the Lost Boys of Sudan. The story begins with the civil war violence in 1983 that shattered the peaceful villages where Sudanese of various backgrounds lived together more or less harmoniously. Fleeing destruction of their world by Arab marauders, first hundreds, then thousands, even ten thousands of black African youngsters – mostly boys, but a few girls and later whole families - began to trek from their villages into the unknown in search of safety and peace. Months and hundreds of miles later, these refugees found little succor in squalid camps in Ethiopia. Later they were forced to move hundreds more miles back through the Sudan into northern Kenya. There they settled into a teeming camp that became home for ten years. Finally, several thousand of these wanderers were granted refuge in America.
Their walk was of epic proportions. The traumatized children were afflicted by disease, weariness, malnutrition, hunger, lack of leadership and rogue SPLA soldiers. They were pursued by raiders, shunned by most villagers, attacked by government warplanes and some were eaten by lions. Yet they mustered their courage, buried their dead along the way, supported one another and buoyed by hope, they marched onward across the swamps and deserts of Sudan. Pinyudo camp in Ethiopia was not the paradise they envisaged, but offered a year’s respite. Yet that too unraveled in an orgy of violence. Again the boys trudged onward. Beset by troubles and responsibilities that most children never encounter, they grew up on the walk and in the camps.
They settled into a more predictable limbo in Kakuma camp in northern Kenya where they went to school and became young adults. Ultimately as word of their travails spread, several thousand Lost Boys and Girls were admitted into the United States to begin new lives in America. It was a dream, but the reality of the dream was fraught with new obstacles of how to cope with America and how to come to terms with themselves and their pasts.
The novelization of Achak’s story with him as an engaging narrator permits the Lost Boys saga to be told in detail and with great emotion. The author uses flashbacks from present day Atlanta to recall events. Achak’s insight into himself and his relationships with others is genuinely touching. Not only are readers educated on the terrors of Sudan and the trek, but also on the reality that unsophisticated young African men confront in contemporary American society.
Geographical fault finder that I am, I noted two errors: Kitale, Kenya was referred to as Ketale in several passages and Kenyatta Airport was regularly misspelled as Kinyatta.
In summary, the saga of the Lost Boys is overwhelming. This book delivers a full dose of intensity - at times it was too much. I had to take a few breaks. Even so, What is the What is a worthy read. Finally, even though it was mentioned from time to time during the narrative, I never really understood what the what might be – perhaps some sort of universal truth - so the title of the book escaped me entirely.
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