In Sierra Leone, free primary education allows students to attend government-funded school ‘for free’ until class five. However, many families struggle to pay the related costs for uniforms and school supplies.  Beyond class five, students are charged school fees for every term they attend. For families with youth of school age, finding the money for these fees is a challenge for some. Many of these families seek the assistance of family members or friends that can afford to help support them in this regard.

However, those ‘that can afford to help’ is quite subjective. For no one is the supply of money endless. This display of generosity begs the questions: how much is too much for someone to provide?   How do the providers feel in these circumstances – proud to be able to help? Or perhaps frustrated that their earnings are not entirely theirs?  I wondered if this comes across as feeling of resentment towards those that they help – that they are not able to help themselves. Speaking to my colleagues at HELP-SL, I was informed that yes, the expenditures associated with providing for a the extended family can be quite large, but the positive effects outweigh the negatives. Many people are happy to support those that they can with the understanding that they too will be helped if or when the time should come. The collective or unity of the community is thought to be far more important than the earnings of the individual.

I was also interested to know what this investment – as many see education to be – meant for those that are providing, or helping provide. Many parents invest in their children with the understanding that the children will provide for or take care of them in their old age; in the extended family system, this idea is also extended: once they who were supported are earners, they will continue the tradition of supporting others. The responsibility does not only fall on the individual that supports or was supported, but the family of that individual. Both the benefits and the ‘debt’ are seen as collective.

This sort of system is present in a large part of the world, but lost in much of ‘the West’. This makes me wonder how else our definitions of family have defined our personal and collective responsibilities and our dependence on support structures.

The Cebra program, implemented in 2001, originally employed 40 street youth to manage the corners of La Paz’s busiest intersections, influencing drivers and pedestrians to respect the ways of the road and traffic lights in the hopes of reducing accidents.  Since then, the program has expanded; the number of youth employed, no longer just street youth, and the amount of intersections monitored, has led to the growing popularity of the Cebras and their induction into Paceña (meaning of La Paz) culture.   The program has been labeled so successful that other Bolivian cities including El Alto, Cochabamba, and Tarija have implemented their own programs.

The popularity of the Cebras has also led to the creation of a television series, Zeta, following the lives of two adolescents, one a Cebra, and his love interest, who is unsure of the value of the program.   Continually they battle with the doubts and complexities of working towards making a difference.  There is also a comic strip and Facebook pages for both the Cebras and their television series.  Internationally, the Cebra program has gained some attention.  CNN and BBC have both produced pieces about the program.

In my opinion, it is an innovative and imaginative educational, public program.   I am continually amazed by the energy these young men and women bring to the streets, waving, miming, and joking with passersby and waiting cars.  I have witnessed some heartwarming interactions between the Cebras and passing children.  It would seem these friendly, black and white mascots are somewhat magical in the minds of La Paz’s children.  Dare I say a Paceño version of Mickey Mouse?  Perhaps not quite, but it is obvious that children love a bit of attention from a Cebra while crossing the street.  For my part, I have often found myself smiling when passing these herders of the intersection.

However, as much as I would like to end my zebra-based analysis here, there are a few shortcomings to the Cebra program.   In the first year of the program’s inception, Cebras earned 70 Bolivianos per week.  This was soon raised to 100 Bolivianos per week.  Currently, Cebras earn between 460 – 600 Bolivianos per month for four hours of work a day, 6 days a week.  This salary is under the Bolivian minimum wage; due to their part-time status, the Cebras are not protected under minimum wage laws.  Nor does this salary include health insurance.   Cebras daily deal with the risks of working in and around the traffic and there have been incidents resulting in injuries.  In some of these cases, the Cebras have taken up a collection to help alleviate hospital bills and lost wages.   However, these issues have not gone unnoticed; Cebras and their supporters continue to lobby for better wages and security for those working within the program.

The Cebras are now taking on other issues facing the residents of La Paz.     Cebra campaigns to educate Paceños about the value of saving water and keeping the streets free of garbage are carried out at cultural events and in schools.  In El Alto, the neighbouring city to La Paz, skunk and pig mascots are being introduced to deal with the growing problem of material and human waste in the streets.

These programs are a great example of the imaginative possibilities to educate and, equally as important, bring light and fun to the streets of our cities.   The popularity of the Cebras, I believe, will only help to improve the working conditions for the program’s participants.  Bolivian workers are very politically engaged, constantly lobbying for better working rights and wages.  The Cebras are no exception.

In spite of the program’s weaknesses, it cannot be overlooked that the Cebras offer work experience and a stable wage to young people who are often the first to suffer the consequences of a changing economic and political climate.  On a personal level, I cannot deny that, every morning, when I exit my building and I am escorted across the street by a Cebra, I feel animated by their enthusiasm.   They are a unique and positive symbol of Paceña culture and the urban landscape of La Paz.

In Arusha, such a mixture is always in abundance.

The city of Arusha, with a population of 400,000 or so, is made up of poorly managed dirt roads that crisscross well maintained main streets.   A hallmark of the city is its public transportation system – a series of mini buses nick named ‘dala dalas.’ Armed with a sliding door and an occupancy of 15, (comfortably that is), each bus has its route marked by a coloured stripe and is operated by a driver and a conductor who hangs out the side door, heckling passersby. The operators compete for passengers, cutting each other off as they roar down the road. I was told by a local, “the dalas make up their own rules in this town.” It is certainly true. As far as stopping to let you get seated, that’s just wishful thinking, but at just 300 Tanzanian shillings (TSH), a mere twenty cents for most distances, one really can’t complain. Having gotten the hang of the system by now, I can tell you that it works and brings a great deal of excitement. Just don’t ask them, as I did, if they are going to your destination, as they will always say ‘Ndiyo’ (yes). Whoops.

For the less daring or more punctual types, the alternatives are ‘pickii pickiis’ – high powered motorcycles or a taxi – a mundane and expensive way to travel.

The lack of regulatory controls means that the streets are shared by all, from roaring bus drivers to men moving wooden wheel barrows at turtle speed. Shops line every inch of the road and sell everything you need. Here are a few things that just about removed my eyes from their sockets, things that would get you find back home:

• I watched one woman drive her car as if she was completely unaware that the entire passenger side of her vehicle, from windshield to bumper, had been crushed so badly that only the driver could utilize it. My assumption was that car had gone to battle with a fallen tree. Apparently the car refused to tap out. Don’t tell the Ministry of Transport.
• Twelve year olds walking around selling cigarettes.  Don’t tell the Ministry of Health.
• A man wheeling a large wooden wheel barrow containing thirty chickens, flapping desperately. Don’t tell PETA.
• Yesterday I watched a goat jump out a moving dala, with its neck still tied to the bus. To my horror, the goat skidded along the pavement for five seconds before the driver slammed the breaks. Don’t tell my sister.
• Axe wielding construction workers in flip flops hacking away at pavement. Don’t tell the Ministry of Labour.

And then there’s the unregulated food stalls:

Within eye shot, there is always a woman sitting on the ground  roasting combs of corn over burning coals. It’s a genius idea really, as the corn tastes just like popcorn but without the mess. Often served with the husk as a napkin and cayenne for kick. Or if you’re looking for a local favourite, just find a road side stall and ask for ‘Chipsi Mayai’ – an omelet  like dish, consisting of egg and fries. If you order for take away, chances are they’ll throw it in a plastic bag.  And if you’re craving a banana , it won’t take long to get your fix as women draped in colourful African garments parade the street with bunches of fresh bananas on their heads. I always opt for the mini ones, as they are a tasty treat that rarely make their way to Canadian grocery stores. As a side note and to fit the African stereotype, it is very common to see people, especially women, carrying all sorts of items on their head, with such style and grace. It adds character.

As for the touts, and much to my surprise and satisfaction, they pale in comparison to their Indian counterparts. It doesn’t seem to take very long to convince the ‘fly catchers’ here – the local term for tout -  that you aren’t worth their time. It makes my walk to work a little more laid back, (if you can begin to call it that).

It’s now time for me to endure the heckling of bus conductors and board a dala. If today is anything like yesterday, my ride home will be full and I’ll have the joy of hanging out the side, feet firmly planted on side railing. Time will tell.

Everyone has days that are forever etched into their memory. Days that come to a close with the tagline, ‘I will  remember this day for the rest of my life.’ Such days are rare  and far between, but they happen to us all. For me, Saturday April 7^th 2012 was one of those days.

On Thursday April 5^th I landed in Kigali International Airport for a five night stay in Rwanda. I picked this particular weekend for its historical significance. April 7^th is Genocide Memorial Day, a national holiday marking the 18^th anniversary of the 1994 Rwandan Genocide, a horrifying tragedy  in which  800,000 Tutsis and moderate Hutus were brutally murdered in 100 days. To know that humans are capable of such an atrocity will forever baffle my mind, but yet, to bare witness to Rwanda’s post conflict progress has me feeling positive.

Early on Saturday morning I hoped on a motorbike and headed to Amahoro Soccer Stadium in Kigali, Rwanda’s capital, for the country’s largest commemoration event. I wasn’t sure if my presence would be appropriate but with some encouragement from a guide at the Genocide Memorial Museum in Kigali, I decided to go.

It would take me over an hour of standing in a security line before I would join 30,000 Rwandese into the packed, open air, oval stadium. My wait in line ended with a full body pat down by a Rwandese Solider, in full military garb, machine gun and all.  Hundreds of police and soldiers were brought in by the truck load, making it an event fit for a president – and wouldn’t you know it, that proved just to be the case.  The main attraction of this annual event was to be a speech by Paul Kagame, the President of Rwanda. But would he speak in English, for us curious outsiders to understand? I would have to endure four hours of intensity and trauma to find out.

The ceremony largely consisted of somber songs sung by soloists and choir persons and personal testimonies given by survivors. All of the day’s events were heard over a booming sound system and projected on a large screen. Of particular intrigue to the audience was live footage of Paul Kagame lighting a torch of remembrance at Kigali’s Genocide Memorial Museum. Another hour and Kagame and his wife would enter the stadium, where he would be joined with various government officials and country representatives.  Having already sat at the stadium for 4 hours by this time, I wondered if Kagame could be described as ‘late.’

Upon his arrival, the whole stadium rose to sing the country’s national anthem, sung in the country’s national language, Kinyarwanda, and accompanied by a marching band. Soon after, the main event was underway.

Kagame began his speech in Kinyarwanda, at which point he made the very somber crowd laugh. I was later told that he had something to the effect of, ‘You don’t have to worry about translating my words so our white friends can understand me. I will do this myself. This way I can ensure that my words are not twisted.’ He then proceeded to speak in English (!!).  He began with a strong critique of the ‘so called free world’ (his words), calling the major world powers hypocrites for expecting international support to deal with their problems, but turning a blind eye on Africa’s problems. To paraphrase, he then said that the west criticizes Rwanda for not being democratic,  for not encouraging free speech, without acknowledging that Rwanda’s form of government has worked for them.  He also criticized other countries for not doing enough to help bring the genocidaires to justice. Admittedly, his politically loaded words came as a bit of a surprise to me, although they certainly aren’t unwarranted. Rwanda rapidly transformed  into a slaughterhouse because the international community’s refusal to act, and Kagame’s words reflect this.

The second half of Kagame’s speech was what one would expect. He reminded his countrymen to “never forget” to ensure that such a tragedy does not happen again, “not in a million years,” and applauded them for their courage and ability to move forward. He then spoke in Kinyarwanda for roughly the same duration.

Immediately after his speech, the crowd slowly made its way for the exists.  It had now been five and a half hours after it all began.

***

As aforementioned, Genocide Memorial Day proved to be a day that I will never forget, but not for reasons I’ve already described. I will forever remember this day because of the screams, the blood curdling screams of women inside the stadium. Throughout the ceremony, these screams could be heard echoing across the stadium and into everyone’s conscience . At one point, a woman behind me collapsed and had to be carried out of the stadium. This happened again, again and again.

For me, these moments of intensity really served to indicate how personal, how brutal and how devastating the events of 1994 where.  I will never be able to relate to the victims of the Rwandan Genocide, but having been in that stadium, I gained a greater sense of the long term impact of  war and destruction on its victims.  And in turn, I also saw the power of peace and reconciliation, the strength of which that one should  never undermine.

***

On my way out of the stadium, a friendly man asked me for the time, which led to a round of fanta and a two hour conversation. He called himself Emmanuel, and at  age 32 he has vivid memories of “watching people be cut up,” (his words). His dad was one of those people. As a survivor, he has received financial support from both the government and NGOs. We talked mainly about Rwanda’s current state of affairs. Emmanuel supports his president for keeping Rwanda secure and helping it rapidly develop. He recognizes that the president is strict and limits free speech, but overall, is happy with how Kagame is running the country.  These sentiments seemed to be shared amongst the people that I talked to, the few that I did.

***

To conclude, one should not be fooled by Rwanda’s tragic history as it is now a blossoming, peaceful nation. Nicknamed, ‘the country of a hundred thousand hills,’ this place gives me hope in the power of peace and reconciliation. May it prevail.

Challenging perceptions of youth in Nairobi

In Arusha, the International Day for Street Children was celebrated in the city’s main soccer stadium. The day kicked off with a soccer match between a team of Mkombozi supported youth, and a locally based club. Unfortunately for  Mkombozi’s players, they weren’t awarded the top trophy – a live goat – but they were certainly well supported by their peers. (Note, this goat gained a lot of attention when it escaped and made a run for it across the soccer pitch!) The match brought in over 100 youth, with the attendance topping at over 170.

The game was followed by musical and dancing performances and speeches by Mkombozi staff, street children and a representative of the District Commissioner in Arusha. Each speaker challenged the perceptions of street children, the general theme of the day.  At one point, one youth had everyone laughing from his comedy routine. Awards were also given to individual youth to honour them for their achievements.  The day ended with lunch for the youth.

In the past, individual youth have expressed to me the challenges they face here from distrusting community members and police officers.  They attribute their mistreatment to common misconceptions about street youth. Others have attributed positive changes in their lives to the support they have received from organizations like Mkombozi.

According to Mkombozi social worker, Frederick Mbise, “Children live on the street because of abuse in the home, lack of financial support and death of family members. With no one to support them, they are forced to live on the street. “ He also said that he enjoys it when community members challenge his involvement with street youth.  “It gives me a chance to educate them and hopefully open their minds,” he said, smiling.

All in all,  today’s event was one of celebration and excitement. To any one in attendance, it was clear from all the laughter and the singing that the youth were the focus and that their spirits were high. Ultimately, the day served to reminder us that regardless of life circumstance, ‘kids will be kids,’ and when given opportunities, they will thrive.

On April 2nd in Debre Berhan and on April 6th in Addis Ababa, Street Kids International, collaborating with Emmanuel Development Assistance and Retrak ran Street Children Workshops to celebrate International Day for Street Children. At these workshops children were free to express themselves and share their stories with us.

This is what is especially striking about Nairobi  -  the stark contrast between the way that those with money live,  and the way that those without struggle to survive.  Nairobi is one of the most prominent cities in Africa,  politically and financially.  People from all over the world flock to it for its business potential.  Some of the malls here are bigger and more extravagant than any mall I’ve been to in Canada.  There is a freeway being built.  I hear the exclusive golf course in Karen is bustling year-round. Last weekend,  I had gourmet smoked salmon benny for breakfast. Score!

Yet,  over half the population of the city lives in informal settlements such as Mathare or Mukuru,  the slum in which I’ve been working with Make a Better World Kenya (MABWOK).  Conditions in these settlements are appalling.  They live without basic and necessary amenities such as clean water,  sanitation and security.  They are under constant threat of eviction.  In many cases,  the land is nearly uninhabitable.  Incidents  - tragedies,  really –  like today’s are not isolated or uncommon occurrences.  Not too far from MABWOK’s office,  I recently visited the site of the pipeline fire that killed over a hundred people in September. It was eerie,  to say the least.

There are well over one hundred slums situated throughout Nairobi  -  though sometimes it’s hard to know where one ends and another begins  -  and they are only getting bigger.  In a city where the government is quick to point to GDP,  new roads,  and shiny new hotels as proof of progress (which I’m not necessarily saying it isn’t…),  millions of Kenyans are being left out of the ‘development’ process.  For decades,  the government refused to even acknowledge the existence of the slums;  these areas were excluded from city authority planning and budgeting processes,  even as their populations continued to grow by over six percent each year.  Though more recently the government has recognized these issues,  little has been done in terms of actual policy to address them.  Just last week I spoke with distraught acquaintances in Mukuru who held in their hands freshly administered eviction notices from Kenya Railways.  They have nowhere to go.

In order to prevent further tragedies like today’s landslide in Mathare,  the real issues of urban poverty must be addressed.  It is not a solution to send rescue missions in to clean up the aftermath of disasters that result from the overcrowded,  unsanitary conditions in the slums.  Rather,  policy makers must work in collaboration with stakeholders in these districts to provide viable alternatives to slum-dwellers.  Nairobi cannot continue to grow while ignoring these poverty-stricken pockets of the city.

At MABWOK,  this is what we hope to achieve with our affordable housing social enterprise.  We are engaging local administration,  structure owners (the equivalent of landlords in the slums) and tenants to create a housing cooperative that will allow access to funds and create a forum for dialogue that we hope will be used to find effective ways of addressing land tenure issues and provide  low-cost housing alternatives to those in the informal settlements. We hope to act as a voice for those who are marginalized,  trapped in precarious situations in Nairobi’s hellish slums,  by including all stakeholders in the process.  The key to ensuring that tragedies like today’s in Mathare  -  or the untold tragedies that occur every day;  children succumbing to waterborne diseases, women raped because of increasing violence and insecurity in the slums  -  are prevented in the future starts with providing realistic solutions to upgrading the quality of life in informal settlements.  Access to sufficient housing and land tenure will address a multitude of these issues.

Keep those affected by the landslide in Mathare in your hearts and minds today,  guys.  And keep your eyes on our affordable housing project in the coming months.  Rather than waiting around for the next ‘rescue mission’  in the slums,  let’s look for sustainable long-term solutions to increase the livelihoods of the millions in Nairobi’s informal settlements,  who have been ignored for too long.