Kenya’s minority fishermen fail to benefit from bounty in the lake

Ishbel Matheson hears how the rich resources of Lake Victoria are dwindling, while the Nyala fishing community fails to benefit

Kisumu, on the shores of Lake Victoria, still hasn’t recovered from Kenya’s post-election violence. After nightfall, this normally thriving city, vibrant with music, dancing, eating and drinking, is unusually subdued. The scars of the violence run deep. Indiscriminate police shooting left many dead in Kisumu after the disputed poll results.

Kisumu is the heartland of the Luo tribe – whose main political leader is Raila Odinga. It is widely believed in Kenya (including by many from the dominant Kikuyu tribe) that President Kibaki and his Kikuyu-dominated PNU rigged the election to keep Raila’s ODM out of power.

Despite being the second largest tribe, the Luos have never held Kenya’s top job, and following the Grand Co-alition deal, brokered by Kofi Annan, the presidency remains with the Kikuyus. This still rankles with some Luos – and Raila had a tough job selling the benefits of the co-alition to his people when he travelled to Kisumu a week ago.

But I did not travelled to Kisumu to reflect on the broader Kenyan political picture. I went to see for myself the difficulties faced by the Nyala fishing community, a group who don’t even have official recognition, forget a place in the political life of the country. Despite the fact they provide an essential service, linked to the lake they call home, they do not benefit from the rich resources the lake holds. Instead, this group remains officially unrecognised in Kenya, and is normally assimilated into the bigger Luhya group. And down on the lakeshore, about three hours drive from Kisumu, the fishermen described their concerns about the dwindling fish stocks in Lake Victoria.

They said the lake was fished round the clock, and even as we spoke, the long-prowed boats were skimming over the shimmering blue water, delivering their catch of tilapia and Nile Perch to buyers on the shore. The problem, say Nyalas, is that the business is now so profitable that outsiders from elsewhere in Kenya have moved in. ‘The lake is tired,’ one fisherman told me.

They welcomed the creation of a new fisheries ministry under the new government, but said it was only a first step. They also want to see a better road down to the beaches (the one that I travelled was lousy), and a processing plant in the area, instead of the fish being transported to far-away Nairobi.

And of course, they want a say in how the precious resources of Lake Victoria are managed. After all, they argue, they understand better than anyone the fragility of the lake’s eco-system. Without sustainable practices, they fear future generations of Nyala may not be able to survive from fishing for long.

You can find out more about how different ethnic groups in Kenya were affected by the post-election violence on MRG’s dedicated page Minority Voices from Kenya.

The Bad Car Day

In the second of her blogs from Kenya, Ishbel Matheson sees the living conditions of the Endorois, and has a bad car day

The day began badly. The car broke down, belching black smoke, on the outskirts of Eldoret, where I had been visiting camps for those displaced by the political violence earlier in the year. I was bound for Lake Bogoria in the Rift Valley – one of the premier tourist spots in the country. It is also the ancestral home of the Endorois – but when the area was gazetted as a National Park in the 1970s, the Endorois were evicted, with only paltry promises of compensation.

Endorois rep Wilson Kipkazi was keen that I see for myself the living conditions of his people. But it was well after 2pm before we arrived at Lake Bogoria, picked up two local councillors who had been waiting since early morning, and set off towards the Endorois villages. It was a pretty, but rough road that threaded through acacia trees, bound for a now-defunct ruby mine. But it was an encounter with a steep river crossing that proved to be our undoing.

The car lurched down a steep bank, into a shallow river… raced up the bank at the other side and… slid back down again. The driver, John Kangethe, tried again… but to no avail. And the tricky issue was that, not only could he not go forward, he didn’t have enough room to turn and race back up the other side.

Worst case scenarios flashed through my mind: hours of fruitless pushing, shoving stones under wheels, and oh yes, the familiar prospect of everyone but everyone, including the watoto (children), becoming experts on four-wheel driving, and shouting multiple, conflicting advice to the driver on which way to turn the wheel. The councillor, of course, was reluctant to go back – because he had arranged a community meeting on the other side – so insisted on a couple more valiant efforts up the bank on the other side. But once the gear box started to whine oddly, I foresaw a night in the car, in the middle of nowhere, beckoning. I started to wave my arms madly and shout, ‘No, no, STOP!’Although loathe to give up the sport of trying to get a 4×4 car up a river bank, everyone reluctantly agreed, and a temporary road in the river bank was cleared to allow the car to drive out.

The second councillor wanted us to continue to his community. ’It’s not far’he assured me, as I looked dubiously at my watch. 4pm. ’Just round there’, he said flapping his hands vaguely. Two hours later, the sun sinking spectacularly, in purple, crimson, and pink hues on the other side of the Rift, we were still grinding up a punishing escarpment, heading further and further away from civilisation. Anxiety beset me. Driving at night in Africa is always a really bad idea – especially when thunderclouds are in the sky, and there is no road to speak of. Finally, I said ‘We really, really do have to go back’. The councillor and Kipkazi conferred and the councillor made a couple of phone calls. Yes folks; even in the middle of nowhere, these days there is a mobile telephone network in Kenya. At the next bend, we came to a village where a community group had been waiting for about eight hours, for our arrival.

The men (and one woman) gathered in a little clearing, and a bench was brought for us, and as the last light faded from the sky, they explained the difficulties: the cattle-rustling Pokot were launching raids into their traditional lands, killing some people, and leading to greatly increased insecurity; the more frequent cycles of drought had also decimated herds, making it difficult to find the funds to send children to school; the nearest hospital was 60 kilometres away, so the community had built a dispensary and health clinic from their own funds; but the government had failed to staff it, or give it any supplies. Indeed, apart from a recent visit from the new District Councillor, they had not seen a politician in their area, or a government official since 2005. At heart, this small community shares many of the problems experienced by minorities around the world. In a country where political power flows from economic muscle, their ancient cattle-herding traditions, their remote location, has left them on the very fringes of society.

We spent barely half an hour with them, but they were unbelievably grateful that someone, anyone, from the outside world had come to listen to their story. Back in the car again, we lurched back down the escarpment. It was pitch dark, and Kipkazi and the councillor were conferring in their local language. Kipkazi turned to me, and told me that the place we had stopped on the way up to take pictures of the Rift was in fact a place where the Pokot hung out to ambush people. We passed two members of the Il Chamus tribe, armed with shotguns, guarding their villages from Pokot attacks. At that point, I felt things couldn’t get any worse. But they did. In the couple of hours since we had driven up, it had rained in the Valley. The ground was now dangerously soft, and we had to creep forward while the councillor leant out of the window, peering at the ground in the pitch dark, and guiding the car forward. After an hour and a half of nerve-wracking travel, including the further revelation that we were actually travelling on an ‘unofficial’ road, that the alternative was too dangerous, we eventually reached terra firma, and safety.

Later, in the hotel, I told Kipkazi that I’d been worried that we’d never get the car out of the river bed. He laughed and said. ‘Oh Cynthia and Clive got stuck for three hours’. (Cythia Morel is MRG’s legal cases officer, and Clive Baldwin was formerly head of international advocacy). ‘But,’ he continued, ‘it was fine when I took Sian,’ (an external evaluator for the MRG legal cases programme). A thought began to creep into my head. Had every single MRG staff member who had visited the Endorois gone down the ruby road? Was this some kind of initiation rite? Kipkazi confirmed he had also taken Samia Khan, our head of programmes, on the same torturous journey. ‘But,’ he said ‘Paile (MRG’s African Commission project officer) hasn’t been.’ He shot me a side-long twinkly glance. ‘She’s in my sights’. Paile, you have been warned!

Kenya – recovery or road to ruin?

Ishbel Matheson, MRG’s Head of Policy and Communications, reports back from a trip to Kenya to research the situation of minorities following the recent violence

From the moment I landed, the effects of the recent convulsive violence were felt. Politics are an obsession. When the evening news comes on, busy restaurants and bars fall silent. Everyone is trying to figure out whether the Grand Coalition government, bringing together the opposition ODM and President Kibaki’s PNU, is going to last. Although it is early days – it looks pretty fragile. Already the opposite wings of the coalition have publicly contradicted each other, on key issues such as how to bring the perpetrators of the violence to justice. Every detail of senior politicians movements, and statements, are pored over. For example, when the new Prime Minister, Raila Odinga, went to ’sell’ the new government in his heartland of Western Kenya at the weekend, it was immediately noted that no senior PNU official accompanied him. How much of a partnership is this government, in reality, Kenyans are asking themselves.

They are, however, anxious that the terrible ethnic violence doesn’t return. On a drive up through the Rift Valley, from Nakuru to Eldoret, the landscape was scattered with sobering reminders of what the violence cost – in human terms. Burnt-out shells of buildings – shops, sheds, homes – dot the side of the road. Farms have been abandoned. Here, the Kikuyu ethnic group was targeted by the Kalenjin. Scores of lives were lost and tens of thousands displaced. Although the largest ethnic group in Kenya (and one which has been dominant politically and economically since independence), the Kikuyu are a minority in this part of the Kenya.

Weeks have passed since the last violence, but no one feels secure. 20,000 Kikuyu are still camped in Eldoret’s showground. The government is threatening to forcibly relocate them back home, but many are simply too fearful. They say there must be talks with Kalenjin village elders first, to get guarantees about the return of property and security. On the Kalenjin side, there are calls for those arrested in the wake of the violence to be freed as a gesture of reconciliation – something the Kikuyu see as completely unacceptable. Depressingly, although everyone agrees that tribalism in Kenya has got completely out of control, and that the political class are mostly to blame, there has nevertheless been a hardening of ethnicity. One Kikuyu told me the main message his community drew from the violence is that “the Kikuyu weren’t strong enough…we won’t be caught out like this again”. It is simply too early to say yet whether Kenya is on the road to recovery – or to ruin.

You can find out more about how different ethnic groups in Kenya were affected by the post-election violence on MRG’s dedicated page Minority Voices from Kenya.

“Serbs are our enemies”

Matilde Ceravolo, MRG’s Fundraiser, makes friends in Pristina and hopes for peace

Such a statement would attract international worries, had it not come from Besnik, a smiling, lovely 12-year-old, excited about practicing his English.

We are sitting atop the Prizren castle ruins, admiring the fascinating Turkish-style city at our feet, and the snow-capped mountains in front of us. Prizren is the main town inhabited by Kosovar Turks, and the only one where Turkish is still an official language. From our exceptional point of view we can observe the impressive quantity of minarets, but next to them, also several orthodox churches, demonstrating how this city has been a crossing point of different cultures.

Today, orthodox churches are surrounded by barbed wire, protected by German KFOR, behind ostensible UNMIK notices informing that no offence will be tolerated. Just under the castle, the Serbian quarter is still destroyed and inhabited. The owners never felt secure enough to return to their houses.

As I chat with my new friend and his schoolmates, I wonder how he gathered so much hate. He is too young to remember the Milosevic era. What must he be hearing from his father, commenting on the evening news?

The Serb quarter in Prizren

During my short stay in Kosovo I have heard and read testimony of hate against Serbs on a daily basis. Since 1989, Albanians in the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia have been victim of systematic discrimination and violation of human rights. FRY forces are believed to have implemented deliberate ethnic cleansing. The hate against Serbia is understandable.

But Kosovar Serbs have also been victims of the conflict. It is estimated that about 200,000 of them were displaced. A number of extra-judicial killings have been documented, of which the Kosovo Liberation Army (KLA) was considered responsible.

Nowadays, KLA members have become political leaders of the independent Kosovo. Pristina and the whole country are filled with posters celebrating the KLA and its fighters. Albanian flags are everywhere; the National Museum in Pristina dedicates one entire floor to KLA history.

I wonder how Serbs could ever feel safe in a country that celebrates their killers; how would they ever accept to being a part of such a country?

Last Sunday Serb voters were divided, but the pro EU Democratic Party of Serbia’s president Boris Tadic got a clear majority. The new government is still to be decided and it is difficult to imagine that Serbia would accept the independence of Kosovo.

However, on behalf of MRG, during the last 10 days I have been meeting members of all the communities. The common issue that came out from all the meetings is that Kosovars have similar worries and aspirations: to live freely and safely in a country that respects their identity, no matter if the country is called Serbia or Kosovo.

Tomorrow I will be leaving this complex country and its fascinating people. I am far from having answered all the questions I had on the creation of this new state and the international intervention. But I believe that only dialogue and trust can create the premises for a sustainable solution, and for this to happen, leaders on both sides must abolish hate speech and adopt peaceful language.

All I wish to Besnik and his friends is they have the chance to grow up without enemies.

Take two cities

Matilde Ceravolo, MRG’s Fundraiser, reflects on the similarities and differences of two cities caught up in ethnic feuding

As my flight left Ljubljana, I wondered why it would take as much time to reach Pristina as it took to come from London. Naïve question soon answered. The plane went all along the Croatian coast, then into Italian airspace towards Brindisi, turned right into Albania and then North again to Pristina… Direct flights to Kosovo are not allowed into Serbian airspace.

I went to Mitrovica today, to meet the Serbian community. Airspace is not the only thing they are not prepared to compromise.

It is quite impressive how perceptions change when you change the point of view. South of the river, you are in independent Kosovo which contains a northern Serbian-inhabited region. You cross the river, and you are in the southern region of Serbia.

Mitrovica and Nicosia are the last divided cities in Europe. Different language, different religion, and a history that makes barbed wire difficult to remove.

In Cyprus, accession to the EU is playing a key role for the solution of the stalemate. The Turkish Cypriot community has showed a clear interest in dialogue, as does the newly elected President of the Republic. The hopes for reunification are at the highest point of the last 30 years.

Serbs in Mitrovica hope that the accession of Serbia will have the same effect on Kosovo, and that the independence process will be reverted. What they forget is that Northern Cyprus was never recognized by the international community (with the exception of Turkey), while Kosovo as been brought to life under the international protectorate.

As an outsider, walking in the streets of Mitrovica as well as in Nicosia, I feel the nonsense of once-neighbours transformed into enemies, while these places could host all their children in a peaceful community. Before 1999, Mitrovica used to be the most multi-ethnic municipality in Kosovo. Now it is the symbol of national identity for both Serbian and Albanian Kosovars.

Most of the responsibility lies at the door of the international community. Crimes of the recent past have never been prosecuted, ethnic cleansing has not been punished, displaced people have not been given the security to return to their homes.

Kosovo is at an historical turning-point. On 11 May, Serbian citizens (including Kosovars) will be called to elect the Government that will lead the country for the next year. It is the moment for Serbs to choose between renewed nationalism or dialogue.

Meanwhile, the new constitution of the Republic of Kosovo has been designed and must now be implemented.

Unless the new authorities on both sides – with the support of the European Community – create a safe environment for all communities, where human rights are protected and every citizen has equal opportunities, irrespective of its ethnicity, the frustration will rise again. And again… History has shown what unanswered frustrations and fear can bring. This is the moment to give answers.

Abandoned identities

Whilst attending the 43^rd session of the African Commission on Human and Peoples’ Rights in Swaziland MRG’s International Human Rights Officer for Africa, Paile Chabane, continues with her work to facilitate the setting up of an African Minorities Forum

I wake up not feeling too well… have a bad headache and already wonder if I will be able to make it to our meeting in the afternoon. But other responsibilities force me to get up anyway and go into Mbabane town. Again I am struck at how unfamiliar this place feels.

Our side event is scheduled to start at 3pm and CEMIRIDE are busy finalizing the arrangements. Having arrived three days earlier, which afforded them the opportunity to attend the three-day NGO Forum which precedes the official Commission session, they say they managed to sell the idea to participants and so we could expect a satisfactory turn out. In the end, our event attracts about 22 people but sadly the Commissioners are busy with other meetings, and in spite of this being in their backyard, none of them are able to attend.

Our event programme includes a panel discussion with representatives of African linguistic, ethnic and religious minorities. I am moved when linguistic minority reps talk of being forced to abandon their identities. Apparently they are ashamed to be identified with their community because it is considered inferior. In order to participate and be accepted in the economic, social and political aspects of local life they choose to speak the language of the neighbouring, more dominant tribe. With respect to religious minorities, the representative indicated that in the wake of terror threats and fears, more rigorous requirements have been put in place when Muslims apply for travel documents and applicants have even been denied travel permits because they are immediately assumed to be linked to terrorists. This is in Africa!

The main objective of the event is to give shape to the idea of an African minorities forum. However participants emphasize that in order for it to succeed, it would need the true support and ownership of all those for whom it was established, going beyond the African Commission project which convened it, which will be coming to an end soon.

Following the meeting, we learn some interesting information about Swaziland, which serves to emphasize the many facets of this country. You may know that Swaziland is famous for its strict adherence to culture and tradition. So it’s certainly a very fascinating revelation to learn that there is an adult-only establishment not too far from where we are staying. It certainly sparks a lot of curiosity in some to go see for themselves and verify the existence of said establishment. Details of just how far this curiosity went shall be withheld on the principle and agreement commonly understood among the group that what happens in Swaziland, stays in Swaziland!

A tiny, mountainous, beautiful kingdom

Paile Chabane, MRG’s International Human Rights Officer for Africa, revisits the 43^rd session of the African Commission on Human and Peoples’ Rights in Swaziland

Once again my work has flung me back to the Southern region of Africa that is home… in Swaziland this time, where the 43^rd Ordinary Session of the African Commission on Human and Peoples’ Rights is being hosted. In fact, the tiny, beautiful, mountainous kingdom of Swaziland is a twin to my own country… the tiny, beautiful, mountainous kingdom of Lesotho, although if the truth were told the two countries are different in so many ways. In fact quite possibly the similarities end at the three adjectives I have referred to above: tiny, mountainous, kingdom. I often have to make the distinction between this kingdom and my own – Swazi culture is known for its colourful, controversial stories (such as the king and his many wives – our king has just the one!). And indeed the political and governance systems of the two states are very different. Returning to the subject of the monarchy – in Swaziland the king is the head of state as well as the government, while the king of Lesotho is a constitutional ceremonial monarch.

From a very young age I have visited Swaziland, mainly for family visits, since we have relatives here. But on this trip my presence here feels different… I have to figure things out on my own (and with the nine other colleagues and partners with whom I was attending the session as part of the MRG African Commission project). I have to interact with the place and the people beyond the orchestrated family occasions context. The funny thing is that it really feels like I am here for the very first time. In spite of the long intertwined history of the two countries (which together with Botswana have commonly come to be known in the region as Boleswa – Botswana, Lesotho and Swaziland), I have never really been able to wrap my mind around Swaziland. Every time I would think of Swaziland images of lots of trees, rain and dense mist at night would come to mind. Well, the trees are still here since Swaziland once had the biggest man made forest, but fortunately the rain and mist seem to have disappeared.

Anyway, here I am and it’s important to not lose sight of the reasons why I’m here this time. The first good news is that the hotel is quite nice… something which we have learned to not take for granted after a not so pleasant experience at the last session which still lingers fresh on one’s mind months later! Tomorrow there will be a side event which will try to advance the discussions from the seminar we had in March in Pretoria on minorities and minority rights in Africa (see previous blogs The show must go on and My work is done…). In particular, we will discuss a minorities’ forum in Africa, which was one of the recommendations of the seminar. We hope to launch the forum at the November session of the African Commission.

MRG has supported five project partners who were at the seminar to attend this session in order to undertake further lobbying, so in total we have a formidable team of 10 ready to take on the Commission.

Being the last one to arrive in Swaziland the first thing I need to do is find my partners… there seems to be no sign of them… how hard can it be to find at least one of the other 9 members of the group? Then I learn… they have gone to a barbeque…