Category: Lifestyle

Dogs hand cheetahs a lifeline in Namibia

Winding through the parched Namibian farmland, Bonzo, an Anatolian shepherd dog, has a singular focus: protecting his herd of goats from lurking predators.

He pads along, sniffing the air and marking the scrubby landscape, just like a bodyguard ready to ward off any threat to his charges, which he considers family.

“They’re not pets. They’re not allowed to be pets,” said Bonzo’s owner farmer Retha Joubert.

Anatolian Shepherd dog Bonzo leads a herd of goats on Retha Joubert's farm near near Gobabis, east of Windhoek. (Pic: AFP)
Anatolian shepherd dog Bonzo leads a herd of goats on Retha Joubert’s farm near near Gobabis, east of Windhoek. (Pic: AFP)

The breed descends from ancient livestock dogs used thousands of years ago in what is now central Turkey. And they not only save sheep and goats, but have handed a lifeline to Namibia’s decimated cheetah numbers by reducing conflicts between farmers and predators.

“The dogs are protecting the flock in such a way that the farmers don’t have to kill predators,” said Laurie Marker of the Cheetah Conservation Fund (CCF) which breeds the dogs near the northern city of Otjiwarongo.

“It’s a non-lethal predator control method so it is green, it’s happy, it’s win-win.”

The concept is simple.

The dogs are placed with a flock when a few weeks old to bond with the livestock. They live permanently with the animals, loyally heading out with them every day to deter hunters, and bedding down with them at night.

Marker’s centre started breeding the livestock dogs to promote cheetah-friendly farming after some 10 000 big cats – the current total worldwide population – were killed or moved off farms in the 1980s.

Up to 1000 cheetahs were being killed a year, mostly by farmers who saw them as livestock killers.

But the use of dogs has slashed losses for sheep and goat farmers and led to less retaliation against the vulnerable cheetah.

‘Fight to the finish’
“We see about 80% to 100% decrease of livestock loss from any predator when the farmers have the dogs,” said Marker.

In the last 19 years, around 450 dogs have been placed with farmers and more than 3 000 farmers trained.

There is now a two-year waiting list for the dogs – either stately Anatolian shepherds or Kangals – and the programme has expanded to other countries with predators.

For Joubert, staying up late at night worrying about her sheep and goats coming home is a thing of the past.

Her farm near Gobabis, east of the capital Windhoek, lost 60 animals in 2008.

But the arrival of Bonzo, her first Anatolian, as a puppy five years ago has slashed losses to just one animal last year.

Joubert is now training four-month-old Kangal !Nussie – whose name starts with the exclamation point typical of Namibia’s Nama people – to follow in Bonzo’s footsteps.

The fluffy-coated pup is learning the ropes by going out with a flock every day on a leash with a human herder and beds down in the animal enclosure at night. She gets half an hour in the evening to play in the yard.

“She must associate herself with the goats, she must be a goat, she’s part of a group, that’s the main thing I think to make them to protect the animals,” said Joubert, who is deeply proud of her dogs.

The dogs’ presence and intimidating bark is usually enough to deter predators, who would rather opt for prey that does not have a guardian.

But they will attack if a hunter does not back off.

Bonzo for example, has killed jackals, who attack in packs and a young, weak cheetah.

“If indeed they do come in, the dog could and would fight to the finish,” said Marker.

A cheetah eats at The Cheetah Conservation Fund centre in Otjiwarongo, Namibia on August 13 2013. (Pic: AFP)
A cheetah eats at The Cheetah Conservation Fund centre in Otjiwarongo, Namibia on August 13 2013. (Pic: AFP)

Altercations between the dogs and cheetahs, though, are rare and those who target livestock are usually desperate, such as being wounded.

But working in Namibia’s tough landscape takes it toll.

Bonzo has been bitten by snakes, stung by a scorpion, attacked by baboons and now has tongue cancer from exposure to the relentless sun.

Ironically, despite cheetahs being seen as livestock killers, analysis of their droppings has shown only 5% had preyed on farm animals.

“They do occasionally take livestock,” said Gail Potgieter, a human-wildlife conflict specialist at the Namibia Nature Foundation.

“But the perception that any cheetah is going to start killing livestock as its main diet is very wrong.”

Cheetah numbers hit a low of 2500 in 1986. But the population has now potentially reached nearly 4000 – the biggest wild cheetah population in the world.

Cheetahs still face threats on game ranches, where they eat valuable animals, and on cattle farms where the dogs are not suited.

But for small stock farmers, they have proven their worth.

“For the type of livestock farming that’s going on in Namibia, it’s definitely one of the most promising solutions that they have,” said Potgieter, who used to manage the CCF’s dog programme.

In Gobabis, Joubert needs no convincing.

“I will always have dogs here,” she said.

Justine Gerardy for AFP

The barbershops of West Africa

Andrew Esiebo is a Nigerian photographer whose photo essay, Pride, is an exploration of barbers and their shops across seven West African countries. He captures the spaces in which barbers operate and looks at the aesthetics of their shops.

Pride was recently featured in the New York Times’ online magazine Lens, and ten of his prints have been added to the permanent collection of the Musée du quai Branly in Paris.

Côte d'Ivoire.
Côte d’Ivoire. (Pic: Andrew Esiebo)

Esiebo chatted to Voices of Africa about the barbers, their shops and the hairstyles he shot.

How did the barbershop project come about?
The idea for Pride came about during a street photography project I was doing in Lagos. While photographing people on the street, I stumbled upon a barbershop and started talking to the owner. He said to me that while he might not be considered an important person in the society, he was proud to be the barber to one of Nigeria’s ex-presidents. That resonated with me and made me think about the role, and importance, of barbers in West African society. I thought about the idea for several years and in 2012, following an artistic award I received, I was able to develop the project. I travelled to several West African cities and looked at the relevance, and the role, of the barbershop in the city.

Liberia. (Pic: Andrew Esiebo)
Liberia. (Pic: Andrew Esiebo)

What can you tell us about the role that the barber plays in West African societies?
Barbers help people to gain an identity. Some people have to have the right cut to project who they are. The way they look, through their hairstyle, influences the way they feel about themselves, the way people see them and address them.

Barbers are also influential because their shops are what I call “public intimate spaces”. People share their problems in conversation with the barber. The barbers learn a lot from this, and this knowledge is then shared with other customers.

So, barbershops are not only a place for cutting your hair but a space where people meet, where they come to relax and discuss issues; a space where relationships are built, business deals are sealed and where intimate subjects are often discussed.

Mali. (Pic: Andrew Esiebo)
Mali. (Pic: Andrew Esiebo)

Which barbershops were most interesting to you?
The barbershops I found most interesting were those which displayed icons, religious images, pictures of hip-hop artists, posters of soccer teams and icons of global black culture. There was a shop in Mali where the guy had posters of [Osama] Bin Laden and [Muammar] Gaddafi next to pictures of President Obama. I found this contrasting use of icons interesting. The barber said that, on the one hand, Bin Laden and Gaddafi were his heroes while on the other hand Obama is a global symbol of black power. For a black African to be the president of the US is something to be proud of, he said. So he named his shop Barack Obama Coiffure. There were many others I found interesting too.

Hairstyles. (Pic: Andrew Esiebo)
Hairstyles. (Pic: Andrew Esiebo)

Tell us about the hairstyles.
Many of the hairstyles offered by barbers were similar, inspired by football stars or hip-hop icons in America. While the hairstyles themselves overlapped, their functions differed, depending on the country.

In Senegal or Mali, which are restrictive Islamic societies, a hairstyle can be a way of making a social statement, while in Liberia or Côte d’Ivoire, that same hairstyle can be a way to get attention from the ladies.

There was one particularly eclectic one from Senegal, worn by a barber.  I asked the guy why he barbered that style for himself. He told me: “You know, this is a very conservative society but through my hair, I have the freedom to express what I want”.  I really fancied that. He was rebelling against the conservative nature of the society.

Benin. (Pic: Andrew Esiebo)
Benin. (Pic: Andrew Esiebo)

Were there any regional or national differences across the barbershops you photographed?
To be honest, I did not find many regional or national differences in barbershops across West Africa. In fact, I found them very similar. There also was unity in the hairstyles themselves; unity in the language of using your head to talk.

Sure, there were differences in the names of the styles but many of the styles were the same. It shows how globalised or how connected the world is today. Many of the styles come from the same influences:  Western media.

Côte d'Ivoire. (Pic: Andrew Esiebo)
Côte d’Ivoire. (Pic: Andrew Esiebo)

Are you exhibiting Pride at the moment?
No, but I hope to exhibit this project across West Africa and beyond. I am still looking for an organisation to support the exhibition. I would also like to publish a book on the project because I think this is an important part of our culture that needs to be documented. It has to be celebrated and shown around the world.

Ghana. (Pic: Andrew Esiebo)
Ghana. (Pic: Andrew Esiebo)

What is your next project?
I will be looking at the nightlife of Lagos and beyond through the eyes and lives of DJs. DJs at parties, DJs in concerts, DJs at various ceremonies. I want to use DJs, who are an integral part of our nightlife, to depict life in Lagos.

Senegal. (Pic: Andrew Esiebo)
Senegal. (Pic: Andrew Esiebo)

Any advice for aspiring African photographers?
I think the only advice I can give is for them to work hard, to be passionate about what they do, to never give up and always be ready to learn new things. Keep pushing and open your horizons. You’ll go places with that.

 

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)
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.

The Ethiopian nun whose music enraptured the Holy Land

From a small, spartan room in the courtyard of the Ethiopian church off a narrow street in Jerusalem, a 90-year-old musical genius is emerging into the spotlight.

For almost three decades, Emahoy Tsegué-Mariam Guebrù has been closeted at the church, devoting herself to her life’s twin themes – faith and music. The Ethiopian nun, whose piano compositions have enthralled those who have stumbled across a handful of recordings in existence, has lived a simple life, rarely venturing beyond the monastery’s gates.

But this month the nonagenarian’s scribbled musical scores have been published as a book, ensuring the long-term survival of her music. And on Tuesday, the composer will hear her work played in concert for the first time, at three performances in Jerusalem. Guebrù may even play a little.

Her music has been acclaimed by critics and devotees. Maya Dunietz, a young Israeli musician who worked with Guebrù on the publication of her scores, says in her introduction to the book that the composer has “developed her own musical language”.

“It is classical music, with a very special sense of time, space, scenery,” Dunietz told the Guardian. “It’s not grand; it’s intimate, natural, honest and very feminine. She has a magical touch on the piano. It’s delicate but deep. And all her compositions tell stories of time and place.”

Emahoy Tsegué-Mariam Guebrù. (Pic: emahoymusicfoundation.org
Emahoy Tsegué-Mariam Guebrù. (Pic: emahoymusicfoundation.org)

Guebrù’s inspiration comes not only from her faith, but from her life: an extraordinary journey from an aristocratic family in Addis Ababa, with strong links to Emperor Haile Selassie, to a monastery in the historic centre of Jerusalem .

She was born Yewubdar Guebrù on December 12 1923 and lived in the Ethiopian capital until, aged six, she and her sister were sent to boarding school in Switzerland. In one of two seminal moments of her life, there she heard her first piano concert, and began to play and study music.

After her return to Addis Ababa, and a period of exile for her family followed by yet another return, Guebrù was awarded a scholarship to study music in London. But she was unexpectedly denied permission to leave by the Ethiopian authorities.

In the bleak days following this calamity, Guebrù refused food until, close to death, she requested holy communion. Embracing God was the second seminal moment of her life. She abandoned music to devote herself to prayer, and after several years joined a monastery in northern Ethiopia. She spent 10 years there, barefoot and living in a mud and stone hut.

It was here she changed her name to Emahoy Tsegué-Mariam. It was only after rejoining her mother in Addis Ababa that Guebrù resumed playing and composing and even recorded a few albums.

Guebrù and her mother later spent six years in Jerusalem, and she returned to the Holy Land to take up permanent residence after her mother’s death in 1984. She has remained at the imposing circular Ethiopian church ever since.

Dunietz came across her music eight years ago when her husband, the conductor Ilan Volkov, brought home a CD he had bought in London. “We listened and were amazed by the strange combination of classical, Ethiopian and blues,” said Dunietz. “And then we read the sleeve notes and discovered she lives right here in Jerusalem.”

The couple found Guebrù sitting at the piano in her room at the church, and began a series of visits. “In the beginning there was a lot of silence. We felt there was a lot of longing and sorrow and loneliness, but slowly a connection started,” said Dunietz.

Guebrù was still playing and composing in her room, but she had not performed in public for several years, and her music was “not much appreciated” within the monastery. Dunietz immediately understood the importance of publishing the nun’s scores to create and preserve a musical legacy, but the project did not get off the ground until two years ago.

“She handed over four plastic bags — old wrinkled Air Ethiopia bags — containing hundreds of pages, all muddled up, a big mess, written in pencil, some of them 60 or 70 years old. It was all the pages of her music that she had found in her room. ‘Make a book’, she said.” It was, added Dunietz, “like an archaeological dig” to piece together the scores.

Daunted by the task, Dunietz sought the help of the Jerusalem Season of Culture, which organises an annual summer festival of art, music and food in the city. As well as the book, the three concerts have a huge significance for Guebrù.

“This is the first time she will hear her own music performed in concert by professional artists,” said Duenitz, who will play the piano. “It is what every composer wants.” Guebrù, she says, is feeling overwhelmed by the attention and has largely withdrawn into the solitude of her monastery room, declining requests for interviews and meetings.

In the book accompanying Guebrù’s music, Meytal Ofer, a regular visitor over recent months, describes her: “I enter a darkened room and catch my first glimpse of her, an elderly woman, not a wrinkle on her face, lying in bed. It is a modest room with a small window. In the room is a bed, a piano, piles of musical scores and a picture of Haile Selassie and the Empress Menen hung above the papers.”

Guebrù is wrapped in a blanket against the winter cold, writes Ofer. “Emahoy Tsegue-Mariam is in her own world; she speaks slowly with an inner peace, her soothing voice caresses the listener and her infectious smile sneaks into the conversation every now and then … The disparity between the room’s sparseness and Emahoy Tsegué-Mariam’s spiritual richness reaches deep down into my soul.”

Harriet Sherwood for the Guardian

Bold and beautiful dresses

Rue 114 is a Ghanaian fashion brand that caters for the plus-size woman. Launched in 2011 by Serwah Asante, the brand celebrates beauty in all shapes and sizes.  Forget ‘forgiving’ black and boring pastels – their latest collection in particular is bold, beautiful and anything but understated.

Fun, colour, print and a flair for the dramatic are what this collection is about. This is not for the wallflower or for a woman with low self-esteem … it’s for the curvy woman who knows she’s beautiful, and flaunts it.

Rue 114’s Spring-Summer collection, called Prints ‘n Scribes, takes its cue from colour blocking and pushes the boundaries of African fashion. The pieces are available for purchase online; prices range between $40  to $440.

The "Roshni" cute-as-a-button dress
The “Roshni” cute-as-a-button dress
The "Kiki" glam rock blazer.
The “Kiki” glam rock blazer
The "Tasha" print block bustiere with the "Joyce" prints n tulle ruffle skirt.
The “Tasha” print block bustiere with the “Joyce” prints ‘n tulle ruffle skirt
The "Dalita" afro rock skinny jeans
The “Dalita” afro rock skinny jeans
The "Kara" mint print sweetheart dress
The “Kara” mint print sweetheart dress
The "Zeljka" sweetheart 'n tulle dress
The “Zeljka” sweetheart ‘n tulle dress
The "Ayana" Cut-outs and Prints dress
The “Ayana” cut-outs and prints dress
The "Shantel" afro rock mermaid gown
The “Shantel” afro rock mermaid gown