Colorful Times » Africa

Ethiopia, The Remain of Volksvagen

Matt Gibbs — Thu, 26 Aug 2010 10:59:58 +0000

It remains an odd sight to see an old Volksvagen beetle motorcar trundling around Addis Ababa. “Odd,” simply because I associate them with the swinging sixties, a relic of my parents’ generation. “Remains,” because they have been in the country for some time and yet still seem out of place – contrary to the bearing of the proud Ethiopian.

Volkswagen beetle, beautifully restored in Gonder, Ethiopia.

You can’t help but notice them. They are less common than the pervasive blue and white Ladas, used for taxis. But they are far more striking in their old fashioned oranges, limes and beige – probably not repainted since back in the day.

And they hold a special place in the history of Ethiopia. A beetle was the very car that the former Emperor of Ethiopia, Haile Selassie, was taken away in immediately following his dethronement. On the appointed day, he was arrested at his palace and whisked away in the back of yellow vee-dub, reportedly waving regally as the car – sans motorcade – made its way towards his prison where he would die less than a year later.

Since I learned that fact – and saw the photo to go with it – every time I see a beetle in Addis, I think of that diminutive monarch and wonder if the Dergue that overthrew him were being ironic in their choice of a Volksvagen: the “people’s car.” For, despite his rhetoric, his opulence and greed had shown he was anything but a man of the people.

On 12th September 1974, Ethiopia's autocratic Emperor, Haile Selassie, (the Lion of Judah) was deposed after more than 44 years in power.

Haile Selassie has long gone, as has the bloody dictatorship that overthrew him. His legacy lives on – not least in the African Union and the Rastafarian religion, the followers of which chose to revere the dictator as a god – but he is no more.

And the beetle lives on. They are still here, trundling around the city. Much like Ethiopians themselves, who have endured so much as a people, the beetle has endured. They are survivors. Fiercely refusing to give up in a context that is frequently less than hospitable. And carrying on with a certain dignity. Perhaps they are slightly out of their time, much like the Ethiopian pride in never having been colonised – it really is a thing of the past – but against the odds, they are driving inexorably on towards a future shaped by the past, but not restrained by it.

Perhaps the Volksvagen colonised a generation of drivers the world over. Perhaps the Ethiopians were ultimately colonised – by aid money. But one day, the last vee-dub will break down. One day Ethiopia will have to stand on its own feet – as the role of that first yellow beetle promised. For Ethiopians craving real democracy and real development, I’m sure that day cannot come soon enough.

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Matt Gibbs

An aid worker by training, but a show-off by nature, Matt has been a bit of a nomad; working in Papua New Guinea, Sudan, Sweden, Kenya, a handful of Pacific Island States and Ethiopia - in addition to his native Australia - for the past six and a half years. Matt is currently penning children's books with his writing partner and deciding whether his nomadic lifestyle should be thrown in for some nesting...

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Moving to Ghana: A Personal Journey

Nana — Sun, 08 Aug 2010 09:43:05 +0000

“Africa? Why do you want to move to Africa?” That question was posed often in 2001, as we prepared to leave for Ghana, upon selling the business that my wife and I had operated in Canada for 21 years. The question was asked much less of my wife because she had come from Ghana 26 years earlier, and so, folks knew that she was simply returning home. For me, it was a little different.

Busua Beach - Boxing Day - Ghana

I am not from Ghana – my connection began in 1971 with a 2 year teaching contract in a village in the Western Region. Ironically, it was I who wanted to move several years before my wife finally came to the same idea. Now, nine years later, and although we have since separated as husband and wife, I am still very happy with that decision to move. Ghana is home to me, and I have never had a moment’s regret.

In 2001, my only concern before making the move was of leaving my children behind – all adults by then, and all in Canada. I knew that I would miss not seeing them as often as before. However, as it turned out, each of them followed on their own, and all ended up in Africa – the two oldest in Ghana, and the youngest currently in Zanzibar. It seems that they, too, saw the potential benefits of life in Africa, Ghana, in particular.

A growing number of Ghanaians in the Diaspora see Ghana with the same promise and perspective as my children. Many of them have been affected by the recent financial downturn in the western countries where they live, and they see the economic opportunities that are opening up in Ghana. These people are contemplating a return, or a coming home, to Ghana, and from time to time I am asked, if I have any advice for those who are considering that possibility.

I am happy to respond because there is so much potential in that part of West Africa. There is also a restless energy and pent-up vitality, especially amongst so many young Ghanaians, much of which is now being unleashed in very positive ways. The improvements in communication technology and infrastructure have enabled possibilities that did not exist only a few years ago. Mobile phones are now commonplace throughout the country, and access to the internet has followed, opening up international markets to businesses even in rural locations, and creating new jobs and commercial opportunities in the fast growing IT sector.

But potential alone does not guarantee success, and there are restraints that can be frustrating. Those of my generation still hold much of the political and economic control in Ghana, and they are the reason behind many of the restraints – corruption and cronyism being perhaps the worst examples, followed by a willingness to accept hand offs, hand outs, and second best.

Thankfully, much of the old, colonial bureaucratic approach within government departments and agencies has given way to a more service-oriented approach of late. Many legal requirements and taxation systems are not unlike those found in western countries where Ghanaians have been living. This has made dealing with the government much easier than in the past. But there are other challenges to face.

Financial institutions, especially those that have a colonial past, have not kept pace with the changes in the country, and as a result, it is difficult, and often impossible, to obtain loans for economically viable enterprises. This can and does result in frustrations, and is something to keep in mind for anyone who is deciding to settle in Ghana.

There is hope, though. The younger generation is moving ahead, in spite of the restraints they may face in the country. Increasingly, I meet young artists and entrepreneurs who are pursuing exciting projects and businesses. They recognize and value their “Africanism,” and they are unwilling to settle for anything but the best. This is most refreshing for someone like me, who has come from North America where everyone, young and old, seem so trapped by a homogenized American consumer culture.

One thing is therefore of great importance when deciding to move—do it for love, not for money. Do it for the love of life and lifestyle, and the money will follow. There is lots of money in this country, and if that is important to you, you can find it. So far, my hotel has not made much profit, but it has become a magnet for people who enjoy life. That is why I moved to Ghana. I came for the life that I could live, and I wouldn’t change any of it. I have had life enhancing experiences that would not have been possible had I remained in Canada.

There is of course still a large population of Ghanaians located outside of Ghana—those who emigrated, and those who were born of parents who emigrated. In the past, I have encouraged those I met to “Come home. We need you here, with your experience and knowledge and ideas.” But after watching some of my friends going through emotional and financial turmoil, when they made the attempt and failed, it became apparent to me that successful emigration to any part of the world depends on many factors and should be approached with eyes wide open.

In Ghana, family looms as one of the most important factors for settlers or returnees. There are two sides to that particular coin – the nuclear family that one may be leaving behind when one moves here; and the extended family that one may be joining on arrival.

Extended Family: Akwaaba - You are welcome.

For some returnees, one very difficult factor may be the different set of expectations encountered from extended family members. These can often be far beyond what new arrivals are financially or emotionally able or willing to meet, and the result can lead to conflicts and family rifts.

In addition, many who left Ghana for western countries in the past, may now have children who grew up and were educated outside of Africa, and who may never have visited the continent. Not all of them will have the same warm feelings for Ghana, and Africa, as my children. Some of these young people may feel little connection to the homeland of their parents. Their jobs and friends may be in other countries, and they may have no interest in moving to Ghana, which leaves parents (who are often, by this time, grandparents) living an ocean apart from members of their nuclear family.

This may pose no real problem for some, who may have been rocked by the economic wake-up call two years ago in the west, and worry now that the big fall is yet to come. For these people, they know where they want to be, if and when the western economical/political façade crumbles. I want to be in a village in Ghana, where I can fend for myself and be warm in the winter!

It is an exciting time at home in Africa. Sometimes, I joke with my children and say that as long as I can chop fufu (Yes, obruni didi fufu paa) and have a cold Star beer each day, I am a happy man! That is not too far from the whole truth. Life is very good, and I am indeed blessed.

And if you are reading this, and planning to move home to Ghana, may you also be as blessed.

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Nana

I am the stereotypical “country boy” with a twist – I am transplanted. I no longer live on the Canadian prairies where I grew up but I still live in a rural setting. I now share my time between two African villages: the fishing and resort village of Busua on the coast of the Western Region of Ghana; and Amudurasi in the Ashanti Region next to New Edubiase, seat of the Edubiase Traditional Area.

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Entering the Mind of a Serial Killer

okeyo — Tue, 15 Jun 2010 08:22:12 +0000

Most people in Kenya believe or rather associate Psychology with mind reading. The science was first introduced in the country in 1966, as an academic program in the United States International University-Africa.

Many lack sufficient knowledge of Psychology because they rely on the intrigues and counter intrigues that they witness in shows like, The Mentalist, Lie to Me and Criminal Minds. A psychologist is not a mind reader- he/she is a person who studies behaviour and mental processes more often than not linking the two to better understand human beings and animals.

Philip Onyancha claims to to have killed 17 victims in various parts of Kenya where he worked as a security guard. Photo/Fredrick Onyango.

The buzz in Kenya right now is caused by a young man, Philip Onyancha, a self-confessed serial killer. He has been working as a security guard with the G4S Company in Kenya until two months ago when he was fired. The man has confessed to killing 17 people and has taken the police to the places where he hid the bodies of his victims. He has also confessed to killing many prostitutes after having sex with them in the towns of Thika, Naivasha and Nyeri. All this also makes me highlight the fact that the criminal justice system in Kenya is a mess! The police keep no records of the people taken into custody, the courts throw out so many cases because of insufficient evidence, and the jails are nothing but a health risk to those sent there, but what does all this mean?

Onyancha, when asked his reasons for committing these crimes, simply answered “For the blood.” Now, this is where I was appalled! The police called in a psychiatrist to try and talk to him in an attempt to psychoanalyse the young man. I have nothing against psychiatrists because they work hand-in-hand with psychologists, but for this case I had a problem, what was the psychiatrist going to do? Was he going proclaim that Philip Onyancha had a mental disorder, say Schizophrenia, for example? Or was he going to commit him to medication after a clinical assessment? Onyancha’s wife and mother claim that the man they know is not a killer, because he was so humble and loving and a joyful person. But I have learned enough in Psychology to know that anyone can be dysfunctional and still put on a show of normality for social acceptance without giving any indication of his or her deviant acts.

So it would appear that Kenya needs to embrace Psychology because it looks at what makes society possible. It is a look at human behaviour, relationships, what prompts our actions and how to harmonize all aspects of our living. It is sad to say that in my country there are no laws or institutions set up to control the practice of psychology or to enhance it. There are many people around Nairobi who have set up offices, proclaiming that they are counsellors. But a professional counsellor needs to have attained at least a Post Doctorate in the field before setting up office and providing services. The result is that many Kenyans end up feeling “duped” and want nothing to do with the science.

Psychology faces so many challenges in Kenya; firstly, there is no body or institution registered under the government to control the practices that are set up by individuals. Secondly, there are no laws regulating these standards. Thirdly, there are very few universities offering the science as an academic program, and those that do have their graduates travel abroad to seek more training and experience. And the greatest challenge is that of religion, many religious people view psychology as a substitute of faith rather than a partner in ensuring the welfare of human beings and humanity as a whole.

Kenya needs to embrace Psychology to because like every country in Africa, we are heavily influenced by the West. We have borrowed their culture and ideologies and are struggling to fit them into ours without fully understanding them. The result of this has been nothing but chaos! We need to embrace Psychology because whenever we have societal problems, or issues as individuals, we cannot sit back and hope that they will one day go away, rather, we have to find the root cause of these problems, analyse them, and then figure a way out.

We should not wait for serial killers to confess to murders or for teenage pregnancies to be on the increase before seeking psychological help. We should learn more about the practice of psychology, embrace it, and use it effectively to see to a better Kenya.

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okeyo

I am a Psychology major at United States International University-Africa. I have published one book "A FATHER'S PORTRAIT" available on www.i-proclaimbookstore.com

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Where will Africa be in 2037?

okeyo — Sun, 04 Apr 2010 12:43:05 +0000

The World Cup is coming to Africa for the first time since its conception. It is coming to South Africa, and everyone on the continent has deemed it “our world cup”…”time for Africa to shine.” Well, for starters, let it be known that I am an avid football fan, and my favourite team is Manchester United.

Most of the guys I know laugh when I tell them I am a football fan, because at the back of their minds, they know that I am a woman and I know lots about fashion and shopping and nothing about the sport. But my love for the game is so because of the influence my dad had on me when I was little. We used to sit before those old Sanyo black and white television sets and watch Tottenham Hotspurs, but when David Beckham made his début for Man United in 1992, we were forced to shift alliances, and we have never been disappointed by the move.

I supported Italy in 1998, but this year, I am still confused and just the thought of all these teams being in the World Cup, and in Africa, I feel as though my choice has got to be worth the Golden Trophy! South Africa has spent 800 million pounds in preparations for the event, but most people around the world wonder whether the money would not have been better spent enhancing security in that country given RSA’s increased crime rate. But is it not the way of African culture to host a guest better than ourselves? That is the question that one of my friends asked me and I battled with the answer for more days than I care to mention. If it were a European country–or should I say a first world country–the question of expenditure would not be asked. Africa is still a third world continent faced with many issues, including natural calamities, low mortality rates and poverty. So, my question is–Where will Africa be in 2037?

If you have tuned to SuperSport, or any channel available on DSTV, chances are you will have seen the post World Cup commercial where this man shares his experience of the 2010 World Cup. It features the words “Africa in 2037″ at the bottom right. I have a huge problem with that commercial because it shows two things that an African Philosopher, John S. Mbiti, said about our continent. That is, we have a two dimensional sense of time, where we dwell more in the past than in the present or the future. He goes on to say that this is the reason why development and modernization in Africa is slow. Will Africa still have people living in semi-permanent housing and selling things all over the streets? And what is wrong with that you might ask? I say, everything!

To modernize, we must have the mentality to achieve the so desired state. Shall Africa have achieved the Millennium Development Goals or shall we still be asking for donations to feed the hungry in our own continent? Where will Africa be in 2037? What will African leaders have achieved? Will they have made their countries corruption-free or left legacies of poor leadership and plundered economies? Shall we still be asking for grants to set-up our governments, and will we still be losing children to curable diseases like Malaria and dysentery? How many will have been orphaned because of HIV/AIDS?

I am glad that legends like Steve Biko, Marcus Garvey, Nelson Mandela and Malcolm X identified the problem of African thinking. They sought to liberate the African mind first before seeking independence from white oppression, and yet, we still have not been completely liberated. If you have watched the commercial/advert of which I speak (not this one below), take a look at it again, and I am sure you will not only understand the implications of the words spoken by the actors but the background and images too.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j2IzXOSrM8s

This June, I will be supporting; Ivory Coast (because I am a liberated African and they have good players); Egypt–because they have proven worthy by winning the Africa Cup of Nations twice–and Italy, because…I still love the national team with or without Paulo Maldini. I, however, hope that Brazil will get to play against England (my team) so that my team may improve on their defence and tactics.

By 2037, Africa should have achieved its set-up goals and should have become more independent with no corruption. Only time will tell.

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okeyo

I am a Psychology major at United States International University-Africa. I have published one book "A FATHER'S PORTRAIT" available on www.i-proclaimbookstore.com

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A Kenya Inspired by Malcolm X

okeyo — Fri, 19 Mar 2010 10:02:53 +0000

I wake up every morning and the one thing that runs through my mind is what I am going to write next. Some call it an addiction and others simply think of me as mad, but when it comes to dreams, ambitions and passion, isn’t madness warranted? When I say madness in this case, I mean always thinking of something to the extent that you live, breathe, and dream of it all the time.

Malcolm X (born Malcolm Little; May 19, 1925 – February 21, 1965), also known as El-Hajj Malik El-Shabazz (Arabic: الحاجّ مالك الشباز‎), was an African-American Muslim minister, public speaker, and human rights activist.

With my passion for writing comes two things: I collect pencils and notebooks. I take trips to town just to buy the new brand of Pelikan pencils and relish the moment, but no one shares my enthusiasm. My room mate calls me mad, my friends just insist that I am “special” but the way they say it does not sound special.

And people are different. I take my inspiration from Malcolm X, who said, “If you don’t stand for something, you will fall for anything.” I have critics who do whatever they can to try and prove two things; (i) that I am crazy and (ii) need to have a reasonable hobby. They sit down and talk behind my back and when I am not listening, but at times I look at them, and I see the person that I do not want to be. I don’t want to sit back and comment negatively about someone else’s life when I have my own to live, and it seems to me like most black people have done that all their lives.

I am Kenyan, and in saying this it does not mean that I despise my country; I rather want what is best for her. Kenyans sure do have the weirdest character when it comes to critiquing each other and even parliamentarians. There is a square just opposite the Kencom Bus Terminus, where people sit idly from 6am to 7pm and they discuss how awful their parliamentarians are. The leaders they have voted into power are selfish, stupid and corrupt; and how they wish they could be like America and practice democracy; how they wish they would be like China and be technological giants; how better off South Africa is for hosting the 2010 World Cup. This goes on for hours on end and these idlers go back home and sleep hungry. It is all talk, all wishes, but none of them work on it.

Kencom Bus Terminus (Nairobi) - Not what you expected?

It is true that getting a job in Kenya is stressful, and if you get lucky enough to earn at least $160 per month, life is better and a little more comfortable. But to say that Kenyans needs a Malcolm X to make them stop feeling inferior to other developed countries would be 100% true. However, not having had the honour of meeting the man–I am restricted to his sayings and life experiences only, which are well laid out in The Autobiography of Malcolm X as written by Alex Haley between 1964 and 1965.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=53IvBoGf8-s

The first time I picked up the book, I had a nostalgic feeling, because I do not like to read autobiographies–they always make me question what I am doing in my life and, at times, that freaks me out. But while reading Malcolm X’s autobiography plenty of emotions overcame me. At the end of it, I was left in awe at how strong a character he was and how hard it was for him to live through such trivial times when anyone and everyone wanted him dead. He constantly looked over his shoulder and when I read Alex Haley’s confession that Malcolm X always sat facing the door – I was scared for the man.

Malcolm X lived for what he knew was right and fought for what to him was freedom – and in this, he sought to empower the black people, to make them believe that they needed no one’s approval other than their own to make them feel special. I am constantly faced with this challenge each time I tune the television set to watch our Kenyan news. It is always filled with politicians making very “stupid” remarks and then refuting them at a press conference even though the media shows them a video of their previous comments. We can never be like anyone else. Rather, we can ensure we are better with every passing second, that we do humane deeds and care for each other. We can stop idling and rather go about working on how to improve our lives.

How can we modernize when we do not have that mentality? How do we expect to be punctual when we wear wrist watches but never look at them to see how many minutes we have left? Why do we pretend to be speaking with an accent that is not our own? Why is it that anyone with an American accent is considered superior to your brother/sister who speaks the same message? For how long are we going to want and wish we had something instead of working hard to achieve it? Talking does not help, words alone have not power, but there has to be some determination and strength behind them.

I am a writer. I collect pencils and notebooks, and I am proud of who I am. Give me one month and you shall be reading my published book, and seeing them on shelves everywhere you go, but what of you? That is what I keep telling my friends each time they ridicule me, and they laugh.

Malcolm X was right, “Nobody can give you freedom. Nobody can give you equality or justice or anything. If you’re a man, you take it.”

Kenyans must have the right mentality before reaching that state of being.

okeyo

I am a Psychology major at United States International University-Africa. I have published one book "A FATHER'S PORTRAIT" available on www.i-proclaimbookstore.com

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This Small Thing Called Tribalism

hushcolor — Mon, 01 Mar 2010 18:06:22 +0000

There are many things I love about living in Kenya, but most of all I think I love the cultural diversity of its citizens. I stayed late at work yesterday, finishing up bits and pieces of what I had to present today in the office. Since it was getting late at night, I decided to walk across an open market so that I could get home in time.

As I did so, I was enticed into buying fried fish for supper from a lady who was sitting by the road side. I was so surprised when she spoke to me in my mother tongue. I use “mother tongue” to indicate the language of my ethnic group here. I don’t know if I seem to have my tribe inscribed on my forehead these days. I should hope not.

Kenya's violence is not just about ethnicity. Age and poverty are factors too.

I try as much as I can to conceal it. Not because I hate it. In fact, I am very proud of my tribal origins. But in this country, where ethnic clashes took away scores of lives during the last general election, I would rather be a just another countryman. I prefer to speak and communicate in Swahili, the national language, or English, rather than my mother tongue. I feel comfortable when people don’t suddenly judge me according to my ethnicity. However, it’s never that easy, especially in cases where I need to produce my identity card or quote my name–because from those alone, one can easily and accurately know my ethnic origin.

In the part of Nairobi where I live, ninety percent of the population come from one ethnic group–let’s call them Tribe2. I grew up in this part of Nairobi, went to school and played with children from Tribe2. I remember that in primary school, I was the only one from my tribe. I started at the lowest grade, and didn’t know too much of English or the national language, Swahili, by then. According to our Kenyan Education System at that time, children had to learn the national language as a subject in school since their parents would have raised them in their respective mother tongue. This same mother tongue that was also taught on the syllabus for pupils to learn how to read and write it.

Ironically, this was regardless of your ethnic group. Your ‘mother tongue’ was taught according to the region in which you went to school. As a result, I did not learn how to read or write in my mother tongue–the little I know was the much I was raised with before I went to school. I speak Tribe2’s language fluently, can read and write it as well. According to current Kenyan politics, my tribe and Tribe2 should not interact. All this stemming from ethnic based power struggles, and traditions through our parents, which dictate that we should never intermarry. However, our current generation is erasing this tradition, albeit with baby steps.

Yet this woman really amused me. She reminded me of my relatives upcountry, who speak in our mother tongue to each and everyone regardless of what ethnic group they may be from. I still wonder what she saw in me to make her come to the conclusion that we spoke the same language.

You see, Tribe2 are generally light-skinned while my tribe is usually a dark color, having emigrated from Sudan. If you have ever been to Sudan, you will know that these people are extremely dark-skinned.

I am never surprised when the matatu (mini-bus) conductor asks me for my bus fare in his native Tribe2’s language and confirms where I should alight in the same. It amuses me most of the times. They always think that since I am light-skinned, I must come from their tribe. But I just wish as a country, we would embrace each other, regardless of our ethnic composition.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=–Bc-hbErV4

I speak of only two tribes here, but there are roughly forty tribes in Kenya. I wish Swahili was our mother tongue. It makes no sense to me which tribe is superior. For while the world battles with wars and racism, Africa battles with tribalism. It seems so juvenile sometimes.

hushcolor

A Kenyan by birth, proud in her skin, who generally spends most of her time in a research organization but loves writing. Has been hush in her writing, now coming out louder.

On Black History Month

okeyo — Wed, 17 Feb 2010 12:40:39 +0000

I have been responding to the name Dora for as long as I have lived. That is my name. In Greek it means “gift of God.” My mom says that she named me after a legend, Isadora Duncan, a famous and gifted dancer who brought into conception the art of ballet dancing. Based on legal papers, I am a citizen of Kenya–which happens to be a country in the continent called Africa. But at times, I prefer to say that I am just a human being.

I have never known many people, but the ones I have met have influenced my life in ways that could make me either loathe or proud to be a human being. And I have also come to know with age that there are different classes, all attributed to skin color; white, yellow, black and red. The reds are very few since they have been almost extinct for a while now–the ones that exist in some parts of Canada have inter-married. What of me? I recall asking our maid once, while watching a famous soap opera back in the days called The Rich Also Cry and she said of them, “They are white.”

“Then what am I?” I asked.
“You are black and certainly not one of them.”
“But don’t we all speak?”
“Yes, but you are not one of them, and can never be.”
“Then why was I named after one of them?”

I am still waiting for an answer to this question. It is a matter that I have constantly battled with but never getting an answer. All my life I have been told I am black and made to feel two things: white is superior and black is inferior. I will never be like them, yet the basis of my education, religion, culture, socialization, dressing, entertainment and health is all white! So is this to say that I am a white person trapped in a black person’s body, or just that I am human? I prefer the latter.

But it hurts to know that it is a fellow black who puts us down, who says that I am no good, that we are no good. Is that what being black is all about? Inferiority? It is true that over the centuries black people have been associated with the inhuman act of slavery; whipping, hanging, cursing, torture and in being the despised, but we have focused too much on the pain that all these acts perpetrated upon us have caused us that we have failed to look at how far we have come. Our character is strong to have persevered through all this. What are our strengths? What do we then have that any human being would give to have? Our skin, it is beautiful, the first drum beat, herbal medicine, culture and customs that have stood the test of time, nature, unfathomable beauty and hope, we have hope…something that any human being needs at all times to achieve his/her dreams. The strength to have endured the worst acts against humanity crowned by pride is what black is: victorious not victim.

In Africa, we have poor roads, low mortality rates, insufficient funds, corrupt leaders, poverty, civil wars, witchcraft and the list is endless. We seem to be forever at the mercy of donor aid, but we still hold a grudge against those who colonized us. This pulls us back. Black people should stop being victims of colonization; it has been over sixty years since we were colonized and approximately forty five more since we gained independence…what have we done with this new found “freedom?”

Have we not used it to destroy Africa instead of build it? Whilst February is Black History Month in Kenya, it would be wise to focus on what black should be because times have changed and the society in which we live has become complex. Africa has westernized and right now the world has become what most people call a “global village” through globalization. Africans have taken a lot of time in playing the victims of colonization and as a result have failed in numerous accounts to develop economically, socially and technologically.

The one thing that should change is our mentality. We should stop saying we are inferior and rather work hard towards being superior. Black to me is the epitome of beauty. It is bold, beautiful, talented and fabulous. I am black, my skin color reflects it, but so does my pride. I choose to live for a better today and tomorrow, where children do not sleep in the streets, where they play till dusk and go home to the loving arms of caring parents, for a corruption-free nation, for the documentation of my culture and customs that out of it may spring knowledge for the future, that is what I live for. My question to you is this: Are you courageous enough to believe in it and more?

okeyo

I am a Psychology major at United States International University-Africa. I have published one book "A FATHER'S PORTRAIT" available on www.i-proclaimbookstore.com

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Crisis for Kenyan Dairy Farmers as Famine Loom

hushcolor — Thu, 11 Feb 2010 15:21:40 +0000

In the country where I live, we have a passion for nation building. We struggle as a people to contribute to our nation as much as we possibly can, but sometimes, it all seems to go to waste. If you sit long enough with me, you will understand exactly what I am saying. I live in the capital city of Nairobi in Kenya, but I was born in the western region.

Just recently, I went on field work–funded by the organization where I work–on a project that encourages farmers who are frustrated by the ever falling prices of tea and coffee in the international market, to turn their hands to dairy farming for increased income. We encouraged the farmers to rear dairy animals, including dairy goats besides cattle, since milk prices had increased over the years thanks to a resurgent dairy sector. That was last year between July to September 2009.

Kenya’s food stocks will run out in April 2010, resulting in increased inter-ethnic conflict over land and water and more people going hungry, warns the Kenya Food Security in a recent study blaming poor rainfall, high food prices, and environmental degradation for this new crisis.

We travelled to the rural areas talking to the farmers on a one-to-one basis, encouraging them to increase the number of dairy animals as a way to raise more income. Having satisfactorily done this, we went back to Nairobi (the capital city) with the data we had collected for analysis. We would get all manner of positive feedback from the farmers in calls and letters. To say the truth, we felt like we had accomplished a major feat. We knew we had impacted positively on one or two lives.

However, in January 2010, I was sitting at home watching the prime-time news and what I saw shocked the living hell out of me. Apparently, there was a milk glut in the country. This coming after pastures improved sparked by the heavy rains we had experienced across the country.

But this was not my cause for alarm. What terrified me was the fact that thousands upon thousands of litres of fresh milk were, and is still, going to waste after farmers were barred from delivering the commodity to the government factories. It is now emerging that some of these factories cannot handle this large amount of milk production. In fact, some factories have even been closed in certain parts of the country. Every day there is an excess of about 130,000 litres of good fresh milk pouring down the drains. These same farmers we had encouraged to produce more milk are asking us why the government cannot contain and make use of this milk. Why after all the sweat they had put in to get more income from milk production, they are now being turned away?

Freak floods along the coast and in north eastern and eastern regions of Kenya have brought with them mudslides while severe droughts ravage other parts of the country, potentially affecting some 750,000 people and contributing to increased incidence of disease among humans and animals, according to both government and humanitarian agencies.

Let me digress a moment, and take you on a walk to the northern part of Kenya, about 380km north-east of Nairobi is a region better known as the forgotten part of our country. This area has experienced failed rains and, as a consequence, drought. This is where pastoralists keep livestock in large numbers, toiling in the scorching sun all day to get their animals to pasture. This part of Kenya suffers from food insecurity, characterized by poor infrastructure, inadequate healthcare, and a harsh climate.

Towards the end of 2009, however, there came the sudden arrival of rain after a long period of drought. This prompted floods and affected the livestock amounting to a large number of deaths. The trouble with this North eastern part of Kenya is that it has a very poor drainage system, the terrain is flat and therefore water is in abundance–it just stagnates.

So, ironically, in parts of Kenya there is a surplus of food that is going to waste, while in Northern Kenya there is a an impending famine waiting to happen. My worry is for the pastoralists, as well as the farmers who have done their part, and both need reciprocal action from the government. While we wait for the snail-pace of government to deal with this crisis, my organization is striving to enable farmers to set up new chilling plants all over Kenya.

I am but a citizen who wouldn’t know or have much to bring to the table except the little knowledge I have to share. But it is with great passion that I still commit to the betterment of our great nation. For you in your country, an inspired gift from UNICEF can save an African child. But for me, it’s much harder to do that here. Give inspirationally.

hushcolor

A Kenyan by birth, proud in her skin, who generally spends most of her time in a research organization but loves writing. Has been hush in her writing, now coming out louder.

The Smile, the Bus and the Wheelchair

Matt Gibbs — Tue, 22 Dec 2009 16:57:05 +0000

Sometimes, unexpectedly, delight falls into our lives. Staring vacantly into space on the way back from a school this afternoon, all I could think of was lunch and the sweat pouring off my brow.

We cruised up to a bus stop where I saw an old man in a wheelchair–beaming happily at the bus, rolling evenly over the dried palm leaves to claim a seat. The door opened; a couple of students jumped out and the old man waited patiently as the conductor paused and looked at him.

There was an impasse. This man was coming on the bus and there were no two ways about it. The conductor broke into a smile and chuckled – not at the man, merely at the situation; the kind of chuckle that says, “How are we going to do this?” Things were being said in pidgin; too quickly for me to catch and too different from the PNG pidgin I used to know so well. Fingers pointed, arms waved and the front seat passengers shifted. With a heave-and-a-ho (and a boost from a couple of strong young fellas from the front row), the old man swung himself into a seat, directing the conductor to fold-up the wheelchair and put it in front.

I have often heard disabled people cry, “I don’t have a disability; my ability is just different to yours!” or something like it. But let’s face it – in a great many countries, people with different abilities still find it tricky getting up steps, crossing the road and clambering onto buses. Yet this guy had co-opted people to help him and they were happy to do so. There was such brilliant, no-nonsense, camaraderie about the whole business that I couldn’t help but smile. It was all I could do to restrain myself from taking out my camera – only to record the moment – but that was the point, wasn’t it?

These guys barely made a fuss out of the scenario – even though it clearly didn’t happen often – so why should I? Some people can do it shamelessly, some even with élan; step out of the moment and take a picture, but not I.

I’m glad I was able to stay in the background. What a joy simply to be reminded about how lovely people are. I mean, I don’t often think people are awful, but I suppose my preoccupations blind me to goodness. It is a special trick – a different ability – to see goodness all around.

Matt Gibbs

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Nights in Khartoum

Matt Gibbs — Mon, 09 Nov 2009 19:10:19 +0000

I had forgotten how busy Thursday nights can be in Khartoum. For the wealthy and the well-to-do, it is a night for parties, for family celebrations, for weddings and engagements. I was walking along the usually bustling street, moving much more quickly than the amjads and rickshaws that I could have been taking, weaving in and out of the traffic, pushing past people and doing my best not to respond to the crude or curious calls of “khawaja”, ‘white man.’

Amidst the car horns and exhaust fumes, men climb out of their cars in the crisp white Muslim attire – the tagia (cap) and gelabia (long shirt), escorting their wives who have stepped elegantly out of their cars or taxis, wrapped in colourful and shimmering toaps, tottering on high, thin heels and glancing austerely at their surroundings. Beside them, the simply-dressed street children, mostly IDPs (internally displaced persons) from Southern Sudan, look ragged and untidy, but you have the sense that these elegant women are glad to be looking down on someone. The Southern Sudanese kids are bustling around, trying to keep busy washing cars or keep out of the way and I am reminded, absurdly, of the opening scene from My Fair Lady when the opulent high society are leaving their central London ball, met by mingling flower girls on the street. “Buy a flower off a poor girl.” But Arabic kitsch plastic flowers are about the best that can be done in Khartoum, so the image rapidly evaporates. Bizarre that such a comparison can be made in a country and time so far removed from turn of the century London. In essentials, perhaps we do not change.

It is little wonder that the Darfur crisis began because Darfurians suggested that the Government was neglecting their arid and desolate region. Since the signing of the Comprehensive Peace Agreement in 2005, Khartoum has developed in leaps and sandy bounds; full of prosperous locals, opportunities and paved roads. High rises are slowly rising high, and yet another bridge across the Nile is almost finished. Of course, many developing countries have capitals that are more developed with better social indicators than their rural areas (the seat of Government needs to look like a seat of Government). However, Khartoum has developed at a cost and the cost is borne by the rural states, including the three states of Darfur.

While private investment booms in Khartoum, turning the largely uninteresting city into a predicted “Dubai of North Africa,” public investment is sadly lacking in Darfur. For over three years, everyone from the UN Secretary-General to the President of the United States to actors George Clooney and Mia Farrow have been calling a stop to the conflict in Darfur. And nothing changes. For four years the Government has been content in letting humanitarian agencies do the work of the Government and provide basic services to two-thirds of the entire population of Sudan’s western region. And nothing changes. No sanctions, no political pressure, no mass public awareness.

What is perhaps the most frustrating factor is the limited public concern over the situation. Not just in Western countries where people are keenly aware of social responsibility, in theory, if not in practice, but in Sudan itself. The most generous response you may have from someone in Khartoum is a mournful shake of the head – “there’s nothing we can do.” Even in the towns of Darfur, protests in the past have been targeted at the UN, rejecting a UN force; a result of a clever subversive campaign of the Government to move people against a “colonising” external force, irrespective of motivation and intention.

Perhaps it is too unfair to say that people in Khartoum do not, nor will not, care about the ongoing hardship of their compatriots. But they are very good at ignoring it. Like millions in the West who dismiss Darfur as another blight on this vast continent – as someone in Sydney told me, “It’s Africa; what do you expect?” – Khartoum-dwellers (IDPs notwithstanding) are getting comfortable with life. The standard of life is increasing in Khartoum. It is almost as if the buildings that are going up are obscuring Darfurians from the sight of those in Khartoum. They are still in the shadows, easily ignored.

In late 2007, however, it became impossible for northern and southern Sudanese alike to ignore internal disparities any longer with the suspension of the Comprehensive Peace Agreement (CPA) by the Government of Southern Sudan. The Government of ‘National Unity’ had rightly been accused of failing to comply with a number of provisions in the CPA, particularly withdrawing troops from Southern Sudan (to be replaced by Southern Sudanese troops from the former SLPA) and finalising boundaries between North and South, leaving the buffer states vulnerable to exploitation. The reason? Oil. Oil and private investment is funding the extraordinary development of Khartoum. Oil is funding the government’s war in Darfur. However, oil revenue is not making its way to the vastly under-resourced and under-developed South, largely because the border between North and South remains unclear, representing the Government’s direct contravention of the CPA.

I left Sudan when we in the middle of coordinating responses to flooding and cholera in North Sudan, in addition to the ongoing complex emergency response in Darfur. I had been there – based in Khartoum – for two years, travelling out to Darfur frequently, in addition to other focus states to support field operations and emergency response of a big agency. Of course, when you are in the thick of work in a situation like this, you take it for granted that your work is making some semblance of a contribution to improving lives – and maybe it is – but standing back and looking from afar, you begin to doubt. Since I left Sudan, the CPA has been suspended once, a rebel group has made an attack on the city I used to call home, the Government resumed bombing in Darfur, the key area of Abyei was half destroyed and the President of Sudan has been accused of crimes against humanity, further compromising a fragile peace. What next for this country?

I have no illusions that the process of development as it stands is perfect – nor my minor role in it – but it is a system slowly changing. Let’s just hope it changes with the most vulnerable people at the centre; that they are ultimately able to claim the rights that have been deprived them for so long. Without access to these basic freedoms, there is no real development.

Matt Gibbs

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