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Travel
the countryside of East Africa, Father Tom Smith says, and you'll
inevitably see physical reminders of failed development programs.
Relics of good intentions. A prime example is Dandora, the low-income
housing development where Holy Cross operates a parish in Nairobi.
Dandora was established in 1977 as a collaboration between
the Nairobi City Council and World Bank. It was meant to lift
people out of the poverty of a huge slum nearby, a place similar
to Kibera. Here's how it was supposed to work:
A poor family would be given access to a small plot of land
on which they would have room to build a kind of stone apartment
block with seven to nine rooms. The land came with a latrine
and piped water service. The city council pledged to assist
with a loan to finance construction of the first room. The family
would continue to live in their shack on the property while
renting out the room. Eventually, it was thought, the room would
generate enough income to build a second room, which would pay
for a third and so on until the family was living in one or
more rooms and earning income as landlord over the rest.
According to a study by a member of Holy Cross, Smith says,
the scheme fell apart for two reasons: The city didn't follow
through on its pledge to counsel people on how to manage their
money, and real-estate speculators swooped in and bought up
the plots from families facing financial crises. (Rules forbade
selling one's property before five years were up, but buyers
got around this by paying immediately and agreeing to wait till
the time limit expired before taking title.)
The result is that conditions in Dandora aren't all that much
better than in Kibera. Unemployment stands at around 70 percent,
say elders of the community's Holy Cross Church. Some residents
resort to combing through a garbage dump in the middle of Dandora
that receives refuse from better-off sections of the city. They
search alongside rooting pigs and maribou storks, eerie, moth-eaten-looking
scavenger birds the size of children.
Another example of good intentions falling flat is education.
Many East Africans view education as the best hope for a better
life for their children, but parents often can't afford to send
their children to school. The government of Uganda eliminated
fees for public primary education (grades 1-7) in the late 1990s
but did so without appropriating funds to hire extra teachers.
As a result, some classes ballooned to 200 students. Catholic
and other private schools are usually better equipped and offer
lower teacher-student ratios, but few poor families can afford
to enroll more than one child at a time. Which is why the schools
are always appealing for donations from the West.
Africans who make it all the way through to a college degree
may wonder why they went to the trouble. Patrick Tumwine, a
candidate for brotherhood at the Holy Cross formation house
in Bugembe, Uganda, says graduates of the public Makerere University
in Kampala can be seen walking the streets of the capital "holding
the yellow envelope." The expression means showing one's diploma
and other paper credentials around to potential employers.
"You can search for even three years without getting a job,"
he says.
The economies of many African countries have actually been
on the upswing since the mid-1990s with some rising faster than
the world average. But the ones leading the way are mostly oil
exporters benefitting from higher prices. That kind of trade
doesn't generate huge numbers of jobs domestically.
Non-oil-producing countries where things have been looking
up, like Uganda, are mostly exhibiting what Janvier D. Nkurunziza
of the U.N. Economic Commission for Africa terms the "dead cat
bounce." Starting out from such a low base -- in the Pearl of
Africa's case, the economic cataclysm of the Abote and Amin
years - any signs of life look miraculous.
Next door in Kenya, optimism spiked three years ago after
the election of President Mwai Kibaki, a well-regarded former
finance minister from the 1970s and 1980s. Kibaki succeeded
the much-despised Daniel arap Moi, who had governed since 1978,
mostly without holding elections. A rainbow coalition of parties
that had been previously divided (and now are splitting again)
brought Kibaki to power, but he's been in ill health since surviving
a car crash while campaigning. Also, Kibaki's government is
generally given low marks on its central campaign pledge, to
fight corruption, another enduring problem for African countries.
A BBC News report estimated that Kenya lost up to $4 billion
to corruption just between 2002 and 2005.
Bishop Joseph B. Willigers, MHM, who has headed the Diocese
of Jinja in eastern Uganda since 1967, says he's seen progress
in many areas of East African society during his tenure. "[T]he
big disappointment is the corruption that has taken over the
entire society." Police shakedowns are routine, and even a customs
office clerk will allow one's visa application to languish on
a desk until something is paid on top of the normal processing
charge, he says.
Corruption is the predictable consequence of low wages. Primary
school teachers in East Africa earn about $840 a year. Even
the physicians at the Catholic hospital in Fort Portal are paid
only $5,760 a year.
Not everyone turns to extortion, of course. Many home-grown
doctors, engineers and other professionals simply emigrate to
more lucrative pastures.
* * *
There are hopeful signs.
One reason Africans have had difficulty developing their own
industry is lack of collateral. Real estate is the asset most
commonly used to guarantee a bank loan, but in Africa property
title deeds rarely exist, so people can't prove they own their
home.
To fill the vacuum, microlending agencies have been spreading
throughout the continent. FINCA (Foundation for International
Community Assistance) has been around for 20 years. It lends small
amounts -- around $20 at a time -- to groups of 20 or 30 neighbors
in a village who know and will vouch for each other. Instead of
real estate, the loan is secured with "social collateral." Everyone
in the group is responsible for every other person paying.
Interest rates are high -- 3½ percent per month --
and payments are collected weekly. Also, FINCA lends only to on-going
businesses like hardware shops and restaurants. Start-ups or farms
are considered too risky.
Another small-scale effort is taking root in the soil of the
Kibera slum. The grand-sounding James Karaffa Business Academy
for Women, named for an American Holy Cross priest serving in
Kenya who was trampled to death by a giraffe in a wildlife park
in 2002, teaches women business principles and also makes small
loans. It was founded with money and advice from Notre Dame's
Knights of Columbus chapter, the University's Division of Student
Affairs and the Student International Business Council. The idea
is to help Kiberan women, often single mothers, supplement their
households' meager incomes.
During our group's tour we meet Josephine Gathambi, who three
months ago began buying small pieces of candy and reselling them
in the slum. She says she's now turning a profit of about 50 Kenyan
shillings a month, 65 cents.
In another shack farther along, Isabella Nyancham is doing better.
She makes about $20 a month selling vegetables and fruit. But
it's taken her eight years to reach this point.
Leading us through Kibera is Edel Quinn, a social worker with
the Catholic Charles Lwanga Centre, which operates a school for
about 200 children at the edge of Kibera. She serves as chief
of operations for the business academy. Quinn says she has been
working in Kibera for four years and was in another slum in Nairobi
for four years before that.
The residents of Kibera work hard, she tells us, but they are
also fatalistic. They don't think they're ever going to get out
of the slum.
"It is not like they wish to be here, but they have found themselves
here, and so they try to cope."
* * *
In late 2003 a group of universities published the World Values
Survey, an attempt to determine and rank the levels of happiness
of people living in different countries. The United States finished
16th. The surprising winner was Nigeria, an oil-rich country in
central-west Africa where the average person makes less than $400
a year and the country's history is rife with military coups and
violent ethnic conflict.
After the rankings came out, international affairs writer Johnathan
Power visited a remote village in Nigeria. He says he found plenty
of smiling faces there even though he knew many people did not
have enough to eat. A young woman explained that the hungry were
not happy but that many others were happy because people
in the village don't ask for much.
"If God gives us food we easily become happy," the woman said.
"We are not greedy."
Back in Bugembe, Patrick Tumwine, the candidate for brotherhood
at Andre House, is taking me around to meet poor parishioners
living in mud huts near the Holy Cross Church. He tells me Africans
are generous when it comes to feeding people. If a stranger comes
to one's house, even that of a poor person, the stranger will
be invited in and given food. This leads to a conversation about
how rich and poor people feel about their lives.
"The rich person is not happy," Patrick insists. "That's why
they cheat the poor person who has worked for them when they pay
them, because they always need to get more. But the poor person
is happy with what he has."
Our first stop is at the mud-walled shack of Ruth Nangobe. At
48, the woman has beaten East Africa's mortality odds in more
ways than one. She is the mother of six daughters and one son,
every one still alive. But her life is hard. A widow, she lives
in one rented room of the ramshackle structure. Her eldest daughter,
32, suffers from sickle cell anemia and is so weak she can't walk.
Mrs. Nangobe survives by helping out at a stand nearby that sells
small retail goods and with help from friends and relatives. She
says she also receives help from Patrick and others from the church
and formation house.
"They are some of our best friends here, always visiting us
and checking on us."
Tumwine tells her that I'm here writing an article for a magazine,
and people may read about what it is like here and want to help.
Later I'll hand him a few dollars worth of Ugandan shillings to
pass on to the woman. All the time we talk, Mrs. Nangobe doesn't
asked for anything. But when we're just about to leave, she does.
She asks me for a blessing.
I explain that I'm not a priest or brother, not even Catholic.
It doesn't matter, she says. So I try my best, thanking God for
bringing us together and for the important help given by people
like Patrick.
A few minutes later, we've said our last goodbyes and are headed
off to another home. As we round the corner of Ruth's pitiful
domicile, I notice the exposed latticework of sticks on the side
where the orange-red mud has eroded. On the roof there are a few
tires along with the typical large rocks keeping the corrugated
metal down. I take a final look back at Mrs. Nangobe, who has
already returned to her chores, smiling.
Ed Cohen is an associate editor of this magazine.
(October 2005)
