“Taking the Ogiek out of the Mau is like taking a fish out of water”

Chris Chapman, MRG’s Head of Conflict Prevention meets with Kenya’s hunter-gatherer Ogiek community who, in the face of a possible eviction, are fighting to stay back on their traditional lands.

In the Mau Forest Complex, which is home to the Ogiek community, we met Rose, the headmistress of the primary school in Mboroti village. According to the government-determined pupil-teacher ratio, there should be 14 teachers – in fact there are 8. Only 5 are Ogiek. As a result, class sizes vary from 70 to over 90. The school is located in idyllic surroundings among the pine-covered hills, but Rose tells us about her constant struggle to keep classes going in the face of government neglect; the classrooms, with their blackboards covered in trigonometry, broken windows and dilapidated wooden benches, are a vivid testimony to that struggle. Last winter, after heavy rains, the toilets sunk into the ground; she applied to an emergency government fund to rebuild them but has heard nothing since then.

Loggers in the Mau Forest

I had come to Mau to talk to the people about their future; they are under threat of eviction from the forest, their ancestral homeland. The Mau Forest is an important water catchment area and the government of Kenya is concerned that the residents of the forest are committing irreparable environmental damage and must be relocated. But the Ogiek are not the only current residents of Mau; in recent decades the forest complex has seen an influx of loggers, tea planters and other agricultural settlers.

The government accepts that the Ogiek are the rightful residents of the forest; however its latest proposal is to evict everyone from the forest, and then allow the Ogiek to return; this proposal, understandably, makes the Ogiek very nervous. They claim that they have lived in the forest for hundreds of years, in harmony with their surroundings. Their hunter-gatherer lifestyle, which does not involve either farming or livestock grazing, has a very low impact on their environment. They also practice bee-keeping, which actually aids the propagation of wild flowers and trees.

At an elevation of around 2,000-2,500 feet, the climate in the forest is very different from the low-lying plains; the heat is less intense and the air pleasant and cool. “If we are evicted we may not survive. We do not know what the climate will be like wherever they resettle us. Removing the Ogiek from Mau is like taking fish out of water.” They talk of two previous displacements, one in 1989 and one during the 1930’s, during the British colonial period; the Ogiek who were displaced lost all of their animals; some died of diseases such as jiggers, and some returned, destitute. The Ogiek have a very strong attachment to their land, it is part of their identity. As a small community – they number about 20,000 – they fear for the loss of their culture, and assimilation by more numerous neighbouring ethnic groups; in fact, the 1930’s displacement was a result of the Carter Land Commission, which recommended that the Ogiek be absorbed by neighbouring communities because of its small size.

As I was talking to the villagers, I saw a large cloud of dust rising up in the distance. It was the third lorry, stacked up with logs, that I had seen that day. I quickly whipped out my camera and took a snap, it was a flat-bed affair with a second flat-bed hooked up behind, carrying what must have been 50-60 fully grown trunks, being shipped out of the forest by commercial loggers. As the NGO Survival International points out, the destruction of the Mau Forest has escalated in recent decades in direct correlation with the invasion by outsiders, whether loggers, tea planters or agricultural settlers, as demonstrated by satellite imagery.

The Kenyan government is using environmental arguments to support its push to clear out the residents of Mau. But when lorries are trundling out of the forest everyday loaded up with logs, in full view of everyone, it is possible to cast doubts on the seriousness of the government’s intentions. Community members confided to me that they suspect the government itself of selling franchises to the loggers. The Ogiek Peoples Development Programme (OPDP) a partner organisation of MRG, whose staff accompanied me to the Mau, is working to fight the eviction of the Ogiek; they say the loggers and other recent settlers should be evicted, but claim that they as original inhabitants and stewards of the forest, have the right to remain.

Phrases and images concerning the Batwa

Carl Soderbergh, MRG’s Director of Policy and Communications, reflects on a visit to a Batwa community in Uganda

As the plane circled over London, preparing to land, and I peered bleary-eyed over the web of streets below, my thoughts turned to the encounters and conversations of the past week. My MRG colleagues Eva, Kathryn, Paul and I had visited southern Uganda in order to conduct a gender training for members of Batwa communities in the Great Lakes region. What came back to me in my jet-lagged state were stray comments that reflected much of what the Batwa confront today.

We had spent a day visiting Rwamahano, a Batwa settlement lying at the end of a breath-taking drive along a narrow dirt track winding around wooded ridges followed by a hike straight up a hill-side. The village comprised approximately 60 families: Batwa who had been forcibly evicted when the Echuya forest reserve was established in 1991.  As a constant reminder of what the Batwa have lost, the forest begins just on the other side of the road we had been driving along, a seemingly impenetrable tangle of green. The settlement had been established on a strip of land purchased by a charity and MRG partner organization, AICM.

The visit was a real eye-opener for me. I recalled the thrill, as a keen teen-aged zoology buff, of watching films in the 1970’s about mountain gorillas. To me then it seemed self-evident that their fragile ecosystem had to be preserved. Now I could see and hear about the considerable human cost at which this has been attempted.

Batwa elder, Simako

While other elders were gathering to sing and dance, I spoke with Simako, a Batwa elder. Simako explained that the eviction orders had already been passed in the 1960’s, but were only implemented in 1991. Ugandan security personnel arrived with no prior notice and used force to push Batwa out of the forest. The Batwa received no compensation, nor had any land been set aside for them. Ousted from the forest, the Batwa had no means of subsistence and were forced to beg, often being refused by members of other ethnic groups who would reply that, “We can’t eat from the same place.” Simako said that they were especially stigmatized because they had yet to wear anything other than the animal skins they had used in the forest.  Later, I heard another elder add, “We were not considered human.”

I asked Simako whether anyone had been injured or killed during the evictions. This did not appear to be the case. Simako said, however, that “colleagues” had been killed during another time: “There had been a war.” In those few words, he encapsulated what must surely have been a terrifying time.

Simako said that the segregation had lessened over the years. Now there are even cases of inter-marriage between Batwa and individuals of other ethnic groups. However, lack of land is still a problem. And as the community do not have a history in the area, they do not always know where exactly the boundaries of others’ property go. Thus, Batwa often end up in bitter land disputes, facing particular difficulties as they do not have the money to work the legal system or pay the necessary fees.

Later, Timothy, who heads the local AICM office, said something that I also recalled when I sat in the plane, watching London spiralling beneath me. In the gender workshop, he said that men of other ethnic groups had taken to raping Batwa women, as “this is considered a cure for back-ache.” I could not believe that he actually meant that, so I asked Timothy if this really was the case.  He assured me that it is. The phrase remains with me still, as a particularly horrible form of double discrimination.

We learned during the course of the workshop how the situation of the Batwa varies from country to country. One participant, a soft-spoken man whom I will call K, had come from South Kivu in the Democratic Republic of Congo. He described how he had received a text message one day during the past spring: “Your house has been burned down. Your brother has been kidnapped.”

It was the Interahamwe who were behind this, and K’s own personal tragedy was only one of many instances where Batwa now being caught in the cross-fire between the Hutu extremists and the Congolese army. K had been in Bukavu at the time. He rushed home only to find that all this had indeed happened and then to try to secure his brother’s release. Thankfully, after about a month, the brother managed to use his knowledge of the forest to escape at night from his captors. But the two men remain internally displaced, living in the offices of K’s organization in Bukavu.

Singers and dancers whose music described what life had been like in the forest

Timothy explained that the singers were describing what life had been like in the forest:  the greenery, the animals and the wild fruits which they used to gather. Their last song, Timothy said, was one about hope, because the families of Rwamahano still remain positive about the future. I was struck by the inward gaze of the singers and the dancers.  It became clear that the visitors were not the sole beneficiaries of this performance.  The music and the songs – including that message of hope – were of course also directed at themselves.

Cutting a shine on the Endorois dancefloor

Emma Eastwood, MRG’s Trouble in Paradise Campaign Manager, rounds off her trip to the Rift Valley discussing Obama ‘the Kenyan wonder boy’ and struts her stuff dancing with the Endorois. Sign our petition to pressure the Kenyan government to guarantee the Endorois community’s traditional way of life.

Today we take yet another bone-shaking ride up a poor excuse for a road to the Mochongoi Forest, which at around 2500m affords us views of the entire Endorois territory, bordered by dark hills swathed in rain clouds on the horizon.

The forest (which represents about one tenth of their land) is as crucial to the Endorois as the land surrounding Lake Bogoria. In the old days during the dry season the community would migrate up here with their cattle to the plentiful pastures – that was until the government gazetted the Forest in the 1970s, depriving them of yet more of their ancestral homelands.

To an outsider it would seem that the Endorois have plenty of space – only 60, 000 people scattered over a huge area, encompassing dry lowland plains dotted with irrigated maize fields and this highland plateau covered with lush grasslands and conifer groves. Playing devil’s advocate I point this out to Kipkazi, but he’s quick to remind me that the crux of the matter lies in the community’s lack of collective title to any of this land – they live daily with the possibility of being kicked out of their homes at any minute (in much the same way as they were from Lake Bogoria in the 1970s).

High up on the plateau we meet the volunteers who run the Human Rights Office, a humble wooden hut festooned with last year’s Christmas decorations and calendars portraying Obama ‘the Kenyan wonder boy’. Politics – everyone we’ve met so far is obsessed with the subject – the only words in Swahili I can ever make out are Obama, Raila, Kbaki and Obama and more Obama.

The main topic of discussion revolves around whether the presidential candidate will bring about change for Kenyans – so many people are pinning so much hope on this one man. Incidentally in Nairobi we found out that Obama’s father’s family are from the indigenous fisher folk community of the northern shores of Lake Victoria, a group MRG recently featured in our briefing on Kenya.

Paul Chepsoi, the Human Rights Office Chairman, looking incongruously smart in the rural surroundings in his suit and tie, takes us through the history of the dispossession of the Endorois from the Mochongoi Forest (and their continued struggle for the return of their lands). He accompanies us on a tour of the area, which is dotted with traditional mud huts (and some newer dwellings made entirely from zinc sheets, which, although easier to maintain, must become ovens in these temperatures during the day).

We meet the Endorois elders from one of the villages who tell us of how they are forced to graze their cattle on barren lands whilst outsiders have been allowed to settle on more fertile plots.

Volunteers at the Mochongoi Forest Human Rights Office

My education in pastoralist culture continues…I’m told that back in the day an Endorois girl’s family would have received ten cows for her hand in marriage, but nowadays she’s worth only four. My companion Neil wonders whether that’s deflation in the value of girls or inflation in the value of cows…Kipkazi says he would have been a rich man in the old days – he has four daughters!

Later that afternoon our visit to the Endorois community is rounded off by a show of traditional song and dance in a shady clearing backed by an enormous termite mound. After a welcome dance we were shown to a gnarled log and seated to enjoy the show – which features songs about the importance of Lake Bogoria and the community’s hopes for the return of their homeland. I am embarrassingly moved to tears by the spectacle and am thankful for my overlarge sunglasses and the distraction of trying to film and record the proceedings (and keep my dignity when obliged to strut my stuff on the dancefloor…)

Endorois traditional dance

We finish off the afternoon by giving impromptu speeches which we hope in some small way can communicate how, with the support of people like you, the Trouble in Paradise campaign can bring about real change for this resilient and courageous community whose traditional culture and livelihood is under threat.

The road to Lake Bogoria is littered with…..goats, sheep and cows…

Emma Eastwood, Trouble in Paradise Campaign manager is in Kenya to visit the Endorois community. After travelling through the mighty Rift Valley, she ends up in the Lake Bogoria National Reserve – the Endorois ancestral land from which they have been expelled. Read Emma’s blog and sign up to our online petition.

Women in colourful headscarves, children without shoes, men pulling impossible loads taking the place of the donkey they can’t afford, alpine highland scenery and suddenly, on the road about 50km north of Nairobi, the Rift Valley falls away as far as the eye can see below us. Kipkazi, from the Endorois Welfare Council, who is acting as our guide for this trip, Neil, MRG Programmes Assistant, and I, marvel at the view of hazy, distant lakes, extinct volcanic craters and dry flat plains which stretch away to the horizon.

View of the Rift Valley

We see zebras grazing on the outskirts of Naivasha and baboons dodging traffic with tiny babies hanging off their backs. I can’t resist the temptation to text home ( O praise the African obsession with mobile phones) I seem to have a network in even the most remote spots. I receive a reply – London is grey and workmen are drilling concrete on the building site next door…

The Endorois are semi-nomadic pastoralists, people who earn their livelihood through the rearing of livestock. Some say that pastoralists occupy over 70% of the land in Kenya, and this is borne out by what we see on our road trip from Nairobi to Lake Bogoria. As we travel northwards we see hundreds of goats, sheep and cows grazing on sparse patches of grass by the roadside. On entering Endorois territory, just north of the Equator, the animals disregard traffic rules altogether and wander absent-mindedly all over the road, forcing our Kenyan driver John, who seems very used to this behaviour, to respectfully manoeuvre at a crawling pace around the distracted beasts.

Endorois man herding his cows

You wouldn’t want to injure one; these animals are of an almost sacred importance to pastoralist communities and according to Kipkazi a fully-grown cow can fetch around 35, 000 Ksh (about US$500). As Dr Wako, Chairman of the Regional Elders Council, an MRG-backed forum of pastoralist leaders from Ethiopia, Tanzania, Kenya and Uganda, said to me last week at MRG’s African Commission seminar in Kampala, “For pastoralists, sheep and goats are like a current account, they provide us with ready cash, whilst cattle and camels are a savings account, they provide for our future and our children’s future.”

After five hours of driving we reach Lake Bogoria National Reserve, a game park created in 1973 by the Kenyan government, the object of the Endorois’ struggle. The Endorois were evicted from their ancestral lands to make way for the Reserve, depriving them not only of prime pasture for cattle and goats during the harsh dry season but also of sites important for cultural activities such as naming or initiation ceremonies and the only available salt licks for cows in the area. MRG’s Trouble in Paradise campaign is aimed at helping the Endorois get redress for the loss of their lands.

Entrance to Lake Bogoria National Reserve

As we drive around the lake as the sun begins to set behind the dark escarpment overlooking the Reserve, we see the pink blur of thousands of flamingos gathering by the water’s edge, zebras and warthogs, gazelles, impalas, ostriches and giant tortoises – a veritable wildlife haven and overwhelmingly beautiful. Yet somehow it all seems too empty – there are no humans. Unlike elsewhere, there are no small boys tending their flocks of sheep, or herds of cows here. My appreciation of the wildlife and scenery is tinged by sadness.

Flamingos on the shores of Lake Bogoria

Despite being originally promised 25% of revenue from the Reserve and 80% of the jobs in the park – today only a handful of Endorois work as wardens and the community only began to receive a paltry 4% of money raised at the gates in 2006 (33 years after the creation of the Reserve). Improved roads were also promised by the government when they gazetted the land for the park in 1973. Yet those roads have never materialised – even the road through the Reserve is a match for our 4 wheel drive.

Kipkazi is visibly excited by being back in his homeland – as he reminisces about the fertile grazing and plentiful fresh water supply in the area I picture how it must have been in those happier, more prosperous times.

He points out the hot springs and geysers representing sacred sites for the Endorois, which, together with the flamingos, are one of the main reasons tourists now visit the park. He says that legend has it that ghosts inhabit the geysers and call out your name, enticing you into the afterlife – community elders used to offer tobacco and milk in the old days to appease the spirits. When he was a boy it was forbidden to even mention someone’s name when you were near this place, in case that person was taken away by the ghosts.

We press on and visit other traditional sites. Many of the Endorois’ ancestors are buried around the park – the community would normally come and visit their graves for children’s naming ceremonies, but are now prevented from doing so by the authorities. At the southern, isolated end of the lake Kipkazi shows us the place where young boys (aged around 12) used to come for initiation ceremonies – they would stay for 1 month in the bush. The area is wooded to provide shade for those undergoing the hardships of the ritual and a small river flows nearby which would allow the boys to quench their thirst.

Ancient fig trees at Endorois initiation site, Lake Bogoria

As the light fades we decide to call it a day and head out of the Reserve. Miniature antelopes called dikdiks dodge our headlights along the way.

If you haven’t done already, I urge you to sign up to our online petition supporting the Endorois (and get as many of your friends, family and colleagues to do so too). We’ll be handing the petition over to the Kenyan government at the end of 2008. By adding your voice you can help right the wrongs of the past and allow this unique community to fully benefit from the lucrative tourism conducted upon their homeland.