Category: Perspective

‘Con’ pastors thrive as Africans become increasingly desperate for miracles

Ugandans participate in a massive preach of the Born Again Church in Mbarara, western Uganda’s largest town, on August 23 2008. (Pic: AFP)

At a South African church rightly called “Incredible Happenings”, the pastor believes that he can exorcise demons from his female followers by sticking his fingers in their private parts in full view of his congregation.

In a popular church based in Nigeria – where 84 people died after the collapse of one of the church buildings – the presiding pastor has convinced many followers that the tragedy was the devil’s work, a manifestation of a spiritual warfare between God and Satan.

The sighting of a plane on the overfly ahead was offered as justification, even as an official (if earthly) probe found the building flouted basic construction standards. Many followers agree with this rationale, and back the thinking that those who died needlessly are martyrs.

In Pretoria, at the aptly-named “End Times Disciple ministries”, the pastor regularly serves up snakes to his congregants to eat, pledging they will turn into chocolate. Many oblige and lap it up. In Kenya a flashy “pastor” on national television admitted swindling his congregation, with the defence that they were not coerced. He is now a celebrity of sorts.

Such happenings are to be found all over Africa, where congregations often blindly act on the leadership’s instructions, few challenging them. They faithfully queue to buy miracle oils, and the women even sleep with pastors so that they may be impregnated with the Holy Spirit.

Desperate for miracles

Have we Africans become so desperate for miracles, that any odd John can introduce himself as a “man of God”, patent it and have no one question him or her at all?

Religious and spiritual beliefs on these shores tend to be personal and very subjective, which should be no surprise. It is one of those topics that most give a wide berth, for fear of offending people or the deities they feel they owe their existence and good fortune to.

Like the rest of the world, Africa has seen its beliefs systems and religious practices evolve over time, be it African spirituality in the form of ancestral beliefs and worship, to Islam, Christianity and many others.

In many instances, though not in all, the church has contributed in building healthy societies, including through advancing education for both the young and old, offering healthcare and in developing skills.

They have also supported community building and social cohesion in many African countries, where they tend to be big players. The church is further seen as the custodian of morality, ensuring that human conduct remains on the straight and narrow.

But there is the downside. Human rights have been, and continue to be, abused in the name of religion. One example is the marginalisation or abuse of women, children and homosexuals, with Bible scriptures invoked as justification of such injustices.

It is interesting to watch how the structure and the function of the church has changed so dramatically over the past few years, especially within black communities. The Catholic, Anglican, and Apostolic faith-based churches historically enjoyed a large following within African communities. That has to some degree changed, with an explosion of evangelical churches across the continent.

“Born Again” eruptions

Evangelical or “Born Again” churches have sprouted everywhere in Africa, some well structured and headed by solid leadership, others run as highly profitable enterprises by self-proclaimed prophets, who to their congregations still qualify as “Men and Women of God”. Many are run almost as if they were insurance companies owning sanctimonious spiritual powers, playing on the hopes and fears of their followers, in exchange for generous tithes.

It would be wrong to tar all with the same brush, but some of the practices their followers are subjected to in the search for miraculous healing and prosperity pose the question: Are their adherents still able to independently think for themselves outside of the indoctrination that goes on in some of these churches?

The evidence is that the greatest beneficiaries of these miracles are the owners, who get richer as their poor and desperate congregations continue to await the promise of healing, prosperity, and blessings, in forms ranging from husbands to miraculous conceptions.

Question then is, at what point does it all end? Where exactly does God feature? Has strife and suffering reduced we Africans to a people that willingly abandon all logic and sense, and allow ourselves to be stripped of our dignity by our “Brothers and Sisters in Christ”, all in the name of miracles and quick fixes to life’s challenges?

It is overly simplistic and patronising to assume that the suffering and poor are lazy and only seek quick fixes – on the contrary, people of all inclinations toil daily to put some put bread on the table.

But let’s face it, life is tough and can be cruel. And the real reason people suffer is due to the myriad of social ills and the venal leadership of many of our governments. Africans have lost faith in many of our religious and political structures and are now seeking solutions from alternative sources. Those that claim to be connected directly to God are very conscious of this fact, capitalising on the increased hopelessness.

How can we see this manipulation for what it is, and stop the perpetuation of our own misery? For those that believe in a God, at what point do we do a one-on-one conversation to get the answers we seek, or does He only hear the prayers of a select few?

The truth is that self-proclaimed “prophets” or “men and women of God” also want better lives for themselves and will continue to happily milk people’s hopes and fears.

Religion alone will not lift us. We need to build educational and financial institutions that will allow us to reach our true potential individually and collectively. Maybe in this way we can have faith in ourselves and stop looking to others to intervene on our behalf.

Palesa Thinane-Epondo for M&G Africa

9 years ago

What can Kenyans expect from Obama’s visit?

Newspapers bearing headlines on US President Barack Obama’s upcoming visit to Kenya. (Pic: AFP)

From a Kenyan perspective, the last decade has pretty much been a wasted opportunity for the country’s relationship with the United States. The election of Barack Obama had raised hopes of a deeper and more meaningful engagement given his Kenyan roots. However, it coincided with two seminal events of Kenyan presidential ballot history. This was the violence that followed the disputed vote in 2008 and, five years later, the election of a crimes against humanity indictee to the highest office in the land.

Like Mwai Kibaki before him, President Uhuru Kenyatta came to office with a serious legitimacy deficit. His administration too is hobbled by corruption and has been accused of clamping down on civic freedoms. Coupled with Obama’s own troubles at home, as a loony fringe loudly questioned whether he was sufficiently American, these, inevitably created a regrettable distance between the two countries. The situation was perhaps best summed up in then Assistant Secretary of State Johnnie Carson’s statement on the eve of the 2013 election: “choices have consequences”.

The UK also issued similar warnings of minimal contacts should Kenyatta and his running mate, William Ruto, both of whom had been indicted by the International Criminal Court over the 2008 post-election violence, win the polls. Though these eventually turned out to be hollow, the perceptions of Western interference supercharged the duo’s campaign and helped get them elected.

Once in office, as part of their push to get their cases dropped, UhuRuto (as they became known) fanned anti-Western sentiment both at home and across the continent, painting the ICC, in the words of Uhuru’s address to the African Union, as a “toy of declining imperial powers”, and playing up the new engagement with China as a counterweight to the West.

Obama too was keen to keep his distance. Following the example of his immediate predecessors, he made a point of skipping Kenya on the two African tours of his first term. If anything, it appeared that Tanzania, which is getting rather used to US presidential visits having hosted Bill Clinton, George Bush and Obama, seemed to be the US’s new BFF in the region.

One would thus have imagined that relations with the US had settled into the back of the freezer for the foreseeable future. It was all so different from 2008 when Kenya had been the only country in the world to declare a public holiday in celebration of Obama’s election.

So what changed?

Terrorism for one. Kenya has been a target of attacks from the Somalia-based al-Shabab terror group ever since it invaded its neighbour in October 2011. But under the Uhuru administration, the numbers and severity of attacks have skyrocketed. The government’s incompetent response has generated the possibility of a spreading Islamist-inspired insurgency across Kenya’s north-eastern border regions. The threat to the largest economy in East and Central Africa and a bulwark for regional stability simply could not be ignored. Perhaps Obama is betting that by re-engaging with Uhuru, he can gently nudge him to take the necessary measures to confront it.

Secondly, it is important to note that the anti-Western rhetoric was always little more than a charade. The aim was to discredit the ICC, not alienate the West. It was not about taking Obama on, but getting Uhuru off. Under the surface, admiration for Obama ran deep. The two modelled their campaign and atmospherics on him, and across the country, as reflected in a 2014 Pew survey, Obama remains popular.

What are we to expect of the visit?

While the official reason Obama is coming is the Global Entrepreneurship Summit, there is little doubt that behind the scenes, it will be dominated by concerns over the worsening security and governance situation. Less than a week before Obama’s arrival, the reopening of the Westgate mall, scene of an al-Shabab massacre of at least 67 people two years ago, will be presented as a sign of resilience in the face of terrorism. But it also stands as a monument to the refusal by the authorities to learn lessons from previous attacks and to make much-needed improvements. Obama himself has said that counter-terrorism will be an important focus of the visit. And while he will probably be more restrained when criticising his hosts in public than he was during his visit as Senator in 2006, one would still expect some tough talking away from the cameras.

The Kenyan government will also probably be on its best behaviour. It is best to ignore the loopy-headed warnings of Obama being thrown out of Parliament if he mentions gay marriage – he is not even scheduled to address MPs. Ditto the mooted 5000-strong nude march to protest the issue.

Nairobi is being spruced up in anticipation of the visit but that will be cold comfort for its long suffering residents. The homeless are being rounded up and will be kept out of sight and with much of the city expected to be in virtual lockdown, the usually terrible traffic will be nightmarish. In fact there is talk of an “Obamigration” as those who can flee the city in advance of Obama’s arrival.

The visit will also be a boon to the country’s cops. A new directive of dubious legality requires that everyone in Nairobi carry ID or risk arrest. There is no law in Kenya that requires the carrying of documents on pain of detention and this will only create an avenue for rich pickings for 15000 members of the famously corrupt National Police Service as citizens try to avoid the prospect of a weekend behind bars.

The real test of the visit will be what happens after he leaves. Will there be any lasting change? It will be particularly interesting to see whether Obama is able to persuade Kenyatta to take security seriously and to stop using it as an excuse to clamp down on civil rights. Movement on that front alone would make all the hassle worthwhile.

Patrick Gathara is a strategic communications consultant, writer, and award-winning political cartoonist. To read more of Patrick’s opinion pieces visit his blog, Gathara’s World or follow him on Twitter: @gathara

9 years ago

Silent society: Why is abuse under-reported?

Uruguayan United Nations peacekeepers look through binoculars at M23 rebel positions on the outskirts of Goma, in eastern Democratic Republic of the Congo, on November 18, 2012. (Pic: AFP)

Yet another report of sexual abuse by United Nations peacekeepers has come to the fore, revealing that 480 allegations of sexual exploitation and abuse had been made between 2008 and 2013, of which one-third involved minors.

This is not ‘new’ news. UN peacekeepers have a long history of sexually abusing, exploiting and harassing women and children in places they have been appointed to serve, safeguard and stabilise.

Questions begin to arise. What do we do when those tasked with stabilising, destabilise further and those commissioned to protect victims, victimise them further? Where can these victims express their grievances?

This shameful practice by UN mediators has been (re)occurring for years, yet it goes under-reported. Where is the government that should be defending their exploited citizens? Where is our outrage as members of civil society? Where are the voices of the victims themselves?
Why do we not know them? Many stories go untold, cries go unheard and pain goes unfelt.

Read: SA soldiers worst sex offenders on UN missions

There are no answers and even worse, there are no questions. Just silence.

In the words of Dr Martin Luther King Jnr: “In the end we remember not the words of our enemies but the silence of our friends”.

Sometimes I think we live in silent societies.

Silence as children are being trafficked and sold into prostitution amongst other things. Silence as rape victims are encouraged to be quiet and are told that they “tempted” their predators. In many cases, victims contract HIV/AIDS and other STDs and STIs and see an end to their dreams, hopes and very lives. Countless shallow arguments such as “she wasn’t dressed appropriately” and other utter nonsense are used to justify and encourage this rape culture. And let’s not forget teenage pregnancy, prostitution and other repercussions of these atrocities.

Silence as some cultures and communities find no fault in child marriage and force hundreds of girls into this living hell. Can you ponder the scars they carry? The pain goes deeper than the evidence seen on their bodies from the physical violence and abuse that accompany these situations.

There is a trauma that comes from objectification, a disturbance birthed when human beings are subjugated to inhumane conditions.

Authorities display no accountability for their actions and refuse to answer our questions. No questions asked, no answers given, no dialogue, no conversation. Speaking is a privilege our kind of democracy does not endorse. More silence.

Yet there are those who have escaped the prisons of fear and those who still hope and dream of being heard, but they have their spirits crushed by the blatant and brutal reality of having no platform. Still, there is silence.

Despite quietude, I hear rowdy noises of protests and hashtags supporting human rights and dignity and the people behind them, labelled (or sometimes label themselves) as “activists” – yet away from computers, crowds, lights and cameras there is no action. Only silence because in reality, many don’t understand the dynamics of the causes they advocate both on social media and in real life. And sometimes despite their verbosity and polished politics they don’t take too long to show us their ignorance. Who benefits from all these fake revolutions?

Activity at times creates the illusion of mobility.

Silence that is not merely limited to the absence of speech but silence that is the absence of true action and consideration. Lack of consideration as our privileges make us less aware of the plight of others. And to those of us who are aware and not only represent but embody a common struggle, we are bullied, threatened and manipulated into silence.

Conditions may not always permit us to act out the changes we want to make outwardly but that should not discourage us from acting inwardly. Every time we try to understand a situation we act, when we question we act, when we empathise we act, when we pray we act, when we have conversations we act! And this action should never be perceived as worthless in the grand scheme of things. Before anything is manifested on the outside, it has to be established on the inside. The love, understanding, compassion, courage and most importantly hope that we silently build in our hearts is never silence!

I want to hear the voices of the oppressed and I want you to hear them too, even if they are not on the news or radio, even if they are not hashtags, even if they are not on the internet, even if your peers don’t discuss it. Even if the only place we can hear, see and feel their pain is inside ourselves.

Refuse to bask in the oblivion of silence. Refuse to be silenced.

9 years ago

Does Caitlyn Jenner’s story mean anything for Nigeria’s Yan Daudu?

Caitlyn Jenner, the transgender Olympic champion formerly known as Bruce, unveiled her new name and look in a sexy Vanity Fair cover shoot in June. (Pic: AFP)

To understand the tasteless comedy that was the larger Nigerian reaction to Caitlyn Jenner, the woman Bruce Jenner introduced to the public on that iconic Vanity Fair cover, post-transition, you first have to understand the place of comedy in the country.

There is a lot that comedy placates in Nigeria. That we can laugh at our problems, that you can gather a broad class of Nigerians in a room and get them to laugh at class difference – the thieving politician sitting in the VIP section of that room is perhaps our most undervalued nationalistic tool.

A little more than a year ago, when the sexuality debate was sweeping through Africa, Nigerians felt it important to drawn clear boundaries. Yet for some reason, on this equally important humanity-defining issue, people largely chose the bliss of ignorance and comedy. For them, Caitlyn Jenner’s story was an America-is-crazy kind of thing. A problem with the world, but chiefly, other people’s problem.

And yet, the fact is in Nigeria, there are at least two public figures that disrupt the rigid boundaries of gender performance. Charles ‘Charly Boy’ Oputa is one of them; the entertainer who goes by the name His Royal Punkness regularly presents himself to the public as a person who exists in a gender flux; he wears make-up, a mostly punkish rock star kind. The other is Denrele Edun, a famous television presenter, who is even less subtle. He wears his shimmery gowns and long, gorgeous, sometimes outlandish hairpieces on the red carpet.

Nigerians, most of whom daily and with dedication watch Philipino love dramas where at least one character exists in a gender flux, are scandalised by these two local men who fearlessly dress across gender lines in a country where conforming to social expectations is almost non-negotiable. It is always interesting to read the classic Nigerian response to a Charly Boy photo shoot.

The common thread amongst people who live in this state of denial is God/Allah.

A majority of Nigerians construct their identities rigidly around religion. The world known to most Nigerians was created by God, filled by God with men, women and things for the men (to a large extent) and women to dominate. That world as it is known to most Nigerians is under threat from science in general and more specifically, people who think they are smarter than God. Anything that demands that their world be seen differently confirms the end of the world.

Asking that Nigerian to think of gender in the terms that Bruce’s transition demands is a threat. To find fun in it is the sane end of the stick, what lies beyond it can get scary. There is at least one reported case of the Nigerian public unleashing its wrath on an individual for not being ‘normal’. For being a man with woman breasts and, in essence, a witch.

There is a list of permitted ambiguities in the world as it is known to most Nigerians, and gender is not one of them.

From this convenient position, religion (and by religion, I mean Christianity and Islam) is the only accepted portal of history, and the past can be collectively rewritten. The very idea that people do not exist in straight categories of male and female becomes a dangerous foreign construct. Unfortunately, the idea of gender fluidity is not a new paradigm the free world cooked up.

The Yan Daudu exist. They are certainly not Nigeria’s only trangender people, not by a long shot, but they are the best evidence of a trans community in Nigeria. They have been part of the cultural fabric of pocket regions in Northern Nigeria for at least a century. They are pre-religion and have continued to exist post-religion. They cross dress, they take on complete female identities.

What Caitlyn should represent for them, is an audacity to claim the space of their individual realities. To make it anything more than a dying fringe culture.

Read Nigeria’s yan daudu face persecution in religious revival

And herein lies the question. Is what we have witnessed in the publicised transitioning of Bruce to Caitlyn a victory for the ‘global trans community’ in any real way? Does it mean anything for the Yan Daudu in Nigeria, or the Hijras in India?

“I am for people living in their truths” are words that have been increasingly used these past few weeks. I agree with the words. The only valid way to live in any case is in ways that are as truthful as one can muster. But as the world’s progressives cheer for Caitlyn, and we read the positive comments, can we also chip in a discussion on what this means to those small communities of people driven underground already by a witch hunt in places not the America? Is this too a victory for them? Are they, too, the earth?

Kechi Nomu writes from Warri, Nigeria. Her poems have appeared in Saraba Magazine and Brittle Paper.

9 years ago

Growing up black, foreign and legal in South Africa

(Pic: AFP)

by Wadeisor Rukato

On Thursday the 30^th of April 2015, I stepped off a taxi coming from the Bree taxi rank in order to make my way toward the MTN taxi rank[1]. I was coming from Greenside, where I work as an intern for a consultancy firm.

Immediately, as I stepped onto the curb, I was stopped by an aggressive tap on my shoulder followed by loud commands of “Eh, I said stop”, “You must respect me”, “Look me in the eye” – from two black women.

I steadied myself quickly and realised that one of the women, the taller one, was dressed in the navy official uniform of the South African Police Services. The shorter one, with a bob-cut weave, was wearing an orange golf T-shirt and a reflective warrant officer vest. She was holding a clipboard and pen. They both had a threatening but smug look on their faces, like they had just caught a big fish.

“This is a stop and search. Open your bag now!”

Without really thinking about the legal procedure regarding bag searches or my ‘rights’, I hastily unzipped my bag and revealed its contents. The short one clumsily ran her hand through and asked: “Where is your passport?”

I panicked. In my now 19 years of living in South Africa, I had never been asked this question. I didn’t have my passport. I don’t walk around with it.

I did have my green book – my stamp of legality, the document that guarantees my status as a permanent resident of South Africa. I took it out, handed it to them and felt like I had narrowly escaped doom. Until a week before, I refused to carry my ID with me, for fear of losing it given how hard it was to get in the first place.

My ID was handed back to me. The two women seemed disappointed. Maybe I imagined this.

I moved to South Africa when I was three years old. I am now 22. I am Zimbabwean and my parents moved to the City of Gold in 1995 to realise what, for many Zimbabweans then, was the real potential of a South African dream.

My first experience with xenophobia was in primary school in the early 2000s. Names such as “Kwerekwere” and “Girigamba”[2] were pelted at me like stones by children both my age and skin color. Even as a child I knew that these terms were meant for a select few. They were used to “other” and alienate foreigners of a specific kind. While the white French foreign student who visited was welcomed with curiosity and admiration, I, a black African child, was labelled Kwerekwere. I was taunted and excluded.

Throughout the rest of my school career, I experienced a dizzying identity crisis. In junior high, I spent time dreaming of living in Soweto, Diepkloof, maybe Orlando. In this imagined life, I spoke fluent Zulu. My friends and I took a taxi to Ghandi Square or MTN taxi rank to get home. I arrived at school on Mondays with news of Thabo, the boy from the opposite street, and how he asked for my number over the weekend. If anything, this dream bears witness to how profoundly I longed to become a South African citizen. Simply to belong, wholly and indisputably.

By the time I entered grade 10 in 2008, my delusions had been completely dashed. In May of that year foreigners were violently assaulted in the Johannesburg township of Alexandra.

Ernesto Alfabeto Nhamuave was set alight and became known as “the burning man.” The image of him on his knees and wrapped in flames appeared almost everywhere.

Pieces of land along highways in Johannesburg, Olifantsfontein and Midrand became lined with rows and rows of UNHCR refugee tents for the displaced and vulnerable.

Young boys and girls in my grade huddled in the cold autumn/winter mornings before class. There were conversations that sometimes involved making ‘arguments’ for why black, lower-class and African foreigners earned the contempt they were experiencing.

I was made hyper-aware of my identity as a black Zimbabwean. I wanted to simultaneously lash out and dissolve. I felt convicted in the symbolism of my decision to have taken Afrikaans instead of Zulu as my second additional language.

I felt frustrated, angry, disappointed, rejected.

Today, I proudly identify myself as a Zimbabwean and choose to describe myself as a Zimbabwean who grew up and lives in South Africa. I fully acknowledge the influence that being raised in South Africa has had on me. Given my familiarity and extensive experience in the country, it is, in many ways, home. Zimbabwe is, however, where I feel rooted, where I belong. I feel a responsibility to return there at the earliest opportunity in order to reacquaint myself with my country and contribute to its development.

My identity crisis has, in effect, been resolved.

I recently read a paper by Michael Neocosmos –The Politics of Fear and the Fear of Politics: Reflections on Xenophobic Violence in South Africa – in which he addresses the reasons for these xenophobic attacks.

While xenophobia in post-apartheid South Africa is generally understood in terms of economics, there is good reason to believe that it is a product of political discourse and ideology. Neocosmos points to “state or government discourse of xenophobia, discourse of South African exceptionalism and a conception of citizenship founded exclusively on indigeneity”.

The reckless and quite frankly deplorable statement made by King Goodwill Zwelethini in which he called for all foreign nationals to return to where they came from is a prime example. It demonstrates the power that leaders wield in terms of influencing the perceptions and actions of certain groups in society toward African migrants in the country.

I remain disillusioned and disgusted by the poor show of leadership and lack of both urgency and agency displayed by key government officials and the president himself when it came to honestly and effectively addressing the recent xenophobic violence. An honest dialogue on why African foreigners are specifically targeted in xenophobic attacks in this country will not occur until the role that leadership plays in sparking, influencing, curbing or dealing with xenophobia is understood.

The fear/dislike of and violence against African migrants is not a new phenomenon in South Africa. The March 2015 attacks are also not likely the last we will see. That’s why it is important to address the role of leadership in the perpetration of xenophobia.

[1] MTN Taxi Rank and Bree Taxi rank are two of the main taxi terminals in the Johannesburg CBD.

[2] A derogatory term used in South Africa to refer to foreigners, particularly from Zimbabwe.

This post was first published on Brittle Paper, an African literary blog featuring book reviews, news, interviews, original work and in-depth coverage of the African literary scene. It is curated by Ainehi Edoro and was recently named a ‘go-to book blog’ by Publisher’s Weekly.