Ocampo in Town

Many people heard about Kenya’s 2007 election violence. But, what happened after? Who was held accountable? Nobody.

Accountability—a simple word, fraught with complexities. The lack thereof is one of the greatest problems here.

This morning Louis Ocampo, a chief prosecutor for the International Criminal Court, arrived in Nairobi. After the election, the cue, the violence and the peace agreement that was brilliantly negotiated by Kofi Annan, a Commission was formed to investigate the violence. Following the “Waki” (name for Mr. Justice Philip Waki) Commission report, little was done. A local tribunal was to be formed, a truth and justice commission was to be initiated, but no true progress was made.

In addition to the report, the Commission gave Kofi Annan a sealed envelope containing names of potential suspects and evidence implicating them—members of parliament, business men etc... Annan brilliantly said to Kenyan leaders “do nothing and I will hand the envelope over to the ICC.” Well, after months of excuses by Kenyan politicians, Annan did just that. After presenting initial briefs, the ICC gave authority to Ocampo to pursue the case of crimes against humanity in Kenya.

Ocampo is most known for the work his did in his native Argentina in prosecuting those responsible for the “Dirty War” of the 70’s where thousands of people “disappeared” and were killed. More recently he led the conviction against Omar Al-Bashir, the President of Sudan, for crimes in Darfur.

Ocampo will be here for five days. He is gathering evidence, interviewing witnesses and visiting post-election violence sites. He suspects to have those responsible arrested within six months.
We watch anxiously, secretly cheering Ocampo on his quest for justice, hoping for some accountability. The people whose homes were burned, family members killed, farms abandoned—they deserve nothing less.

Zimbabwe

Pay taxes, not bribes. This is the T-shirt the immigration officer wears on the border between Zimbabwe and Zambia.

A sign in the office requires all vehicles entering Zim to have Zimbabwean insurance. Guess where you buy it? Classic.

A man has a stack of Zimbabwe money that he is selling. The currency is no longer valid after Zim’s hyper-inflation. In 2008 the inflation was approximately 89.7 sextillion percent. Despite my hardest efforts, I still have a hard time grasping these figures. Zim now uses the USD as its official currency and the old currency is invalid. I purchase a Fifty Trillion Dollar bill, 50000000000000, for $2, a souvenir. Because of the rapid inflation, by the time these new bills were printed, such as a 10 Trillion Dollar, it had lost its value and one could not even buy a loaf of bread with it.

Harare, the capital. Put aside the fact that Mugabe has been President here for 23 years, and that Zimbabwe’s record inflation killed the country, this city is lovely. The streets are wide and lined with magnificent trees. The homes are quaint, colonial homes with serene gardens and great open space. You can picture a vibrant, cultural city.

It is required in most African countries that the picture of the President hangs in your hotel lobby, office and/or store. That said I am still taken aback when we enter the lobby of our hotel in Harare and there is Mugabe, staring down at us. This man symbolizes so much around the world.

After meetings in the city, we drive north to the Zambezi River, where Zimbabwe meets Zambia and Mozambique. The landscape is breathtaking. It is lush after the rains and rolling, with massive rivers and impressive mountain ranges. Vast fields lay fallow, but you can easily picture the farm industry that once made Zimbabwe the bread basket of Africa. The infamous land grabs, Mugabe ordering the seizure of all white owned farms, lead to the demise. What most people do not realize is that the whites only owned about 13% of the country, yet their farm production resulted in about 60% of the GDP. Now the Zimbabweans, who have been given that land, are leasing it back to the whites to farm. A clever move to make money. Mugabe is not pleased and has recently stated that he will seize land that is not being used by Zimbabweans. Tragic how one man has not only killed a country, this has happened in other places such as Taylor in Liberia, yet, Mugabe has truly tainted Africa’s reputation.

The narrow dirt road heading towards the River is blocked at one point by two lovely female lions. One ran off when we approached, but the other held her ground.

We met with Zimbabwean and Zambian fishing and farming communities to whom we have provided support. These communities are extremely remote. In one meeting, a nurse who was about 65 years old shared that he is the only nurse in the entire district. He wore a white button down shirt and he had safety pinned a patch of blue material with gold stars on his shoulders, making him look like an admiral in the navy. He looked great. He said in his district only one person is open about their HIV status. He asked earnestly “How can I help people if I do not know they are sick.” An ambulance had been given to the district; however, it was swallowed up by the Ministry of Health. He asked “Do you know how horrible it is to have people die in your arms because you cannot transport them?” What do you say?

Two teachers from the primary school presented their needs for education. They were dressed in button down shirts and ties. These are the people we should be commending and the people who should be in the news. These tireless teachers who are trying to give hope to young children living in dire straits.

Children. Adorable children throughout villages. You smile, wave, and then wonder how many are Aids orphans.

We travel by boat across the Zambezi River to Zambia to sleep for the night. We cross as the sun is setting and the glow on the river is glorious. It is peaceful and serene this massive river at dusk. Crocs and hippos hug the shoreline. The Zambian shore is bustling with fisherman. They are wrapping fish in grass bales and loading them onto trucks to go to Lusaka and Congo.

Some of my colleagues are Zimbabwean. One colleague was a strong advocate for the Movement for Democratic Change (MDC). MDC is the party now in a power sharing agreement with Mugabe’s party, Zanu PF, since his party would not relinquish power despite their loss. My colleague had MDC t-shirts stored in his house His wife urged them to leave the country for fear of retribution from Zanu PF. “We cannot leave, this is our country. How could we?” he asked. Another colleague is 25 years old. He just received a Masters Degree and is working for us in the field. He is the emerging generation, the hope for the country. This country has suffered years of violence and suppression under the current regime and I ask him what it is like living here and seeing his country spiral. He said “Hectic. People just want to get on with their lives.” Makes one wonder what life will be like for him when he turns 35.

Ouaga

Burkina Faso. West Africa. February 2010.

Previously known as the Upper Volta. The meaning of Burkina Faso is "Country of Honest Men." We are in Ouagadougou, the capital, for meetings on our new program: Park W. Park W straddles Niger, BF and Benin—named after the “W” shape of the Niger River, the northern boundary of the Park. It is a critical water catchment for West Africa and one of the most significant Parks in the region. Like many Parks though, it is a paper park, meaning not really functional. Our challenge to make it work, link it with other protected areas and generate income for the surrounding communities so as to alleviate poverty and pressure on the natural landscapes. This country is dreadfully poor. The difference between the infrastructure in Kenya is astonishing, but one cannot compare—they are worlds apart.

We had three days in the field, drove west to Park W, then south through another Park—along the border of Benin and back to the capital. It is hot. A stifling hot; like sitting in an oven. Watching the kids play football in the hot sun makes me sweat. They say tourism is not feasible come March because then it gets hot. Excuse me, then it gets hot?

The communities are growing cotton on the edge of the Park, the country has been divided and international companies have contracts on certain sections. To get access to a loan, communities have to grow cotton—monopoly. An alternative funding mechanism would break this chain. The cotton depletes the soil, does not generate significant income for communities and the chemical application is significant. They also grow millet and other food products as well as shea butter –a product used in cosmetics in the USA and Europe. If we can develop linkage to the market, and to the land conservation; this would be a significant win. There have been attempts at tourism facilities, but the investments lacked follow through. There are hunting concessions, but the money that goes back to the community is minimal. We met with a few communities living on the edge of the Park. They shared their concerns, challenges and ideas for opportunities.

We were to travel to Niger, but there was a coup and the border closed. This is the third coup in West Africa in the past 6 months. This was a clean coup, easy in and out, which has made people speculate who orchestrated it. Ivory Coast just blew up as well. Political stability is of course a challenge to working in Africa. International donors have pulled out of Niger, so focus shifts, people suffer.

Burkina is a former French colony. All of our meetings are in French. In the morning, I buy fresh baguettes from the lady at the kiosk for 20 cents (a rip off by local standards). Magnificent colors. The air pollution is horrid, many people riding mopeds. Best sighting to date: a woman in traditional wear riding her moped in city traffic with a basket of strawberries balanced on her head. A man rides his bike with ten chickens hanging from the handle bars.

With climate change the expanse of the desert is rapid. The doubters of climate change should come to Africa, then dare to doubt. The effect here means a mass migration of people from the north to the south, resulting in fierce competition for water and grass. Globally, this movement of people for resources will be a massive source of conflict. It has already started. The nomads from the north are wrapped in bright blue cloth or black, they are selling cloth, Turak leather and swords in Ouaga.

The challenge here is significant, but there are opportunities. But, like all of Africa, it is so very complicated. Nothing is as it appears.

Kids Waving

Burkina Faso. It always amazes me. Across Africa, driving through villages, kids come running out of homes, jumping and waving. Screaming “hello” “how are you?” Just plain yelling, dancing with enthusiasm. It brings a smile to your face. As with most African countries, I am blown away by the grace, courage and resilience of so many here. The way they make a living is so very challenging. And here we are, zipping through in our landrovers, they wave with grand smiles.

Rock Art

600 years old. Etched into stone with natural dye by the San. The bushman. We are in South Africa. Hiking in a nature preserve, through the bush. Seeing this magnificent landscape by foot is awesome. We come across a small cave, with art, ancient art. The picture shows people, looking at an eland. An eland, the largest antelope, is a mammal well respected. In fact, god like. The San worship many gods. In the image carved into this sacred cave, the god rises above the eland. It is said that when the bushman hunted the eland, they thanked the eland in prayer before taking his life. An amazing glimpse of time passed.

Wild Dogs

Lycaon pictus. The highlight of my holiday. I had never seen a wild dog until last month. It was my mission. Usually when you head out into the bush to find an animal, say a wild dog, they elude you. You pass a vehicle and they say, oh, we just saw a wild dog, just down the road. You follow their directions precisely, nothing. Or you return to the lodge and overhear people talking about watching wild dogs make a kill. This time we were lucky. One of the anti-poaching rangers saw the tracks. We radioed, met him on the road, and drove through the bush. There they were. Nine of them. Brilliant white tails. Beautiful patchy black, brown and white patterns. And, best of all, an exceptional head of hair, tawny colored and parted in the middle. Once common, their numbers have reduced drastically over the past years because of disease and persecution. Endangered. Threatened. Rare. In northern Kenya they are rebounding slightly. The scout we were with said “communities know that tourists want to see them, so they are trying to protect them.” I hope he is right.

Road Shopping

Kittens, puppies, adorable white baby rabbits, parrots. A dozen roses. Bannanas. Sunglasses. Phone plugs, cords, jumper cables. Batiks. Skirts, shirts, pants. DVDs. Newspapers, magazines: Vogue, Time, Economist, Good House Keeping. Rainbow colored dusters. A map of Africa. Phone cards. Pictures, paintings. Kenya flag air freshners. Bubbles. Passport holders. Gum, candy. A blow up plastic spider man. Stuffed animals. These are some of the things I can buy on my way to work without even leaving the car.