Year: 2013

Moving forward in Liberia

Liberia is getting back on its feet after a protracted civil war that killed over 200 000 people, displaced over a million, and largely destroyed the country’s infrastructure and institutions. After a decade of peace, the European Commission’s Humanitarian Aid Office (Echo) is pulling out of the country, saying its needs are shifting from humanitarian to developmental.

Liberia has indeed made progress, particularly in attracting international investment that has led to steady growth in GDP, and most importantly in maintaining peace. But poverty and unemployment remain rife, corruption is pervasive, and little headway has been made towards post-war justice or reconciliation. In short, significant challenges remain.

IRIN recently spoke to a few key individuals who worked on Echo-funded projects – most of them health-related – during and after the war, to learn how far Liberia has come.

Moses Massaquoi, doctor:

Moses Massaquoi started working with Médecins Sans Frontières (MSF) after being displaced by a rebel attack in July 1990. He went on to work with the NGO in numerous postings across Africa before returning to Liberia with the Clinton Health Access Initiative (Chai).

“The main challenge in the post-war [era] is a challenge of building the system, from the point of view of having the necessary human resources,” he told IRIN. “So I would say the big challenge is capacity. How do you build the capacity, with all systems broken down – health, education and everything?”

Massaquoi has committed himself to rebuilding a health system left in tatters by the conflict. In particular, he would like to see Liberia producing its own medical specialists.

He says he wants the country “first and foremost, in my own medical profession, to bring back a system of specialisation. We didn’t have control of producing our own specialists. The government had to send people out [abroad], and when they go out, they don’t come back,” he explained.

A sign of progress in this area, he says, is a post-graduate training program currently being established by the government, which will see its first students starting in September 2013.

Barbara Brillant, nurse:

Another former MSF employee currently engaged in medical training is Barbara Brillant, who runs a nursing school in the Liberian capital, Monrovia.

Brillant first arrived in Sierra Leone as a missionary in 1977. “I arrived here [in Africa] as a young lady… with a lot of enthusiasm, and I was going to cure the world and teach everybody. And I ended up here 38 years later, having learned a lot,” she told IRIN.

“It [the conflict] was very, very sad. For me personally, it was scary, no doubt about it. But as a missionary and having lived with the people of Liberia, the sorrow was more seeing the Liberian people in the condition they were in,” said Brillant.

She says she saw both resilience and pride, but also “evil at its worst” during the conflict.

Sister Barbara, as she is known to the 450 students in the nursing school, is concerned that behind Liberia’s current peace there is no true reconciliation. She sees little improvement in the quality of life of most Liberians.

“It’s a pity, because… the hurt is still there, the anger is still there. You can only pray and hope that time will heal a lot of the wounds. They will never ever forget it, that’s for sure… They’re having a very hard time.”

Despite peace, “it’s a difficult place to live in,” she said, with cost of living having risen steadily over the years. “To rent a house now is insane,” she added.

Nyan Zikeh, programme manager:

Like Massaquoi, Nyan Zikeh began working for MSF while himself a refugee. He returned to Liberia in 1998 and has since worked with the NGOs Save the Children and Oxfam, where he is currently a programme manager. He says he now feels the dividends of Liberia’s lasting peace. “What I’m grateful for is that we have peace, and the chance to raise a stable family now exists,” he explained.

His plans for the future are to leave his job and become an agricultural entrepreneur, which he says will create opportunities for others to work, earn a living and learn. “I will still be working in development, but not in charity,” said Zikeh, who is concerned about the dependence being created by Liberia’s current aid culture.

“It is also to let the authorities know that we can make examples, that we don’t have to sell all of our land to very large companies,” he said. Recent large-scale land acquisitions by foreign businesses have been criticised for exploiting local communities and engaging in corruption in the awarding of concessions.

A recent audit revealed that only two of 68 land concessions awarded since 2009 fully complied with Liberian law.

Nathaniel Bartee, doctor:

When the war broke out in 1989, Nathaniel Bartee was a doctor who had just returned from earning a master’s degree in the UK. He started the organisation Merci to deal with the humanitarian situation in Monrovia; it quickly expanded into the provinces.

During the conflict, Bartee was at times separated from his family. “I didn’t want to leave Liberia because of the amount of suffering, and the [numbers] of health personnel were not many. So I stayed to guide a younger generation of doctors.” By the end of the conflict, he was one of just 50 doctors left in the country.

Bartee says there has been clear improvement in the provision of health services since those days. “Today I think health is much better. Most of the health workers have returned, and there are more graduates being produced,” he explained.

But he is concerned that the Liberian government is not sufficiently prioritising healthcare. For this reason, he intends to become a senator to push for increases in the health budget in Parliament.

Ma Annie Mushan, women’s peace activist:

In late 1989, Ma Annie Mushan was, in her own words, “not a woman to speak of”.

“I was just a housewife” she told IRIN. During the war, Mushan was displaced from her village and ended up living in the town of Totota, where she was approached by the women’s peace movement that had sprung up in Monrovia.

Mushan eventually became the leader of the Totota branch of the women’s peace movement, which ultimately played a significant role in putting an end to the conflict.

Like many Liberians, she is frustrated by the slow pace of post-war development. “Even though there is progress, people in Liberia are looking for jobs up and down… There are so many people that are not working in Liberia – not a day. That has been one of the major problems we’re faced with.”

She now works on the Peace Hut project, which emerged from the women’s movement, and seeks to address the problem of gender-based violence, which she sees as one of Liberia’s biggest challenges. Mushan feels the existing court system in Liberia is unable to effectively deal with cases concerning women’s issues.

“My focus will stay on the women, to build their capacity up. I still want to be working for the Peace House [Hut], because it is the Peace House [Hut] that got me where I am today,” she concluded.

12 years ago

Eritrea’s unique architecture under threat

Eritrea’s capital Asmara boasts buildings unlike anywhere else in Africa, a legacy of its Italian colonial past, when architects were given free rein for structures judged too avant-garde back home.

Modernist architectural wonders in this highland city include a futurist petrol station mimicking a soaring aircraft and a funky art-deco bowling alley with checkered, coloured glass windows.

“The city is a living museum of architecture,” said Medhanie Teklemariam, an urban planner in Asmara’s city administration.

Yet while many of the buildings survived a decades-long liberation war from Ethiopia that ravaged settlements elsewhere, preservation and restoration projects have been hampered, threatening to erode the country’s rich cultural heritage.

Medhanie said money remains a critical obstacle, along with a lack of local technical expertise required for specialised restoration projects.

“To undertake a major restoration of all these buildings is very, very challenging because of one, the funding issue and, second, technical capacity,” he said, sitting before a map of central Asmara.

But Medhanie is pushing for change. He is lobbying for the historic city centre to be included on the United Nations World Heritage list and working to renew a European Union-supported project to restore a market building and the Capitol, an Expressionist-style cinema.

He sees the preservation of Asmara’s precious buildings – mainly from the first half of the 20th century – as a matter of maintaining the country’s national fabric.

“This heritage… it is very important for Eritrea’s identity,” he said.

World Heritage status would also be a rare opportunity for Eritrea to win positive international exposure. The Horn of Africa nation normally makes headlines only for its raft of repressive policies.

“The international reputation… would be boosted,” said Edward Denison, a photographer and co-author of Asmara: Africa’s Secret Modernist City.

A bowling alley in Asmara. (Pic: AFP)

A different side of Eritrea
Most of the buildings in the former Italian colony were constructed between 1936 and 1941 as part of Fascist dictator Benito Mussolini’s plan to expand his foothold in Africa.

Asmara used to be known as Piccola Roma, or “Little Rome”. In the 1939 census, more than half the city’s inhabitants were Italian – 53 000 out of a total of 98 000.

Italian architects were brought over and encouraged to experiment with innovative designs that were frowned upon in conservative Europe.

Asmara gained a reputation as an “experimental playground” where wacky designs were welcomed.

Cinema Impero in Asmara. (Pic: AFP)

Today, Eritreans have a deep appreciation for the buildings – even though many were built by compatriots carrying out forced labour under colonial rule – and are proud of their unique city.

While some buildings sit unused, such as the Teatro Asmara with its high arched awnings and Roman-style pillars, many of them remain functional.

Asmara Theatre (Pic: AFP)

Tables are busy at Cinema Roma, as regulars sip macchiatos on the terrace beneath the marble facade. Inside, dated American movies and Eritrean shows are screened to visitors who watch from plush red seats.

According to Denison, the buildings could be a major boost for the sagging tourist industry.

“The opportunities are boundless, and Eritrea is very aware of that with the various other cultural and natural attractions that it has. I think architecture is a key component of that,” he said.

Luckily, the city’s slow development has preserved many of its old buildings, most of which have been left untouched since Eritrea’s war for independence kicked off in 1961.

Dennis Rodwell, architect and author of “Conservation and Sustainability in Historic Cities”, describes Asmara as a “time warp”.

But preservation efforts have been held back in part by Eritrea’s staunch principle of self-reliance. Rodwell said that outside support is sometimes seen as “a threat rather than an opportunity”.

The $5-million World Bank-funded Cultural Assets Rehabilitation Project ended in 2007 as funding dried up and relations between the World Bank and Eritrea soured.

EU funding earmarked for architectural restoration projects remains frozen for review.

Denison, the photographer, agrees that preservation efforts could be improved through greater collaboration with outsiders, but notes Eritrea’s rebel-turned-politician leaders have long struggled to balance “self-reliance and collaboration internationally”.

Yet despite stalled progress in recent years, he says he is hopeful that Eritrea’s rich architectural heritage can be preserved.

Jenny Vaughan for AFP

12 years ago

Celebrating extraordinary women

The M&G has launched the 2013 Book of South African Women, celebrating women across diverse fields doing remarkable things. Here’s what it’s all about.

12 years ago

Economics, politics and a rural Zimbabwean wedding

Two Saturdays ago, we set off from Bulawayo at 6.30am in a Land Rover Discovery for my cousin sister’s wedding. It was scheduled to start at 9am at Zvegona Church of Christ in rural Zvishavane, a town well known for asbestos mining but which has now been taken over by Mimosa, a lucrative platinum mining company.

Mimosa mine. (Pic: AFP)

We were waved through most police roadblocks by officers speaking mainly in Shona to stoic Ndebeles. I wondered why they did not harass us like they usually do. It could have been the small Zimbabwean flag associated with Zanu-PF that was hanging by the rearview mirror or possibly the type of car we were driving – the police wouldn’t want to offend Zanu-PF ‘officials’, would they? But we were not Zanu-PF officials and besides the odd driver or two sporting a cap with the ruling party’s insignia, there were no visible reminders of the recent presidential election.

We reached Zvegona at around 9.30am after getting lost several times. Everyone we asked directions from was also going to the wedding; rural weddings are for the whole village. There was an impressive building next to the church. We were later told that this was where Mimosa was was setting up a clinic for the community as part of its fulfillment of Zimbabwe’s indigenisation laws.

The small church was adorned in purple and white satin fabric. The wedding cake was the usual fruit cake with plastic icing. The bride and the groom were just like any other bride and groom I have seen before, as were the bridesmaids who danced the same dance I have been seeing for over twenty years as they ushered in the bride. She entered to loud ululation from excited female friends and family.

Standing there in the crowded church, I wondered what distinguishes a rural wedding from a city wedding. The bridal party even went to the nearby dam for a photo shoot, just like bridal parties in Bulawayo go to Centenary Park to pose for photos. Do they go to the Harare gardens in Harare? There was a PA system, there were video cameras. Did the reed mats in place of carpets add a bit of ruralness to the function?

There was an excited aunty who threw rice grains at the bridal party and the crowd. I forgot to ask what the rice signified – my initial thought that they could not afford the usual confetti and glitter was quickly rubbished by the apparent evidence of money throughout the wedding ceremony. Besides asbestos and platinum, there seems to be a lot of gold in Zvishavane, which is mined ‘illegally’. Illegal gold mining creates a cash economy that is shocking to broke city dwellers like us: Our tiny wedding presents were embarrassing in the face of refrigerators, microwaves and cash that the people of Zvishavane tossed at the young couple. Cash ranging from US$10 to US$200 was put on the table in front of the newlyweds while we sat, dished out rice and big chunks of meat, and felt out of place.

There was no sign of the recent elections in Zvishavane, not even talk of it. It was us city guys who discussed Morgan Tsvangirai’s embarrassing defeat and Bulawayo’s rejection of Welshman Ncube in preference for the MDC leader. The rural folk danced and sang the day away, oblivious to what we city folk think is the ‘destruction’ of the Zimbabwean economy by our leader.

I wondered if this kind of life in Zvishavane was sustainable. Could it be translated into real wealth and perhaps lead to poverty alleviation? A few years ago I went to Chiadzwa, near the city of Mutare, where people were enjoying the same kind of liquidity I was seeing in Zvishavane. Now they are back to being destitute because diamond mining in Chiadzwa has been ‘formalised’. Gold panning in Zvishavane will also come to an end. And then what?

We left for the city at dusk. I remain in a confused state about the dynamics of the Zimbabwean economy and Zimbabwean politics.

Mgcini Nyoni is a poet, playwright and blogger based in Bulawayo. He blogs at nyonimgcini.blogspot.com and mgcininyoni.blogspot.com.Connect with him on Twitter.

12 years ago

Towards freedom: Somali pirates in a Kenyan prison

Once upon a time, they terrorised the Indian Ocean, seizing dozens of ships every year, extorting millions of dollars in ransom money, and eventually drawing a military response from the international community.

Now the pirates of the Horn of Africa are in danger of becoming extinct. It’s not just that warships patrol the waters with a 30-minute response time and that many target vessels now carry armed guards. It’s that many of the pirates are currently enjoying a transformative stint in jail.

There are more than 100 convicted and suspected pirates incarcerated at the Shimo la Tewa maximum security prison on the Kenyan coast. “They like it here,” a warden says.

The residential quarters of the prison’s piracy wing is behind a heavy metal door. The 111 convicted and suspected pirates don’t call themselves pirates; they prefer “fishermen”. Of them, as many as 30 have never had their cases heard in court, according to prison staff. Some have been on remand since 2009. Asked whether they feel abandoned or dissatisfied with the legal system, most said no. “It’s fine here,” said one.

Suspected Somali pirates wait for the start of their trial on June 24 2010 at the Shimo la Tewa maximum prison in Mombasa. (Pic: AFP)

The objective at Shimo la Tewa prison is that inmates leave with the means to earn a living and do not fall back into piracy, the warden says. Inmates are taught to read and write, given free healthcare and adequate food, and taught new skills. They are encouraged to retain links with their families in Somalia through regular phone calls. When it comes to recreation, they play football and sing. The prison feels more like a technical college. There are classrooms, a barber, a furniture workshop and a paralegal service run by volunteers. The walls are painted in bright blocks of colour reminiscent of primary school. “Most [Somali inmates] were illiterate. Some now have even taken exams,” says the warden, who preferred not to be named.

The UN Office on Drugs and Crime has poured funding into counter-piracy measures such as this one.

“We are extremely careful to ensure that our support also benefits the rest of the prison population and the staff of prisons holding Somali pirates, to ensure that the Somalis are not resented,” says Shamus Mangan, a maritime crime expert. Mangan has assisted with the repatriation of a number of Somalis and notes that the provision of education, food and healthcare is no substitute for freedom. “Each time I go to the prison in the Seychelles, all the Somalis there ask me when they will be able to transfer to Somalia,” he said.

The UNODC says that, ultimately, the problem needs to be remedied on Somali soil, addressing the root causes and not the symptoms.

Somalia expert Mary Harper warned recently that the pirates are “sleeping”, but have not gone away. Speaking at a maritime security event, she said: “Somalia is becoming more politically fragmented with many different groups seeking to gain dominance, which potentially creates a favourable environment for piracy.” Risk factors such as high youth unemployment and a lack of alternative livelihoods prevail. The UN’s Development Programme runs rehabilitation programmes in Somalia. One former piracy suspect who spent three years in jail, Mohamed Ahmed Jama, took classes in business and social skills. “I believe now I have a chance for a brighter future,” he says.

The former pirates are in sharp contrast to other inmates at the prison. “The other inmates escape,” says Samuel Tonui, acting head of the Shimo la Tewa prison. A handful of Kenyan inmates have given prison guards the slip this year. Last month, two inmates escaped, using a homemade ladder, the second prison break in four weeks at the facility. There is an escapee wall of shame where the faces of a dozen men are displayed. None are Somali pirates.

Jessica Hatcher for the Guardian