Election 2007 January 2008

Just weeks ago people stood in line to vote. Today they stand in line for food.

The Kenya election took place on Thursday, December 27. Two days after Christmas. According to reporters it was a clean, well run election, until the ballots reached the ECK (the Electoral Commission of Kenya).

We left Nairobi on the 24th. Took the train to Mombassa. To a lovely beach. Soft sand. Blue water. The hotel staff were fired up to vote. They all took shifts and went to a small town near the hotel, to vote. They felt change in the air. They wanted Odinga. It was clear that Odinga was the front runner. The election was his.

The day after the elections people waited for results. As the hours dripped by, people became restless. They wanted results. They smelled corruption, rigging. They took to the streets. By the 28th there was chaos in the streets. Tires burned. Shops looted. Roads blocked. People injured.

We were in a boat. On aqua colored water, cruising the white sands, looking for dolphins. We pulled into a reef. We slathered on sun screen to get ready for snorkeling. The driver’s cell phone rang. It was base. I listened and heard something about a loud noise and we must go back. Thunder I thought? Strange, the sky is clear. Our driver explained that on shore rioting broke out and guns were being fired, he thought it best we go back to the hotel. We agreed.

At the hotel, while people played tennis, sipped pina coladas, we were glued to the TV.

Saturday the ECK held a press conference. The head of ECK took the microphone, said he would report on the four final areas that had not yet been announced and then he would announce the final presidential results. As he read the provincial results “ODM X, PNU Y….” I thought “they are really going to do this.” As you started to tally the votes in your head, it was evident that the four final areas were going to put Kibaki ahead. But before he could even get that far, in front of our eyes, anarchy broke out in the press room. A man stood and challenged the speaker, more and more people stood. People got on chairs. Climbed over chairs. Yelled. Waved their arms. Pushed their neighbors. Remember, this is a political press conference. Soon the Chairman of ECK was escorted out by armed guards while others followed.

Within moments Ralia Odinga entered the room. His gang following. He sat in the chair of the Chairman of ECK. “Rigging,” he claimed. “This election has been rigged.” They would not accept the results.

One hour later, in a closed room, the ECK announced Kibaki the winner. Ten minutes later Kibaki was formally sworn in as President. Kibaki declared the following day a holiday. A friend said to me, welcome to your first African coup. People ran from their radios, phones and TVs and the real mayhem started. 30 minutes later all live media coverage was cut off.

People lit fires, hacked each other with machetes, blocked roads, burned houses. Yelled, screamed, cried and pleaded. Kenya spiraled.

Around us at the beach resort, people swam. The hotel “animation team” held step classes by the pool. The 4pm tea had a line of people.

The next morning we were to head back to Mombassa, but the airport was closed. Mobs had taken over the airport road. Reports in Nairobi were grim. Mombassa was no better. Stay? Go? We called the airlines and the next flight out was January 3. We were stuck.

While going back to Nairobi did not appear to be safe, staying on the coast was worse. Petrol would run out, the town we were in was out of gas. Taxi drivers immediately doubled their price. Food was limited—people stood in line in the next town over for maize. Limited transport, fuel and food, meant chaos. There is only one road in and out, meaning, to get to the airport, we’d have to take that road and a short ferry. Anyone with some boulders and a couple pangas could easily block that road.

We got a flight and left the hotel at 5am in a convoy of eight cars and armed guards to the airport.

We got to the airport fine. However, when we went to pay for our ticket the women said, we need cash, nobody is taking credit cards anymore. We had ventured out the day before to find cash. All banks on the coast were closed and had been for the last four days because of riots and holidays. All the ATMs were dry. We begged, borrowed and finally made it on the plane.

Goat

A long day of community meetings and site visits with no lunch. At 5pm we, colleagues and some Maasai, stopped for a snack at the local butchery, a small wooden room, dark. The smell of goat was pungent. We sit at the one wooden table, which is caked in years of grease and meat. A huge plate of goat is placed in front of me. I waited, thinking plates would soon be coming. The elder nodded to me saying, you are the guest of honor, dig in. There you have it, fingers in, and down it goes. Ugali, a stiff starchy staple, was then brought to the table, along with shredded cabbage and tomato. Down the hatch. After “lunch” we enjoyed sodas and sat around the table picking our teeth with tooth picks and talking about land issues, as other Maasai wandered in and out.

Tanzania January 2008

A Maasai elder says a prayer before the meeting starts—a tradition. We are on a ranch protected for wildlife movement. We are gathered, a group of Maasai, myself and colleagues, under a large acacia tree. As a guest, the elder places a massive beaded necklace, the size of a record player, around my neck. I am asked to present myself in Swahili—it is a short presentation.

The ranch is a critical linkage between two parks. We are working to ensure the corridor stays intact through conservation . The greatest threat—agriculture. On the drive through we see elephant, eland, giraffe, warthogs and more. The diversity is impressive.

We drive to Tarangire National Park, known for its elephants and massive baobab trees. These ancient trees have witnessed centuries of life—war, peace, transition, independence. Some of the baobabs are bigger than a house . We are visiting a lion research team. 130 lions have been killed in the last two and a half years. They estimate roughly 400 lions in the Park. Like the supposed big bad wolf, lions have a bad reputation for killing cattle. Yet jackals, hyenas, leopards, cheetah take more cattle than lions. The research team is working with community members to make their bomas (the area where they keep their cattle) more secure, so that the cattle do not become prey.

The researchers are monitoring 11 prides. Their study is critical to understanding lion movement and protecting them as they move out of the Park. Eleven lions have been collared. We stop on a small hill and hold up the telemetry antenna. We here the magic “beep.” They are close. After following the beeps, hearing it get louder and louder, we find a pride of eight lions lounging in the grass. The researchers know each of them. They identify them by the spots on their cheeks, no lion pattern is the same.

The scenery is stunning and the landscape expansive. On the way to camp, we pass a women’s groups that we have supported. One group greets us with song and dance. They are dressed traditionally, blue and red kikoys and elaborate beads. They are a co-op, women joined together to generate money for their families. I am asked to explain who I am in Swahili. When I finish they burst into song and yelping. They adorn me with a necklace. We drink sodas in the dusk and hear of their needs and challenges.

That night we are in a community conservation area. Out “tents” are beautiful. Lovely bed, stone decorated shower and a porch overlooking a lake—the birding is awesome. A family of dwarf mongoose hangs out on the termite mound outside my tent. The next day we meet with the chairperson of the conservation area and a committee member. The cement office building is off the main dirt road (all the roads are dirt in this area.) In the one room office is a desk, five chairs and some poster boards taped to the wall. We discuss the conservation area and their challenges—lack of funds, lack of game scouts (the people who patrol the area for poachers, illegal grazing.)

We depart to visit the game scouts. There are eighteen of them, dressed in army fatigues. They are in a training in a small classroom. Our arrival disrupts the class. Handshakes, introductions, chai is served. Scouts are paid $70 per month to monitor the conservation area. They have no money though, so, these scouts are yet to be paid. They have no vehicles, so they monitor on foot or by bike if they are lucky. They have no guns, but the poachers do. After chai, chapatti and mondazi (doughnuts like fried dough) we are on our way.

On route we see a group of Barba tribe members march down the road. Over a hundred of them. They carry bow and arrows and spears. Its from another world. Their cattle have been stolen. They are marching down the road to Maasai land to reclaim their cattle. We pass them in our vehicle.

God's Country April 2008

The Maasai Mara—God’s Country. This can be said about a lot of places in East Africa, but this tops the list. There really is no other way to describe it. Vast plains, an endless sea. Open sky. Rolling, undulating. A silence settles over the grassland that is peaceful, dream like. It had just rained, so the Mara was a magnificent green. Lush. George Schaller said “you can see the entire landscape between an ostrich’s legs.”

One morning, we were fortunate to see a mother cheetah and two cubs. Little, fuzzy cheetahs, they make your heart melt. They lied on mom, licked her, nuzzled. Cheetahs have incredible markings—their spots of course, but they also have black tear drops that run from the inside part of their eyes, down to the edge of their mouth. Magnificent.

One evening we came upon six male lions. One male was enormous, his mane was dark and it was as if he could barely life his head it was so big. We watched them in the evening dusk as they played. They jumped on each other, rolled around, swatted each other. They scratched the tree like a scratching post and rubbed their cheeks and back on it. The next morning we saw two female lions eating a buffalo. Watching a lion eat is amazing. This lion’s face was covered in blood; he was yanking at the leg with his teeth trying to break it off like a wish bone. At one point, half of his body was inside the buffalo carcass and he gnawed at the meet inside. Awesome. Oh right, then the elephants that crossed the river, the crocodiles, the hippos cruising down the river bank into the water, the giraffe, mongoose, eland, impalas…God’s Country.

The City

Traffic, soot. Nairobi. Diverse and beautifully chaotic. Always a challenge to find the best way to work, how to avoid traffic. With no traffic, it takes 15 minutes (that means leaving at 6:30 am and 7 pm). With traffic, a solid hour of dodging bikes, people, cars, buses and matatus. We bought a car, a safari vehicle of sorts. The first day we brought it home, the guard, gardner and house keeper all commented. I felt like a jerk. Here they are working their tail off for a pittance, and we pull in with a large vehicle. The have and the have nots.

The commute is worth it though because at night we return to a quiet oasis. I can go for a 45 minute run. The road is usually lined with people walking to work, men, women, and kids. As I jog by and greet them with “Jambo,” their face light up with brilliant smiles, “nzuri sana” they say (I am well.). I am starting to recognize people. The adorable old man who rides his bike up the hill around 6:30. The group of African nannies wheeling the European and American kids down the road. The guard who works across the street. The cute kids, loads of them in their sweet little school uniforms walking to and from school. Life. It is vibrant. Lots of people, warm climate, going to and fro. My favorite visitors though are the monkeys—they sprint across the road and leap into people’s yards…usually trailed by a guard who is trying to shoo them away. The other night twenty of them were swinging and jumping on the power lines—having a ball. So, that is why the power always goes out on our street.

I gave our house cleaner an old canvas bag from the Democratic Convention. Red, white and blue. She embraced me in a huge hug and then slung the bag over her shoulder like it was Gucci and strutted away with great pride and an enormous grin.

Meeting of Tribes February 2008

We take a small plane north. We are now closer to Somalia and Ethiopia than Nairobi. This part of Kenya was known for security issues. Bandits used to line the roads, so it was unsafe terrain. This situation has been mostly resolved. There is a meeting with the Samburu, Rendille and Borana tribes. The Rendille, like the Samburu, are pastoralists who live in small nomadic communities. They heavily rely on camels for milk, blood, clothing, trade etc… The Borana are cattle herders indigenous to Ethiopia. They migrated to northern Kenya in the early years of the 20th century. So, the issue at hand—grazing boundaries, cattle raiding and land. Cattle raiding? Yes, cattle are often stolen. So, imagine, you wake up in the morning and your car is stolen. (Cattle are worth more to them than cars to us.) Needless to say, you are not pleased and especially because you know who did it, you take revenge. While Kenya press was covering the post election violence, in northern Kenya another war waged on, one that has been for a long time. Lives are lost often as a result of this conflict.

I asked when was the last time these three tribes met? Nobody could remember. It was historic. Think about getting to the meeting. There are no cars, buses, trains…these guys walk for days to this dry river bed where the meeting took place under a large tree. I thought, with the issue at hand, this meeting could last days, at least a week. Later that day, I wandered through the “kitchen”—supplies under a palm tree, and sure enough, tied to a tree was about ten goats. Some were already being slaughtered. These guys planned to be here for days.

The meeting was in at least five different languages. The chief of each tribe spoke first. Kenya Wildlife Service. Police. District Commissioners. That night, the tribes ate meat together by a fire. A big step. We pitched our tent in the sandy river bed and enjoyed a glorious evening of warm breeze, stars, fire, food and beer.

The next morning we flew off for more meetings. Ten camels had already been returned to the Rendille, progress was being made.

Elis in the Tent February 2008

Airborne again. We dip south to see Mt. Kenya, look at the wildlife linkage, and then north, across the plains and forest. Elephant, zebra, rhino—we spot them as we move north. We flew over the Mathews Range, lush volcanic mountains that jut out of the plains. A botanists dream. We land on a tiny airstrip in the middle of nowhere, now, when I say middle of nowhere, I mean it. Fantastic. We are met by a vehicle and drive to a Samburu meeting. The topic is water—an issue everywhere. There is a project to bring water closer to the village. The purpose is two fold, get people water and avoid the elephant/human conflict, which occurs near the water source. Bring the water closer to the village, the elephants keep to their water source and everyone gets along. What is to argue with? They are concerned that this is just another ploy to get their land. There is such remembrance of the land grabs that took place in the past and continue today, trust is hard to build and takes time.

It always amazes me when we are driving through the middle of the bush, round a corner, and there are over 40 Samburu. Obviously, they came by foot, from their villages and manyattas. The Samburu are closely related to the Maasai. They dress in similar red shukas and elaborately in beads. Under the tree we all sit as the meeting starts with a harmonious prayer that puts Paul Simon to shame. The women are tucked away in a corner. Traditionally they are not to attend meetings like this and certainly not to stand and speak. Things are slowly changing. The meeting is in Maa, their local tongue, we have a translator.

After the meeting we bust up the mountain and find the water source and a camp site. The view looking out over the mountains and acacia forest is spectacular. There is no human construct in sight. Fire, stars, beers—what more can you ask for.

We all have individual tents, big enough to fit a bedroll. Mesh, no fly, so you can lay on your back and look at the stars. Awesome—love this tiny little tent. That was until I awoke to elephants in the middle of the night. Now, I have slept in tents near elephants before, and to be honest, it is a great rush. You hear them crackling, eating and in the morning wake to find their dung right outside your tent. But, this was different. This time I was in a tiny tent and they were literally right next to me.

Robert M. Sapolsky, author of A Primate’s Memoir describes it best:

“Elephants at night in camp are quite a spectacle, enough to speed up anyone’s heart. You wake up in a panic—chaos around the tent, crackling, a tree has fallen just missing the tent, someone is eating a bush by the door, the tent lines have been torn loose. You peer out the tent and the tree trunk that wasn’t there when you went to sleep lifts up and comes down—an elephant leg! Now for certain you’ll be crushed to death by some oaf of an elephant dropping a tree on you. And each time, as you lie there in absolute terror waiting for your end at the feet of the elephants, there is a bizarre countercurrent of feelings, this amazement you feel at hearing their stomach sounds. The elephants make monstrous amounts of noise with their stomachs. It is the most perfect sound on earth…you’re lying there in your tent prepared for death and you’re surrounded by this wonderful lulling aura of stomach noise that makes you want to curl up and sleep like a puppy, but you can’t because these are freakin elephants outside that are going to kill you, and invariably, you suddenly find yourself having to go outside the tent to go to the bathroom.”

Shadow on the Landscape February 2008

Amboseli, Southern Kenya

The shadow of our small plane moves smoothly across the top of acacia trees as we float across the plains. Kenya from the air. It is utterly amazing to see a group of giraffe from the air or a lone rhino in the plains or an elephant high in the lush mountains.

Three days in the Chyulu Mountains—north of Tsavo National Park-east of Amboseli. We are at a colleague’s home, a spectacular open air house looking out over vast plains towards Amboseli. Kilimanjaro’s snow capped peak is in plain sight. It is simply awesome. Their house is open on one side. Why put up walls, when you have such beautiful views and amazing climate? This baffles the Maasai, the pastoral tribe of the area, and they ask “when will you finish the house?” At night you can only see one or two lights in the distance and let me tell you, over the plains, from this vantage point, we can see really far.

Our colleague is Kenyan, second generation. Dedicated to conservation and culture. Their home is technically not theirs. They have leased land from the Maasai and run a lodge. A percentage of the bed night fees go to the community. They helped start a game scout association. Game scouts are trained to secure the wildlife from poaching. They are trained in military style, wear fatigues and are critical in the fight to preserve the wildlife. There is a waiting list of individuals who want to join the anti poaching team, but not enough money to pay them.

We spent the three days exploring and discussing how to expand and link the protected areas in the Amboseli ecosystem. The Park, while spectacular, is too small. Elephants and other wildlife know no boundaries and need room to roam. Needless to say, the landowners don’t appreciate elephants tromping through their farms and the result is deadly to the wildlife. The human-wildlife conflict is severe. A solution must be found. The land is owned by the Maasai. It was community land, now much has been sub-divided. Politics is thick. Corruption is severe—leaders pocket money, it never reaches community members. Many meetings under trees. In NYC meetings take place on a golf course, in Montana—fly fishing a river, here, we deal with serious issues under a tree.

How do you protect land in perpetuity? Is there such a thing as perpetuity in Africa? How do you ensure the communities are actually benefiting? How do you develop trust? Once the land is protected, how do you make sure the wildlife is not poached? How do you monitor all this?

Rocks Removed March 2008

Never before has the moving of rocks been so symbolic. For the past three months, there have been rocks blocking Uhuru Park. Uhuru means freedom in Swahili. Uhuru Park is a park in central Nairobi—a gathering place for picnics, politics, freedom, struggles. Since the election, riot police lined the park, successfully preventing gatherings. The day the peace agreement was signed, the rocks were removed, the riot police disappeared. Uhuru Park is open again.

Picture From:

www.thinkersroom.com/
blog2008/01/
kenya-is-...-fighting

Nairobi Peace March 2008

On my way to a yoga class, I stopped at the grocery store. The news earlier in the week was that Kofi Annan paused the political negotiations. It was clear he was frustrated and while progress was being made, it was not fast enough. Certain parts of Kenya were unraveling. As I wandered the isles, crowds gathered around TVs. I joined them. Late Breaking News. Together, we watched Annan announce the peace agreement—Odinga and Kibaki stood side by side to sign the agreement of joint leadership.

Earlier that week someone e-mailed me and said “this must be really hard on you.” I thought, no, not really. It is hard on people who have lost homes, family members, colleagues, cattle, land. But there in the grocery store, tears flowed and it was obvious how hard it has been on everyone, in one way or another. The tension was tangible and at that very moment, nobody wanted to even ask the question, “yes, but will it last?” It did not matter, because for that moment, peace was in the air, people were smiling and there were tears of relief and joy.

It is amazing how quickly things changed when chaos erupted in Kenya. Fortunately, the same thing has happened again—rapid change over night. After the signing of the peace agreement, it is as if someone pulled up the curtain and a new act is on. People are smiling. You can no longer taste the tension. The worry of the next violent outburst is no longer fresh in your mind. There is so much that needs to be restored, but at least restoration it the topic instead of peace keeping.