This is my review of Dreams in a Time of War – A Childhood Memoir by Ngugi wa Thiong’o, Pantheon Books, NY, 2010
This memoir by Kenya’s most famous author is exactly what it purports to be: a recounting of childhood in Limuru, just outside of Nairobi. Indeed the times – World War II followed by the Mau Mau emergency – were a time of war in Ngugi’s Kikuyu home. The uncertainty of far off, and not so far off, events impacted upon rural society. Matching that were the changes wrought by modernization – the railroad, education, colonialism, religious controversy, wage employment and burgeoning political awareness.
These were the times Ngugi recalls, and who better to do it than him. Kenya’s changes and history as seen through the eyes of a child and adolescent are redolent with innocence and, like all childhoods, a reminiscence for things past. Ngugi tells about this family, his mother Wanjiku, the third wife of his father Thiong’o wa Nducu, his other mothers, the three other wives, his immediate brothers and sisters, plus scads of step siblings, then grandparents, cousins and other relations. All in this constellation had influence on him. He portrays a rich family life, albeit with an erratic patriarchal father.
Folks around Limuru were mostly farmers, although wage laborers worked at the Bata shoe factory and many picked tea on neighboring European plantations. Ngugi’s half brother went off to war. Italian POWs built the escarpment road. The government seized more African land to settle British soldiers. Later, another brother fled to the forest to join Mau Mau. Atrocities, especially colonial over-reactions, mass executions and interrogations terrorized the inhabitants. The inner Kikuyu rift, which divided pro-missionary, pro-government individuals from Kikuyu nationalists, became a life and death equation during the emergency and wreaked havoc on stable society. Throughout, young Ngugi was finding his way, particularly by dedicating himself to school. Determined to be the very best, he modestly tells of his successes. Readers see him grow from a child with a child’s perspective to become more aware of the greater world around him.
I did not know what to expect from this book, but what I found was an excellent history of the times as seen from a very narrow perspective. There is a small bit of a plot line as troubles come and go, but that is an extra bonus to the chronicle. I learned much about traditional Kikuyu life and how rural people lived. Of course, being Ngugi’s work, it is well written and contains thoughtful reflections, pithy observations and good quotations. Speaking of the dichotomy between fact and fiction, despair and hope, Ngugi notes, “Perhaps it is myth as much as fact that keeps dreams alive even in times of war.”
Obviously everyone’s childhood shapes them. Ngugi’s did him. He grew up to be independent, thoughtful and observant, incidentally with material for several good books.
Readers with some knowledge of Kenya will readily relate to events and the society described, but others too will find this an intriguing entry into another time and place. Reading is recommended.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Baking Cakes in Kigali
Book review by me of Baking Cakes in Kigali by Gaile Parkin, Delacorte Press, NY, 2009.
This is a feel-good novel. Politically correct, it won’t offend anyone. Virtues of understanding, tolerance and compassion permeate the story, but still there is a plot inhabited by vivid characters.
The tale is set in contemporary Rwanda. With that as a backdrop part of unfolding the story has to do with post-genocide times – how people remember or not, how they interact or not, and how they get on with their lives, or not. Naturally Rwanda drew outsiders – volunteers, financial experts, professors, development gurus and others – who help to flesh out the community that Parkin creates. At the center of the novel is Angel Tungaraza, a Tanzanian whose husband is a visiting professor at the technical institute. Angel bakes and extravagantly decorates cakes to earn extra money. Thus, in addition to looking after her five orphaned grandchildren, cakes give Angel the opportunity to meet and get to know other characters in the story. She is an extraordinarily generous soul with a gift for drawing people out over a cup of tea. Along the way almost every topic comes under scrutiny: genocide – who are survivors and how do they cope; the roles – helpful , cynical or otherwise of foreigners; cultural differences – white vs. black or Asian, Rwandans vs. other Africans; traditional values contrasted to modern ways; AIDS - face it or hide it; female circumcision, street children, love, women’s rights, marriage…and the list goes on.
It is a gossipy book. There is lots of dialogue, but author Parkin has a good ear for how people really speak, especially Africans who, for example, use the word “late” in place of dead or died. There is a smattering of correct usage of Kinyarwanda, a bit of French and more Swahili. Kigali is authentically portrayed and Rwanda’s leaders vaguely referred to, but the plot focuses on the more mundane, but no less important aspects of life. Cakes are baked for mile-stones: birthdays, christenings, homecomings, engagements, reunions and weddings.
Author Parkin does a remarkable job of cutting to the quick and portraying the issues with perspective, humor and insight. She pokes gentle fun at human foibles. Readers will learn much about contemporary Africans – how they see themselves and how they see us. Ultimately Angel and all her friends come to a better understanding of themselves, each other and the world they inhabit.
This is a feel-good novel. Politically correct, it won’t offend anyone. Virtues of understanding, tolerance and compassion permeate the story, but still there is a plot inhabited by vivid characters.
The tale is set in contemporary Rwanda. With that as a backdrop part of unfolding the story has to do with post-genocide times – how people remember or not, how they interact or not, and how they get on with their lives, or not. Naturally Rwanda drew outsiders – volunteers, financial experts, professors, development gurus and others – who help to flesh out the community that Parkin creates. At the center of the novel is Angel Tungaraza, a Tanzanian whose husband is a visiting professor at the technical institute. Angel bakes and extravagantly decorates cakes to earn extra money. Thus, in addition to looking after her five orphaned grandchildren, cakes give Angel the opportunity to meet and get to know other characters in the story. She is an extraordinarily generous soul with a gift for drawing people out over a cup of tea. Along the way almost every topic comes under scrutiny: genocide – who are survivors and how do they cope; the roles – helpful , cynical or otherwise of foreigners; cultural differences – white vs. black or Asian, Rwandans vs. other Africans; traditional values contrasted to modern ways; AIDS - face it or hide it; female circumcision, street children, love, women’s rights, marriage…and the list goes on.
It is a gossipy book. There is lots of dialogue, but author Parkin has a good ear for how people really speak, especially Africans who, for example, use the word “late” in place of dead or died. There is a smattering of correct usage of Kinyarwanda, a bit of French and more Swahili. Kigali is authentically portrayed and Rwanda’s leaders vaguely referred to, but the plot focuses on the more mundane, but no less important aspects of life. Cakes are baked for mile-stones: birthdays, christenings, homecomings, engagements, reunions and weddings.
Author Parkin does a remarkable job of cutting to the quick and portraying the issues with perspective, humor and insight. She pokes gentle fun at human foibles. Readers will learn much about contemporary Africans – how they see themselves and how they see us. Ultimately Angel and all her friends come to a better understanding of themselves, each other and the world they inhabit.
Monday, February 22, 2010
The Teeth May Smile But The Heart Does Not Forget - Murder and Memory in Uganda
Following is my review of the subject book written by Andrew Rice; published by Henry Holt & Co. New York, 2009.
This complex story uses the death of a prominent Ugandan chief at the hands of Idi Amin’s henchmen in 1972 as a mechanism to explore current Ugandan history along with the larger issue of justice. What is justice and who can obtain it or not and how? Further, why has Uganda seemingly chosen to avoid careful reckoning for atrocities that occurred over the past forty years? The answers are deeply embedded in Ugandan society, in the violence that successively swept across the nation and in the politics of power, then and now.
Journalist Andrew Rice spent several years in Uganda tracking down such issues and interviewing dozens of people at length, including victims, perpetrators, politicians, judges, lawyers, peasants and observers. The result is this extraordinary book that truly delves into the soul of Uganda and reveals passions of tribalism, religion, and politics. Rice holds up a mirror in which Ugandans can see themselves clearly (and certainly uncomfortably), but it is one that allows outsiders too to contemplate issues of guilt, complicity and accountability. It is a wrenching read.
The book investigates the death of Eliphaz Laki, a Munyanokle from Mbarara region who became a chief, i.e. mid-level government official, in the post-independence era. As was/is true of virtually all Ugandans, Laki’s success arose from his own virtues, but was also tied to family, friendship and tribal affiliations. Like many of his brethren Laki became involved in politics. An Anglican he was a supporter of Obote’s UPC, however, as a government official he retained his post following Amin’s 1971 coup d’etat. Things got complicated because Laki became surreptitiously involved with a young firebrand named Yoweri Museveni (today’s president). After Museveni’s aborted attack against the Simba Barracks at Mbarara in 1972, Laki was apparently ratted out. His name went on a list. He was seized from his office taken secretly to a remote ranch and shot. His body disappeared. His fate – a mysterious but certain death – was unfortunately common during the purges and atrocities of Amin’s suzerainty.
Thirty years later, Laki’s son, Duncan, intensified his quest to find his father’s body and to bring his killers to justice. Through a stroke of luck, Duncan was able to identify the actual killers, but that was not enough, he also sought wider truth; from them, but also from their superiors. The trail led to Major Yusuf Gowon, then deputy commander of the Simba Barracks, who later as a general became Amin’s Chief of Staff. But Amin’s northerners knew little about the western region where the complexities – ethnic, religious, party, personal - of Banyankole machinations defied outside comprehension. Who betrayed Laki to Amin’s regime and why?
Author Rice did a very successful job of rummaging through the history and the memories of Uganda’s last forty years. He ably recounted the reality including the climate of terror and suspicion as well as other events that marked Amin’s misrule, but he also understood the paradigm of impunity and spoils for the victors. As an outsider Rice was not automatically prejudiced to one perspective over another and he did present alternative views. Although there ultimately was a murder trial and truth was revealed, the law took its stubborn course against the backdrop of contemporary politics. Results were inconclusive both about the murder itself and also on the wider issue of justice. What is it and who is entitled to it? What does Uganda do next?
The title “The Teeth May Smile but the Heart Does not Forget” is a Kinyankole proverb whose meaning is obvious, but which assumes a greater significance when viewed against the layered strata of truth, untruth, reconciliation, hatred and justice in today’s Uganda.
On a personal note, I found this book as interesting as any I have read lately. Certainly those who know something about Uganda will find it fascinating as well. However, even readers without such background will get caught up in the superbly written, well paced story and will emerge with a better understanding of Uganda and of broader issues of morality and justice in today’s confusing world.
This complex story uses the death of a prominent Ugandan chief at the hands of Idi Amin’s henchmen in 1972 as a mechanism to explore current Ugandan history along with the larger issue of justice. What is justice and who can obtain it or not and how? Further, why has Uganda seemingly chosen to avoid careful reckoning for atrocities that occurred over the past forty years? The answers are deeply embedded in Ugandan society, in the violence that successively swept across the nation and in the politics of power, then and now.
Journalist Andrew Rice spent several years in Uganda tracking down such issues and interviewing dozens of people at length, including victims, perpetrators, politicians, judges, lawyers, peasants and observers. The result is this extraordinary book that truly delves into the soul of Uganda and reveals passions of tribalism, religion, and politics. Rice holds up a mirror in which Ugandans can see themselves clearly (and certainly uncomfortably), but it is one that allows outsiders too to contemplate issues of guilt, complicity and accountability. It is a wrenching read.
The book investigates the death of Eliphaz Laki, a Munyanokle from Mbarara region who became a chief, i.e. mid-level government official, in the post-independence era. As was/is true of virtually all Ugandans, Laki’s success arose from his own virtues, but was also tied to family, friendship and tribal affiliations. Like many of his brethren Laki became involved in politics. An Anglican he was a supporter of Obote’s UPC, however, as a government official he retained his post following Amin’s 1971 coup d’etat. Things got complicated because Laki became surreptitiously involved with a young firebrand named Yoweri Museveni (today’s president). After Museveni’s aborted attack against the Simba Barracks at Mbarara in 1972, Laki was apparently ratted out. His name went on a list. He was seized from his office taken secretly to a remote ranch and shot. His body disappeared. His fate – a mysterious but certain death – was unfortunately common during the purges and atrocities of Amin’s suzerainty.
Thirty years later, Laki’s son, Duncan, intensified his quest to find his father’s body and to bring his killers to justice. Through a stroke of luck, Duncan was able to identify the actual killers, but that was not enough, he also sought wider truth; from them, but also from their superiors. The trail led to Major Yusuf Gowon, then deputy commander of the Simba Barracks, who later as a general became Amin’s Chief of Staff. But Amin’s northerners knew little about the western region where the complexities – ethnic, religious, party, personal - of Banyankole machinations defied outside comprehension. Who betrayed Laki to Amin’s regime and why?
Author Rice did a very successful job of rummaging through the history and the memories of Uganda’s last forty years. He ably recounted the reality including the climate of terror and suspicion as well as other events that marked Amin’s misrule, but he also understood the paradigm of impunity and spoils for the victors. As an outsider Rice was not automatically prejudiced to one perspective over another and he did present alternative views. Although there ultimately was a murder trial and truth was revealed, the law took its stubborn course against the backdrop of contemporary politics. Results were inconclusive both about the murder itself and also on the wider issue of justice. What is it and who is entitled to it? What does Uganda do next?
The title “The Teeth May Smile but the Heart Does not Forget” is a Kinyankole proverb whose meaning is obvious, but which assumes a greater significance when viewed against the layered strata of truth, untruth, reconciliation, hatred and justice in today’s Uganda.
On a personal note, I found this book as interesting as any I have read lately. Certainly those who know something about Uganda will find it fascinating as well. However, even readers without such background will get caught up in the superbly written, well paced story and will emerge with a better understanding of Uganda and of broader issues of morality and justice in today’s confusing world.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Poverty and Promise
This is a book review of Poverty and Promise: One Volunteer’s Experience of Kenya, written by Cindi Brown, published by Just One Voice, Surprise, AZ, 2008.
This is a heartfelt memoir of Cindi’s eight months as a volunteer assigned to the Tropical Institute of Community Health and Development (TICH) in Kisumu, Kenya. Kenya truly was an eye opener for Ms. Brown. In mid-life she left a comfortable regime at home and signed on with Volunteers in Service Overseas (I was not aware that the organization took non-U.K. citizens) for a two year stint in Kenya. She was assigned as a communications, public relations specialist to TICH, an indigenous organization that is achieving great success in bringing better health to communities in western Kenya through grassroots education and organization of health workers. Throughout the book, Ms. Brown mostly lauded, rarely criticized the institute and its personnel. Yet she found plenty of issues to write about, especially cultural differences such as how meetings were organized and conducted (beginning with prayer), a narrow focus on tasks, burdensome bureaucracy, and even in a relatively well functioning school, lack of daily urgency.
However, it was chiefly outside the institute that Ms. Brown found Africa. Kisumu was a bustling, teeming city where a mzungu lady walking around drew attention – some friendly and curious, other intimidating and threatening. Glue sniffing street children, bodacious booda booda (bicycle taxi) drivers, and those believing that she could/would solve their problems constantly called to her, sought attention, money or advice. Early on Cindi met and befriended Walter, less of a conman than most, whose heart was in the right place, i.e. trying to alleviate the plight of abandoned children. With him, Tonny and staffers from TICH, Cindi went into to slums and the rural areas to see and experience first hand the terrible poverty – no water or sanitation, plenty of disease, inadequate shelter, lack of clothing, no schooling, etc. – that was the plight of the poor. She attended funerals of those who died of AIDS and witnessed the horror that malady has visited upon Kenyans.
In a rather odd inclusion in the book, Ms. Brown detailed health ravages of a half dozen stricken individuals she visited in the Provincial (Russian) Hospital. They were all in various stages of dying from mostly preventable diseases or wounds that if properly treated early on would have posed few problems. I suppose the purpose of this section was to convince the reader that much of the issue of poverty related to the inability of a developing society to provide basic services to its citizens.
In contrast to the darker side of poverty, Ms. Brown found promise in the optimism of the people, their steadfastness and their faith. She viewed the work of TICH as enabling communities through grass roots training to conquer their own problems as well as its secondary mission of training community activists at the university level and above.
Juxtaposed amidst the daily grind of Kisumu, Ms. Brown added travelogue vignettes: one of a trip to Goma, Congo (which she found to be terribly corrupt and dangerous) for a graduation ceremony for a group of students from TICH; another chapter told of a coastal sojourn as a budget traveler in Mombasa, Malindi, Lamu and Zanzibar.
On a personal side Ms. Brown wore her feelings on her sleeve. She wrote candidly about what she saw and felt. She felt exposed and vulnerable as an outsider in Kisumu, but found some solace with new friends and especially with her Sikh landlady, a woman who also felt alone in the sea of Luo humanity. Finally, a mugging brought all these insecurities to fruition convincing Cindi to leave. Later by writing the book and dedicating the proceeds to TICH, she assuaged the guilt incurred by not completing her two year stint.
Volunteers who experienced many similar cultural encounters and those who know Kisumu will find that this book resonates strongly, but others too who understand poverty and are looking for ways to conquer it will find the book interesting.
Poverty and Promise reads a bit like the diaries and letters it was drawn from, but that was expected. Spellings of some Swahili and Luo words (askari and erokamano) are wrong, but Arizona editors were probably not conversant in those languages.
This is a heartfelt memoir of Cindi’s eight months as a volunteer assigned to the Tropical Institute of Community Health and Development (TICH) in Kisumu, Kenya. Kenya truly was an eye opener for Ms. Brown. In mid-life she left a comfortable regime at home and signed on with Volunteers in Service Overseas (I was not aware that the organization took non-U.K. citizens) for a two year stint in Kenya. She was assigned as a communications, public relations specialist to TICH, an indigenous organization that is achieving great success in bringing better health to communities in western Kenya through grassroots education and organization of health workers. Throughout the book, Ms. Brown mostly lauded, rarely criticized the institute and its personnel. Yet she found plenty of issues to write about, especially cultural differences such as how meetings were organized and conducted (beginning with prayer), a narrow focus on tasks, burdensome bureaucracy, and even in a relatively well functioning school, lack of daily urgency.
However, it was chiefly outside the institute that Ms. Brown found Africa. Kisumu was a bustling, teeming city where a mzungu lady walking around drew attention – some friendly and curious, other intimidating and threatening. Glue sniffing street children, bodacious booda booda (bicycle taxi) drivers, and those believing that she could/would solve their problems constantly called to her, sought attention, money or advice. Early on Cindi met and befriended Walter, less of a conman than most, whose heart was in the right place, i.e. trying to alleviate the plight of abandoned children. With him, Tonny and staffers from TICH, Cindi went into to slums and the rural areas to see and experience first hand the terrible poverty – no water or sanitation, plenty of disease, inadequate shelter, lack of clothing, no schooling, etc. – that was the plight of the poor. She attended funerals of those who died of AIDS and witnessed the horror that malady has visited upon Kenyans.
In a rather odd inclusion in the book, Ms. Brown detailed health ravages of a half dozen stricken individuals she visited in the Provincial (Russian) Hospital. They were all in various stages of dying from mostly preventable diseases or wounds that if properly treated early on would have posed few problems. I suppose the purpose of this section was to convince the reader that much of the issue of poverty related to the inability of a developing society to provide basic services to its citizens.
In contrast to the darker side of poverty, Ms. Brown found promise in the optimism of the people, their steadfastness and their faith. She viewed the work of TICH as enabling communities through grass roots training to conquer their own problems as well as its secondary mission of training community activists at the university level and above.
Juxtaposed amidst the daily grind of Kisumu, Ms. Brown added travelogue vignettes: one of a trip to Goma, Congo (which she found to be terribly corrupt and dangerous) for a graduation ceremony for a group of students from TICH; another chapter told of a coastal sojourn as a budget traveler in Mombasa, Malindi, Lamu and Zanzibar.
On a personal side Ms. Brown wore her feelings on her sleeve. She wrote candidly about what she saw and felt. She felt exposed and vulnerable as an outsider in Kisumu, but found some solace with new friends and especially with her Sikh landlady, a woman who also felt alone in the sea of Luo humanity. Finally, a mugging brought all these insecurities to fruition convincing Cindi to leave. Later by writing the book and dedicating the proceeds to TICH, she assuaged the guilt incurred by not completing her two year stint.
Volunteers who experienced many similar cultural encounters and those who know Kisumu will find that this book resonates strongly, but others too who understand poverty and are looking for ways to conquer it will find the book interesting.
Poverty and Promise reads a bit like the diaries and letters it was drawn from, but that was expected. Spellings of some Swahili and Luo words (askari and erokamano) are wrong, but Arizona editors were probably not conversant in those languages.
I Remember a Gift
Following is an expanded version of this vingette, an earlier copy of which was posted on this site a couple of years ago. This version was published in the January 2010 edition of the Foreign Service Journal.
I remember a gift. In 1986 as deputy director in the Office of East African Affairs. I was making a tour of U.S. embassies in the parish. 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. That conflict had been compounded by drought and famine. 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.
A dusty, hot half-day’s drive from the capital, 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. We wove in and out little lanes between the stick huts. 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. It had little more than a blackboard, but children sat in rapt attention as their teacher lectured, then they recited back. Outside the small clinic the day’s clients – pregnant women, wailing babies and those worn with the ills of the region - waited patiently. Inside, several refugee nurses dispensed what care they could. They proudly proclaimed that childhood immunizations were up to date. Flies buzzed incessantly.
Elders bemoaned their plight: their suffering from war and famine, their flight from their homes, especially their loss of goats and camels. They noted youths were bored in the nothingness of the camp and all were stymied by the inability to look ahead. They were compelled to live day-by-day. Of course, they asked for America’s help, especially in rectifying conditions in Ethiopia so that they might be able to go home.
However, the camp committee was most anxious that I see their newly acquired well, water pump – provided by a grant from the U.S. government - 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 on the slope of the valley in a region where not a single blade of vegetation was 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.
I remember a gift. In 1986 as deputy director in the Office of East African Affairs. I was making a tour of U.S. embassies in the parish. 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. That conflict had been compounded by drought and famine. 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.
A dusty, hot half-day’s drive from the capital, 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. We wove in and out little lanes between the stick huts. 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. It had little more than a blackboard, but children sat in rapt attention as their teacher lectured, then they recited back. Outside the small clinic the day’s clients – pregnant women, wailing babies and those worn with the ills of the region - waited patiently. Inside, several refugee nurses dispensed what care they could. They proudly proclaimed that childhood immunizations were up to date. Flies buzzed incessantly.
Elders bemoaned their plight: their suffering from war and famine, their flight from their homes, especially their loss of goats and camels. They noted youths were bored in the nothingness of the camp and all were stymied by the inability to look ahead. They were compelled to live day-by-day. Of course, they asked for America’s help, especially in rectifying conditions in Ethiopia so that they might be able to go home.
However, the camp committee was most anxious that I see their newly acquired well, water pump – provided by a grant from the U.S. government - 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 on the slope of the valley in a region where not a single blade of vegetation was 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.
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Killing Neighbors - Webs of Violence in Rwanda
A book review of Killing Neighbors – Webs of Violence in Rwanda, By Lee Ann Fujii. Published by Cornell University Press, Ithaca, NY, 2009.
This is a scholarly tome that investigates individual motives behind the 1994 Rwandan genocide. Professor Fujii started with the premise that ethnic hatred, ethnic fear, or both, were key to enticing individuals to participate in the killings. Although she noted and elaborated on the facts that the overall climate that fostered genocide repeatedly stressed such themes, Ms. Fujii did not find those motivations operating at the individual level. Instead she discovered a complex web of motivations that varied from individual to individual.
The methodology of the research was to interview dozens of people from two separate hillsides (communities); one in the north where the civil war that preceded the genocide was fought and the other in the central zone that saw no violence until the genocide began. Many of those interviewed were prisoners who had plead guilty and were incarcerated for genocide activities. Presumably they spoke the truth because they nothing to hide. Others interviewed were family members of killers as well as survivors.
First there were differentiations by Hutu killers between Tutsi they knew, i.e. friends and neighbors, and those who were not known. Hutu killing mobs were always that - mobs. They were invariably groups that acted in concert where the power of collectiveness was overwhelming. Professor Fujii recorded no instances where one individual killed another. To the contrary when one-on-one encounters were described, respondents said that they warned the potential victim of danger.
Dr. Fujii found that familial and social ties were instrumental in compelling participation in killing groups. Individuals were usually brought in by local authorities or relatives, but some were recruited by peers. Some joined willingly, others were shamed into participation or intimidated into joining. Few envisaged booty and little was realized. Mostly Fujii concluded it was group dynamics that stoked the fires of genocide and kept them burning. Individuals who would not (and did not) act on their own became swept up in the group objective of elimination of the Tutsi.
Overall the book makes an important contribution into understanding genocide in Rwanda, but does it shed light on tribal violence elsewhere, in Kenya for example? Professor Fujii makes no extrapolation to that effect, but I will. First I would argue that the overall climate conducive to tribal violence in Kenya was similar, i.e. a perception of wrongs (in Kenya mostly having to do with land and other favoritisms) on the part of certain tribes with regard to others, plus the fear that such wrongs would only increase. A key difference was that the Kenyan national authorities were essentially seen as those in the wrong (the Kikuyu), thus the state did not advocate “ethnic cleansing.” Nonetheless, Kenyans, I believe, harbored a stronger sense of ethnic fear than did Rwandans and I suspect that was a motivation for participation in violence. However, the phenomenon of group dynamics was probably very much the same. Once enlisted in a mob, individual morals dropped aside and churches were burned, houses torched, people beaten and families chased from their homes and farms.
Overall, the scary conclusion from this study is that we, and our societies, live a lot closer to edge than we might suppose. We do not operate much from atavistic hatreds, but instead in response to current political events. It behooves us therefore to choose leaders that eschew tribal, ethnic, racial or religious differentiation in favor of inclusiveness. We must do so in order that our multifaceted societies can prosper.
This is a scholarly tome that investigates individual motives behind the 1994 Rwandan genocide. Professor Fujii started with the premise that ethnic hatred, ethnic fear, or both, were key to enticing individuals to participate in the killings. Although she noted and elaborated on the facts that the overall climate that fostered genocide repeatedly stressed such themes, Ms. Fujii did not find those motivations operating at the individual level. Instead she discovered a complex web of motivations that varied from individual to individual.
The methodology of the research was to interview dozens of people from two separate hillsides (communities); one in the north where the civil war that preceded the genocide was fought and the other in the central zone that saw no violence until the genocide began. Many of those interviewed were prisoners who had plead guilty and were incarcerated for genocide activities. Presumably they spoke the truth because they nothing to hide. Others interviewed were family members of killers as well as survivors.
First there were differentiations by Hutu killers between Tutsi they knew, i.e. friends and neighbors, and those who were not known. Hutu killing mobs were always that - mobs. They were invariably groups that acted in concert where the power of collectiveness was overwhelming. Professor Fujii recorded no instances where one individual killed another. To the contrary when one-on-one encounters were described, respondents said that they warned the potential victim of danger.
Dr. Fujii found that familial and social ties were instrumental in compelling participation in killing groups. Individuals were usually brought in by local authorities or relatives, but some were recruited by peers. Some joined willingly, others were shamed into participation or intimidated into joining. Few envisaged booty and little was realized. Mostly Fujii concluded it was group dynamics that stoked the fires of genocide and kept them burning. Individuals who would not (and did not) act on their own became swept up in the group objective of elimination of the Tutsi.
Overall the book makes an important contribution into understanding genocide in Rwanda, but does it shed light on tribal violence elsewhere, in Kenya for example? Professor Fujii makes no extrapolation to that effect, but I will. First I would argue that the overall climate conducive to tribal violence in Kenya was similar, i.e. a perception of wrongs (in Kenya mostly having to do with land and other favoritisms) on the part of certain tribes with regard to others, plus the fear that such wrongs would only increase. A key difference was that the Kenyan national authorities were essentially seen as those in the wrong (the Kikuyu), thus the state did not advocate “ethnic cleansing.” Nonetheless, Kenyans, I believe, harbored a stronger sense of ethnic fear than did Rwandans and I suspect that was a motivation for participation in violence. However, the phenomenon of group dynamics was probably very much the same. Once enlisted in a mob, individual morals dropped aside and churches were burned, houses torched, people beaten and families chased from their homes and farms.
Overall, the scary conclusion from this study is that we, and our societies, live a lot closer to edge than we might suppose. We do not operate much from atavistic hatreds, but instead in response to current political events. It behooves us therefore to choose leaders that eschew tribal, ethnic, racial or religious differentiation in favor of inclusiveness. We must do so in order that our multifaceted societies can prosper.
Friday, October 30, 2009
An Expensive Education
Book review of a novel by Nick McDonell, Atlantic Monthly Press, NY, 2009.
The action in this novel unrolls in East Africa and Cambridge, Massachusetts. It is kind of an odd amalgam, but the story moves on in a satisfactory fashion and keeps the reader engaged.
Misperception, trust and betrayal are the core issues investigated. The tale begins with an armed attack on a Somali village that the protagonist, a newly minted CIA officer, seems to have unwontedly instigated. Following is a series of intrigues as he and others try to unravel the mystery of the motives for the massacre and who did it. Other characters include a Harvard academic, a brilliant Somali student - who happens to have had relatives in the village Рhis society coed girl friend, a jaundiced CIA chief and a panoply of various hangers-on. Although some characters have substance to them, most are fairly shallow as befits the speedy pace of the story. I thought the hero was a bit too perfect. His basic flaw was naivet̩.
On the one hand the novel is a spy thriller, but on another it is a satirical portrayal of Harvard – its politics, student life, clubs and old boy networks. As such the book appeals to Harvard insiders, but these aspects of it leave the rest of us a bit perplexed. The East African scenario appealed to me and by and large I found descriptions accurate. Author McDonell noted in a forward that he distorted tribes and geography, which he indeed did; shrinking distances and using wrong names for people of this or that tribe. I doubt, however, that many readers will catch these discrepancies. In one instance, however, he relates an incident in Nairobi and later refers to it as having occurred in Khartoum. Maybe he was just trying to see if we were alert?
Don’t read this book for political insight into the complex politics of terrorism, Somalia or Kenya. Nor should you believe that it accurately reflects how the CIA operates. Yet with those disclaimers, it remains a good yarn.
The action in this novel unrolls in East Africa and Cambridge, Massachusetts. It is kind of an odd amalgam, but the story moves on in a satisfactory fashion and keeps the reader engaged.
Misperception, trust and betrayal are the core issues investigated. The tale begins with an armed attack on a Somali village that the protagonist, a newly minted CIA officer, seems to have unwontedly instigated. Following is a series of intrigues as he and others try to unravel the mystery of the motives for the massacre and who did it. Other characters include a Harvard academic, a brilliant Somali student - who happens to have had relatives in the village Рhis society coed girl friend, a jaundiced CIA chief and a panoply of various hangers-on. Although some characters have substance to them, most are fairly shallow as befits the speedy pace of the story. I thought the hero was a bit too perfect. His basic flaw was naivet̩.
On the one hand the novel is a spy thriller, but on another it is a satirical portrayal of Harvard – its politics, student life, clubs and old boy networks. As such the book appeals to Harvard insiders, but these aspects of it leave the rest of us a bit perplexed. The East African scenario appealed to me and by and large I found descriptions accurate. Author McDonell noted in a forward that he distorted tribes and geography, which he indeed did; shrinking distances and using wrong names for people of this or that tribe. I doubt, however, that many readers will catch these discrepancies. In one instance, however, he relates an incident in Nairobi and later refers to it as having occurred in Khartoum. Maybe he was just trying to see if we were alert?
Don’t read this book for political insight into the complex politics of terrorism, Somalia or Kenya. Nor should you believe that it accurately reflects how the CIA operates. Yet with those disclaimers, it remains a good yarn.
Wildflower - An Extraordinary Life and Untimely Death in Africa
Book review of a biography by Mark Seal,Random House, NY, 2009.
The sub-title pretty well says it all; another vibrant, activist, female conservationist murdered by parties unknown - presumably because she thwarted their economic/political interests. Film maker and conservationist Joan Root’s story is a sad one from beginning to end and the maudlin aspects of it are drawn out by author Seal. Her life story has soap operatic aspects which Seal milked for all they’re worth.
Without doubt Ms. Root’s untimely demise – she was murdered in her bedroom by contract killers in early 2006 – provides the premise and the denouement for the biography that Seal assembled. Recounted in detail, Seal described Joan as a gentle shy soul who searched for meaning and mission in life. Initially she found both in marriage to Alan Root. An indispensable partner she collaborated with him in the production of a long list of wildlife films that patiently and conscientiously detailed animals and events. Films included studies of lions, hippos, termites, gorillas, hornbills in a baobab tree, a balloon over Kilimanjaro and a dry season. The list goes on, but Joan was the producer, the organizer and the muse that kindled Alan’s filmmaking genius. The two won worldwide renown.
Despite their professional collaboration, after some years, Alan’s wandering eye led him to another woman. Abandonment – which was never total as the two continued to work together for a time and communicated for years afterwards - sent Joan into a downward spiral. She only rallied when she found a new mission: saving Lake Naivasha from the scourge of fish and animal poaching and pollution from Kenya’s burgeoning flower industry. Joan’s 88 acre estate on the lake was threatened by interlopers and fish poachers in the 1990s and 2000s as the population of the area exploded on account of the rapid expansion of the flower industry. Although the hot houses and intensely cultivated fields flushed chemical runoff into the lake, it was really the quintupled human population that pressured the lake. Excrement from pit latrines found its way into the water table, but non-employed young men (women were preferred by the flower growers for their more delicate fingers) found outlets in seining illegally for the smallest fish, poaching wild animals that traditionally visited the lake and in crime. The European estates that ringed the lake were trespassed upon and targeted.
Joan’s efforts to halt these threats to “her” lake (and property) drew her into a whirlpool of conspiracy and quasi-legal violence designed to reduce illegal activities. Clearly (in retrospect) Joan was in over her head. Instead of managing the process she became swept up in it. Ultimately as it all rotted around her, she became its victim. Should that have happened? Of course not, author Seal and Joan’s friends all offer testimony to that effect. The nobleness of her cause notwithstanding, left unanswered and unaddressed is whether mzungus like Joan should try to save Kenya from itself?
The book is an entertaining read, even though the outcome is known before the first chapter. No one has anything bad to say about Joan, but her letters and diaries reveal a bit more of her inner thoughts. I found lots of repetition about her character, but little insight into how she really functioned. She obviously did not handle men very well. Alan first and then vigilante chief David Chege walked all over her.
Author Mark Seal is a journalist and the book is, in fact, an expansion of an article written for Vanity Fair. It reads like that. It is laudatory, uncritical and designed to elicit maximum sympathy. Despite accolades to a fact checker in the acknowledgements, the reputable checker missed the evolution of Tanganyika. The book says that it is now divided into Tanzania, Rwanda and Burundi…tsk, tsk.
The sub-title pretty well says it all; another vibrant, activist, female conservationist murdered by parties unknown - presumably because she thwarted their economic/political interests. Film maker and conservationist Joan Root’s story is a sad one from beginning to end and the maudlin aspects of it are drawn out by author Seal. Her life story has soap operatic aspects which Seal milked for all they’re worth.
Without doubt Ms. Root’s untimely demise – she was murdered in her bedroom by contract killers in early 2006 – provides the premise and the denouement for the biography that Seal assembled. Recounted in detail, Seal described Joan as a gentle shy soul who searched for meaning and mission in life. Initially she found both in marriage to Alan Root. An indispensable partner she collaborated with him in the production of a long list of wildlife films that patiently and conscientiously detailed animals and events. Films included studies of lions, hippos, termites, gorillas, hornbills in a baobab tree, a balloon over Kilimanjaro and a dry season. The list goes on, but Joan was the producer, the organizer and the muse that kindled Alan’s filmmaking genius. The two won worldwide renown.
Despite their professional collaboration, after some years, Alan’s wandering eye led him to another woman. Abandonment – which was never total as the two continued to work together for a time and communicated for years afterwards - sent Joan into a downward spiral. She only rallied when she found a new mission: saving Lake Naivasha from the scourge of fish and animal poaching and pollution from Kenya’s burgeoning flower industry. Joan’s 88 acre estate on the lake was threatened by interlopers and fish poachers in the 1990s and 2000s as the population of the area exploded on account of the rapid expansion of the flower industry. Although the hot houses and intensely cultivated fields flushed chemical runoff into the lake, it was really the quintupled human population that pressured the lake. Excrement from pit latrines found its way into the water table, but non-employed young men (women were preferred by the flower growers for their more delicate fingers) found outlets in seining illegally for the smallest fish, poaching wild animals that traditionally visited the lake and in crime. The European estates that ringed the lake were trespassed upon and targeted.
Joan’s efforts to halt these threats to “her” lake (and property) drew her into a whirlpool of conspiracy and quasi-legal violence designed to reduce illegal activities. Clearly (in retrospect) Joan was in over her head. Instead of managing the process she became swept up in it. Ultimately as it all rotted around her, she became its victim. Should that have happened? Of course not, author Seal and Joan’s friends all offer testimony to that effect. The nobleness of her cause notwithstanding, left unanswered and unaddressed is whether mzungus like Joan should try to save Kenya from itself?
The book is an entertaining read, even though the outcome is known before the first chapter. No one has anything bad to say about Joan, but her letters and diaries reveal a bit more of her inner thoughts. I found lots of repetition about her character, but little insight into how she really functioned. She obviously did not handle men very well. Alan first and then vigilante chief David Chege walked all over her.
Author Mark Seal is a journalist and the book is, in fact, an expansion of an article written for Vanity Fair. It reads like that. It is laudatory, uncritical and designed to elicit maximum sympathy. Despite accolades to a fact checker in the acknowledgements, the reputable checker missed the evolution of Tanganyika. The book says that it is now divided into Tanzania, Rwanda and Burundi…tsk, tsk.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
It’s Our Turn to Eat: The Story of a Kenyan Whistle-Blower
A review of a book by Michela Wrong. Published by Harper, NY 2009.
If you only read one book about Kenya this year; this should be it. Author Michela Wrong has written the definitive exposé on how Kenya’s political elite have skewed their country’s political, economic and social system via tribalism and corruption so that it operates to their benefit, but to the detriment of the nation and the wanaichi. To flesh out this tale of greed, Wrong uses the saga of John Githongo, a respected journalist and NGO operative, who – because of his respectable credentials - was recruited into becoming Kenya’s anti-corruption czar following the election of Mwai Kibaki in 2002. Imbued with a zealous sense of purpose Githongo strove to cleanse the Augean stable mess left by the previous Moi and even Kenyatta administrations. He found, however, that no matter how noble the rhetoric, embedded practices were impervious to reform. Instead of correcting matters, the new cadre close to President Kibaki – including, as Githongo reluctantly concluded, the president himself– persisted in clever organized looting of the state. The justification for this was tribal, after years of exile while Moi reigned, it was again time for the Kikuyus “to eat.”
Even while following the story of one man’s enthusiasm and disillusionment, the author carefully dissects the Kenya polity. She notes, “The various forms of graft cannot be separated from the people’s vision of existence as a merciless contest, in which only ethnic preference offers hope of survival.” This leads to a comprehensive discussion of tribalism in particular how it is not an atavistic force arising from centuries of tribal struggle, but rather a manifestation of modernization. Colonialism, education, Christianity, urbanization, the cash economy – in fact all the elements of recent times brought Kenya’s various tribes into face-to-face competition. Whoever controlled power and the apparatus of the state were able to reward their “community” at the expense of everyone else. Thus common identity - rather than merit - became (and still is) the means of personal advancement. Up to a point, of course, looking after kith and kin is not pernicious, but Kenyans have never drawn a good line. Helping your cousins is one thing, but expanding beyond that to blatant theft coupled with denigration and stereotyping of others on account of their tribe has led to inimical politics, which have resulted in repeated rounds of tribal violence – with perhaps more to come.
Ms. Wrong made the point that urbanization in many ways de-tribalized Kenyans. Ethnic customs, language, etc. all succumbed to the polyglot mix of the cities, broader education and the impact of western culture. Kids, for example, did not speak tribal mother tongues or English or Swahili, but created “Sheng” for common communication. Identities were being forged more as “poor” or “affluent” rather than Luo or Kikuyu. Unfortunately, those evolutions were swept away in the political violence of 2007 where tribe became the sole criterion. In the aftermath of that violence, it is doubtful if Kenyans can regain the social cohesion that they previously enjoyed.
Some of the worst manifestations of tribalism and unbridled presidential power have been the scandals of Goldberg (under Moi) and Anglo Leasing (under Kibaki), in which hundreds of millions of dollars were blithely stolen from government coffers by those charged to manage resources properly for the people, i.e. the office of the president, the chief of the civil service, members of government and the judiciary. It was this latter scandal that Githongo uncovered. Most distressing for him was the fact that people he knew and trusted; lied, schemed and connived to cover up their shenanigans. When finally confronted with facts (Githongo secretly recorded conversations and ran a network of informers), they plead that it was all for the benefit of the Kikuyu “community,” in effect, it was their turn to eat. Indeed, something was very rotten in Kenya. Githongo fled for fear of his life.
The international donor community did not escape Wrong’s righteousness. The World Bank was singled out for marked failure to link new lending to reform, thus convincing Kenyans leaders that there were no real consequences for even spectacular corruption. Wrong found one hero in British High Commissioner (ambassador) Edward Clay who argued forcefully in public, and against the policy of his own government, that donors ought to hold Kenya accountable for proper management of all its resources.
Ultimately, Githongo’s story just sort of wound down, with no clear cut victory for the good guys. But the impact of the book did not stop there. Although part of the book has been serialized in the Nation, it is not available for purchase in Kenya. Booksellers apparently fear the wrath of the named. Even so, It’s Our Turn to Eat is a hot commodity. Copies are being imported privately, even apparently by USAID. Githongo’s recordings are available on the web where many Kenyans are listening. Ms. Wrong recently told a Washington audience that she had not sensationalized events, but reported even handedly. While she agreed that Githongo might better have told his own story, he was not ready when she was. He cooperated fully. Finally, as is mentioned in the book, Githongo’s daring set an example for other watchdogs and has certainly raised the bar for public scrutiny of elected officials. Evidently, thieves are more careful now, but the underlying structure of Kenyan politics which bred the system of tribal patronage and corruption has not changed. The struggle for seekers of change, fairness, truth and accountability has not ended.
Reviewed by Robert Gribbin, July 2009
If you only read one book about Kenya this year; this should be it. Author Michela Wrong has written the definitive exposé on how Kenya’s political elite have skewed their country’s political, economic and social system via tribalism and corruption so that it operates to their benefit, but to the detriment of the nation and the wanaichi. To flesh out this tale of greed, Wrong uses the saga of John Githongo, a respected journalist and NGO operative, who – because of his respectable credentials - was recruited into becoming Kenya’s anti-corruption czar following the election of Mwai Kibaki in 2002. Imbued with a zealous sense of purpose Githongo strove to cleanse the Augean stable mess left by the previous Moi and even Kenyatta administrations. He found, however, that no matter how noble the rhetoric, embedded practices were impervious to reform. Instead of correcting matters, the new cadre close to President Kibaki – including, as Githongo reluctantly concluded, the president himself– persisted in clever organized looting of the state. The justification for this was tribal, after years of exile while Moi reigned, it was again time for the Kikuyus “to eat.”
Even while following the story of one man’s enthusiasm and disillusionment, the author carefully dissects the Kenya polity. She notes, “The various forms of graft cannot be separated from the people’s vision of existence as a merciless contest, in which only ethnic preference offers hope of survival.” This leads to a comprehensive discussion of tribalism in particular how it is not an atavistic force arising from centuries of tribal struggle, but rather a manifestation of modernization. Colonialism, education, Christianity, urbanization, the cash economy – in fact all the elements of recent times brought Kenya’s various tribes into face-to-face competition. Whoever controlled power and the apparatus of the state were able to reward their “community” at the expense of everyone else. Thus common identity - rather than merit - became (and still is) the means of personal advancement. Up to a point, of course, looking after kith and kin is not pernicious, but Kenyans have never drawn a good line. Helping your cousins is one thing, but expanding beyond that to blatant theft coupled with denigration and stereotyping of others on account of their tribe has led to inimical politics, which have resulted in repeated rounds of tribal violence – with perhaps more to come.
Ms. Wrong made the point that urbanization in many ways de-tribalized Kenyans. Ethnic customs, language, etc. all succumbed to the polyglot mix of the cities, broader education and the impact of western culture. Kids, for example, did not speak tribal mother tongues or English or Swahili, but created “Sheng” for common communication. Identities were being forged more as “poor” or “affluent” rather than Luo or Kikuyu. Unfortunately, those evolutions were swept away in the political violence of 2007 where tribe became the sole criterion. In the aftermath of that violence, it is doubtful if Kenyans can regain the social cohesion that they previously enjoyed.
Some of the worst manifestations of tribalism and unbridled presidential power have been the scandals of Goldberg (under Moi) and Anglo Leasing (under Kibaki), in which hundreds of millions of dollars were blithely stolen from government coffers by those charged to manage resources properly for the people, i.e. the office of the president, the chief of the civil service, members of government and the judiciary. It was this latter scandal that Githongo uncovered. Most distressing for him was the fact that people he knew and trusted; lied, schemed and connived to cover up their shenanigans. When finally confronted with facts (Githongo secretly recorded conversations and ran a network of informers), they plead that it was all for the benefit of the Kikuyu “community,” in effect, it was their turn to eat. Indeed, something was very rotten in Kenya. Githongo fled for fear of his life.
The international donor community did not escape Wrong’s righteousness. The World Bank was singled out for marked failure to link new lending to reform, thus convincing Kenyans leaders that there were no real consequences for even spectacular corruption. Wrong found one hero in British High Commissioner (ambassador) Edward Clay who argued forcefully in public, and against the policy of his own government, that donors ought to hold Kenya accountable for proper management of all its resources.
Ultimately, Githongo’s story just sort of wound down, with no clear cut victory for the good guys. But the impact of the book did not stop there. Although part of the book has been serialized in the Nation, it is not available for purchase in Kenya. Booksellers apparently fear the wrath of the named. Even so, It’s Our Turn to Eat is a hot commodity. Copies are being imported privately, even apparently by USAID. Githongo’s recordings are available on the web where many Kenyans are listening. Ms. Wrong recently told a Washington audience that she had not sensationalized events, but reported even handedly. While she agreed that Githongo might better have told his own story, he was not ready when she was. He cooperated fully. Finally, as is mentioned in the book, Githongo’s daring set an example for other watchdogs and has certainly raised the bar for public scrutiny of elected officials. Evidently, thieves are more careful now, but the underlying structure of Kenyan politics which bred the system of tribal patronage and corruption has not changed. The struggle for seekers of change, fairness, truth and accountability has not ended.
Reviewed by Robert Gribbin, July 2009
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Why Africa Matters
This is a talk I gave at the Foreign Service Institute on June 29, 2009.
Africa is far away, little known and little connected to America or to the world, so why does it matter? Why should we be concerned with it, study it, learn its languages or be assigned there? These are good questions that merit thoughtful response.
This morning I will lay out some realities that under grid American concerns for Africa and why it behooves us to pay attention to Africa.
First, some background.
Ancestry
I can see from this group that some here have African ancestry, just as others have European or Asian. America today really is an ethnic melting pot. We are multi-ethnic, multi-hued, multi-lingual and multi-cultural. An increasing number of Americans are recent immigrants, including many from Africa. Our reality is that we are a nation formed by the peoples of the world. We have roots everywhere. This is one of our strong claims to global leadership and the responsibilities that engenders.
Culture
Often we Americans incorporate culture from other societies and when we don’t perhaps we need to learn from others’ cultural values. African culture is endowed with many positive values. I would put a sense of family at the top of the list. African families look after each other. There are lots of reciprocal obligations. Wage earners house, feed, educate and find jobs for relatives. Children are prized, in part because they represent the social security system for their parents. Africans respect their elders, include them in expanded households and care for them in old age.
President Obama learned about his Kenyan family when in his twenties. As you remember he was raised by his mother and maternal grandparents, but when he went to Kenya for the first time, he discovered he was a member of a large expanded family – grandparents, half- siblings, aunts, uncles and cousins galore. Certainly, they expect a lot from him now that he is truly a “big man.”
Africans can teach us about a slower pace of life – those of you who were Peace Corps Volunteers certainly understand this value. Africans take many minutes just to greet one and another before getting around to the business at hand. There is little rush. When things happen, they do.
Africans know how to live within their means. Perhaps this is a function of poverty – when you do not have much – you get by. But it also represents recognition that materialism is not the wherewithal of society.
Africans are connected to the land and to the cycles of the seasons. An overwhelming percentage of folks are farmers and those who aren’t are only one generation from the farm. This connectedness to nature gives Africans insight into many contemporary environmental issues.
Africans are fanatic about education. They recognize it as a way forward. Families make great sacrifices to send their children to school. And the kids reciprocate and devote themselves to their studies.
Although a certain sense of fatalism permeates African society, the counterpart to that is optimism. Africans are almost always convinced – even against potent evidence to the contrary – that things will get better. I find this an endearing quality.
Even though we think we understand cultural differences, let me tell a story that demonstrates the voids. In the Central African Republic I spoke with an American missionary from the Summer Linguistic Institute, an organization that translates the Bible into native languages around the world. I asked him how the project regarding the BaAka pygmies was going. He said not so well. The linguists often started in a new language with Bible stories such as Joseph and the coat of many colors. But they found that story did not resonate with the BaAka who had no concept of coveting nor of clothes. Similarly with David and Goliath – the BaAka were non-violent so did not relate to conflict either.
I was a peace corps volunteer in Kenya in 1969 when Americans landed on the moon. This achievement was viewed with skepticism by the young Luo tribesmen with whom I worked. Although they readily accepted that Americans could build a space ship – after all they built jet airplanes – proof of being on the moon was missing. I discovered that the needed proof revolved around the nature of and meeting with God. According to Luo religious beliefs God lived on the moon and if the astronauts had not met him – and there were no reports to that effect - then, had the trip really occurred?
History
With the exception of slavery America’s connections to Africa were fairly minimal before the mid-20th century. We do need to acknowledge that slavery as practiced for about four hundred years, both by the west and the east, with Africans as the victims was a terrible scourge that disrupted and destroyed societies throughout the continent. On the heels of slavery came colonialism, a practice that warped social, economic and political development. Thankfully, the U.S. was not a colonial power.
America secured the coast of what is now Liberia in 1820 where freed slaves and free blacks were settled from the United States. Although not a colony as such, the U.S. kept a watchful paternal eye on Liberia from that point forward. In 1836 a U.S. consulate was opened in Zanzibar. Although Europe, especially Great Britain, was much captivated by sagas of exploration in the mid-nineteenth century, it was the New York Post newspaper that employed adventurer Henry Morton Stanley to rescue Dr. David Livingston. He did so in 1871, thus enhancing Livingston’s erstwhile sainthood and earning Stanley himself everlasting fame.
Abyssinia came to America’s attention in the 1930s when that traditionally independent kingdom was brutally annexed by Mussolini. Young Emperor Halie Selassie’s appeals to the League of Nations sparked interest in Africa; interest in self-determination that foreshadowed the independence struggles that were to come a generation later. Yet at this time for most Americans Africa equated to Tarzan, King Solomon’s Mines, The African Queen and other popular literature that portrayed Africans in subservient or racist terms.
During World War Two, Africa became a crucial supplier of raw materials for the allied effort such as rubber for tires, pyrethrum for insecticide, sisal for ropes and even uranium for the first atomic bombs.
The wave of independence that began in Ghana and Guinea in the late 1950s and swept most of the continent by the mid-sixties caused a new look at the Africa. In the midst of the debacle in the Congo in 1961, President Kennedy recognized that African nationalism was not necessarily anti-Americanism or pro-communism. We established diplomatic relations with virtually every nation upon the achievement of independence and, with USAID, the Peace Corps and other policies sought to build new relationships. Yet the Cold War intruded into Africa as U.S. policy was shaped by fears of Soviet or Chinese influence. Africa’s response to the world contest was to opt out. The Organization of African Unity was created in 1963 for mutual support among African states with one objective being precisely to forge a neutral path between the east and the west.
With this background in mind, let’s fast forward and ask - Where is Africa Today?
Most of Africa is doing quite okay. Nations are vaguely democratic, politically stable, socially at peace and making satisfactory economic progress. A number of wars have ended in recent years and there is reason for cautious optimism that other conflicts might be subsiding.
Economics
Africa has always been an exporter – of people and of commodities – slaves, ivory, coffee, coco, peanuts, palm oil, pineapples, mangoes, sisal, mangrove poles and more recently fresh cut flowers for European markets. Africa also sends minerals to world markets– copper, gold, diamonds, uranium, bauxite, iron ore and more recently coltan used in your cell phones. Oil has become the motor of economies in Nigeria, Angola, Equatorial Guinea, Chad, Gabon, Republic of the Congo and Sudan. Lesser amounts are found elsewhere. Africa now accounts for about 20 percent of U.S. imports and the figure continues to rise.
Oil is both a blessing and a curse. Obviously it provides sorely needed revenues, but sadly much oil derived income has been stolen or squandered. Rather than the breadbasket of the past, Nigeria today, for example, is a net importer of food. Additionally, Nigeria is awash with money and has become one of the most corrupt nations on the planet. The leadership of Chad has diverted oil revenues into armaments. In neighboring Sudan, oil monies fueled massacres in Darfur. Issues of control of Sudan’s oil fields risks reigniting the southern war as well. Equatorial Guinea, long ruled by a family of bizarre autocrats, remains one of the continent’s egregious abusers of human rights.
Elsewhere , even though the modern sectors of economies show diversity – more manufacturing, textile production, expanded tourism and even high tech call centers -bad economic policies, small markets, inadequate transportation assets and poor industrial infrastructure plus lots of debt conspire to retard progress. Population growth often outpaces economic growth. Thus, even statistically, it is very tough to get ahead.
The vast majority of Africans comprise some of the bottom billion – those citizens of the world mired in poverty who largely practice subsistence agriculture or increasingly make-do in the vast shanty towns of the third world’s teeming cities. For them the prospects are not very promising. The challenge is to find ways to promote development at the grassroots.
Africa’s economies matter because the U.S. is connected directly to them via trade and aid. A rising tide floats all ships. More prosperity there rebounds to everyone’s benefit.
Humanitarian
Africa is a continent of man made disasters. Political conflict, bandits, piracy, war and civil war coupled with natural catastrophe especially drought, but now also AIDS, periodically wreak havoc on people across the continent. While the impact of slavery and colonial forced labor has receded, modern versions of man made horrors emerged in Liberia, Rwanda, Congo, Somalia, Sudan and Zimbabwe. Such suffering touches the conscience of America. Images of refugees, starving children, AIDS victims and frightened survivors tug at our heartstrings. To our credit we respond generously. Over two billion dollars a year flows through both public and private channels to those in need.
Unfortunately, although needs and locations change, humanitarian resources will be required in Africa for the foreseeable future. I know America will continue to respond generously.
Multilateral Politics
Even though colonialism is finished and the Cold War is over, some of their legacies persist in the international arena. African states hold 53 of the United Nations 194 seats. This gives Africa good leverage in international councils. Even though most African states are pro-western on an individual basis, collectively they adhere to shop worn non-aligned, anti-west formulas largely developed a generation ago by Cuba, India, Egypt, Indonesia and Yugoslavia. U.S. efforts to crack this outdated “unity” will be part of your diplomatic assignment.
African states sometimes are and have the potential to be solid partners in helping to advance America’s global agenda, be it nuclear non-proliferation, human rights, democracy or free trade.
Security
Security issues loom high on lists of concerns in Africa. Obviously security is prerequisite for domestic harmony, economic growth and political evolution, all of which are in our interest. Yet the threats to peace are many. Most threats are home grown as is the case in Nigeria, Zimbabwe or Sudan relating to who is going to control the political/economic pie. While the U.S. does not want to dictate outcomes per se, we do seek an end to internal conflict and cross border violence. To this end we cajole, negotiate and strive to convince all concerned to sort out difficulties in a peaceful fashion. In addition to moral suasion, our latest big stick is AFRICOM, the utility of which is diminished in this regard because we state upfront that the U.S. is never going to war in Africa.
International peacekeeping has been a growth industry in Africa. By informal count there are now UN Peace Keeping Operations in Sudan, Congo, Chad, Central African Republic, Eritrea and Ethiopia. There are remnants of operations in Sierra Leone, Liberia and Burundi. An African Union operation is also underway in Somalia. Obviously, it is in our interest to support international peacekeeping efforts and to involve as many Africans nations as possible in keeping the peace in Africa.
Perpetrators of international terrorism have struck repeatedly in Africa killing Americans in Khartoum, Nairobi and Dar es Salaam. They have attacked locals and foreigners elsewhere and plotted virtually everywhere. Reining in terrorism is an intelligence rather than a military function and one to which increasing resources are being devoted by both the United States and African governments.
Piracy and hostage taking for profit plague the Somali coast and the Niger delta. Oil bunkering, that is large scale theft, also troubles oil production in the Gulf of Guinea.
Columbian and Nigerian drug cartels appear to have taken control of the nation of Guinea Bissau. This exemplifies the risk that poorly governed corrupt or un-governed states pose to the rest of the world.
Environment
Africa boasts some of the planet’s most pristine regions, for example the vast forests of the Congo basin, huge fresh water lakes and mighty rivers, snow clad peaks and game filled plains. Yet most of the continent is dry – the Sahara and Kalahari deserts take up about a third of the land area. Water is the key – often missing commodity – across much of the continent. Climate change that brings more drought and with it expanded local conflict for arable land will further devastate already fragile regions.
Should Africa be allowed to rape her lands for profit? Or worse, let foreigners do it?
The issues at stake are how to strike the balance, to preserve that which needs preserving and to exploit in a responsible fashion that which can be productively used.
U.S. priorities
Assistant Secretary Johnnie Carson identified four American priorities in Africa during his recent confirmation hearing. They are: democracy; conflict mitigation; economic growth and combating global threats.
Let’s look at them in turn.
Africa does have an improving democratic track record. 12 of 48 Sub-Saharan nations are listed by Freedom House as fully free and 23 as partially free. But there is a lot of work to be done, especially in instituting a rule of law and fostering more institutional independence from powerful national executives. Who controls power and how it is exercised and who can take power legitimately or otherwise, are elements in assessing the status of democracy in any given nation.
The U.S. has been on the front lines of promoting democracy. We’ve supported civil society, helped finance and monitor elections and encouraged a sense of accountability. When I was ambassador in the Central African Republic in 1992, we were deeply involved in facilitating free and fair elections. However, about a week before the voting while I was eating breakfast on the veranda, I spotted a big snake in the frangipangi tree nearby. I retreated inside and notified my staff. At lunch the gardeners proudly presented the 8 foot long carcass of a black mamba. By late afternoon word was circulating around town that President Kolingba was irritated with the coming elections and U.S. advocacy of them; consequently he used his magic to send a snake to kill the U.S. ambassador, but the ambassador’s magic was stronger. He defeated Kolingba, so the elections would go ahead and Kolingba would lose.
In those elections Kolingba, the incumbent president, came in fourth, then tried to manipulate the results after the fact. However, the system in place proved resilient and his attempt to thwart the popular will was rebuffed. Later in the same nation, Parliament having been trained in responsibilities by a National Endowment for Democracy team, summoned the Prime Minister for a reckoning. Rather than comply, he resigned. Members of Parliament repeatedly thanked me for teaching them how to operate their own system.
We should not under estimate the impact in Africa of President Obama’s election. Clearly, being a son of Africa, he was the popular favorite, but beyond that his victory was seen as evidence that change, real change is possible via the ballot box. I was in Chad last November where there was great rejoicing, especially amongst students – plus and goat and gazelle delivered to the embassy as gifts to the new president. Yet the dictatorial government there was reluctant to let the students march in celebration lest their enthusiasm for Obama’s victory morph into demands for local change.
Later the Obama lesson was taken to heart by voters in Ghana who themselves voted out an incumbent party. Additionally, emboldened by Obama’s example, Kenyans are adamant that the debacle of their flawed 2007 election won’t be repeated.
This is the way democracy policy is supposed to work.
Nigeria’s election of 2007 was another matter. The vote was a fraud from the beginning. Thousands of precincts that reported tallies never opened. Elsewhere the national result was rigged. Yet some local races were legitimate, but only in Nigeria could candidate run on the theme that he was less corrupt than his opponent. At the national level outgoing president Obasanjo’s anointed successor Yar’Adua prevailed. His taking of the office might have avoided a military coup d’etat or widespread communal violence, but he was certainly not freely and fairly elected. But the U.S. – fearing negative consequences for oil production and retrenchment from Nigeria’s positive regional role – opted to mildly criticize the election and to quietly accept the result. Similarly, we have let broader interests predominate in flawed democratic processes in Kenya and Zimbabwe.
Conflict mitigation. Conflict is the big bugaboo in Africa. Although focusing on it is worthwhile and noble, solving the problems of Somalia, Sudan and Congo is not unilaterally possible and anything but easy. Last week’s conference on Sudan is a case in point. It provided a valuable reaffirmation that the Comprehensive Peace Agreement is the solution to the Southern war, but gave little direction in dealing anew with Darfur. Rather, there has been a public washing of American laundry on whether or not genocide continues to be practiced.
I note with consternation that reports of U.S. shipments of munitions to pro-government forces in Somalia do not seem to accord with a posture of dialogue as the policy of choice in dealing with conflict.
Furthermore, I posit that AFRICOM is no help in these situations and should not be. Conflicts are political African issues that must be hammered out by Africans, certainly with support, encouragement, even mediation by outsiders, but without military intervention, especially from the United States.
Economic Growth. Renewed American focus on economic growth is welcome. Even though some of our numbers look good, the reality is that we ought to do much more and in a much more effective fashion. Sadly, we have viable assistance programs in less than half of the African nations. USAID needs reinvigoration and new direction. The myriad of U.S.G. activities need to be better coordinated. Impediments to agricultural trade need rethinking.
Global scourges – AIDS and malaria, climate change, food insecurity, narcotics, maritime insecurity and terrorism are all on the U.S. agenda. Several of these issues respond to money, where we have been very forthcoming, others require political, economic and security commitments that are not yet in sight.
In summary, Africa does matter to the United States. We have obligations, responsibilities and opportunities. Some are obviously directly in our self interest, others more altruistic in nature. However, we are all on this planet together and as it gets smaller and more densely populated, the dominoes fall faster and the butterfly effect registers sooner. What happens in Africa does impact on our well being in America. We need to be cognizant of that and to be proactive in assuring the best possible outcomes.
That is where you come in. As U.S. diplomats on the front lines in Africa or focusing on African issues in Washington you will have the task to formulate how the rubber meets the road, how we implement and sustain our policies and objectives. In short, how we make Africa matter to us and us to Africa.
Good luck.
Africa is far away, little known and little connected to America or to the world, so why does it matter? Why should we be concerned with it, study it, learn its languages or be assigned there? These are good questions that merit thoughtful response.
This morning I will lay out some realities that under grid American concerns for Africa and why it behooves us to pay attention to Africa.
First, some background.
Ancestry
I can see from this group that some here have African ancestry, just as others have European or Asian. America today really is an ethnic melting pot. We are multi-ethnic, multi-hued, multi-lingual and multi-cultural. An increasing number of Americans are recent immigrants, including many from Africa. Our reality is that we are a nation formed by the peoples of the world. We have roots everywhere. This is one of our strong claims to global leadership and the responsibilities that engenders.
Culture
Often we Americans incorporate culture from other societies and when we don’t perhaps we need to learn from others’ cultural values. African culture is endowed with many positive values. I would put a sense of family at the top of the list. African families look after each other. There are lots of reciprocal obligations. Wage earners house, feed, educate and find jobs for relatives. Children are prized, in part because they represent the social security system for their parents. Africans respect their elders, include them in expanded households and care for them in old age.
President Obama learned about his Kenyan family when in his twenties. As you remember he was raised by his mother and maternal grandparents, but when he went to Kenya for the first time, he discovered he was a member of a large expanded family – grandparents, half- siblings, aunts, uncles and cousins galore. Certainly, they expect a lot from him now that he is truly a “big man.”
Africans can teach us about a slower pace of life – those of you who were Peace Corps Volunteers certainly understand this value. Africans take many minutes just to greet one and another before getting around to the business at hand. There is little rush. When things happen, they do.
Africans know how to live within their means. Perhaps this is a function of poverty – when you do not have much – you get by. But it also represents recognition that materialism is not the wherewithal of society.
Africans are connected to the land and to the cycles of the seasons. An overwhelming percentage of folks are farmers and those who aren’t are only one generation from the farm. This connectedness to nature gives Africans insight into many contemporary environmental issues.
Africans are fanatic about education. They recognize it as a way forward. Families make great sacrifices to send their children to school. And the kids reciprocate and devote themselves to their studies.
Although a certain sense of fatalism permeates African society, the counterpart to that is optimism. Africans are almost always convinced – even against potent evidence to the contrary – that things will get better. I find this an endearing quality.
Even though we think we understand cultural differences, let me tell a story that demonstrates the voids. In the Central African Republic I spoke with an American missionary from the Summer Linguistic Institute, an organization that translates the Bible into native languages around the world. I asked him how the project regarding the BaAka pygmies was going. He said not so well. The linguists often started in a new language with Bible stories such as Joseph and the coat of many colors. But they found that story did not resonate with the BaAka who had no concept of coveting nor of clothes. Similarly with David and Goliath – the BaAka were non-violent so did not relate to conflict either.
I was a peace corps volunteer in Kenya in 1969 when Americans landed on the moon. This achievement was viewed with skepticism by the young Luo tribesmen with whom I worked. Although they readily accepted that Americans could build a space ship – after all they built jet airplanes – proof of being on the moon was missing. I discovered that the needed proof revolved around the nature of and meeting with God. According to Luo religious beliefs God lived on the moon and if the astronauts had not met him – and there were no reports to that effect - then, had the trip really occurred?
History
With the exception of slavery America’s connections to Africa were fairly minimal before the mid-20th century. We do need to acknowledge that slavery as practiced for about four hundred years, both by the west and the east, with Africans as the victims was a terrible scourge that disrupted and destroyed societies throughout the continent. On the heels of slavery came colonialism, a practice that warped social, economic and political development. Thankfully, the U.S. was not a colonial power.
America secured the coast of what is now Liberia in 1820 where freed slaves and free blacks were settled from the United States. Although not a colony as such, the U.S. kept a watchful paternal eye on Liberia from that point forward. In 1836 a U.S. consulate was opened in Zanzibar. Although Europe, especially Great Britain, was much captivated by sagas of exploration in the mid-nineteenth century, it was the New York Post newspaper that employed adventurer Henry Morton Stanley to rescue Dr. David Livingston. He did so in 1871, thus enhancing Livingston’s erstwhile sainthood and earning Stanley himself everlasting fame.
Abyssinia came to America’s attention in the 1930s when that traditionally independent kingdom was brutally annexed by Mussolini. Young Emperor Halie Selassie’s appeals to the League of Nations sparked interest in Africa; interest in self-determination that foreshadowed the independence struggles that were to come a generation later. Yet at this time for most Americans Africa equated to Tarzan, King Solomon’s Mines, The African Queen and other popular literature that portrayed Africans in subservient or racist terms.
During World War Two, Africa became a crucial supplier of raw materials for the allied effort such as rubber for tires, pyrethrum for insecticide, sisal for ropes and even uranium for the first atomic bombs.
The wave of independence that began in Ghana and Guinea in the late 1950s and swept most of the continent by the mid-sixties caused a new look at the Africa. In the midst of the debacle in the Congo in 1961, President Kennedy recognized that African nationalism was not necessarily anti-Americanism or pro-communism. We established diplomatic relations with virtually every nation upon the achievement of independence and, with USAID, the Peace Corps and other policies sought to build new relationships. Yet the Cold War intruded into Africa as U.S. policy was shaped by fears of Soviet or Chinese influence. Africa’s response to the world contest was to opt out. The Organization of African Unity was created in 1963 for mutual support among African states with one objective being precisely to forge a neutral path between the east and the west.
With this background in mind, let’s fast forward and ask - Where is Africa Today?
Most of Africa is doing quite okay. Nations are vaguely democratic, politically stable, socially at peace and making satisfactory economic progress. A number of wars have ended in recent years and there is reason for cautious optimism that other conflicts might be subsiding.
Economics
Africa has always been an exporter – of people and of commodities – slaves, ivory, coffee, coco, peanuts, palm oil, pineapples, mangoes, sisal, mangrove poles and more recently fresh cut flowers for European markets. Africa also sends minerals to world markets– copper, gold, diamonds, uranium, bauxite, iron ore and more recently coltan used in your cell phones. Oil has become the motor of economies in Nigeria, Angola, Equatorial Guinea, Chad, Gabon, Republic of the Congo and Sudan. Lesser amounts are found elsewhere. Africa now accounts for about 20 percent of U.S. imports and the figure continues to rise.
Oil is both a blessing and a curse. Obviously it provides sorely needed revenues, but sadly much oil derived income has been stolen or squandered. Rather than the breadbasket of the past, Nigeria today, for example, is a net importer of food. Additionally, Nigeria is awash with money and has become one of the most corrupt nations on the planet. The leadership of Chad has diverted oil revenues into armaments. In neighboring Sudan, oil monies fueled massacres in Darfur. Issues of control of Sudan’s oil fields risks reigniting the southern war as well. Equatorial Guinea, long ruled by a family of bizarre autocrats, remains one of the continent’s egregious abusers of human rights.
Elsewhere , even though the modern sectors of economies show diversity – more manufacturing, textile production, expanded tourism and even high tech call centers -bad economic policies, small markets, inadequate transportation assets and poor industrial infrastructure plus lots of debt conspire to retard progress. Population growth often outpaces economic growth. Thus, even statistically, it is very tough to get ahead.
The vast majority of Africans comprise some of the bottom billion – those citizens of the world mired in poverty who largely practice subsistence agriculture or increasingly make-do in the vast shanty towns of the third world’s teeming cities. For them the prospects are not very promising. The challenge is to find ways to promote development at the grassroots.
Africa’s economies matter because the U.S. is connected directly to them via trade and aid. A rising tide floats all ships. More prosperity there rebounds to everyone’s benefit.
Humanitarian
Africa is a continent of man made disasters. Political conflict, bandits, piracy, war and civil war coupled with natural catastrophe especially drought, but now also AIDS, periodically wreak havoc on people across the continent. While the impact of slavery and colonial forced labor has receded, modern versions of man made horrors emerged in Liberia, Rwanda, Congo, Somalia, Sudan and Zimbabwe. Such suffering touches the conscience of America. Images of refugees, starving children, AIDS victims and frightened survivors tug at our heartstrings. To our credit we respond generously. Over two billion dollars a year flows through both public and private channels to those in need.
Unfortunately, although needs and locations change, humanitarian resources will be required in Africa for the foreseeable future. I know America will continue to respond generously.
Multilateral Politics
Even though colonialism is finished and the Cold War is over, some of their legacies persist in the international arena. African states hold 53 of the United Nations 194 seats. This gives Africa good leverage in international councils. Even though most African states are pro-western on an individual basis, collectively they adhere to shop worn non-aligned, anti-west formulas largely developed a generation ago by Cuba, India, Egypt, Indonesia and Yugoslavia. U.S. efforts to crack this outdated “unity” will be part of your diplomatic assignment.
African states sometimes are and have the potential to be solid partners in helping to advance America’s global agenda, be it nuclear non-proliferation, human rights, democracy or free trade.
Security
Security issues loom high on lists of concerns in Africa. Obviously security is prerequisite for domestic harmony, economic growth and political evolution, all of which are in our interest. Yet the threats to peace are many. Most threats are home grown as is the case in Nigeria, Zimbabwe or Sudan relating to who is going to control the political/economic pie. While the U.S. does not want to dictate outcomes per se, we do seek an end to internal conflict and cross border violence. To this end we cajole, negotiate and strive to convince all concerned to sort out difficulties in a peaceful fashion. In addition to moral suasion, our latest big stick is AFRICOM, the utility of which is diminished in this regard because we state upfront that the U.S. is never going to war in Africa.
International peacekeeping has been a growth industry in Africa. By informal count there are now UN Peace Keeping Operations in Sudan, Congo, Chad, Central African Republic, Eritrea and Ethiopia. There are remnants of operations in Sierra Leone, Liberia and Burundi. An African Union operation is also underway in Somalia. Obviously, it is in our interest to support international peacekeeping efforts and to involve as many Africans nations as possible in keeping the peace in Africa.
Perpetrators of international terrorism have struck repeatedly in Africa killing Americans in Khartoum, Nairobi and Dar es Salaam. They have attacked locals and foreigners elsewhere and plotted virtually everywhere. Reining in terrorism is an intelligence rather than a military function and one to which increasing resources are being devoted by both the United States and African governments.
Piracy and hostage taking for profit plague the Somali coast and the Niger delta. Oil bunkering, that is large scale theft, also troubles oil production in the Gulf of Guinea.
Columbian and Nigerian drug cartels appear to have taken control of the nation of Guinea Bissau. This exemplifies the risk that poorly governed corrupt or un-governed states pose to the rest of the world.
Environment
Africa boasts some of the planet’s most pristine regions, for example the vast forests of the Congo basin, huge fresh water lakes and mighty rivers, snow clad peaks and game filled plains. Yet most of the continent is dry – the Sahara and Kalahari deserts take up about a third of the land area. Water is the key – often missing commodity – across much of the continent. Climate change that brings more drought and with it expanded local conflict for arable land will further devastate already fragile regions.
Should Africa be allowed to rape her lands for profit? Or worse, let foreigners do it?
The issues at stake are how to strike the balance, to preserve that which needs preserving and to exploit in a responsible fashion that which can be productively used.
U.S. priorities
Assistant Secretary Johnnie Carson identified four American priorities in Africa during his recent confirmation hearing. They are: democracy; conflict mitigation; economic growth and combating global threats.
Let’s look at them in turn.
Africa does have an improving democratic track record. 12 of 48 Sub-Saharan nations are listed by Freedom House as fully free and 23 as partially free. But there is a lot of work to be done, especially in instituting a rule of law and fostering more institutional independence from powerful national executives. Who controls power and how it is exercised and who can take power legitimately or otherwise, are elements in assessing the status of democracy in any given nation.
The U.S. has been on the front lines of promoting democracy. We’ve supported civil society, helped finance and monitor elections and encouraged a sense of accountability. When I was ambassador in the Central African Republic in 1992, we were deeply involved in facilitating free and fair elections. However, about a week before the voting while I was eating breakfast on the veranda, I spotted a big snake in the frangipangi tree nearby. I retreated inside and notified my staff. At lunch the gardeners proudly presented the 8 foot long carcass of a black mamba. By late afternoon word was circulating around town that President Kolingba was irritated with the coming elections and U.S. advocacy of them; consequently he used his magic to send a snake to kill the U.S. ambassador, but the ambassador’s magic was stronger. He defeated Kolingba, so the elections would go ahead and Kolingba would lose.
In those elections Kolingba, the incumbent president, came in fourth, then tried to manipulate the results after the fact. However, the system in place proved resilient and his attempt to thwart the popular will was rebuffed. Later in the same nation, Parliament having been trained in responsibilities by a National Endowment for Democracy team, summoned the Prime Minister for a reckoning. Rather than comply, he resigned. Members of Parliament repeatedly thanked me for teaching them how to operate their own system.
We should not under estimate the impact in Africa of President Obama’s election. Clearly, being a son of Africa, he was the popular favorite, but beyond that his victory was seen as evidence that change, real change is possible via the ballot box. I was in Chad last November where there was great rejoicing, especially amongst students – plus and goat and gazelle delivered to the embassy as gifts to the new president. Yet the dictatorial government there was reluctant to let the students march in celebration lest their enthusiasm for Obama’s victory morph into demands for local change.
Later the Obama lesson was taken to heart by voters in Ghana who themselves voted out an incumbent party. Additionally, emboldened by Obama’s example, Kenyans are adamant that the debacle of their flawed 2007 election won’t be repeated.
This is the way democracy policy is supposed to work.
Nigeria’s election of 2007 was another matter. The vote was a fraud from the beginning. Thousands of precincts that reported tallies never opened. Elsewhere the national result was rigged. Yet some local races were legitimate, but only in Nigeria could candidate run on the theme that he was less corrupt than his opponent. At the national level outgoing president Obasanjo’s anointed successor Yar’Adua prevailed. His taking of the office might have avoided a military coup d’etat or widespread communal violence, but he was certainly not freely and fairly elected. But the U.S. – fearing negative consequences for oil production and retrenchment from Nigeria’s positive regional role – opted to mildly criticize the election and to quietly accept the result. Similarly, we have let broader interests predominate in flawed democratic processes in Kenya and Zimbabwe.
Conflict mitigation. Conflict is the big bugaboo in Africa. Although focusing on it is worthwhile and noble, solving the problems of Somalia, Sudan and Congo is not unilaterally possible and anything but easy. Last week’s conference on Sudan is a case in point. It provided a valuable reaffirmation that the Comprehensive Peace Agreement is the solution to the Southern war, but gave little direction in dealing anew with Darfur. Rather, there has been a public washing of American laundry on whether or not genocide continues to be practiced.
I note with consternation that reports of U.S. shipments of munitions to pro-government forces in Somalia do not seem to accord with a posture of dialogue as the policy of choice in dealing with conflict.
Furthermore, I posit that AFRICOM is no help in these situations and should not be. Conflicts are political African issues that must be hammered out by Africans, certainly with support, encouragement, even mediation by outsiders, but without military intervention, especially from the United States.
Economic Growth. Renewed American focus on economic growth is welcome. Even though some of our numbers look good, the reality is that we ought to do much more and in a much more effective fashion. Sadly, we have viable assistance programs in less than half of the African nations. USAID needs reinvigoration and new direction. The myriad of U.S.G. activities need to be better coordinated. Impediments to agricultural trade need rethinking.
Global scourges – AIDS and malaria, climate change, food insecurity, narcotics, maritime insecurity and terrorism are all on the U.S. agenda. Several of these issues respond to money, where we have been very forthcoming, others require political, economic and security commitments that are not yet in sight.
In summary, Africa does matter to the United States. We have obligations, responsibilities and opportunities. Some are obviously directly in our self interest, others more altruistic in nature. However, we are all on this planet together and as it gets smaller and more densely populated, the dominoes fall faster and the butterfly effect registers sooner. What happens in Africa does impact on our well being in America. We need to be cognizant of that and to be proactive in assuring the best possible outcomes.
That is where you come in. As U.S. diplomats on the front lines in Africa or focusing on African issues in Washington you will have the task to formulate how the rubber meets the road, how we implement and sustain our policies and objectives. In short, how we make Africa matter to us and us to Africa.
Good luck.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
The Meinertzhagen Mystery – The Life and Legend of a Colossal Fraud
Review of an expose by Brian Garfield, Potomac Books, Washington, DC 2007.
In this exhaustively researched tome, author Garfield provides evidence that Richard Meinertzhagen, Kenyan colonial official, hunter, East African WWI intelligence chief, soldier, Zionist, spy, ornithologist, diarist and well connected British gentlemen, was a fraud. Indeed faced with the documentation and discussion, readers will probably conclude that Meinertzhagen (MINE-ert-ZAHG’n) faked many escapades for which he became famous. However, he did so successfully; he was even Ian Flemming’s model for agent 007, James Bond. The reality is that Meinertzhagen was a scoundrel, a man who ensured that he wrote his own press and who freely borrowed the accomplishments of others. Even so, he was also an engaging and entertaining companion (he often provided shock value in either words or purported deeds). He counted many distinguished and high placed personalities who were fellow members of Britain’s ruling aristocracy as friends and acquaintances.
Let’s look back at the record. Meinertzhagen’s embellishments began in Kenya. As a colonial official and a military officer, he claimed responsibilities – being in charge of this or that fort, for example, that never existed - or heroic accomplishments that were anything but heroic. His early reputation as a fearless warrior arose from a 1905 massacre of Nandi leaders, including the Laibon. Meinertzhagen recounted that in the midst of a round of peace talks, the Kenyans treacherously attached their interlocutors, especially Meinertzhagen. In turn the colonial officers responded and killed 23 of the Nandis. This account was supported by other Europeans present. However, careful investigation by Garfield indicated that Meinertzhagen’s story covered up the brutal massacre of the Nandi delegation by maxim guns as they arrived at the appointed site - even before they sat down to talk.
As East African theater intelligence chief during World War I, Meinertzhagen constantly took credit for operations not his own. He earned some legitimate credit for forcefully criticizing the inept British generalship, especially at Tanga, but there again he claimed to have exchanged pistol fire personally with German General von Lettow-Vorbeck – an event that never happened. Later on an undercover operation, he claimed to have murdered a German officer and eaten the dead man’s still warm dinner. Time and again in his diaries – that were substantially re-written by himself in later years – Meinertzhagen makes himself look good. (Meinertzhagen’s Kenya Diary: 1902-1906 was republished in 1983.) Author Garfield shows that there is never corroborating evidence in any official documents or others’ accounts of the same time periods.
Meinertzhagen’s greatest (fictitious) accomplishment occurred later in the war. When attached in a relatively junior position to General Allenby’s force in Palestine, Meinertzhagen took sole credit for the daring drop of a haversack filled with false documents for the Turks to find. The documents were intended to (and probably did ) mislead the enemy as to the true intentions of the British forces. While some sort of ruse like this apparently did occur, it was planned and executed by others – not Meinertzhagen; yet he claimed and received credit for the exploit for years.
Although other events were more sensational – including the death of his wife under mysterious circumstances and a missed opportunity to assassinate Hitler – Meinertzhagen, who was an accomplished ornithologist, went to great lengths to steal bird specimens from museums and to falsify accounts of their range in his own scholarly articles. The upshot is that he individually undermined much of the legitimate ornithology of the early 20th century.
Why did he do all this? Of course, no one knows. Apparently he was driven to polish his image so as to gain fame and respect. Nonetheless, Meinertzhagen gradually fell out of favor. Winston Churchill disowned him early on, but the cocoon of privilege protected Meinertzhagen through out his life and he was never really called to answer for the extent of his fabrications and frauds. At the end he was just deemed to be an odd eccentric.
The unraveling of the fictions took years. In sorting through them, author Garfield proved to be as tenacious in debunking them as Meinertzhagen had been in creating them. Consequently, the book is an interesting study showing that while history ought to be based on corroborated empirical data, it often isn’t.
In this exhaustively researched tome, author Garfield provides evidence that Richard Meinertzhagen, Kenyan colonial official, hunter, East African WWI intelligence chief, soldier, Zionist, spy, ornithologist, diarist and well connected British gentlemen, was a fraud. Indeed faced with the documentation and discussion, readers will probably conclude that Meinertzhagen (MINE-ert-ZAHG’n) faked many escapades for which he became famous. However, he did so successfully; he was even Ian Flemming’s model for agent 007, James Bond. The reality is that Meinertzhagen was a scoundrel, a man who ensured that he wrote his own press and who freely borrowed the accomplishments of others. Even so, he was also an engaging and entertaining companion (he often provided shock value in either words or purported deeds). He counted many distinguished and high placed personalities who were fellow members of Britain’s ruling aristocracy as friends and acquaintances.
Let’s look back at the record. Meinertzhagen’s embellishments began in Kenya. As a colonial official and a military officer, he claimed responsibilities – being in charge of this or that fort, for example, that never existed - or heroic accomplishments that were anything but heroic. His early reputation as a fearless warrior arose from a 1905 massacre of Nandi leaders, including the Laibon. Meinertzhagen recounted that in the midst of a round of peace talks, the Kenyans treacherously attached their interlocutors, especially Meinertzhagen. In turn the colonial officers responded and killed 23 of the Nandis. This account was supported by other Europeans present. However, careful investigation by Garfield indicated that Meinertzhagen’s story covered up the brutal massacre of the Nandi delegation by maxim guns as they arrived at the appointed site - even before they sat down to talk.
As East African theater intelligence chief during World War I, Meinertzhagen constantly took credit for operations not his own. He earned some legitimate credit for forcefully criticizing the inept British generalship, especially at Tanga, but there again he claimed to have exchanged pistol fire personally with German General von Lettow-Vorbeck – an event that never happened. Later on an undercover operation, he claimed to have murdered a German officer and eaten the dead man’s still warm dinner. Time and again in his diaries – that were substantially re-written by himself in later years – Meinertzhagen makes himself look good. (Meinertzhagen’s Kenya Diary: 1902-1906 was republished in 1983.) Author Garfield shows that there is never corroborating evidence in any official documents or others’ accounts of the same time periods.
Meinertzhagen’s greatest (fictitious) accomplishment occurred later in the war. When attached in a relatively junior position to General Allenby’s force in Palestine, Meinertzhagen took sole credit for the daring drop of a haversack filled with false documents for the Turks to find. The documents were intended to (and probably did ) mislead the enemy as to the true intentions of the British forces. While some sort of ruse like this apparently did occur, it was planned and executed by others – not Meinertzhagen; yet he claimed and received credit for the exploit for years.
Although other events were more sensational – including the death of his wife under mysterious circumstances and a missed opportunity to assassinate Hitler – Meinertzhagen, who was an accomplished ornithologist, went to great lengths to steal bird specimens from museums and to falsify accounts of their range in his own scholarly articles. The upshot is that he individually undermined much of the legitimate ornithology of the early 20th century.
Why did he do all this? Of course, no one knows. Apparently he was driven to polish his image so as to gain fame and respect. Nonetheless, Meinertzhagen gradually fell out of favor. Winston Churchill disowned him early on, but the cocoon of privilege protected Meinertzhagen through out his life and he was never really called to answer for the extent of his fabrications and frauds. At the end he was just deemed to be an odd eccentric.
The unraveling of the fictions took years. In sorting through them, author Garfield proved to be as tenacious in debunking them as Meinertzhagen had been in creating them. Consequently, the book is an interesting study showing that while history ought to be based on corroborated empirical data, it often isn’t.
A Guide to the Birds of East Africa
Review of a novel by Nicholas Drayson; Houghton Mifflin Company, Boston, 2008
Although it sounds like a guide book, in reality this work is a novel. It is a delightfully chatty comedy of manners replete with keen insight into Nairobians of various hues. The chief protagonist is shy, retiring Mr. Malik who engages in a contest of bird watching with boisterous, obnoxious Mr. Harry Khan for the right to ask a certain lady, Rose Mbikwa, to the annual hunt ball. As the story unfolds all is not quite as it initially seemed, the characters become more complex and overlays of plot, some with sinister implications, intrude.
Those who know Kenya will find the setting accurately described. Most institutions and places are called by their correct names, but those that aren’t are easily identified from their pseudo names. With the exception of attributing the naming of Lake Victoria to Dr. Livingstone rather than John Hanning Speke, author Nicholas Drayson’s historical asides ring true, but some are obviously invented such as the reasons why Maasai wear red. The ornithological information, of which there is a lot regarding bird species and their whereabouts also appears authentic to this amateur birdwatcher, but with doubts that one could find a flamingo on Lake Victoria. Even so it was great fun to recognize names and descriptions as the chase ensued.
Even though the birds provided a mechanism to move the plot forward, it was really the commentary – pithy observations about the times or the characters that made the story interesting. Drayson certainly had a knack for encapsulating personalities and pinning down mannerisms and dialogue in a fashion that kept the reader entertained.
There are no weighty issues in this novel, but it is entertaining (and fairly short). It will certainly appeal to those who know Kenya and especially those who have tried to sort out some of its birds.
P.S. On several occasions the novel mentions favorably a training program for guides run by the Nairobi Museum. Indeed that program has produced a number of very competent (and pleasant) local guides. On a recent trip to Kenya, Steven at Ziwani Camp and Julius at Siana Springs, aptly led us to new birds, including the rare Magpie Shrike found only in Kenya near Siana.
Although it sounds like a guide book, in reality this work is a novel. It is a delightfully chatty comedy of manners replete with keen insight into Nairobians of various hues. The chief protagonist is shy, retiring Mr. Malik who engages in a contest of bird watching with boisterous, obnoxious Mr. Harry Khan for the right to ask a certain lady, Rose Mbikwa, to the annual hunt ball. As the story unfolds all is not quite as it initially seemed, the characters become more complex and overlays of plot, some with sinister implications, intrude.
Those who know Kenya will find the setting accurately described. Most institutions and places are called by their correct names, but those that aren’t are easily identified from their pseudo names. With the exception of attributing the naming of Lake Victoria to Dr. Livingstone rather than John Hanning Speke, author Nicholas Drayson’s historical asides ring true, but some are obviously invented such as the reasons why Maasai wear red. The ornithological information, of which there is a lot regarding bird species and their whereabouts also appears authentic to this amateur birdwatcher, but with doubts that one could find a flamingo on Lake Victoria. Even so it was great fun to recognize names and descriptions as the chase ensued.
Even though the birds provided a mechanism to move the plot forward, it was really the commentary – pithy observations about the times or the characters that made the story interesting. Drayson certainly had a knack for encapsulating personalities and pinning down mannerisms and dialogue in a fashion that kept the reader entertained.
There are no weighty issues in this novel, but it is entertaining (and fairly short). It will certainly appeal to those who know Kenya and especially those who have tried to sort out some of its birds.
P.S. On several occasions the novel mentions favorably a training program for guides run by the Nairobi Museum. Indeed that program has produced a number of very competent (and pleasant) local guides. On a recent trip to Kenya, Steven at Ziwani Camp and Julius at Siana Springs, aptly led us to new birds, including the rare Magpie Shrike found only in Kenya near Siana.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Book review - Africa's World War
A book review by Amb. Robert Gribbin
Africa’s World War – Congo, the Rwandan Genocide, and the Making of a Continental Catastrophe
By Gérard Prunier, Oxford University Press, NY, 2009
African scholar Prunier’s latest, Africa’s World War, purports to be the definitive study of the conflict arising from the Rwandan genocide that ultimately spread into the Congo twice as open warfare. That conflict still continues today in the Kivu provinces of the Democratic Republic of the Congo. By and large Prunier got the narrative correct. The war began in 1996 with covert operations by the Rwandan Patriotic Army designed to dismantle the refugee camps and squash the threat of genocidaire insurgency. Then, fighting expanded under the aegis of the Alliance des Forces Démocratiques pour la Libération (AFDL) and its odd leader Laurent Kabila with participation by forces from Uganda, Burundi and Angola that culminated in the overthrow of Mobutu in 1997. New president Kabila then turned on his masters thus igniting a second round of nationwide strife that flowered into a contest pitting Kigali and Kampala, and their rebel proxies, against Kinshasa supported by Zimbabwe, Angola and Sudan. Respective control of territory split the nation for years while internal machinations amongst all the players led to divisions and sub-divisions according to various motives and interests. The 1999 Lusaka Peace Agreement paved the way for a return to normalcy – withdrawal of foreign forces, containment of militia, UN peacekeeping operations, internal Congolese dialogue and ultimately elections. All of which, in some fashion or other, occurred during the last ten years. But Congo today still suffers the effects of warfare. Skirmishing with Hutu genocidaire elements continues as does confrontation with various Mai Mai groups. Hundreds of thousands of persons remain displaced while perhaps millions have died, largely not from bullets, but from the collapse of social and economic infrastructure, i.e. medical services, farming, markets, transportation, schools, etc.
Prunier’s detailed recitation of events provides some insight into political personalities and the motives that he imputes to them. His grasp of the situation, however, is muted by the reality that many of his facts are simply wrong. In one section of the book Prunier ruminates about how African leaders successfully hoodwinked western governments and how easy that was given the indifference of such governments to the crisis. Yet he himself seems to accept every comment or observation by Africans (usually cited as confidential sources) as fundamental truth, whereas he discounts on the commentary either on the record or off from westerners as tainted spin.
My major squabble with Prunier’s “facts” has to do with his portrayal of American activities and motives. I was the U.S. ambassador in Kigali from 1996-1999 and can speak authoritatively (and I have in my book In the Aftermath of Genocide: The U.S. Role in Rwanda). Simply put, Prunier spins out, and thus perpetuates, a series of lies and misrepresentations. He seems drawn to the idea that the United States mounted a large covert military operation (using black misfits recruited by the CIA) to support Rwandan fighting in Congo in 1998 and 1999. Of course, Prunier apparently believes that I was complicit in, if not the author, of such black ops. Even so, he managed to misspell my name in the several citations in his book and footnotes.
Prunier cites as proof: the presence of black English speaking soldiers in Kivu, their base at a former Peace Corps site near Bukavu, two bodies of dead soldiers handed over to American officials in Uganda, and airdrops by USAF C-130s to re-supply rebel AFDL forces in Congo. All of this is pure fabrication. None of it occurred. Prunier also asserts that the small $3 million U.S. de-mining program in Rwanda was simply cover for supplying the RPA with military wherewithal for the war effort, and that dozens of U.S. Air Force flights carried in the goods. Again, fiction! Although a few military flights did land in Rwanda during my three year tenure, their cargoes were high level visitors, humanitarian goods and surplus items – a C5A for example brought lots of recycled computers, office equipment and medical supplies for civilian entities. As for the de-miners, they did what they were supposed to, i.e. de-mine. Similarly, Prunier joined other conclusion-jumpers in assuming that the small joint training exercises (less than a dozen US troops) conducted with Rwandan forces were aimed at preparing for or sustaining conflict in the Congo. To the contrary, that was not the objective and furthermore as soon as the Congo imbroglio began, to demonstrate our dismay we cancelled such activities as well as planning for a quite large package of non-lethal military communication and transportation items.
Among other assertions of American complicity in the Congo war was a statement that my deputy the late Peter Whaley met with Laurent Kabila “thirty or forty times.” Peter was indeed our initial channel for communicating with Kabila, with whom he met only about a dozen times. The purpose of such communication was to restrain the rebel war effort, not to advise on political or strategic tactics as Prunier implies. Prunier’s exaggeration, however, underlies his thesis that the United States, feeling guilty on account of inaction to halt the genocide, afterwards sided blindly with Rwanda both in that government’s internal transgressions, but especially in its invasion of Congo and the ouster of Mobutu, whom, Prunier says, we had finally gotten tired of. (I concede elements of truth regarding sympathy for the new regime in Kigali, as well as the belief that change was needed in the Congo, but orientation should not be confused with actions. We provided no substantive support for Rwanda, AFDL rebels or others engaged in conflict in the Congo. We constantly sought a halt to the fighting and indeed sought accountability for human rights abuses that occurred during the violence. ) In attributing and analyzing nefarious U.S. motives, Prunier offers little evidence other than “confidential sources” to buttress his opinion. On the one hand, he seems to fall unfortunately into the French academic camp that simply assumes that the U.S. is all-knowing, all-powerful and all-managing of events in Africa (for example, he states that Rwanda adhered to the Lusaka withdrawal agreement only because the new Bush administration cold-shouldered President Kagame); while on the other hand, Prunier attributes U.S. policy and missteps to indifference to the fate of the continent. He wants it both ways when it suits his argument.
In light of the grave transgressions of fact with regard to the United States, and those are the issues that I know the accurate side of, I cannot help but wonder how badly skewed Prunier’s other information is. He relates lots of juicy details of meetings, encounters, massacres, troop movements, etc. but are they accurate? One must doubt. In conclusion, this book could and should be an important contribution to the history of the Congo crisis in all its complexities. There is some good stuff in it and an excellent bibliography, but its fatal flaws require that “truth” always be annotated with an asterisk.
Africa’s World War – Congo, the Rwandan Genocide, and the Making of a Continental Catastrophe
By Gérard Prunier, Oxford University Press, NY, 2009
African scholar Prunier’s latest, Africa’s World War, purports to be the definitive study of the conflict arising from the Rwandan genocide that ultimately spread into the Congo twice as open warfare. That conflict still continues today in the Kivu provinces of the Democratic Republic of the Congo. By and large Prunier got the narrative correct. The war began in 1996 with covert operations by the Rwandan Patriotic Army designed to dismantle the refugee camps and squash the threat of genocidaire insurgency. Then, fighting expanded under the aegis of the Alliance des Forces Démocratiques pour la Libération (AFDL) and its odd leader Laurent Kabila with participation by forces from Uganda, Burundi and Angola that culminated in the overthrow of Mobutu in 1997. New president Kabila then turned on his masters thus igniting a second round of nationwide strife that flowered into a contest pitting Kigali and Kampala, and their rebel proxies, against Kinshasa supported by Zimbabwe, Angola and Sudan. Respective control of territory split the nation for years while internal machinations amongst all the players led to divisions and sub-divisions according to various motives and interests. The 1999 Lusaka Peace Agreement paved the way for a return to normalcy – withdrawal of foreign forces, containment of militia, UN peacekeeping operations, internal Congolese dialogue and ultimately elections. All of which, in some fashion or other, occurred during the last ten years. But Congo today still suffers the effects of warfare. Skirmishing with Hutu genocidaire elements continues as does confrontation with various Mai Mai groups. Hundreds of thousands of persons remain displaced while perhaps millions have died, largely not from bullets, but from the collapse of social and economic infrastructure, i.e. medical services, farming, markets, transportation, schools, etc.
Prunier’s detailed recitation of events provides some insight into political personalities and the motives that he imputes to them. His grasp of the situation, however, is muted by the reality that many of his facts are simply wrong. In one section of the book Prunier ruminates about how African leaders successfully hoodwinked western governments and how easy that was given the indifference of such governments to the crisis. Yet he himself seems to accept every comment or observation by Africans (usually cited as confidential sources) as fundamental truth, whereas he discounts on the commentary either on the record or off from westerners as tainted spin.
My major squabble with Prunier’s “facts” has to do with his portrayal of American activities and motives. I was the U.S. ambassador in Kigali from 1996-1999 and can speak authoritatively (and I have in my book In the Aftermath of Genocide: The U.S. Role in Rwanda). Simply put, Prunier spins out, and thus perpetuates, a series of lies and misrepresentations. He seems drawn to the idea that the United States mounted a large covert military operation (using black misfits recruited by the CIA) to support Rwandan fighting in Congo in 1998 and 1999. Of course, Prunier apparently believes that I was complicit in, if not the author, of such black ops. Even so, he managed to misspell my name in the several citations in his book and footnotes.
Prunier cites as proof: the presence of black English speaking soldiers in Kivu, their base at a former Peace Corps site near Bukavu, two bodies of dead soldiers handed over to American officials in Uganda, and airdrops by USAF C-130s to re-supply rebel AFDL forces in Congo. All of this is pure fabrication. None of it occurred. Prunier also asserts that the small $3 million U.S. de-mining program in Rwanda was simply cover for supplying the RPA with military wherewithal for the war effort, and that dozens of U.S. Air Force flights carried in the goods. Again, fiction! Although a few military flights did land in Rwanda during my three year tenure, their cargoes were high level visitors, humanitarian goods and surplus items – a C5A for example brought lots of recycled computers, office equipment and medical supplies for civilian entities. As for the de-miners, they did what they were supposed to, i.e. de-mine. Similarly, Prunier joined other conclusion-jumpers in assuming that the small joint training exercises (less than a dozen US troops) conducted with Rwandan forces were aimed at preparing for or sustaining conflict in the Congo. To the contrary, that was not the objective and furthermore as soon as the Congo imbroglio began, to demonstrate our dismay we cancelled such activities as well as planning for a quite large package of non-lethal military communication and transportation items.
Among other assertions of American complicity in the Congo war was a statement that my deputy the late Peter Whaley met with Laurent Kabila “thirty or forty times.” Peter was indeed our initial channel for communicating with Kabila, with whom he met only about a dozen times. The purpose of such communication was to restrain the rebel war effort, not to advise on political or strategic tactics as Prunier implies. Prunier’s exaggeration, however, underlies his thesis that the United States, feeling guilty on account of inaction to halt the genocide, afterwards sided blindly with Rwanda both in that government’s internal transgressions, but especially in its invasion of Congo and the ouster of Mobutu, whom, Prunier says, we had finally gotten tired of. (I concede elements of truth regarding sympathy for the new regime in Kigali, as well as the belief that change was needed in the Congo, but orientation should not be confused with actions. We provided no substantive support for Rwanda, AFDL rebels or others engaged in conflict in the Congo. We constantly sought a halt to the fighting and indeed sought accountability for human rights abuses that occurred during the violence. ) In attributing and analyzing nefarious U.S. motives, Prunier offers little evidence other than “confidential sources” to buttress his opinion. On the one hand, he seems to fall unfortunately into the French academic camp that simply assumes that the U.S. is all-knowing, all-powerful and all-managing of events in Africa (for example, he states that Rwanda adhered to the Lusaka withdrawal agreement only because the new Bush administration cold-shouldered President Kagame); while on the other hand, Prunier attributes U.S. policy and missteps to indifference to the fate of the continent. He wants it both ways when it suits his argument.
In light of the grave transgressions of fact with regard to the United States, and those are the issues that I know the accurate side of, I cannot help but wonder how badly skewed Prunier’s other information is. He relates lots of juicy details of meetings, encounters, massacres, troop movements, etc. but are they accurate? One must doubt. In conclusion, this book could and should be an important contribution to the history of the Congo crisis in all its complexities. There is some good stuff in it and an excellent bibliography, but its fatal flaws require that “truth” always be annotated with an asterisk.
Watched
A short story
The connection was scratchy, but the voice was clear, “I’ve been watching you, you know.”
“Yes,” I replied with more bravado than I felt. “I know. Should I be afraid?”
He chuckled, “No, don’t fear us. I needed to find out if I could trust you.”
“Trust me?” I queried. “You were on the verge of being arrested. Why does scaring me help you trust me.”
He laughed again. “I watch out for them even more than I watched you. Your movements, your contacts indicate that you are not one of them, or part of their apparatus. Even if you did not know it, they are not watching you, or listening. So now, we can safely meet.” He paused. “I am a democrat and a freedom fighter.”
This guy was careful I thought, much more than most dissidents I encountered in this dusty African capital on the southern fringe of the Sahara where I plied my trade as political officer at the U.S. embassy. The James Bond aspects of his approach were odd, but opposition figures did have much to be suspicious about. The reach of the president’s secret police was astonishing; and their tactics brutal. Critics of His Excellency disappeared into the jails, or more frequently these days before even getting to jail, with disturbing frequency.
“Okay,” I agreed, “but it will have to be my way.”
Two days later in the late afternoon I sat waiting at a small table on the terrace at the Golf Club. Because of the heat and the fact that the course was mostly windblown sand and dirt, the club did not attract many players. A few hard core drinkers, however, were well into their beers. A tall very black African approached. “It’s me,” he said, “Call me Jean Claude.”
I suggested a walk, so we strolled out the first fairway, found a bench and talked as the sun turned fiery red and sank into the Chari River. Jean Claude told me he represented southerners, the black Africans of the nation, who had been its educated class, its first administrators and provided the first president. In later years, all the progress and leadership provided by the south was swept away by desert warriors and their brutal rule. Now was the time Jean Claude asserted to reclaim their birth right. He acknowledged some southern participation in government. “Stooges,” he called them. But they too, he alleged could be brought into his movement. He sketched out a vision of political power based on mobilizing the southern majority to act as a coherent whole, break the stranglehold of the capital and assert regional autonomy. Once done, the south could strengthen its own institutions and evolve into its own independent state. He saw the process as one paralleling the evolution of southern Sudan, but without the need for a nasty war.
I heard him out and asked about the oil. His solution to that was revenue sharing. “All the president wants is money; money to buy arms and feather the nests of his cohorts. We will use the money to better the lives of our people.” Jean Claude closed with the pitch that I knew was coming. He wanted Americans to know of the struggle. He wanted our support – moral, if not material. Mostly he wanted assurances that we would restrain the government from using U.S. trained anti-terrorism forces or equipment against southern patriots. I said I took note of his ambitions and promised I would not betray his confidence, but that I could not promise either support or that the embassy could dictate how to employ the anti-terrorism troops. We agreed to stay in touch.
Jean Claude slipped out the gate of the golf club. I ordered and nursed a beer while thinking it over.
“Patron,” the club manager interrupted my thoughts, “please, don’t bring that man here again. It could go bad for me.”
“Why?” I responded.
“He’s a political ghost. He is the first president’s grandson.”
In following months the political temperature went up. Broadsides appeared vilifying the regime, editorials in the quasi-free press got tougher, new web sites appeared, especially one called action sud that blatantly called for southern autonomy. There was talk of tribal oathing, creating action cells, lots of agitation in southern towns. Southern politicians in the capital too began to adopt a more militant stance. Throughout I kept in regular contact with “Jean Claude;” mostly by phone, but and we met occasionally. He stayed out of the limelight, but seemed to be the motor of the movement. I heard that the security police were after him. I did note that anti-terrorism troops were deployed to two southern towns.
National legislative elections were approaching. They offered the opportunity for some success for southern power. I told Jean Claude of Stalin’s observation that it does not matter who votes, what matters is who counts the votes. He nodded grimly, but assured me that party poll watchers and international observers would be vigilant.
Lo and behold! The elections were okay. Southern power parties swept their home region and held a near majority in Parliament. Jean Claude’s first phase succeeded.
I tried to call to congratulate him, but could not get him on the line. After several days of futile efforts, finally, he called back. “I’m done,” he rasped wispily. “Finished.”
“No,” I rejoined, “Every thing is going well. Your plans are working. You cannot quit now.”
“No, my fate is death.” He coughed. “I have SIDA and the infection has spread. Victory is now up to others.”
A week later he died.
The connection was scratchy, but the voice was clear, “I’ve been watching you, you know.”
“Yes,” I replied with more bravado than I felt. “I know. Should I be afraid?”
He chuckled, “No, don’t fear us. I needed to find out if I could trust you.”
“Trust me?” I queried. “You were on the verge of being arrested. Why does scaring me help you trust me.”
He laughed again. “I watch out for them even more than I watched you. Your movements, your contacts indicate that you are not one of them, or part of their apparatus. Even if you did not know it, they are not watching you, or listening. So now, we can safely meet.” He paused. “I am a democrat and a freedom fighter.”
This guy was careful I thought, much more than most dissidents I encountered in this dusty African capital on the southern fringe of the Sahara where I plied my trade as political officer at the U.S. embassy. The James Bond aspects of his approach were odd, but opposition figures did have much to be suspicious about. The reach of the president’s secret police was astonishing; and their tactics brutal. Critics of His Excellency disappeared into the jails, or more frequently these days before even getting to jail, with disturbing frequency.
“Okay,” I agreed, “but it will have to be my way.”
Two days later in the late afternoon I sat waiting at a small table on the terrace at the Golf Club. Because of the heat and the fact that the course was mostly windblown sand and dirt, the club did not attract many players. A few hard core drinkers, however, were well into their beers. A tall very black African approached. “It’s me,” he said, “Call me Jean Claude.”
I suggested a walk, so we strolled out the first fairway, found a bench and talked as the sun turned fiery red and sank into the Chari River. Jean Claude told me he represented southerners, the black Africans of the nation, who had been its educated class, its first administrators and provided the first president. In later years, all the progress and leadership provided by the south was swept away by desert warriors and their brutal rule. Now was the time Jean Claude asserted to reclaim their birth right. He acknowledged some southern participation in government. “Stooges,” he called them. But they too, he alleged could be brought into his movement. He sketched out a vision of political power based on mobilizing the southern majority to act as a coherent whole, break the stranglehold of the capital and assert regional autonomy. Once done, the south could strengthen its own institutions and evolve into its own independent state. He saw the process as one paralleling the evolution of southern Sudan, but without the need for a nasty war.
I heard him out and asked about the oil. His solution to that was revenue sharing. “All the president wants is money; money to buy arms and feather the nests of his cohorts. We will use the money to better the lives of our people.” Jean Claude closed with the pitch that I knew was coming. He wanted Americans to know of the struggle. He wanted our support – moral, if not material. Mostly he wanted assurances that we would restrain the government from using U.S. trained anti-terrorism forces or equipment against southern patriots. I said I took note of his ambitions and promised I would not betray his confidence, but that I could not promise either support or that the embassy could dictate how to employ the anti-terrorism troops. We agreed to stay in touch.
Jean Claude slipped out the gate of the golf club. I ordered and nursed a beer while thinking it over.
“Patron,” the club manager interrupted my thoughts, “please, don’t bring that man here again. It could go bad for me.”
“Why?” I responded.
“He’s a political ghost. He is the first president’s grandson.”
In following months the political temperature went up. Broadsides appeared vilifying the regime, editorials in the quasi-free press got tougher, new web sites appeared, especially one called action sud that blatantly called for southern autonomy. There was talk of tribal oathing, creating action cells, lots of agitation in southern towns. Southern politicians in the capital too began to adopt a more militant stance. Throughout I kept in regular contact with “Jean Claude;” mostly by phone, but and we met occasionally. He stayed out of the limelight, but seemed to be the motor of the movement. I heard that the security police were after him. I did note that anti-terrorism troops were deployed to two southern towns.
National legislative elections were approaching. They offered the opportunity for some success for southern power. I told Jean Claude of Stalin’s observation that it does not matter who votes, what matters is who counts the votes. He nodded grimly, but assured me that party poll watchers and international observers would be vigilant.
Lo and behold! The elections were okay. Southern power parties swept their home region and held a near majority in Parliament. Jean Claude’s first phase succeeded.
I tried to call to congratulate him, but could not get him on the line. After several days of futile efforts, finally, he called back. “I’m done,” he rasped wispily. “Finished.”
“No,” I rejoined, “Every thing is going well. Your plans are working. You cannot quit now.”
“No, my fate is death.” He coughed. “I have SIDA and the infection has spread. Victory is now up to others.”
A week later he died.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Too Close to the Sun
A book review of
Too Close to the Sun – The life and times of Denys Finch Hatton
By Sara Wheeler, Random House, London 2007.
Several books have been written about the tempestuous relationship between Karen Blixen and Denys Finch Hatton, especially Baroness Blixen’s own account in her marvelous memoir Out of Africa. In her version Tania (Karen) provides her perspective and romanticizes the relationship of two differing souls who connect in great passion. Author Wheeler is much less ethereal and more practical in arriving at a more realistic appraisal of the relationship. Her assessment tracks a careful evaluation of Denys’ life from childhood, through school and university and then into the wider world beyond.
Finch Hatton was indeed endowed with a unique personality. He was affable, gregarious and intelligent – but not a scholar. He was well connected, rich, and extremely good company. Yet his defining characteristic, and perhaps his fatal flaw, was that everybody liked him. He never seemed to have alienated anyone; cuckolded husbands included. Because life – women, money, opportunities – came so easy to him, Denys did not really find purpose in life until his forties. And by then – unbeknownst to him – he was almost done.
Finch Hatton stumbled upon Kenya early in life and despite several efforts to change venue, it stuck. He invested in land and other businesses before finding his m̩tier as a white hunter and conservationist. Certainly, twice serving as guide to the Prince of Wales, Denys was a celebrity in his own right. It was a spotlight he was often subjected to. By and large he handled it well. Relationships came and went, but with Tania, Denys struck something new Рa deeper melding of souls, one that transcended into a spiritual plane. Yet the tragedy of such love was that it could not last.
Several aspects of this intriguing tale stuck me as especially meritorious. First, the author periodically pulled back from the story of Finch Hatton to reset the world stage. Indeed that stage changed dramatically prior to World War I as Britain experienced a social revolution that marked the demise of the landed aristocracy. World War I itself sealed the transformation of Finch Hatton’s world. Although he participated fully in the war effort; first in East Africa and then in Mesopotamia, Denys (obviously) survived, but virtually every male friend of his youth died in the conflict. What a staggering loss.
The book was well researched and is beautifully written. Although I pride myself on vocabulary, author Wheeler repeatedly came up with words: “prolepic,” “ashlar,” “cyclamen,” “lubricious” and more that I had to look up either for definition or for proper usage. I enjoyed that additional challenge.
Too Close to the Sun is a marvelous read. For aficionados of colonial Kenya, books don’t get any better than this.
Too Close to the Sun – The life and times of Denys Finch Hatton
By Sara Wheeler, Random House, London 2007.
Several books have been written about the tempestuous relationship between Karen Blixen and Denys Finch Hatton, especially Baroness Blixen’s own account in her marvelous memoir Out of Africa. In her version Tania (Karen) provides her perspective and romanticizes the relationship of two differing souls who connect in great passion. Author Wheeler is much less ethereal and more practical in arriving at a more realistic appraisal of the relationship. Her assessment tracks a careful evaluation of Denys’ life from childhood, through school and university and then into the wider world beyond.
Finch Hatton was indeed endowed with a unique personality. He was affable, gregarious and intelligent – but not a scholar. He was well connected, rich, and extremely good company. Yet his defining characteristic, and perhaps his fatal flaw, was that everybody liked him. He never seemed to have alienated anyone; cuckolded husbands included. Because life – women, money, opportunities – came so easy to him, Denys did not really find purpose in life until his forties. And by then – unbeknownst to him – he was almost done.
Finch Hatton stumbled upon Kenya early in life and despite several efforts to change venue, it stuck. He invested in land and other businesses before finding his m̩tier as a white hunter and conservationist. Certainly, twice serving as guide to the Prince of Wales, Denys was a celebrity in his own right. It was a spotlight he was often subjected to. By and large he handled it well. Relationships came and went, but with Tania, Denys struck something new Рa deeper melding of souls, one that transcended into a spiritual plane. Yet the tragedy of such love was that it could not last.
Several aspects of this intriguing tale stuck me as especially meritorious. First, the author periodically pulled back from the story of Finch Hatton to reset the world stage. Indeed that stage changed dramatically prior to World War I as Britain experienced a social revolution that marked the demise of the landed aristocracy. World War I itself sealed the transformation of Finch Hatton’s world. Although he participated fully in the war effort; first in East Africa and then in Mesopotamia, Denys (obviously) survived, but virtually every male friend of his youth died in the conflict. What a staggering loss.
The book was well researched and is beautifully written. Although I pride myself on vocabulary, author Wheeler repeatedly came up with words: “prolepic,” “ashlar,” “cyclamen,” “lubricious” and more that I had to look up either for definition or for proper usage. I enjoyed that additional challenge.
Too Close to the Sun is a marvelous read. For aficionados of colonial Kenya, books don’t get any better than this.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Obama's Country
Commentary by Bob Gribbin
Kenya is abuzz with Obama. Remember that Kenya declared a national holiday upon receiving news of his election. Obama’s picture is painted on matatus, tee shirts, coffee mugs, and printed on kangas worn by market women. Dozens of newborn babies are now named Obama. Maasai beadwork features his image as well as the stars and stripes from the “O” of campaign posters. Matatus bear the names “Obama Express,” “Fastest Obama.” Senator beers are ordered by asking for an “Obama.” Obama’s books are jumping off the shelves. Indeed on flights in and out, I saw a dozen Kenyans avidly reading his tomes. The airwaves resound to Obama songs. Even Obama numbers have been incorporated into the dance performances by Maasai morans at tourist lodges.
Kenyans see Barrack Obama as one of their own. Many claim him as a “Kenyan” on account of his father’s nationality. Others see him as an “American” with clear Kenyan antecedents. But all agree that he makes them proud; proud to be Kenyan and proud to see in him the realization of dreams; certainly his aspirations, but also theirs. “If Obama can rise to be president of the U.S., then I too can prosper.”
During a recent visit to Kenya, I engaged wanainchi in discussions of then-president elect Obama. Most were delighted to share their views. First, they were uniformly ecstatic for him; that he had made it. A black American elected president – and a Kenyan no less! How the world has changed and how perceptions of the U.S. as a country where racial tensions held back blacks had to be re-thought? It also reaffirmed faith in democracy. Change could come if the people want it.
Secondly, what did this mean for them? By his example Obama proved that dreams could come true – by hard work and application. This inspired everyone to hope that their lives could improve and that their children could aspire to greatness.
Thirdly, what did this mean for Kenya? Most interlocutors assumed that because of his Kenyan roots, ties with America would obviously improve. Already, they had. A wealth of good feelings prevails. Additional hopes ranged from much greater economic aid to a flood of American tourists anxious to see Obama’s rural ancestral home. Kenyans noted that President Kibaki has already promised to improve infrastructure in Nyanza to include better roads, new hotels and upgrading Kisumu airport to international status. One wise observer said that even if no American largess materialized, those sorts of improvements – especially an airport that would allow western Kenya to access world flower, fish and produce markets - would be valuable. Others asked frankly if I thought American tourists would flock to Nyanza. I answered diplomatically that Kenya was wise to market the Obama connection, but that the game parks would remain the tourist draw, with perhaps Nyanza as a side trip. In that regard it was essential that game park infrastructure, especially roads, were restored to a higher standard. (Note: game park roads in, and to and from the Mara are poor).
Several thoughtful discussants verged into the impact of the U.S. election on Kenyan politics. These Kenyans were chagrinned that the U.S. had a Luo president before Kenyan did, but went on to observe that a hard fought election followed by an honest accurate count was a powerful demonstration of democracy at work; especially of the incumbent old guard gracefully giving way to change. This lesson was not lost on Kenyans and would certainly be taken into account during the next election. One man told me that Obama’s election was popular because there were no local consequences. One did not have to look over one’s shoulder when offering political commentary about Obama, Bush or McCain. American politics offered a safe way to obliquely comment on Kenyan developments.
Finally, Kenyans struck a theme that with Obama’s election America’s image in the world would change. They expressed the hope that the U.S. would shed its role as a unilateral actor and instead seek greater cooperation and coordination with the nations of the planet.
In conclusion, Kenyans rejoice in Obama’s elections seeing in it the fruition of many hopes and the conviction that a better world awaits.
---------------------------
Even as Obamamania unrolls apace, Kenya in 2009 is ragged. Traffic is absolutely terrible in Nairobi and Mombasa so much so that many stores and businesses have abandoned the city centers. Everyone it seems has bought a car. Yet crowds mob the sidewalks. Work is underway to bring the last section of the Mombasa highway up to a respectable standard, but even then it will remain a two lane road complete with speed bumps in all the little settlements that have sprung up along the route. Hundreds of slow moving trucks vie for space with cars driving 80 mph or better. On account of traffic it takes 6 or 7 hours to drive the 300 miles. Other roads (Voi-Taveta, Narok-Mara, Nakuru-Mau Summit) have deteriorated into catastrophic rock beds.
Unemployment is high. Both Kenya’s internal political violence of 2008 and the world wide recession are taking a toll on the economy. Tourism has been especially hard hit. Thousands of employees have been laid off because foreign visitors just are not coming. We saw few overseas visitors at the coast where in high season it ought to have been jammed. Similarly for game lodges; they were only about a third full and many of those present were residents taking advantage of cheap rates. Nonetheless the policy both by government and the tourist industry to sock it to outsiders remained in full force. Overseas visitors pay $40 per day just to be in a game park. Lodge rates go at $250-$350 per person whereas residents get the same package for only $100.
To top it all off, last season’s short rains did not materialize thus continuing the longer term drought. Pastures are down to stubble and crops are withering in the fields.
Yet, lest I be too critical, Kenya’s strength resides in her people. They are warm, outgoing, hospitable, articulate and full of life. In spite of their difficulties, Kenyans retain an optimistic outlook. They assume that matters will improve, that the rains will come, that politics will untangle, that jobs will be found and that life will be okay.
Kenya is abuzz with Obama. Remember that Kenya declared a national holiday upon receiving news of his election. Obama’s picture is painted on matatus, tee shirts, coffee mugs, and printed on kangas worn by market women. Dozens of newborn babies are now named Obama. Maasai beadwork features his image as well as the stars and stripes from the “O” of campaign posters. Matatus bear the names “Obama Express,” “Fastest Obama.” Senator beers are ordered by asking for an “Obama.” Obama’s books are jumping off the shelves. Indeed on flights in and out, I saw a dozen Kenyans avidly reading his tomes. The airwaves resound to Obama songs. Even Obama numbers have been incorporated into the dance performances by Maasai morans at tourist lodges.
Kenyans see Barrack Obama as one of their own. Many claim him as a “Kenyan” on account of his father’s nationality. Others see him as an “American” with clear Kenyan antecedents. But all agree that he makes them proud; proud to be Kenyan and proud to see in him the realization of dreams; certainly his aspirations, but also theirs. “If Obama can rise to be president of the U.S., then I too can prosper.”
During a recent visit to Kenya, I engaged wanainchi in discussions of then-president elect Obama. Most were delighted to share their views. First, they were uniformly ecstatic for him; that he had made it. A black American elected president – and a Kenyan no less! How the world has changed and how perceptions of the U.S. as a country where racial tensions held back blacks had to be re-thought? It also reaffirmed faith in democracy. Change could come if the people want it.
Secondly, what did this mean for them? By his example Obama proved that dreams could come true – by hard work and application. This inspired everyone to hope that their lives could improve and that their children could aspire to greatness.
Thirdly, what did this mean for Kenya? Most interlocutors assumed that because of his Kenyan roots, ties with America would obviously improve. Already, they had. A wealth of good feelings prevails. Additional hopes ranged from much greater economic aid to a flood of American tourists anxious to see Obama’s rural ancestral home. Kenyans noted that President Kibaki has already promised to improve infrastructure in Nyanza to include better roads, new hotels and upgrading Kisumu airport to international status. One wise observer said that even if no American largess materialized, those sorts of improvements – especially an airport that would allow western Kenya to access world flower, fish and produce markets - would be valuable. Others asked frankly if I thought American tourists would flock to Nyanza. I answered diplomatically that Kenya was wise to market the Obama connection, but that the game parks would remain the tourist draw, with perhaps Nyanza as a side trip. In that regard it was essential that game park infrastructure, especially roads, were restored to a higher standard. (Note: game park roads in, and to and from the Mara are poor).
Several thoughtful discussants verged into the impact of the U.S. election on Kenyan politics. These Kenyans were chagrinned that the U.S. had a Luo president before Kenyan did, but went on to observe that a hard fought election followed by an honest accurate count was a powerful demonstration of democracy at work; especially of the incumbent old guard gracefully giving way to change. This lesson was not lost on Kenyans and would certainly be taken into account during the next election. One man told me that Obama’s election was popular because there were no local consequences. One did not have to look over one’s shoulder when offering political commentary about Obama, Bush or McCain. American politics offered a safe way to obliquely comment on Kenyan developments.
Finally, Kenyans struck a theme that with Obama’s election America’s image in the world would change. They expressed the hope that the U.S. would shed its role as a unilateral actor and instead seek greater cooperation and coordination with the nations of the planet.
In conclusion, Kenyans rejoice in Obama’s elections seeing in it the fruition of many hopes and the conviction that a better world awaits.
---------------------------
Even as Obamamania unrolls apace, Kenya in 2009 is ragged. Traffic is absolutely terrible in Nairobi and Mombasa so much so that many stores and businesses have abandoned the city centers. Everyone it seems has bought a car. Yet crowds mob the sidewalks. Work is underway to bring the last section of the Mombasa highway up to a respectable standard, but even then it will remain a two lane road complete with speed bumps in all the little settlements that have sprung up along the route. Hundreds of slow moving trucks vie for space with cars driving 80 mph or better. On account of traffic it takes 6 or 7 hours to drive the 300 miles. Other roads (Voi-Taveta, Narok-Mara, Nakuru-Mau Summit) have deteriorated into catastrophic rock beds.
Unemployment is high. Both Kenya’s internal political violence of 2008 and the world wide recession are taking a toll on the economy. Tourism has been especially hard hit. Thousands of employees have been laid off because foreign visitors just are not coming. We saw few overseas visitors at the coast where in high season it ought to have been jammed. Similarly for game lodges; they were only about a third full and many of those present were residents taking advantage of cheap rates. Nonetheless the policy both by government and the tourist industry to sock it to outsiders remained in full force. Overseas visitors pay $40 per day just to be in a game park. Lodge rates go at $250-$350 per person whereas residents get the same package for only $100.
To top it all off, last season’s short rains did not materialize thus continuing the longer term drought. Pastures are down to stubble and crops are withering in the fields.
Yet, lest I be too critical, Kenya’s strength resides in her people. They are warm, outgoing, hospitable, articulate and full of life. In spite of their difficulties, Kenyans retain an optimistic outlook. They assume that matters will improve, that the rains will come, that politics will untangle, that jobs will be found and that life will be okay.
Monday, October 20, 2008
Agathe's Obligation
A short story
It was just after dawn, but the morning was already hot and dry. There would not be much sweating today, Agathe thought to herself, I’ll just bake in the oven. She adjusted her police cap on her short cropped curly hair, cut up to a flat top. She looked smart in uniform; a light blue shirt, dark skirt and sensible shoes. A MINURCAT arm band identified her as part of the United Nations peace keeping operation in Chad. Of medium height with a solid build, Agathe had already lost the svelteness of her girlhood, a time she remembered with fondness in the far away green hills of southern Rwanda.
Eastern Chad was a wind swept land, covered now after the rains with wispy grass. Scraggly trees dotted the plains up to the edges of the rocky hills. Agathe smiled as she looked out upon hundreds of acres of maturing millet planted by the refugees. Coming as she did from generations of farmers, she knew how gratifying it was to see food bursting from the land. A good harvest would provide a nutritional buffer above the World Food Program rations. Additionally, some earned cash would greatly improve morale and the fairly miserable quality of rural life.
Agathe was happily greeted by dozens of children as she walked through the refugee settlement. She picked up Arabic phrases, but some kids called out in French or even in English. The refugees here were Sudanese whose families and tribes had flowed easily across the nearby border until Janjaweed raiders destroyed their herds and homes causing them to seek succor in Chad and international protection. Protection was Agathe’s job. She was one of six Rwandans assigned to the peace keeping operation in Chad. She along with fifty other police personnel from African nations were scattered among the twenty or so refugee camps strung out along the dusty frontier. They were backed up by a 3,000 man military force.
Policing the camp was not so tough. It was not the urban, packed camp, seething with political and ethnic hatred that Agathe experienced as a teenager in Zaire. There was no sense of impending doom and no swaggering, often drunk, genocidaires to avoid. Yet there were issues – politics bubbled along. The evil government of Bashir and his Janaweed thugs were thoroughly despised. Internal politics manifested themselves in the quest for extra ration cards, prominence on camp committees and thus access to international aid or NGO jobs. There were police issues, too. Domestic violence and petty theft were the most common, but individual disputes too regularly needed refereeing. Although it was not as big an issue here, in the northern camps, efforts had to be made to keep Sudanese rebel groups from recruiting youngsters for their military operations.
Agathe’s duty was to be present at the health clinic, to assure that the several hundred refugees stayed in line (they almost always did) and waited their turn. Once she had calmed emotional agitation after a (natural) death and she had otherwise ensured other orderly funeral processions. The clinic was a good place to listen and Agathe was frequently approached with various complaints.
“Madame?” a young woman queried.
“Yes,” Agathe responded, “Good morning.”
The girl introduced herself as Fatima. She was slender, fine featured, dressed head to foot in the local style in an off-yellow wrap; her head carefully covered. She nervously gathered her courage and asked if they could have a private talk. Agathe assured her that confidences would be respected.
“My uncle,” Fatima said, “wants to take me for a wife and says he will force me if I do not agree. I am only seventeen. He said today was the day. He will come for me tonight. My father is dead, my brothers too young and my mother depends on the family. She cannot help me. I detest this man. Living with him would mean slavery and rape. Can you help me? Can you hide me?” She began to weep quietly.
Agathe felt the girl’s desperation, but as yet no crime had been committed. Local culture sanctioned arranged marriages that often had some element of coercion to them, especially between older men and younger women. “Tell me more about him,” she asked.
“Moussa,” Fatima replied, “serves on the camp committee. He is a big man here, but carefully hides his ties to the rebels. He compels youth to leave their families to join the rebel forces in the bush.”
“Ah ha, so he is a recruiter?”
“Yes, but he also demands money, a tax from camp residents to support the war. And now he wants me.”
Agathe mulled this over. As a policewoman she had learned not to be hasty. Fatima’s story rang true and Agathe knew from painful personal experience the power that men held in the camps. No one – policeman or woman, soldier, peace keeper or responsible adult - had been there to help her when she was savagely raped over several days by a genocidaire gang inside the refugee camp in Zaire. Rather than defeat her, that incident convinced her to be strong and ultimately to join the police. Perhaps this was her test. She concluded this abduction won’t happen in this camp on this day.
“We need a plan,” Agathe told Fatima. She asked for the location of her mother’s compound and the whereabouts of her uncle’s. They conspired. “Okay, then,” Agathe concluded, “we’ll be ready, do your part.” Agathe hurried away.
Darkness fell like clockwork. Several hours later a feeble moon shown down through the lingering haze casting a muted light on the sleeping camp. Movement and cries arose from Fatima’s compound arousing the neighbors. Shortly Moussa dragged the protesting girl through the fence into the pathway.
“Halt,” a voice rang out and four lights blazed into startled faces. “Police. Let the child go.”
Moussa explained that it was a family matter, an arranged marriage in fact. He insisted on his status as a member of the camp committee. When interview by Agathe’s police superiors, Fatima said she was being taken, she thought, as an unwilling recruit for rebel forces. She told of Moussa’s role in seizing other youths, said she was only seventeen and wanted to stay with her mother.
“Moussa,” the policeman concluded, “we’ve long had an eye out for you. You know recruiting is not allowed. The punishment for it is expulsion from the camp. You will go with us now and tomorrow will be conveyed to Sudan, never to return to this camp under threat of prison.”
Still sputtering his importance, Moussa was led away.
Agathe exchanged a knowing nod with Fatima, then followed her leader into the dark.
It was just after dawn, but the morning was already hot and dry. There would not be much sweating today, Agathe thought to herself, I’ll just bake in the oven. She adjusted her police cap on her short cropped curly hair, cut up to a flat top. She looked smart in uniform; a light blue shirt, dark skirt and sensible shoes. A MINURCAT arm band identified her as part of the United Nations peace keeping operation in Chad. Of medium height with a solid build, Agathe had already lost the svelteness of her girlhood, a time she remembered with fondness in the far away green hills of southern Rwanda.
Eastern Chad was a wind swept land, covered now after the rains with wispy grass. Scraggly trees dotted the plains up to the edges of the rocky hills. Agathe smiled as she looked out upon hundreds of acres of maturing millet planted by the refugees. Coming as she did from generations of farmers, she knew how gratifying it was to see food bursting from the land. A good harvest would provide a nutritional buffer above the World Food Program rations. Additionally, some earned cash would greatly improve morale and the fairly miserable quality of rural life.
Agathe was happily greeted by dozens of children as she walked through the refugee settlement. She picked up Arabic phrases, but some kids called out in French or even in English. The refugees here were Sudanese whose families and tribes had flowed easily across the nearby border until Janjaweed raiders destroyed their herds and homes causing them to seek succor in Chad and international protection. Protection was Agathe’s job. She was one of six Rwandans assigned to the peace keeping operation in Chad. She along with fifty other police personnel from African nations were scattered among the twenty or so refugee camps strung out along the dusty frontier. They were backed up by a 3,000 man military force.
Policing the camp was not so tough. It was not the urban, packed camp, seething with political and ethnic hatred that Agathe experienced as a teenager in Zaire. There was no sense of impending doom and no swaggering, often drunk, genocidaires to avoid. Yet there were issues – politics bubbled along. The evil government of Bashir and his Janaweed thugs were thoroughly despised. Internal politics manifested themselves in the quest for extra ration cards, prominence on camp committees and thus access to international aid or NGO jobs. There were police issues, too. Domestic violence and petty theft were the most common, but individual disputes too regularly needed refereeing. Although it was not as big an issue here, in the northern camps, efforts had to be made to keep Sudanese rebel groups from recruiting youngsters for their military operations.
Agathe’s duty was to be present at the health clinic, to assure that the several hundred refugees stayed in line (they almost always did) and waited their turn. Once she had calmed emotional agitation after a (natural) death and she had otherwise ensured other orderly funeral processions. The clinic was a good place to listen and Agathe was frequently approached with various complaints.
“Madame?” a young woman queried.
“Yes,” Agathe responded, “Good morning.”
The girl introduced herself as Fatima. She was slender, fine featured, dressed head to foot in the local style in an off-yellow wrap; her head carefully covered. She nervously gathered her courage and asked if they could have a private talk. Agathe assured her that confidences would be respected.
“My uncle,” Fatima said, “wants to take me for a wife and says he will force me if I do not agree. I am only seventeen. He said today was the day. He will come for me tonight. My father is dead, my brothers too young and my mother depends on the family. She cannot help me. I detest this man. Living with him would mean slavery and rape. Can you help me? Can you hide me?” She began to weep quietly.
Agathe felt the girl’s desperation, but as yet no crime had been committed. Local culture sanctioned arranged marriages that often had some element of coercion to them, especially between older men and younger women. “Tell me more about him,” she asked.
“Moussa,” Fatima replied, “serves on the camp committee. He is a big man here, but carefully hides his ties to the rebels. He compels youth to leave their families to join the rebel forces in the bush.”
“Ah ha, so he is a recruiter?”
“Yes, but he also demands money, a tax from camp residents to support the war. And now he wants me.”
Agathe mulled this over. As a policewoman she had learned not to be hasty. Fatima’s story rang true and Agathe knew from painful personal experience the power that men held in the camps. No one – policeman or woman, soldier, peace keeper or responsible adult - had been there to help her when she was savagely raped over several days by a genocidaire gang inside the refugee camp in Zaire. Rather than defeat her, that incident convinced her to be strong and ultimately to join the police. Perhaps this was her test. She concluded this abduction won’t happen in this camp on this day.
“We need a plan,” Agathe told Fatima. She asked for the location of her mother’s compound and the whereabouts of her uncle’s. They conspired. “Okay, then,” Agathe concluded, “we’ll be ready, do your part.” Agathe hurried away.
Darkness fell like clockwork. Several hours later a feeble moon shown down through the lingering haze casting a muted light on the sleeping camp. Movement and cries arose from Fatima’s compound arousing the neighbors. Shortly Moussa dragged the protesting girl through the fence into the pathway.
“Halt,” a voice rang out and four lights blazed into startled faces. “Police. Let the child go.”
Moussa explained that it was a family matter, an arranged marriage in fact. He insisted on his status as a member of the camp committee. When interview by Agathe’s police superiors, Fatima said she was being taken, she thought, as an unwilling recruit for rebel forces. She told of Moussa’s role in seizing other youths, said she was only seventeen and wanted to stay with her mother.
“Moussa,” the policeman concluded, “we’ve long had an eye out for you. You know recruiting is not allowed. The punishment for it is expulsion from the camp. You will go with us now and tomorrow will be conveyed to Sudan, never to return to this camp under threat of prison.”
Still sputtering his importance, Moussa was led away.
Agathe exchanged a knowing nod with Fatima, then followed her leader into the dark.
Friday, October 17, 2008
Book Review - A Thousand Hills
Following is a review of A Thousand Hills : Rwanda’s Rebirth and the Man Who Dreamed It by Stephen Kinzer, published by John Wiley and Sons, Hoboken, NJ, 2008. I believe that I am well placed to comment on the book. I served as U.S. Ambassador to Rwanda from 1995 to 1999, knew President Kagame well and wrote a memoir, In the Aftermath of Genocide: The U.S. Role in Rwanda (iUniverse, 2005).
Author Stephen Kinzer, a journalist by profession, has written the latest book on Rwanda and one of the best studies ever of its enigmatic leader Paul Kagame. Kinzer uses Kagame’s life story as the structure for the book: flight from Rwanda as a small child, upbringing in Ugandan refugee camps, bitterness at being at “outsider,” signing on and rising to prominence in Uganda’s revolutionary army, plotting and executing an invasion of Rwanda, then taking over command of the Rwandan Patriotic Army and leading it to victory, halting the genocide and taking political power. Kinzer describes Kagame’s vision for a re-born, prosperous and hatred-free Rwanda and his dogged determination to pursue that goal. Finally, Kinzer notes that mostly due to his fierce will, Kagame’s vision is well on its way to achievement.
While sympathetic in tone, even sycophantic and apologetic at times, Kinzer did give space to Kagame’s critics and did show some of the great man’s warts. But overall, there is no hiding the fact that Kinzer admired Kagame’s military genius and his subsequent evolution into a substantive political leader and national president. Kinzer noted that without doubt, Rwanda’s post genocide success bears the unmistakable imprint of Paul Kagame.
The structure the book took was unusual. Kinzer used quoted transcripts of recent interviews with Kagame as commentary on historical events as they unfolded in the chronological narrative. That mechanism gave an interesting perspective – looking backwards – that helped explain occurrences, but also permitted revisionism. Hindsight is always clearer, especially as regards to motives. Perhaps because of that I have several qualms with the facts and the sequence of events as told in the book. I judge, for example that claims were overreaching to having devised a master strategy ahead of time for the first Zairian war leading to the removal of Mobutu. The evolution of conflict there was driven instead very much by the opportunities presented. No doubt Rwanda took good advantage of those opportunities, even in daring fashion, but the initial intervention was intended to empty the refugee camps, not to topple Mobutu. Secondly, I reject the notion that the USG informed any foreign intelligence services about Kagame’s departure from Ft. Leavenworth. I recall keeping his decision under wraps for several days. If someone put a lookout for him in Europe or Ethiopia, it was not the USG. American interests were best served by Kagame’s taking command of the RPF. Thirdly, I believe that the RPA/RPF leadership was quite collegial during its formative years and up to its first years in power. A committee of colonels did make many decisions collectively.
Back to the structure of the book, I found the juxtaposition of quotations to buttress the narrative disconcerting. There were no footnotes as such; instead there was an annex of page notes that did allow for some verification of who really said what, but often the citation was vague or from a “confidential conversation.” At least one (credited) exchange was lifted verbatim from my book and there appeared to be a lot of that in regard to other writings. A journalist’s technique, I suppose, as many news stories are structured in a similar fashion, i.e. report the story and use suitable quotations to prove it. But still, it did not strike me as the most credible way to get to the facts. I also thought that the final chapter invoking the high esteem of religiously motivated Americans for Kagame was pandering and under cut the more effective history presented earlier in the work.
My criticisms notwithstanding, A Thousand Hills does effectively tell the story of Rwanda, especially the story of Kagame and the Rwandan Patriotic Army. It is a gripping tale as the determination, perseverance and wisdom of the principal figures, chiefly Kagame himself, are carefully delineated. In short A Thousand Hills is a must read for those who want to better understand the complexities of Rwanda’s history and the basis for political and economic decisions being taken today. Finally, it has an excellent bibliography.
Author Stephen Kinzer, a journalist by profession, has written the latest book on Rwanda and one of the best studies ever of its enigmatic leader Paul Kagame. Kinzer uses Kagame’s life story as the structure for the book: flight from Rwanda as a small child, upbringing in Ugandan refugee camps, bitterness at being at “outsider,” signing on and rising to prominence in Uganda’s revolutionary army, plotting and executing an invasion of Rwanda, then taking over command of the Rwandan Patriotic Army and leading it to victory, halting the genocide and taking political power. Kinzer describes Kagame’s vision for a re-born, prosperous and hatred-free Rwanda and his dogged determination to pursue that goal. Finally, Kinzer notes that mostly due to his fierce will, Kagame’s vision is well on its way to achievement.
While sympathetic in tone, even sycophantic and apologetic at times, Kinzer did give space to Kagame’s critics and did show some of the great man’s warts. But overall, there is no hiding the fact that Kinzer admired Kagame’s military genius and his subsequent evolution into a substantive political leader and national president. Kinzer noted that without doubt, Rwanda’s post genocide success bears the unmistakable imprint of Paul Kagame.
The structure the book took was unusual. Kinzer used quoted transcripts of recent interviews with Kagame as commentary on historical events as they unfolded in the chronological narrative. That mechanism gave an interesting perspective – looking backwards – that helped explain occurrences, but also permitted revisionism. Hindsight is always clearer, especially as regards to motives. Perhaps because of that I have several qualms with the facts and the sequence of events as told in the book. I judge, for example that claims were overreaching to having devised a master strategy ahead of time for the first Zairian war leading to the removal of Mobutu. The evolution of conflict there was driven instead very much by the opportunities presented. No doubt Rwanda took good advantage of those opportunities, even in daring fashion, but the initial intervention was intended to empty the refugee camps, not to topple Mobutu. Secondly, I reject the notion that the USG informed any foreign intelligence services about Kagame’s departure from Ft. Leavenworth. I recall keeping his decision under wraps for several days. If someone put a lookout for him in Europe or Ethiopia, it was not the USG. American interests were best served by Kagame’s taking command of the RPF. Thirdly, I believe that the RPA/RPF leadership was quite collegial during its formative years and up to its first years in power. A committee of colonels did make many decisions collectively.
Back to the structure of the book, I found the juxtaposition of quotations to buttress the narrative disconcerting. There were no footnotes as such; instead there was an annex of page notes that did allow for some verification of who really said what, but often the citation was vague or from a “confidential conversation.” At least one (credited) exchange was lifted verbatim from my book and there appeared to be a lot of that in regard to other writings. A journalist’s technique, I suppose, as many news stories are structured in a similar fashion, i.e. report the story and use suitable quotations to prove it. But still, it did not strike me as the most credible way to get to the facts. I also thought that the final chapter invoking the high esteem of religiously motivated Americans for Kagame was pandering and under cut the more effective history presented earlier in the work.
My criticisms notwithstanding, A Thousand Hills does effectively tell the story of Rwanda, especially the story of Kagame and the Rwandan Patriotic Army. It is a gripping tale as the determination, perseverance and wisdom of the principal figures, chiefly Kagame himself, are carefully delineated. In short A Thousand Hills is a must read for those who want to better understand the complexities of Rwanda’s history and the basis for political and economic decisions being taken today. Finally, it has an excellent bibliography.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Eating Dirt
A short story
“Look at this,” she chortled slapping the newspaper down before me. “They’re eating dirt and think it cures AIDS.”
Indeed the head line screamed in boldest type. “Miracle Cure in Masaka!”
Times in Uganda in the mid-eighties were desperate. AIDS or “slim” in the vernacular was cutting a terrible swath through the population. Recognition of the scourge and its cause – sexual promiscuity – was beginning to crawl out from under a rock. There was growing public exposure of the malady and some very frank talk by President Museveni and other officials about the need to change irrevocably sexual behavior. Yet a deep sense of shame afflicted those who contracted the killer. They hid away and died quietly. Obituaries always referred to the cause of death as a “short illness.” And in those days before retro-virals were available, the terminal illness was usually short.
I read through the news story quickly. An elderly woman in Masaka, about eighty miles south of the capital, was telling her neighbors that her daughter, who had become skinny, weak and ill – obvious signs of AIDS – had rallied when fed a concoction of clay from her back yard. The old lady claimed traditional medical prowess and told the paper that she had used herbs and potions, including clay, for years to treat maladies. This remedy, this miracle, the paper asserted, could reverse the tide of death. It added that supplicants were beating a path to Masaka in search of the cure.
Normally, I would have joined in the chortle and recognized that sensationalism was a standard tactic to sell more papers, but I had recently lost another friend to AIDS. I saw the story more as a reflection of the desperation we all faced as this uncountable evil swept through the land. The stories of those lost were legion. As an expatriate I had no Ugandan relatives, but friends and their families were sorely afflicted. An outdoorsman, I had joined the Mountain Club of Uganda, whose members were a nice mix of foreigners and young Ugandans; all of us rock climbers and hikers. Outings included weekend trips to nearby granite outcroppings or a hike in the countryside. We mounted an annual ten-day expedition to the Ruwenzori’s and shorter trips to summit Uganda’s lesser mountains Our Ugandan colleagues were Ugandan yuppies – students and recent graduates of Makerere University. They included several medical students and others who by dint of their brains and perseverance were destined to be the next elite generation. Yet one by one our Ugandan colleagues were dying. There was nothing to chortle about.
I called Paul later in the day to ask his view of the Masaka cure. Endowed with an irrepressibly gregarious personality, he’d always been a straight shooter, although often embellishing his remarks with a twist of humor or a touch of irony. “Sure,” he said, “maybe she’s found it. An answer has to be somewhere. So far, clay from Masaka looks as good as anything from American laboratories. But,” he suggested, “let’s not guess, let’s go check it out.”
Why not, I thought. I ran the idea past the ambassador. He thought it was nuts, but told me to go if I wanted.
We set off the next morning. It was a beautiful clear day with clouds building up over the Lake. The road wove through banana plantations and small farms, and then straightened out crossing wide plains as it neared the expanses of Lake Victoria. Paul pointed out the bridges and culverts that had been battlegrounds when Museveni’s irregulars captured the capital several years earlier. Only one rusted hulk of a tank gave evidence of that struggle. Evidence of the new struggle, however, was ever present. Coffin making – and road side display of wares – was a growth industry.
Paul asked directions in Masaka. Shortly dozens of parked cars and a crowd of folks indicated we had come to the now famous shrine. It had turned into a commercial operation. For a couple of hundred shillings one could dig a basket full of backyard clay. Another couple of hundred shillings bought a consultation on the proper mixtures and dosage. The carnival air notwithstanding, there was an ardent sense of expectation. The intensity reminded me of religious pilgrims, for example, at Lourdes. Indeed it was a pilgrimage. I spoke hesitantly to several persons. Paul interpreted into Luganda as necessary. “This is our only hope.” “I believe God has blessed this place.” “My son is dying, this will save him.”
“Why not,” Paul said as he too scooped up a supply. “African magic does work. The Bible teaches that Jesus made miracles, and,” he concluded, “the worst might be clogged bowels.”
We talked a lot about faith, magic and hope on the way home. My western science told me it was all hokum, but I had undoubtedly seen a tremendous display of conviction by those in the old lady’s yard. I conceded that it was a slim straw to grasp, but what if there was some undiscovered mineral with medical properties?
Later I bounced the topic off Dr. Laura Hodge, an American epidemiologist striving to discover the true nature of the virus and how it took hold. She agreed that some old wives tales were based on solid science, but dismissed the clay as “Wishful thinking. It might improve a person’s will to live, but is essentially without medicinal merit.”
After several days on the front page, the story ran its course. A month or so later, I heard that the old lady’s daughter died after a “short illness.”
Yet hope remained an irrepressible part of an Ugandan day. Even in light of such tragedy, people pressed on, put on their best face and went out each day with a smile.
“Look at this,” she chortled slapping the newspaper down before me. “They’re eating dirt and think it cures AIDS.”
Indeed the head line screamed in boldest type. “Miracle Cure in Masaka!”
Times in Uganda in the mid-eighties were desperate. AIDS or “slim” in the vernacular was cutting a terrible swath through the population. Recognition of the scourge and its cause – sexual promiscuity – was beginning to crawl out from under a rock. There was growing public exposure of the malady and some very frank talk by President Museveni and other officials about the need to change irrevocably sexual behavior. Yet a deep sense of shame afflicted those who contracted the killer. They hid away and died quietly. Obituaries always referred to the cause of death as a “short illness.” And in those days before retro-virals were available, the terminal illness was usually short.
I read through the news story quickly. An elderly woman in Masaka, about eighty miles south of the capital, was telling her neighbors that her daughter, who had become skinny, weak and ill – obvious signs of AIDS – had rallied when fed a concoction of clay from her back yard. The old lady claimed traditional medical prowess and told the paper that she had used herbs and potions, including clay, for years to treat maladies. This remedy, this miracle, the paper asserted, could reverse the tide of death. It added that supplicants were beating a path to Masaka in search of the cure.
Normally, I would have joined in the chortle and recognized that sensationalism was a standard tactic to sell more papers, but I had recently lost another friend to AIDS. I saw the story more as a reflection of the desperation we all faced as this uncountable evil swept through the land. The stories of those lost were legion. As an expatriate I had no Ugandan relatives, but friends and their families were sorely afflicted. An outdoorsman, I had joined the Mountain Club of Uganda, whose members were a nice mix of foreigners and young Ugandans; all of us rock climbers and hikers. Outings included weekend trips to nearby granite outcroppings or a hike in the countryside. We mounted an annual ten-day expedition to the Ruwenzori’s and shorter trips to summit Uganda’s lesser mountains Our Ugandan colleagues were Ugandan yuppies – students and recent graduates of Makerere University. They included several medical students and others who by dint of their brains and perseverance were destined to be the next elite generation. Yet one by one our Ugandan colleagues were dying. There was nothing to chortle about.
I called Paul later in the day to ask his view of the Masaka cure. Endowed with an irrepressibly gregarious personality, he’d always been a straight shooter, although often embellishing his remarks with a twist of humor or a touch of irony. “Sure,” he said, “maybe she’s found it. An answer has to be somewhere. So far, clay from Masaka looks as good as anything from American laboratories. But,” he suggested, “let’s not guess, let’s go check it out.”
Why not, I thought. I ran the idea past the ambassador. He thought it was nuts, but told me to go if I wanted.
We set off the next morning. It was a beautiful clear day with clouds building up over the Lake. The road wove through banana plantations and small farms, and then straightened out crossing wide plains as it neared the expanses of Lake Victoria. Paul pointed out the bridges and culverts that had been battlegrounds when Museveni’s irregulars captured the capital several years earlier. Only one rusted hulk of a tank gave evidence of that struggle. Evidence of the new struggle, however, was ever present. Coffin making – and road side display of wares – was a growth industry.
Paul asked directions in Masaka. Shortly dozens of parked cars and a crowd of folks indicated we had come to the now famous shrine. It had turned into a commercial operation. For a couple of hundred shillings one could dig a basket full of backyard clay. Another couple of hundred shillings bought a consultation on the proper mixtures and dosage. The carnival air notwithstanding, there was an ardent sense of expectation. The intensity reminded me of religious pilgrims, for example, at Lourdes. Indeed it was a pilgrimage. I spoke hesitantly to several persons. Paul interpreted into Luganda as necessary. “This is our only hope.” “I believe God has blessed this place.” “My son is dying, this will save him.”
“Why not,” Paul said as he too scooped up a supply. “African magic does work. The Bible teaches that Jesus made miracles, and,” he concluded, “the worst might be clogged bowels.”
We talked a lot about faith, magic and hope on the way home. My western science told me it was all hokum, but I had undoubtedly seen a tremendous display of conviction by those in the old lady’s yard. I conceded that it was a slim straw to grasp, but what if there was some undiscovered mineral with medical properties?
Later I bounced the topic off Dr. Laura Hodge, an American epidemiologist striving to discover the true nature of the virus and how it took hold. She agreed that some old wives tales were based on solid science, but dismissed the clay as “Wishful thinking. It might improve a person’s will to live, but is essentially without medicinal merit.”
After several days on the front page, the story ran its course. A month or so later, I heard that the old lady’s daughter died after a “short illness.”
Yet hope remained an irrepressible part of an Ugandan day. Even in light of such tragedy, people pressed on, put on their best face and went out each day with a smile.
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