by Rutendo C. Chigora University of Pennsylvania, Class of 2015

It wasn’t just a journey through history; it wasn’t rooted in the present nor was it an espousal of the future. It was an amalgam of all these times and the people scattered across the years – some only remnants of body and soul; others – us [...]]]>

by Rutendo C. Chigora
University of Pennsylvania, Class of 2015

It wasn’t just a journey through history; it wasn’t rooted in the present nor was it an espousal of the future. It was an amalgam of all these times and the people scattered across the years – some only remnants of body and soul; others – us – real, living, breathing, feeling; and the rest, only flights of fancy, figments of the imagination, the matter of dreams.

I walked the narrow sand lines that grew more out of wear than tear, and heard people shout greetings as we went by, observing all protocol. I will miss that sense of community and belonging, I’m sure. That art of looking out for each other while maintaining this singular intricate sense of self, secrecy and mystique.

The cemetery wasn’t neatly manicured and guarded by shiny stones with messages for the dead – it’s just a place where we have placed our losses and attempted to keep track of who lies where with cemented borders and metal plaques. There, a father told me how each one had come to lie here and how I fit into the timeline, the family, the history of glory, despair and, at other times, glorious despair.

I said farewell to those already fared, those bones beneath my feet, while holding a digital camera and speaking in a tongue and tone that, for many of these souls, meant oppression. The closeness I felt to them was undeniable, yet the distance between us hovered and made me acutely aware of how far removed we had become without losing much of what we had, yet picking up so much more – most of which was probably inconceivable to the lady whose name was printed on the plaque on my right and the great-grandfather I had never known. And I knew then that the moment I would step foot off my motherland, onto a vessel that would take me through space and time into a distant, foreign, strange land, I would have to grip harder at all these things that made me who I am.

Everything about the place – my village, the birthplace of my heritage, the rural home to which I waved my hand in valediction – was symbolic, special, perplexing, painful and, well, pretty all at once. Perhaps goodbyes amplify everything and fear has us seeking solace in simple things because they seem closer and safer than the futures we have to leap into as we trek our way into horizons beyond the motherland, beyond Zimbabwe.

Book Review: The Memory of Love by Aminatta Forna by Ajani Husbands

This is a massive book. I spent months reading this book, intermittently, sometimes pausing for weeks at a time. Admittedly, the content was so beautifully dense that I simply could not pick the book up again without taking some time to digest what I had [...]]]>

Book Review: The Memory of Love by Aminatta Forna
by Ajani Husbands

This is a massive book. I spent months reading this book, intermittently, sometimes pausing for weeks at a time. Admittedly, the content was so beautifully dense that I simply could not pick the book up again without taking some time to digest what I had just read.  Aminatta Forna describes a post-war Sierra Leone via a complex tapestry of fictional characters, all of whom intertwine regularly without knowing it, leading to an eventual climactic ending. Perhaps I am a bit selfish, though. What I found most striking about The Memory of Love was not so much the characters themselves, but how I could find myself as a background character within their world.

The book tells its tale partly through the eyes of an British expat psychologist and partly through the gaze of a Sierra Leonean surgeon.  The tiny post-war country, as seen through the eyes of the expat, is often my own world. The psychologist, Adrian, came to the country for his own reasons, though none of them seem adequate enough to any local professional who thoroughly questions him on his presence. Did he come to help? To be a hero? How long would he be staying? Did he really think he was making a difference? Through the entire course of the novel, Adrian never really has a good answer for any of these questions. Yet, he persists, driven by his own passions and in part, his own inability to understand what exactly he is looking to achieve or find.

I find my analysis selfish because, given the nature of my job, I am always an expat in somebody else’s country, that country either being economically downtrodden or rebuilding itself after a long fought war. Adrian’s observations and inability to just quite “get it,” all mirror my own. There even comes a moment where Adrian believes he has truly found a way to help, just as I have sometimes. And, of course, it comes crumbling down as he simply spends another day in Sierra Leone and learns a little bit more.  Throughout the novel, I find myself speaking to Adrian, shaking my head and saying “of course that wouldn’t work. Haven’t you thought this out?” And then, I realize Adrian doesn’t get it because I don’t get it, regardless of how long I spend in another country.

The book isn’t one of an expat’s foreign wanderings, though. The book title, though admittedly bland, aptly describes exactly what is happening in the book. A story recounted by an old man of his love for another man’s wife. The Sierra Leonean doctor whose nightmares are only ever soothed by thoughts, or memories rather, of the woman he once loved. Even Adrian from time to time must reckon with the memory of his wife and child in London, whom he mentions in internal monologue so rarely and out loud to others even less so that one wonders if he ever has intentions of going back to them.

Given the straightforwardness of the title, one would also imagine that the narrative is told in equal parts by women, often the focus of this love’s memory. It is not the case. In a purely academic context, I’m sure one could draw up a basis for critiquing Aminatta’s use of female characters as simple pawns in the movements of their male counterparts. In an academic analytical vacuum, this could be the case. Yet, Aminatta crafts her female characters in a way that mirrors their realities in a male-dominated society. And though we are never privy to the internal monologue of any female character, we find ourselves intimately aware of exactly how they feel and what they believe, more so than, at times, the males with whom they associate.

As I stated earlier, this is a massive book. And I am all the better for reading it. It’s an excellent introduction to not just Sierra Leone, but is also a fantastic work of fiction that invites one to learn more.  To whom would I recommend this book? Though never mentioned once in the book, I would say Peace Corps workers. In addition, of course, anyone interested in Sierra Leone, learning more about post-war countries, and of course anyone who enjoys good fiction.

l sat helpless,useless and stunned in the searing hot sun.   l never  felt  its effect for there l was only in flesh with a heart stabbed as if by a lance.  Gone was my spirit with my broken dreams.  So painful was the sound of his words!  l was left clinging [...]]]> BY ANYWAY IMMACULATE BRENDA KAPINGIDZA

l sat helpless,useless and stunned in the searing hot sun.   l never  felt  its effect for there l was only in flesh with a heart stabbed as if by a lance.  Gone was my spirit with my broken dreams.  So painful was the sound of his words!  l was left clinging to despair.  This was all l had for a life’s meal.

How did l find myself in this dilemma?  When l received my Advanced level results l was over the moon.  l came out with flying colours and somehow  l  felt  that the future had the brightest and the best  in store for me.  l was  rest assured that l was going to fulfill my dreams of becoming a medical doctor.  l wasted no time and applied for Medicine at the University of Zimbabwe.  In less than three months l received a reply from the Faculty of Engineering that l was admitted to study Electrical Engineering instead of the program l had applied for.  Half a loaf is better than nothing so, l embraced their decision.  l was surprised to find out that my fees and tuition was US$710.  l also needed  accommodation and food because the University is about  eighty  kilometers away from Marondera, my home.  All this would cost my parents an arm and a leg as they are low income workers.

There is always a way to a wiling heart so,l decided to apply for a scholarship to study abroad.  l applied to New Zealand, the Netherlands and South Africa.  Approximately two months elapsed without any response.  l grew anxious and restless during that time.  Finally, l got a scholarship to study Software and Electronic Engineering at Leiden University in the Netherlands.  This was like a flash in a teacup, one and only success.  l applied for a passport that was supposed to be ready for use in just fourteen days.  My time was running out as l had to leave Zimbabwe the following month.

The sun dimmed for me when l went to collect my passport and the man on the delivery counter said, ”lm sorry, madam, but we have a technical fault and our machines and computers are not working until further notice.  Maybe you can get an emergency travelling document.”  l needed a passport to apply for my student visa.  l tried to reason with him (and later also with the passport  office registrar general) but to no avail.  They said the problem was at KG6 Offices where the passports are printed in Harare so it was a countrywide problem.  Hence, their hands were tied.

The day for me to go drew closer by the eye’s twinkle and the machines were still down.On the very day of my  intended departure tears like a perennial river flowed down my cheeks.  So painful was the sond of the registrar’s words.  The torrid stream of thoughts, bubbling fear and awe ached from my heart’s core.  A lifetime opportunity had just slipped away from my hands and there was utterly nothing l could do to stop it.  l looked at the trees and they seemed to lift their massive arms in prayer and pointed to God together  with  me pleading for a change, a change for the better.  That day l visited Mrs Mufuka (one of my mentors) wearing a face long as her arm.  She consoled me and asked me to give her my educational transcripts to show her husband and workmates.  Little did l know that Mr Mufuka has a brother who owns the Mufuka Private Foundation Scholarship, which is a programme intended for students to study in the United States of America.

Founded  in 2004 by an empathetic  couple, Dr Douglass and Mrs Jean Mufuka , the Mufuka  Private Foundation Scholarship funds gifted but underprivileged students to pursue their tertiary education at Lander University in the USA.  The couple formed the scholarship fund in memory of Dr Douglass’ late father who was a loving and a sympathetic leader who gave his all to help the needy during his lifetime.  Dr Douglass is a Zimbabwean by nationality, who after years of hard work looked back at his people and decided to empower his fellow Zimbabweans by one of the most important gifts of all, knowledge. Even when the cock does not crow dawn will break my mother rightly said.

Just one phone call on the night of 12 June 2010 changed my outlook on life.  Mrs Mufuka told me that l had been accepted to the Mufuka Private Foundation Scholarship prior to my acceptance at Lander University in USA and the receipt of a student VISA from the USA Embassy.  l had received a four year scholarship to study Chemical Engineering!  The scholarship fund covers my fees, tuition, housing, health insurance and a monthly living stipend.  What more could l ask for?  l was in great ecstasy !  God had given me a better chance in life, a golden opportunity to rise and shine in this world!

I later learnt that l was the ninth recipient of the Mufuka Scholarship from Zimbabwe and only the second female.  With the help of my family, Mr Richard Mufuka, Lois Martin , Mr B.Chiondegwa , Mrs Mano of the USA Embassy and others ,l was able to write and pass the SAT and get a student visa. Finally, l am looking forward to depart for the USA on 22 August 2011 to start my studies in the fall.

Though l owe a number of people a basketful of gratitude, Dr Douglass Mufuka and his wife remain my inspiration.  They look at the plight of gifted but underprivileged students and come to their aid.  After completing my studies, I would also like to help my fellow countrymen, just like Dr Douglass has done for me.

With a spirit that lives and grows, courage that cannot be conquered and determination that cannot be devastated in despair l will not give up!  Yes, l will forget the times of trouble, but not the truth they taught.  I will erase the bitter moments when heaven seemed unkind, but not the lessons learned – the riches left behind.  The lesson learned of assisting my countrymen in need!

Geldof’s Live Aid vs Moyo’s Dead Aid by Ajani Husbands

The book’s introduction explains one of the most valid reasons to take Dambisa Moyo seriously: “the simple fact that ‘Dead Aid’ is the work of an African black woman is the [...]]]>

Geldof’s Live Aid vs Moyo’s Dead Aid
by Ajani Husbands

The book’s introduction explains one of the most valid reasons to take Dambisa Moyo seriously: “the simple fact that ‘Dead Aid’ is the work of an African black woman is the least of the reasons why you should read it. But it is a good reason nonetheless.” The truth is, discussions on development and foreign aid are most often headed by ivory tower elites diametrically opposite of Moyo’s demographic or their odd couple counterpart the liberal musician and/or actor. While these dynamics are slowly changing with time, you often need a push from an outsider to kickstart something new. And that’s what Dambisa Moyo’s bold strategy is, something new.

Shouldn’t the development community pause at the fact that the leading faces of development in Africa are musicians and actors? Their involvement is not out of malice, but simply being good-willed does not mean you have the best answers. To be blunt, when a British rock star outranks the rural farmer in terms of deciding what that farmer needs, it’s time to go back to the drawing board. Dambisa Moyo erases the drawing board completely and starts fresh.

Moyo’s thesis is simple. Instead of relying on foreign aid to develop the world’s most impoverished continent, break out and try different tactics. After all, as she points out, not only is there no proven positive correlation between foreign aid and development, there is usually a negative one (the most aid-dependent countries’ growth rates have shrunk an average of 0.2 percent since 1940). Of all the statistics she quotes in the book, the most important one to note is $300 billion worth of aid has flowed into Africa from developed countries since 1970. That’s an average of $7.5 billion each year, and an average of roughly $150 million per African country per year over the past 39 years. To borrow Moyo’s succinct, yet effective, phrasing, “aid is not working.”

Her strategy is nuanced, though, in a way that many critics miss. Moyo doesn’t advocate for completely cutting off all forms of outside dollars. Instead, she focuses specifically on government to government transfers in the form of loans, usually from the IMF and World Bank, but also from foreign governments. This point is critical, because it demonstrates that Moyo is not an idealist; she’s a realist. Foreign aid, the type she critiques, has largely failed because it does not trickle down to the people who need it most. Instead, it either lines the pockets of corrupt officials, is lost in a sea of inefficiency, or promotes lackluster behavior on the part of African policymakers.

Moyo goes a step further to outline various alternatives to foreign aid that could solve Africa’s woes in the long run. The alternatives are impressive: government issued bonds on the international market, microcredit loans, regional government bonds, increasing regional trade by reducing inter-continent tariffs, steps to increase remittances, and promoting individual savings. These are all viable solutions, which she discusses in great detail. While Moyo admits that the strategy for each African country will obviously be different, she creates a “typical African country” named the Republic of Dongo, which makes for a perfect test case for any economist or analyst willing to experiment with these new strategies. Most importantly, her suggestions leave room to quibble over the details while steadfastly adhering to the main point: there are alternative, better solutions to aid.

Perhaps the controversy comes into play with her statement that Africa does not need multi-party democracy, “but in fact a decisive benevolent dictator to push through the reforms required to get the economy moving.” Here we engage in a battle of theory versus on-the-ground reality, and Moyo wins. The fictitious mosquito net producer that Moyo references throughout her book is less concerned about the right to vote than if he will have the resources to feed his family. Anyone who has travelled the world (or even travelled their own country) will know that a person’s desire for political engagement only comes about after basic needs have been met. When you have whole sectors of society who are bereft of these basic needs, politics are a spurious luxury.

To really understand her argument, you have to focus on the qualifier “benevolent” and the goal of a moving economy. Simply because a president shuns elections as a “tool of the West to undermine sovereignty,” as many rulers have done, it does not fit him in the criteria Moyo sets forth. A benevolent dictator, as Moyo defines, would have to ensure property rights, functioning institutions, growth-promoting economic policies, and an investment climate that buttressed growth. What this also means is that the dictator focuses on getting the country out of poverty utilizing long-term strategies, while allowing his/her people enough freedom to take advantage of these opportunities. Microcredit loans cannot exist if private enterprise is shut down. “The middle class needs a government that will let it get ahead,” as Moyo emphasizes.

Without stating it, Moyo is in fact making an argument for the seedlings of democracy. The problem, though, is that democracy is a buzzword, one which many in the development field believe means a focus on elections. To the contrary, democracy is a long-term process, the beginnings of which must begin with ensuring that the mosquito net producer and the rural farmer have the tools they need to succeed without being dependent on handouts.

From the entire book, there is but one area with which I disagree: China. Moyo asserts that China is a unique opportunity for Africa that must be taken advantage of. This is where a bit of idealism comes into play. While China’s involvement in Africa certainly contrasts that of other countries, it is by no means an angel. The 2005 protests in Zambia against the Chinese-owned copper mines demonstrate this clearly. At best, China is the “devil you don’t know” scenario. At the same time, theoretically, Moyo’s benevolent dictator would be able to take advantage of the opportunity and set the terms for China’s engagement more than they would with other countries. Promoting an environment where African countries can actually take advantage of China, which is what Moyo’s book describes, is a concept I wholeheartedly agree with.

In the end, Moyo has filled an important gap in development discussion. She has challenged the status quo of “more aid is better” and she has brought African intellectuals back into the forefront of the discussion. Both accomplishments are of untold value and equal necessity. While Geldoff and other celebrities certainly hold a place in raising global awareness, it is clear they should simply be warming up the stage for forward-thinking individuals such as Dambisa Moyo.

]]> http://blog.mamelodiproject.org/2009/10/geldofs-live-aid-vs-moyos-dead-aid/feed/ 6 http://blog.mamelodiproject.org/2008/06/making-starving-africans-fashionable/ http://blog.mamelodiproject.org/2008/06/making-starving-africans-fashionable/#comments Sun, 08 Jun 2008 10:33:07 +0000 Ajani Husbands http://blog.mamelodiproject.org/?p=22 by Ajani Husbands Founder | Director- The Mamelodi Project

“Everyone knows the image of a small starving black child. We have seen it so many times now, but it doesn’t work anymore,” - Nadia Plesner

 Nadia is absolutely right.  The image of a starving Black child no longer brings forth the well of emotions it did in [...]]]> by Ajani Husbands
Founder | Director- The Mamelodi Project

“Everyone knows the image of a small starving black child. We have seen it so many times now, but it doesn’t work anymore,”
- Nadia Plesner

 Nadia is absolutely right.  The image of a starving Black child no longer brings forth the well of emotions it did in the early 90s among Western audiences.  The image has become commonplace, expected.  That is where the above design comes in.  The image shown above features prominently on a line of self-styled t-shirts that Nadia Plesner has designed to raise awareness for Darfur.  The concept being, in her own words:

Since doing nothing but wearing designer bags and small ugly dogs appearantly is enough to get you on a magasine cover, maybe it is worth a try for people who actually deserves and needs attention.

Nadia has an intriguing concept on her hands-  Taking an image that the world has become used to seeing (destitute Africans) and remixing it with perhaps the most recognizable symbol of America’s consumerist culture.  The intended effect is to guilt audiences into returning their focus to the frail African youths that filled our television screens along with Sally Struthers and instructive 1-800 numbers. 

The t-shirt, though an innovative construct in increasing awareness in Darfur, works solely because as a culture we are still fixated on Africa as a destitute, helpless land mass that can only be transformed for the better by our direct involvement.  The problem of “forgetting Africa” is an admirable issue to tackle on the part of Ms. Plesner.  At the same time, the end goal should not be to replicate the same destitute images that historically serve to pidgeonhole our thoughts towards Africa as ones of pity and remorse. 

Imagine if the same creativity Nadia put towards constructing this design was instead focused on drawing a design that depicted women from the various ethnic groups of Darfur, all dressed in traditional colorful garbs, each one working tirelessly at a different profession (teaching, science, medicine, etc.) and each of them saying in unison “I am the hope of Darfur.”  The shirt on its own might not make a big difference, but it would nonetheless garner questions, intrigue, and a desire to know more about who these women are and what they represent.  A similar concept would be a design depicting a Darfurian child dressed in a school uniform doing math problems on a chalkboard, with the phrase floating above him “I am the hope of Darfur.” 

These are just design concepts off the top of my head.  I am convinced designs such as these will work for the same reason that Nadia believes her shirt will draw attention and raise awareness: because they are new, unseen images of Africa that Western audiences are hardly introduced to.  If we, as observers outside of Darfur and other areas in Africa of media-interest, are to successfully fulfill a role of increasing awareness, promoting partnerships, fundraising, and educating others regarding these very places, then let us do so by prominently highlighting what few people expect or are prepared to accept: that there is already positivity taking place, and we should make sure that the world knows it.

More information on Nadia’s designs can be found here:
http://africa.reuters.com/odd/news/usnL19534474.html

By Leon Hartwell
Political Sciences Department at the University of Pretoria
Mamelodi Project Public Relations Director, South Africa

Before I became involved with the Mamelodi Project I took one of my friends – Dr. Mike Wolf – on a township tour through Mamelodi.    It was not until after the months of filming, interviewing, and building relationships with several Mamelodi oganizations that I realised how biased I was when I took Dr. Wolf on the township tour and what the implications of this might be.  What I know now is that there are different approaches with different results on how to give a township tour. One approach that promotes the worldwide negative stereotype of the African continent, and one approach that highlights the positive developments taking place within the township.

The first approach – let us call it the ‘Wolf approach’ – is to drive around a township with a foreigner (or even a local who is not familiar with the township’s dynamics) and to show him/her how poor the people are.  It is a simple approach, one that does not require a lot of hard evidence, all you need is right in front of you:  poorly dressed individuals, dilapidated buildings, and an informal economy that might often be appalling to the foreign eye.  As a result, the outsider’s perspective might be reinforced:  Africa is poor, backward and only good for the occasional game drive. 

Of course, a more balanced picture of the township can only be gained if the foreigner asks the right questions. ‘What type of developments have taken place in the township over the past ten years?’  ‘Are there any development programmes in the township?’  The tour guide should also be able to answer these questions or else the foreigner will still be left with a skewed perspective about the township.  Finally, the foreigner will take pictures of the township’s surroundings (which is often the case), and when he/she shows it to family members and friends their own biases about the continent will also be reinforced.  In short, the Wolf approach does not do justice to our people and their surroundings; they continue to have negative views about rural areas and tend to misunderstand (or even not know of) local initiatives. 

These are some of the pictures that I have taken (also on my first experience) when I took Dr Wolf on a trip through Mamelodi: 

Wolf Approach: housing in Mamelodi

   Wolf Approach: Township scene 1

Wolf Approach: Township scene 2

If it is true that pictures are worth a thousand words then these will certainly reinforce the negative view about our people and the continent.  What is the alternative?  How can we challenge Western discourses via township tourism?  How can we show foreigners (and unaware locals) that there is more significance in the township than the eye can see? 

Before I elaborate on the second approach – the ‘Toole approach’ – in answer to the above questions, I want to contextualise how I realised how wrong I was about the township.  One of the underlying aims of The Mamelodi Project is to focus on positive aspects (such as development programmes and organisations) in the township as a representation of Africa.  The reason being that the African continent is predominantly (with very few exceptions) portrayed in a negative light in Western Media.  After filming, interviewing, and interacting with the Mamelodi community during the making of the Documentary I have looked in retrospect at the pictures that I took during my first trip (the ones where Dr. Wolf accompanied me) through the township.  Then it struck me; “I have been guilty of the exact same biases that I am trying to defeat.” 

To come back to the question posed earlier – of whether there is an alternative to the Wolf approach – I can honestly say that there is:  the ‘Toole approach’.  Fortunately I had the opportunity to take a number of other foreigners to the township, but this time I had greater knowledge of how township dynamics work:  there is a fine line between poverty and hardship on the one hand, and development and local initiatives on the other.  Where there is poverty, there are people behind the scenes discussing and implementing projects to combat this.  Where there are dilapidated buildings, there are new ones being erected to uplift the circumstances. 

Dr James Toole is also one of many guests that I was able to take on a tour through Mamelodi.  Armed with ‘new’ knowledge and a host of relationships with some of the development organisations I was able to show (and more importantly explain) to him the best of both worlds.  We visited some of the organisations that we have filmed for the Documentary and I have introduced him to the locals that are actively participating in constructing a better future for all. 

This is what Dr Toole had to say about the township: 

“My visit to Mamelodi was the highlight of my stay in South Africa. What I expected to see was hardship, but what Leon was able to show me was the vibrancy of the place. Life is undeniably hard for many, but there also is an energy and hope that one would never know merely by driving past the township. By meeting community leaders and organisers at a hospice, an orphanage, an arts center, and an environmental center, I was able to see not only challenges but also real advances in the quality of people’s lives. When we hear at all about development in the global North, we tend to hear more about obstacles and failures than about successes. Visiting Mamelodi in the way that I did allowed me to observe, first-hand, the kinds of achievements that committed and resourceful people are able to make on a daily basis in spite of the difficulties they face”.

The pictures that I have taken are also vastly different from the ones that I took upon my first township tour, not because these aspects of Mamelodi were never there, but simply because I did not know they existed. 

Dr. Toole playing a local game

Dr. Toole chatting with Obed, a resident artist at the Mamelodi Arts Centre   

Dr. Toole taking on the infamous ’spatla’ (a favorite meal among students in Mamelodi)

I hope that the contrast between the two approaches will make locals aware of the implications of township tours and that they will do their utmost best to take the Toole approach.  It does not help to attack the media and donors for misrepresenting Africa if we are guilty of providing them with first hand experiences that are largely negative.