Monday, January 29, 2007

To Rove or not to Rove















During the lead up to the Iraq Invasion my housemate Neil Gislason and I often tuned in to ‘Diplomatic Immunity’, the weekly TV Ontario current affairs programme. One blustery night we were surprised to learn that the show was not focusing on the impending conflict. Instead of witnessing another debate between Eric Margolis and Janice Stein over the relative merits of the military option, we were treated to some deep thoughts on Sub-Saharan Africa’s development problems. Neil and I will never forget that night. Professor Stein opined that one of the principal impediments to equitable development was a culture of ‘Land Rover envy’. We thought about it for weeks. Was it really only the size of one’s rover that counted?

Based upon my informal observations of the twice-daily traffic jam on Ocean Road here in Dar es Salaam, Professor Stein was on to something. Typically 70 to 75% of the idling vehicles that I walk past on my way to work are gas-guzzlers. Often their doors feature the logos of prominent NGOs and development agencies, including several of the former that concentrate on environmental issues, such as the World Wide Fund for Nature. Certainly the local development establishment can convincingly rationalize the composition of its fleet by appealing to the sorry state of Tanzania’s side roads. However, it remains an open question just how many of these SUVs are actually used consistently to do work in rural areas. In short, I’ve caught myself wondering on more than one occasion if this transportation ‘norm’ is really necessary for development workers based in and around Dar. In light of the present climate crisis, the status quo surely does not seem desirable.

As the environment surges past its historic 1989 high to the top of the national priority list in Canada, it makes sense to think about my own project’s environmental balance sheet. On January 5th, days before I left, I recall walking down Yonge Street in Toronto clad in nothing more than my David Suzuki t-shirt. That same day, looking at my research budget, I wondered what it was going to cost me to hire an SUV to complete interviews with cotton farmers in the heart of Tanzania’s Western Cotton Growing Area. At the time I didn’t really grasp the contradiction. I can now see that I was unthinkingly caught up in the old equation: development work = big white truck.

Many of the young expats that I met at a party last Friday night have liberated themselves from such path dependence. They have embraced ‘piki pikis’ (little motorbikes) and car pools. When they do hop into one of the many development dreamboats, it is frequently because they are hitching a ride. I hope to follow their lead. If I bear in mind Toronto guitar superstar Don Duval’s famous dictum I should be able to will my environmental awareness into action. As Donner has admonished again and again: “less talk, more rock!”

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Thanks to all of you that got in touch after the last posting. It was great to know that so many took the time to read my thoughts. The sad thing is that Nairobi's marginalized and dispossessed residents face similar challenges every week. I haven't yet heard from any of the other witnesses about subsequent developments. I’ll keep you posted.

Monday, January 22, 2007

World Social Wake-up Call

On Saturday I arrived in Nairobi to attend the World Social Forum for three days. I was incredibly excited to meet new people and discuss all things political and economic. After landing at Kenyatta airport my taxi driver told me that there had been many changes in the city over the past two years, including a visibly scaled-up police presence. He noted that the people he knew generally felt safer going about their daily lives. I took him at his word, and getting caught up in his optimism, thought nothing more of Kenya’s development problems.

As we neared my destination on Milimani Road – Nairobi Backbackers – I took in the sights along a beautiful road named after the famous African-American political scientist and Nobel laureate Ralph Bunche. As I subsequently walked from the Backpackers towards the mall to check out the best development bookstore in East Africa I realized that on my last visit in 2004 I must have been in great shape. This time, not having recently completed months of treeplanting, my legs were on fire!

I returned to the Backpackers in the mid-afternoon for a meeting with two fellow Canadians set up by the global social convenor herself, Robyn Agoston (my old officemate at The North-South Institute). Leaving at least twenty WSF delegates to enjoy an overdone rack of lamb, Andrew Deak, Mireille Saurette and I headed out for some Italian in the city centre. We drank red wine and pontificated about the state of the Forum and the condition of the world. Andrew explained his current documentary project and discussed the WSF’s chronic disorganization, while Mireille talked about her new home in Rwanda and the possibilities of building a more eco-friendly economy. For my part, I wondered aloud about the size of the pile that would result from stacking all the vehicles in the world together in one place. My guesstimate was that such a stack would extend at least from Nairobi to the coast at Mombassa. I argued that the production and dissemination of a pseudo view from space of such a pile belching a giant cloud of emissions could go a long way towards getting people to think twice about taking the car…or in the case of East Africa, the giant SUV.

Afterwards, as the taxi dropped me at Milimani and Bunche I was caught up in the moment. I didn’t think twice about the large crowd of people gathered just down Bunche at the head of an alley running parallel to Milimani. I proceeded up Milimani, passing the Milimani apartments and the autowreckers en route to the Backpackers. When I entered the compound I realized that something was up from the looks of concern I got from the people seated in the restaurant. I headed around the back of the main building to my shelter for the night in one of the permanently pitched tents and ran smack into a crowd of a dozen Forum delegates. They were standing outside of my tent and gazing over the compound’s back fence. I asked several women what was happening. They explained that half an hour before, police (or men dressed as police) drew their guns and marched up the alley behind the Milimani apartments into the slum directly behind the Backpackers. The ‘cops’ simply told the residents to “get out.” According to these witnesses, two giant bulldozers then drove up the alley and into the slum. These machines rolled over all of the homes and shelters that stood in their way.

I paused, listened, and then realized that I was hearing the sound of bulldozers in action. Women and children were screaming. From their cries we could tell that many were choosing to remain inside their homes until the last possible second. I pulled out my digital audio recorder and captured the roaring of the bulldozers, the grating of metal on metal, and the terror-induced screeches.

It was morbid. Here we were, a group of people that John Kenneth Galbraith would definitely consider to be “socially concerned” (if he were still with us, that is) and we were absolutely paralyzed. Someone discussed marching over as a group to put a stop to the carnage. But the impulse to self-preserve took hold. The consensus seemed to be that it was irresponsible to organize a direct intervention in the pitch black against men with guns. Not knowing how to react, people retreated into their own thoughts.

The bulldozers shut down around 2am and then the pillaging began. Men – many of them quite drunk – trickled into the slum in groups. They began recovering corrugated fencing and other things of value. Safely behind the wall, and the property rights it represented, my tent was no more than three metres from the destructive action. I sprawled out on my cot in my clothes, thinking it was best to remain clothed in case the fence were to become a target for the looters, and settled in for a sleepless night. As things got colder I thought of the hundreds of women and children that had been forced out into the Nairobi night with no place to go but the forest along Bunche Road.

When the sun came up on Sunday morning I learned that several delegates had shot video footage of the event in the alley. Word was getting out to the WSF organizers and there were plans to post as much information about the incident as possible on the web through sites such as Indymedia. I joined a fellow delegate and headed to alley to talk to people, take pictures and see what could be done. Upon seeing the place my first impression was that a bomb had gone off. Apparently the community had existed for twenty years. As my pictures attest, it was completely flattened in about four hours. The images are quite disturbing. I will post one or two on the blog later today or tomorrow.

I wrestled with staying at the Forum for the duration, and decided against it. I hopped into a taxi for Kenyatta, and after witnessing my driver pay off an officer on the road to the airport (chai kidogo incident #2), had him drop me off at the WSF airport welcome centre. I explained what had happened behind the Backpackers. After hearing my story one volunteer said that it had probably been the work of thieves. In her view the government was not involved, and the slum dwellers had probably been given a notice of eviction, or were likely thieves themselves. Another volunteer apparently misunderstood my story. She informed the committee that WSF delegates had been attacked by slum dwellers. I corrected her, but this apparently did not stop her from contacting airport security. After changing some money at international arrivals, I walked back past the welcome centre, and this person told me to sit and wait for the head of airport security to arrive. Apparently he wanted to see me to discuss my “serious allegation.” Needless to say I hightailed it to the departures terminal and smiled my way through immigration.

Kenya had an opportunity this week to show the world that changes were afoot. Unfortunately, they failed to meet the challenge. Saturday’s Financial Times Magazine featured an article on Kenyan anti-corruption crusader John Githongo. It detailed how the “kleptocratic” (plundering) ways of the Moi-era have continued unabated during Kibaki’s tenure as President. To this recognition I would add that human rights abuses are ongoing and significant under the new regime. As nearly twenty young WSF delegates will attest, human rights violations occurred on Saturday night. It is quite possible that no one in the government sanctioned the destruction. The fact remains, however, that the authorities did not put a stop to it. I can think of no rational justification for toppling houses with people in them at gunpoint even if an eviction notice has been served and the date to vacate has passed. According to witnesses nobody died on the night of 20 January behind Nairobi Backpackers. It is an open question whether those dwelling at the bulldozer crew’s next target will have similar luck.

The pressing question concerns what will happen to the people that lost their homes. My hope is that those that stayed on at the Forum after witnessing this tragic event are able to act on the desires they articulated Sunday morning to help. I felt that I could best contribute by getting out of the country and writing about the incident. I hope there are other ways that I can be of use to these newly homeless people as time goes on, and will update all of you on what is being done, and the ways you might possibly be able to contribute.

Check out Andrew's blog: http://andrewreflects.blogspot.com

Tuesday, January 16, 2007


Monday, January 15, 2007

Ticket to Development

I jetted out of Pearson International in Toronto one week ago today. The past seven days have been an emotional rollercoaster. At times I've been excited to finally be in Tanzania. I've also found myself feeling apprehensive on more than one occasion. It's an entirely new social scene here and my connections are embryonic at best. I also have a lot of work to do. Above all, I've felt sad to leave behind my best friend Katharine and our little pet, "the man" (see the photo). I hadn't realized just how attached I'd grown to them! As I arrived at the start of the Revolutionary Day long weekend I had a lot of time to think about life with them over the past years.

I busied myself last weekend with several day trips to important historical points of interest. On Friday, to make the memories of my 48 hour "in transit" experience fade, I hired a car to take me to Bagamoyo up the coast. This city used to be the heart of the Omani empire's slaving and ivory trading operations. It also served as the first capital of German East Africa. I toured one of East Africa's first mosques and walked the famous coastline where many of East Africa's dhows (boats) are built. I also started remembering Swahili phrases and hacked away at them while ordering lunch and hanging out in the fruit market.

Somewhere between seeing another lorry load of pineapples making its way towards the city and watching my driver haggle over a bag of mangoes he asked me if I wanted to see his new plot of land. He told me that he had saved up 2 million TZS (+/- $1900 Canadian) to purchase a small hillside piece of property, and will spend a further 5 million TZS to build his retirement home on the site. The Tanzanian government estimates that the monthly average income for urban households is 104 thousand TZS per month. Assuming my driver earns the average, he will have to devote 48 months of earned income to build his dream home, potentially more if he takes out any loans to speed the process. To me this level of investment (four years of household income) seems quite similar to what many Canadian families would put into the construction of their cottage or retirement home.

But the numbers are interesting. They occupied me on Saturday when I had some time to play with them. For example, in 2005, nearly 583 thousand tourists visited Tanzania. If each of these visitors spent the very conservative equivalent of 1.6 million TZS on their flight, the international airlines made nearly as much as Tanzania earned in foreign exchange receipts from its tourists that year: $746 million USD or roughly 956 billion TZS. Assuming my driver's costs were accurate, 956 billion TZS would build 88 300 houses on plots of similar size.

Having time to think, a rather radical idea occurred to me. What if tourists were encouraged to donate the equivalent of their flight costs directly to the government or development agencies operating in the country? The government would be able to make tourism less of an 'enclave' industry and redistribute the earnings from the sector across the economy in a way that would meet their development objectives. Tanzanians that are less well off than my driver and that do not currently benefit directly from the tourist industry would stand to make substantial gains.

The challenge, of course, would be to get prospective tourists to purchase the "ticket to development". Beyond moral suasion there are several possible ways that this approach could be made viable. An incentive package funded from the earnings of the scheme could be developed that would give ticket holders access to great discounts on their accommodation that would be unavailable to "regular" tourists. Global publicity could also make purchasing the ticket into a status symbol in the rich countries. To serve those that purchase the ticket but choose to forgo their trip, the government could create an agency that would produce "virtual" memories with the latest technology that recount the forgone vacation. In David Vogel's terms, there is a new "market for virtue". Perhaps Tanzania can take advantage of this new climate, and concern for Africa in general, with the establishment of a market for development tickets or something similar.

Anyway, these are quite possibly the bleary ramblings of a culture shocked Canadian that misses his good friends...so the above policy advice should be taken with a truckload of salt!

Saturday I traveled to Pugu Hill, home to the secondary school where Mwalimu Julius Nyerere - the father of the nation - taught before he became active in politics. It was a great adventure, especially when I headed further up the road to Kisarawe. The local cop pulled the car over and made my driver demonstrate that all parts were in working order, including the wipers, seatbelts, headlights, blinkers and mirrors. After checking the registration and insurance particulars, he demanded to know why the car lacked a fire extinguisher. Apparently the cop was looking for "chai kidogo" (a little tea). Thinking fast, my driver told him that I wasn't set to pay until I returned to my hotel. The officer subsequently let us go.

Sunday I hit Kunduchi beach North of the city. Despite my best efforts to reapply sunscreen the tropical sun did what it typically does upon first exposure: I now have a sunburned left ankle and some serious streaking on my back. It was great to be back in salt water not far from where I last tasted it to the North and West on Zanzibar in 2004. I also rediscovered dalla dallas that day (shared toyota minivans). Why I went for cabs on days one and two I'm not sure. Riding with twenty people in a minivan made me remember my last trip, and I started to feel more at ease in my new surroundings.

Yesterday (Monday) was a day of bureaucratic non-events. I secured my research clearance and immigration papers, and picked up my plane ticket to Nairobi for the World Social Forum. I head for Nairobi on Saturday.

Today I move into my new place on Ocean Road, up from State House. I am indebted to Namwaka Omari and Reuben Mwaikinda for finding me this space and can't wait to meet my new housemate, Ronald Shelukindo.

That's it for the first post. My USB cable is en route, so there will be pictures starting next week. Keep in touch via email!

adam