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Land, Rights and the Struggles of the Ngorongoro Maasai

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The Tanzanian government is threatening to evict more than 80,000 Maasai from the Ngorongoro world heritage site, claiming that the Maasai must be cleared from their land in the interests of conservation and wildlife corridors.

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Land, Rights and the Struggles of the Ngorongoro Maasai

In the past few weeks, the Tanzanian government has renewed its attempt to demarcate land in the Loliondo ward, Ngorongoro District in the north of the country as a wildlife sanctuary, effectively banning the Maasai from their indigenous land. As semi-nomadic pastoralists, the Maasai depend on cattle herding and some crop cultivation for the livelihoods. Access to pastures and to water for their cattle is vital.

The Ngorongoro Conservation Area has been a UNESCO World Heritage Site since 1979. But the Maasai have long lived with the threat of displacement to make way for tourism and for conservancies. The government has accused the Maasai of getting in the way of animal migration routes and of breeding grounds and claims that in the interests of conservation and ecology, wildlife corridors must be created over Maasai land. The Maasai have organised to resist these moves, accusing the government of using wildlife conservation as a pretext for their eviction.

However, in keeping with Tanzania’s land liberalisation and promotion of foreign investment since the late 1990s, it is widely reported that the cause of this renewed interest in Ngorongoro is the government’s plans to grant exclusive hunting rights in an area of 579 square miles to foreign investors. For the Maasai, this is an intensification of a long-term trend that dates from independence. Since then, the Maasai have already lost over seventy per cent of their land to “conservation”.

In 1992, an investor from the United Arab Emirates (UAE) was granted a license to trophy hunt in the area. In 2018, a report detailed the devastating impact of private companies in the area: a company called the Ortello Business Corporation had evicted the Maasai in order to run a hunting block for the private use of the UAE royal family and their guests, and continued to operate in the area after its licence had been cancelled by the Tanzanian Ministry of Natural Resources.

Governed by an overweening Ngorongoro Conservation Area Authority (NCAA), the Maasai have little scope for participation in the running of the territory or decision making about its future. The NCAA is accused of acting with secrecy. It is providing little information about the implementation of a new land use and resettlement plan in the Ngorongoro Conservation Area that will lead to the displacement of 80,000 residents, and the demolition of their homes, schools, and medical facilities.

In an echo of the struggles over land classification and definition that are seen elsewhere in East Africa when communities seek to defend their land, the residents of Loliondo argue that the disputed land is village land under the Village Land Act 1999. This legislation sought to devolve authority over decision making on matters such as land administration, land management and dispute resolution to the community level. The Maasai are demanding that their ancestral land be recognised as legitimate village land and not designated as a conservation area.

‘Conservation’

In their powerful 2017 book, The Big Conservation Lie, John Mbaria and Mordecai Ogada set out to debunk dominant conservation narratives and explore the “severe exploitation of the same wilderness [that] conservationists have constantly claimed they are out to preserve”. The renewed transnational land grab currently underway in Ngorongoro confirms this analysis.

In 2018, an Oakland Institute report documented how conservation laws were being used to dispossess the Maasai. Before that, a report by Wilbert Kapinga and Issa Shivji (the latter had served as the chairperson of the Presidential Commission of Inquiry into Land Matters) examined the legal powers and administrative practices of the NCA Authority. They set out the limitations placed on the Maasai by the NCAA without prior consultation and participation of Maasai residents in the relevant decision-making processes. They recommended that in the NCAA’s management of the Conservation Area, proper representation and participation of the Maasai and other residents was vital so that they might decide how best to conserve and develop this globally important place.

Emutai

The treatment of the Ngorongoro Maasai displays certain forms and practices that are recognisably colonial, imposing on them conditions of life that tend towards their eradication or emutai. In Maa – the language spoken by the Maasai people –  the word emutai means destruction or eradication and was first used to describe the epidemics of the nineteenth century when contagious bovine pleuropneumonia, rinderpest, and smallpox wiped out cattle and caused widespread sickness. It is a word with continuing resonance and increasing urgency. In 2018, the Oakland Institute warned that “without access to grazing lands and watering holes – without the ability to grow food for their communities, the Maasai are at risk of a new period of emutai.”

Of what does present day emutai consist? Because of the re-zoning of their land by which they are banned from grazing cattle and cultivating crops, sickness and hunger has become common. Forced onto ever smaller parcels of land in order to make way for tourism, the Maasai capacity for social reproduction is severely circumscribed: the daily tasks of grazing cattle and growing food on small family plots has been made illegal. The result is widespread starvation and disease, most especially amongst children.

The violent enclosure of their land prevents the Maasai from maintaining life both on a daily basis and intergenerationally. This prevention of Maasai social reproduction is a real threat. Severed from land as a productive resource and as their spiritual heritage, the Maasai are bearing the brunt of the government’s efforts to romance the rich and the famous in Ngorongoro. In the words of the Maasai leader, Julius Petei Olekitaika, “Imagine your home being burned in front of you to clear your land for foreigners to hunt. Imagine not being able to graze our cows because the government wants to protect a foreign investor whose only interest is hunting the wildlife.”

Wider implications

The struggle of the Ngorongoro Maasai is of vital importance to understanding how “fortress conservation” operates and how it deprecates indigenous peoples’ stewardship of the land. This is critical in the face of the climate crisis. Neo-colonial conservation models are characterised by a security-conservation nexus (intimidation and the use of militias is common) and by links with fossil fuel multinationals.

In Tanzania, the national government and private corporations are colluding. Far from conservation, the aim is the deliberate destruction of the Maasai way of life, “preserving” only those aspects that serve the purposes of tourism through a peoples’ exoticisation, a racist logic of settler colonialism. As the Oakland Institute recognises, this will not just force them off their land but “force them out of existence”.

The violent enclosure of their land prevents the Maasai from maintaining life both on a daily basis and intergenerationally.

Wilbert Kapinga and Issa Shivji argued in their report that the struggle of the Ngorongoro Maasai should not be presented as a minority struggle but should prompt the creation of alliances between all citizens threatened with dispossession and landlessness by the newly introduced land legislation (the Land Act 1999). Analysing the political implications of treating Maasai rights as “minority” or “indigenous” as many international advocacy groups have sought to do, they challenged the use of this terminology, arguing that it would have important impacts on Tanzanian civil society.

The authors made a case that has been largely overlooked. By setting the Maasai apart from the mainstream, they would be divided from the rest of civil society. Whilst they had no doubt suffered particular forms of prejudice and had had a particular historical relationship with the state, the authors argued, their situation in terms of their enjoyment of their human rights was not fundamentally different from “the rest of Tanzanian non-elite society”. The way forward therefore was for the Maasai to build alliances with the rest of civil society campaigning against the new land law because their concerns “fit in neatly with the current struggle in the country” against land liberalisation.

This important argument encourages us to study the common experience of evictions in urban and rural contexts, recognising their particularities and their histories, whilst seeking alliances beyond the immediate context of each eviction or threatened displacement. It cannot be doubted that the Maasai are subjected to egregious marginalisation and discrimination by the state that are backed up by orchestrated hate campaigns. The task is to articulate their struggles with those of others living with similar threats of dispossession. For, as Salar Mohandesi and Emma Teitalman remind us in their essay Without Reserves, we must recognise “varieties of enclosure”: urban dwellers are not immune to enclosure movements that deprive them of their livelihoods.

There have been calls for a commission of inquiry into Ngorongoro. In response, I suggest an elaboration of Wilbert Kapinga and Issa Shivji’s argument above: now is the time for social movements and civil society groups working against evictions – whether urban or rural – to lend the Maasai their support. We must make connections between the dispossession of the Maasai and the wider effects of the liberalisation of land laws and intensified land grabbing in Tanzania and in East Africa more generally.

This article was published in the Review of African political Economy (ROAPE).

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Ambreena Manji is Professor of Land Law and Development at Cardiff School of Law and Politics. She is the author of The struggle for land and justice in Kenya (James Currey/ Brewer & Boydell 2020; Vita Books 2021).

Politics

The Wagalla Massacre: What Really Happened

It has been exactly 38 years since the Wagalla massacre. The victims have refused to stay quiet and until the government takes concrete steps to provide redress, it will be hard for the victims and their families to move on.

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The Wagalla Massacre: What Really Happened

On 11 January 1985, the Principal State Counsel, Moijo Ole Keiwua, wrote on behalf of the Attorney General to Ibrahim Khamis Adan and Alinoor Yussuf Mohamed Hussein through their lawyers, Munikah and Company Advocates, asking them, by the rules of civil procedures, to supply specific information about the deaths of their fathers. The information requested included the dates and times when the deceased persons were killed; whether they were killed by the Kenya Army personnel, the Kenya Police or 1982 Air Force personnel; and the names of the specific officers responsible for the deaths of the deceased.

Khamis Adan Mumin, Ibrahim’s father, worked for Wajir County Council until his death. Yussuf Mohamed Hussein was a civil servant in the Ministry of Health. The two were among 55 or so employees of various government agencies who disappeared from work in early February 1984, never to be seen again. Their employers reported them as having deserted their duties, and their families could not access their terminal benefits.

The question of who killed these two men and others was raised in parliament by the former Member of Parliament for Wajir West, the late Ahmed Khalif Mohamed, on 21 March 1984. During a debate on then President Moi’s speech at the opening of that parliamentary session, Khalif accused the security forces of killing hundreds in Wajir District. The government forces, he said, had placed more than 4,000 people in a concentration camp, over 300 had been immediately executed, and over 600 were confirmed missing.

Khalif directly accused the Provincial Commissioner for Northeastern Province, Benson Kaaria, and the Somalia government of collusion in the murders. Kaaria had claimed, as reported by the Standard on 9 November 1980, that he would eliminate all Somali-speaking people in the country unless they exposed the Shifta who had killed a District Officer. Khalif’s accusations were met with utmost hostility by the entire parliament. Mwai Kibaki, Kenneth Matiba, A.Y. Boru and Samuel Ng’eny demanded substantiation. Charles Muthura accused Khalif of irrelevance in his contribution to the presidential speech, while Parmenas Munyasia jestingly demanded to know the names of those who had threatened to wipe out the Somalis. Khalif was cornered into dropping the Somalia claim but stood his ground on the mass killings of Somalis in Wajir. In a bid to substantiate his claim, the late MP tabled the list of victims of the massacre and their photographs in parliament on 28 March 1984. Many were civil servants, including Noor Haji, the former Senator from Wajir, who had been killed in the military operation.

During a debate on then President Moi’s speech at the opening of that parliamentary session, Khalif accused the security forces of killing hundreds in Wajir District.

The question of just what happened at the Wagalla Airstrip between 10 and 14 February 1984 was partially answered by the late Justus Ole Tipis in a ministerial statement about the military operation, read on the floor of parliament on the night of 12 April 1984, and reported in the Nation of 13 April 1984. Ole Tipis revealed that the security situation in Wajir was politically motivated and that leaders were involved in divisive strategies that were planned based on ethnic considerations. He claimed that the government decided to carry out its operations against the Degodia community to provide security to a neighbouring clan. Ole Tipis gave an accurate account of the processes but avoided mentioning the resulting genocide.

The Wajir District Security Committee and the Provincial Securities Committee were convened by an order from the National Security Council. The meeting took place on 8 February 1984 at the Wajir District Commissioner’s office. The District Commissioner himself was conveniently replaced by a District Officer, M.M. Tiema. According to the signatures in the visitor’s book at the DC’s office, and eyewitness reports, this meeting was attended by J.S. Mathenge, Permanent Secretary Office of the President; B.A. Kiplagat of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs; David Mwiraria, Permanent Secretary in the Ministry of Home Affairs; John Gituma, Permanent Secretary in the Ministry of Information and Broadcasting; Brigadier J.R. Kibwana, Department of Defence; B.N. Macharia of the Treasury; Z.J.M. Kamencu, Deputy Secretary in the Office of the President; J.P. Gitui, D.C.O. Police Headquarters; J.K. Kaguthi and J.P. Mwagovya of the Office of the President; C.M. Aswani, Provincial Police Officer, North Eastern Province; Lt. Col. H.F.K. Muhindi of 7 Kenya Rifles; J.K. Kinyanjui, Director of Land Adjudication Nairobi; and finally Benson N. Kaaria, Provincial Commissioner, Northeastern Province. The meeting resolved to carry out an operation to disarm the Degodia and force them to provide the names of the bandits who were committing crimes in the district.

According to the statement by Ole Tipis, once the operation was authorized, it began in earnest on 10 February at 0400 hours and involved the Police, the Administration Police, and the Army. The operation covered Elben, Dambas, Butelehu, Eldas, Griftu and Bulla Jogoo. According to the government statement, most of these areas had been swept by 11 February. When the army surrounded Bulla Jogoo, they ordered the residents to vacate their homes. According to Ole Tipis, the residents refused to comply with the order. The military then forcibly removed 381 male members of the Degodia clan from their homes and took them to the Wagalla Airstrip, nine miles West of Wajir Town. Ole Tipis admitted that those held were interrogated for three days, and a scuffle erupted when the District Commissioner, accompanied by the OCPD (Officer Commanding Police Division), entered the airstrip. Some of the crowds started to escape while others shouted at government officers. In the confusion, 29 people died of gunshot wounds or were trampled to death, while 28 others were killed when the army met with resistance during the operations, according to the ministerial statement.

The official story narrated in the government statement closely mirrors what happened, save that the government minimized callousness of the operation. The operation covered the entire Wajir District, including Tarbaj, Leheley, Wajir-Bor and Khorof Harar. The target community was the Degodia but it is believed several Somalis of other extraction were caught up in cases of mistaken identity. The operation targeted male members of the clan above 12 years of age. Still, women were raped, houses were burnt, and property was looted in every locality where the operation took place.

The military then forcibly removed male members of the Degodia clan from their homes and took them to the Wagalla Airstrip, nine miles West of Wajir Town.

The men rounded up were subjected to torture to force them to confess to owning a rifle. Some died of their wounds before they reached the Wagalla Airstrip. Those who got to the airstrip were sorted by sub-clan, and up to 30 members of the Jebrail sub-clan were burnt alive in an orgy of unprecedented violence. Their clothes were piled up on top of them, petrol or some other highly flammable chemical was poured on the clothes, and a bonfire whose fuel was human flesh was lit. The other detainees watched as their colleagues were roasted alive. The rest of the men were forced to strip naked and told to squat in the hot sun – those who resisted were shot. The late Ahmed Khalif reported that the detainees were held at the airstrip for five days, that they were denied food and water, and that during this period, those who tried to pray were shot. In those five days, more than 1,000 people either starved to death, were shot for questioning the orders of the armed forces, or died at the hands of gangs that were allowed into the airstrip at night to carry out revenge attacks against those against whom they held a grudge.

On the fifth day, the remaining men bolted, breaking through the barbed wire fence and running for their lives. The military opened fire, and hundreds were shot — many in the back — and killed. The stampede helped most escape into the bush, where they received help from nomads. It was an escape that should have happened in the first couple of days before so many were murdered, but the Degodia people would have been wiped off the map without it. The military found itself amid thousands of dead and injured men. The plan had gone awry: men had escaped and told others what happened. The army attempted a massive cover-up that involved piling the dead and injured into lorries and dumping them in the bushes. Many bodies were also disposed of by fire and acid. Mohamed Ibrahim Elmi, Catholic nun Analena Toneli, businessman Noor Abdille and others saved many people who had been ferried into various parts of Wajir district and abandoned by the armed forces. That is how the Wagalla Massacre took place. The survivors’ stories are almost unbelievable.

One survivor says that he had never stepped into Wajir town before 9 February 1984. He had decided to visit his father there and they were both picked up by the military the night he arrived. He found himself at Wagalla naked, hungry, and thirsty, watching as life ebbed out of his father. Another survivor woke up in a pile of bodies in a depression in a bush; next to him was a 16-year-old cousin’s corpse — just an innocent boy shot in the back of the head. One survivor escaped in the stampede naked and found a young girl herding goats who helped him cover his shame with her scarf.

The army attempted a massive cover-up that involved piling the dead and injured into lorries and dumping them in the bushes.

It has been exactly 38 years since the Wagalla massacre. In all these years the victims have refused to stay quiet, the dead are bursting out of their graves and giving clues to those who wish to resolve the massacre. The available evidence is sufficient to recreate what happened at Wagalla. It is possible to give State Council Moijo Ole Keiwua the specific information he requested, to allow Ibrahim and Alinoor to bring to justice those who killed their fathers, Yussuf Mohamed Hussein and Khamis Adan Mumin, along with 3,000 others —the figure given in the UN report — on 10, 11, 12, 13, or 14 February 1984 by a combined contingent of security officers from the Kenya Army, the ‘82 Air Force, the Kenya Police and the Administration Police. (The larger casualty figures were also mentioned to the author by Ahmed Khalif while he was still alive). The officers who took part in this massacre received an order from their superiors who met at the Wajir District Commissioner’s Office on 8 February 1984. The sons of the deceased could not give information of this kind in 1984. However, the same information can now be adduced in a court of law in the light of the Truth Justice and Reconciliation Commission (TJRC) report and recommendations.

One of the most intriguing stories about the Wagalla Massacre was how it was planned and implemented. The target community was collected from three districts and detained at the Wagalla Airstrip.

My uncle, Abdullahi Jehow, who left Wajir District in 1965 when the Kenya Army killed his family’s herd of 200 camels, had established himself in Madogashe in Garissa District. On the morning of 9 February 1984, he was at Jalaqo, about 30 miles from Modogashe on the road to Garissa, in a shallow well with other men, busy filling troughs with water for his livestock, when a column of army vehicles arrived.

The soldiers asked them to which Somali clan they belonged, and they innocently replied that they were Degodia. They were arrested, taken to the Habaswein police post overnight and driven to the Wagalla Airstrip the following day where they witnessed the atrocities first-hand. Today in his late 80s, Uncle Abdullahi has had a very long life, but he avoids Wajir like the plague. He has lived in Isiolo, Garissa, and Tana River, but nobody has been able to convince him to go back to Wajir.

The stories told of the Wagalla Massacre demonstrate a broader conspiracy to commit genocide. Wagalla was never about the immediate security concerns in Wajir District. It had nothing to do with the low-level conflict between Somali clans; such conflicts have been simmering since time immemorial and have never resulted in genocide.

Wagalla was a classic extermination of a people; the implementation of a policy that began at independence that was aimed at clearing the inhabitants out of their land and pushing them off the map of Kenya. It was a policy set by Jomo Kenyatta and inherited by Daniel Moi. It is a policy practiced by low-level government officials and the Provincial Administration as can be gleaned from official documents and public pronouncements.

One survivor escaped in the stampede naked and found a young girl herding goats who helped him cover his shame with her scarf.

The Truth Justice and Reconciliation Commission Report recommends reparations for the victims of the Wagalla massacre and other mass killings in the country. The report also recommends actions against the perpetrators of these heinous crimes, which includes banning them from public office. The report however was ignored by the government and parliament failed to adopt it. The Government Printer gazetted only parts of the report leaving out the sections relating to the massacres and killings, Volume 2A and 2B. In a bid to sidestep the broad redress mechanism proposed by the TJRC, on 26 March 2015 the president issued a bold apology and announced the establishment of a KSh10 billion Restorative Justice Fund of which only KSh3.6 billion was budgeted for in the subsequent year, 2016/2017. The Attorney General failed to initiate guidelines for victims to make claims against this fund until 2018. The beneficiaries of this fund are not aware of these guidelines as no public participation and awareness was conducted. The lethargy in implementing the TJRC report seems to emanate from the system’s determination to protect its own. Many of the perpetrators named in the TJRC Report are still serving in the boards of public institutions. Until the government takes concrete steps to provide redress for the victims of the Wagalla massacre and other crimes against humanity reported in the TJRC Report, it will be hard for the victims and their families to move on.

Moijo Ole Keiwua rose to become President of the East African Court of Justice and Judge of the Court of Appeal. He succumbed to cancer in 2011. Ibrahim Khamis Adan recently retired from the government after a long career in the diplomatic service including a stint as deputy ambassador. The writer is not aware of the whereabouts of Alinoor Yussuf Mohamed Hussein. Abdullahi Jehow is at an advanced age and lives in Tana River County; he will probably never again set foot in Wajir. The TJRC interviewed most of the persons named in connection with the Wagalla massacre, including its own Chairman, Benjamin Kiplagat. None of them accepted liability and their standard defence was, “I do not remember.”

Abdi Sheikh is the author of “Blood on the Runway: The Wagalla Massacre” of 1984. A version of this article first appeared at www.kenyaimagine.com

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Politics

Drought Management in ASAL Areas: Enhancing Resilience or Fostering Vulnerability?

Rather that jumping from project to project in search of a short-term response, there is a need to embrace practical and proactive long-term solutions to the challenges of recurring drought in the ASALs.

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Drought Management in ASAL Areas: Enhancing Resilience or Fostering Vulnerability?

Kenya’s arid and semi-arid lands (ASALs) occupy 80 per cent of the country’s landmass and are inhabited by nearly ten million people who rely on livestock rearing and seasonal small-scale farming for their livelihoods. ASALs are known for the variable environmental conditions that result in periodic drought, floods, animal disease outbreaks, and social instability due to conflict and historical marginalisation.

In the 1970s, ASALs experienced periods of prolonged drought nearly every four years, with the government and donor agencies developing various programmes through international and local NGOs to address the crises. The focus was on humanitarian aid to enhance food security through food relief aid to vulnerable populations. But due to the temporality and inefficiency of food aid, these agencies promoted farming as an alternative to livestock production and as a means of ensuring food security.

In Isiolo County, irrigation schemes were introduced along the Waso River and in other small centres such as Malka Daka and Rapsu. However, the projects failed largely due to flooding, and also because pastoralists re-invested the proceeds from farming in livestock and abandoned farming altogether.

Irrigation scheme at Rapsu

Irrigation scheme at Rapsu

Humanitarian interventions and the food security approach were dropped in favour of livestock development projects in the 1990s. These involved the development of water infrastructure such as boreholes and water pans, the establishment of grazing blocks and the implementation of livestock restocking programmes following periods of severe drought.

Between 1990 and 2000, the Arid Lands Resource Management Projects (ALRMP) emerged as the scaffold for the management and development of the drylands. The projects ranged from water infrastructure development and rehabilitation, to early warning bulletins, contingency planning, range re-seeding, livestock feeds, and vaccination.

The National Drought Management Authority (NDMA) took over from Arid Lands Development Projects in 2005. The NDMA’s focus is predominantly on the early warning bulletin, drought intervention, contingency policies, and capacity building. Although the NDMA is not oriented towards development projects, key policies such as Ending Drought Emergencies (EDE) form a significant segment of the NDMA’s work.

Drought Response Program in Isiolo

Drought Response Program in Isiolo

Between 2009 and 2019, social protection programmes based on cash transfers—such as the Hunger Safety Net Programme (HSNP) and livestock insurance—made their appearance. The HSNP was initially implemented in Marsabit, Mandera, Turkana, and Wajir. In 2019, the programme was upscaled to include four other pastoral counties: Isiolo, Samburu, Garissa and Tana River.

In 2010, Kenya became the first African country to implement KLIP, an index-based livestock insurance programme where the government purchases the policy on behalf of the beneficiary and disburses the pay-out as a safety net to cushion against drought events. The government first piloted the programme in Marsabit County and by 2016 had expanded the scheme to Isiolo, Mandera, Wajir, Garissa, Kajiado, Turkana, Tana River and Samburu counties.

The paradigm shifted from livestock development to enhancing “resilience” through programmes such as the Drought Resilience and Sustainable Livelihoods Programme (DRSLP), the Regional Pastoral Livelihoods Resilience Project (RPLRP) and the Resilience and Economic Growth in Arid Lands (REGAL-AG) project. “Resilience” projects aimed to accelerate economic growth by promoting the development of livestock market facilities and regulatory frameworks, developing the capacities of individual and community enterprises and promoting investments in livestock value chains in five pastoral counties (Marsabit, Isiolo, Garissa, Wajir and Turkana).

Finally, the Kenya Climate-Smart Agriculture Project (KCSAP, 2017-2026) has recently taken the lead. The implementation of KCSAP in ASAL counties enmeshes improving water systems (boreholes), livelihood support, contingency emergency response, and value addition in agriculture.

Cattle watering at Dogogicha borehole (Range water infrastructure development project)

Cattle watering at Dogogicha borehole (Range water infrastructure development project)

In the period between 1970 and 2020, massive investments were made to mitigate the effects of drought in Kenya’s ASALs. What I have presented here is simply a snapshot of the billion-dollar investments made in drought management. Although some of these projects have contributed to improving the resilience of pastoralist communities, others have increased their vulnerability and inequality because of the manner in which droughts and related catastrophes are handled. Following the severe drought that affected the entire Horn of Africa, including Kenya, in 2011 a policy framework was developed to end drought emergencies. But can these continuous policy shifts and the massive investments in drought management end drought emergencies in Kenya?

End drought emergencies by 2022?

Ending Drought Emergencies (EDE) is a policy framework developed to strengthen drought management institutions and infrastructure. It emerged from the regional drought and disaster resilience summit held in Nairobi by IGAD member states and regional actors. The conference aimed to respond to the drought cataclysm that had affected the entire region resulting in an estimated US$12.1 billion in drought-related losses between 2008 and 2011.

Although some of these projects have contributed to improving the resilience of pastoralist communities, others have increased their vulnerability and inequality.

In Kenya, EDE is a distinct part of the Vision 2030 sector plan for drought risk management with the stated aim of ending drought emergencies by 2022 (MTP III). EDE aims to prioritise inclusive economic growth and reduce poverty by integrating various pillars of the Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs) and the Regional Drought Disaster Resilience and Sustainability Initiative (IDIRSI). However, in September 2021, Kenya’s President Uhuru Kenyatta declared the ongoing drought a national disaster and called for local and international interventions.

Is Kenya’s roadmap for ending drought emergencies realistic? Can Kenya achieve its vision of ending drought emergencies by 2022? The same development visions and plans that aim to integrate ASAL areas into the broader economic transformation continue to push pastoralism to the periphery. Mobility is central to how pastoralists exploit variable range resources. However, insecurity, restricted park and conservancy enclosures, and mega-development infrastructures impede pastoral mobility, fostering vulnerability among the pastoralist communities rather than enhancing their resilience.

Which way forward

Despite the massive investments in humanitarian aid, pastoral development projects, resilience building and “climate-smart” approaches to drought mitigation, pastoralists remain susceptible to shocks and stresses brought on by droughts. There are remarkable discrepancies between the value of the investments made and the results achieved in attempting to end the drought emergency.

The same development visions and plans that aim to integrate ASAL areas into the broader economic transformation continue to push pastoralism to the periphery.

Both failures and successes are evident, but there is an urgent need to close the gap between the levels of investments in drought management and the impact on vulnerability and resilience. As one research participant commented, “stop subsidising failures” and instead focus on supporting the existing institutions and infrastructures that have been put in place to counter drought events. One example is the livestock market facilities and abattoirs in the rangelands, which, according to some of my research respondents, have created “drought millionaires” but have had a limited impact on the lives of pastoralists. These failures are due to a lack of a sustainable and favourable framework. To foster resilience—the ability to withstand climatic shocks and bounce back better—there is a need for a collaborative effort by all the actors, including the state, Civil Society Organisations, international actors and the pastoralists themselves. In summary, three points are essential to reflect upon.

Recognising failures and successes

The government and humanitarian organisations have developed numerous drought management policies, programmes and projects. Handling drought emergencies requires a process of un-learning, learning, and re-learning by revisiting historical interventions and policies. This will help to uncover successes, the ramifications of drought responses, and the unintended structural conditions created by such interventions. Drought response must include considering other factors such as seasonal stress, access to resource infrastructures, and the population’s social-economic dynamics that influence how drought is perceived and managed—all these help in recognising and embracing drought as a management failure rather than as a cyclical absence of rain.

Pastoralism as a reliable profession 

Pastoralists are “reliability” professionals acting in “real time” by galvanising different networks, solidarities and resources. Sometimes, reliability is generated by negotiated access to restricted areas such as parks and conservancy areas and through adaptive mobilities and collective solidarities in the form of a moral economy. Collective solidarities help pastoralists to deal with labour deficit, insecurity, and access to resources. Although these practices of collective solidarity are sometimes stratified between people with networks, wealth, and other resources, they remain central to how diverse livestock owners navigate dry periods. External projects that aim to enhance pastoral resilience must recognise the existence of reliable institutions that help pastoralists to manage precarious conditions such as drought. Recognising pastoralists as active managers of drought crises and real-time coordination between pastoralists, state and development NGOs will enhance reliability and adaptive containment of drought emergencies.

Proactive approach

Policies that deal with drought management—such as early warning and contingency planning—are sometimes linear, progressive, and reactive. In contrast, drought events are very much unpredictable and require considerable multiple knowledge and open-ended approaches.

To contain drought emergencies, there is a need to embrace the participatory, relational, and open-ended perspective. In the words of one of my research respondents, “there is a need to move from the ‘policy’ classroom to the ‘field’ classrooms”. For instance, livestock market infrastructure is in place in most parts of the rangelands, but unfortunately, some of it is derelict. Instead of jumping from project to project in search of a short-term response, there is a need to embrace practical and proactive long-term solutions. These could provide stability in the rangelands, especially during dry periods, to help pastoralists exploit unevenly distributed resources. One suggestion could be integrating pastoralists’ safety net and the moral economy with the social protection projects in pastoral areas.

There should be a “pause” moment to rethink and reflect on how to embrace the drought emergencies and build forward better by turning the drought crisis into an opportunity for sustainable and reliable livelihoods in the ASALs and beyond.

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China, Oil and the South Sudan Resource Curse

South Sudan remains heavily reliant on oil revenues but the extraction of this resource has resulted in major environmental damage and great human suffering.

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China, Oil and the South Sudan Resource Curse

South Sudan is caught between a rock and a hard place, heavily dependent on the revenues generated by a resource whose extraction is having a negative impact on the country.

China National Petroleum Corporation (CNPC) operates the Dar Petroleum Operating Company (DPOC) and Greater Petroleum Operating Company (GPOC) consortia that produce all of the country’s oil. CNPC started operating in Sudan in 1996, long before South Sudan became an independent state in 2011, without putting in place proper waste management systems and undertaking environmental audits.

While oil production generates over 90 per cent of the government’s budget, the issue of waste management and accountability has been a continuing challenge. Major environmental damage has been reported in the oil fields, jeopardising the lives of those who live in the oil producing states.

“They don’t care about waste management and environmental protection. They want it cheaper, and the agreements are opaque so I don’t know what they signed, in terms of service delivery and environmental care,” said an analyst who spoke on condition of anonymity.

The source also claimed that DPOC and GPOC are “sabotaging” the regulations developed by the Ministry of Petroleum to avoid their corporate social responsibilities towards the communities and the country. “They [DPOC and GPOC] don’t want the implementation of these policies and recently rejected a comprehensive environmental audit saying they are Western ideas, American ideas.”

In the 90s, aware of the impact that oil extraction would have on local communities, the Sudanese government took the draconian measure of ordering the Sudanese Army to evict the civilian population to make way for exploration and production.

“When South Sudan gained independence it was a new responsibility. The whole point of fighting was to do things differently from the old Sudan. The first thing would have been to change things, but the country couldn’t stop oil production. It was young and needed money to continue running its business, to provide basic services and continue with developmental projects,” said Dr Bior Kwer Bior, founding Executive Director for Nile Initiative for Health and Environment, a member of South Sudan’s Civil Society Coalition on Natural Resources.

Today, the decision to continue with oil production has come to haunt the country in terms of the impact on the environment and on the health of local populations.

“Whenever there’s oil extraction obviously there will be impact on the environment. Normally there are safeguards that are put in place to protect the environment. There should be a plan for protecting the environment, an accurate environmental management system, baseline assessment before you start production, and good ways of waste management,” noted Dr Kwer.

According to article 28 of the South Sudan Petroleum Act, contractors must submit an application to the Ministry of Petroleum for a permit to undertake exploratory drilling. The application must include an environmental and social impact assessment. Regarding transportation, treatment and storage, the Act requires that “detailed information on all relevant issues [. . .] including economic, technical, operational, safety related, commercial, local content, land use and environmental aspects of the project” be provided. The Act further clarifies that “The Ministry shall grant a license on the basis of an evaluation of the application, including the environmental and social impact assessment, and the technical competence, experience, history of compliance and ethical conduct and financial capacity of the applicant and the contractor, as well as safety related aspects.”

However, since its enactment in 2012, the provisions of the Act have not been fully implemented and the country continues to engage with the oil companies without proper environmental and social impact assessments having been undertaken.

Environmental impact

A report released by the Nile Initiative for Health and Environment, recorded that over 218 children were born with deformities as a result of oil pollution in the oil-producing states of Unity and Upper Nile.

The organization says it collected the data from the birth registries of the health facilities in Pariang, Unity State, and from media reports of cases in Upper Nile State. Its tally may undercount the true figure because of the absence of health facilities and road networks in the areas where oil fields are located.

Local populations lack awareness of the dangers of the chemicals and waste materials dumped on their doorsteps, which contaminate the water in the wells and ponds that are used by the communities.

“The topography of Pariang in Unity State is a low land. The water from the crude oil, the waste water, is dumped in local ponds, flows all the way to local streams and this is what is causing diseases,” Dr Kwer said. “As a consequence of oil production, waste is hazardously dumped in the areas, and the containers that used to contain the chemicals are in the hands of the communities being used for drinking water,” he continued.

The water discharged with minimal treatment contains toxins such as hydrocarbons that have had a negative impact on communities in the oil producing regions of Upper Nile State, Unity State, and the Ruweng Administrative Area, which by itself produces over 80 per cent of South Sudanese oil. “The impact is huge and negative, towards the communities, and the land, animals and the air. The processes were not satisfactory to us. First of all, the level of oil spills, in which pipe breaks spill crude oil into the soil [and] the containers of chemical materials which find their way to communities and are being used for domestic activities,” Charles Judo, Chairperson of the Civil Society Coalition on Natural Resources (CSCNR), said in an interview.

Judo observed that although oil production in South Sudan started on the wrong footing, “The government has now agreed to conduct an environmental audit, not only to assess the environment but the social impact of the oil activities. And as a member of the civil society I want to see in the future that all the processes are open and transparent to the public.”

Diplomatic impact

At its meeting in May 2021, the United Nations Security Council (UNSC), renewed for another year the arms embargo, travel ban and assets freeze imposed on South Sudan in 2018. The UNSC also extended for a further 13 months the mandate of the panel of experts tasked with overseeing those measures. The arms embargo prohibits the supply, sale or transfer of weapons, as well as the provision of technical assistance, training and other military assistance to the territory of South Sudan.

Having previously abstained, this time the Chinese government voted for the arms embargo. Economic analysts said that China’s vote was in retaliation against the decision taken by the government of South Sudan to put in place restrictive measures to improve accountability and transparency in the oil sector, in particular the undertaking of an environmental audit and the implementation of the human resource policies developed by the South Sudan Ministry of Petroleum.

The Chinese government had previously abstained but for the first time voted for the arms embargo.

“The Chinese companies recently have seen some line ministries as a threat, and there have been debates with the Ministry of Petroleum, saying they are not happy with the policies the government is trying to impose on the oil companies and that they should be treated exceptionally because they were supporting South Sudan even during the dark days,” said a source who requested anonymity due to the sensitivity of the matter. “They said the environmental audit is expensive. They want samples only taken in one area while others should be skipped.” It is deeply concerning that the Chinese want to dictate what the country should do with its resources.

Contribution by the civil society

The role of civil society is to amplify advocacy efforts and share information to ensure that accountability and transparency are priorities.  “Issues to do with monitoring and evaluation of whatever is related to oil, starting from the signing of the contracts, starting [upstream] to downstream. Whatever agreements are about to be reached, civil society ensures there’s transparency,” Judo said.

Some of the concerns raised by citizens include lack of access to timely and reliable information. “The civil society should be empowered to create awareness about agreements reached by the government and other stakeholders, from exploration, production and selling. The role is to ensure the process is flexible and known to all the South Sudanese citizens,” Judo added.

It is deeply concerning that the Chinese want to dictate what the country should do with its resources.

The National Audit Chamber of South Sudan recently issued a report indicating that the 2 per cent share of net petroleum revenues have not been transferred to the oil producing states to finance service delivery and development projects as foreseen in the Petroleum Revenue Management Act 2013 and the Transitional Constitution 2011. The central government has instead reallocated the funds for other use.

“As civil society we are aware and concerned about all these issues. So far, we have been hearing about the processes of signing the agreements but we have never been involved, not only at the signing but also starting from the initial processes and negotiations. There was no transparency and we never had access to contracts to see and compare with other companies. We have never seen the contracts, but from the output, we are not happy about the agreements with the Chinese companies,” said Judo.

Community awareness

Outbreaks of unknown diseases, stillbirths, deformities in new-borns, miscarriages and infertility have been recorded among populations living in oil producing regions yet there is little awareness within these communities of the dangers they face.

The oil companies support development projects such as schools and hospitals but this is part of their corporate social responsibility and not enough. Communities in Pariang County in Unity State and in Paloich in Upper Nile State have held several demonstrations, accusing the oil companies of making empty promises. In August 2020, there was a demonstration over the lack of employment opportunities for local people that had been promised in the Memorandum of Understanding between the government and the oil companies. “They don’t keep their promises but only concede and don’t deliver. Communities need services to be provided to them and this remains key,” said a concerned citizen.

Resource curse

The reconstituted government of National Unity is tasked with the responsibility of reforming the sector and eventually joining the Extractive Industry and Transparency Initiative (EITI) to help the country control and manage well the revenues generated from its natural resources. In so doing, the needs of the communities living in and around the oil producing areas must be prioritised to ensure a do-no-harm approach. In particular, it is crucial that the issue of waste management is addressed as a matter of urgency. The government must also ensure that environmental audits are undertaken before production begins in new oil fields to avoid further environmental degradation.

Outbreaks of unknown diseases, stillbirths, deformities in new-borns, miscarriages and infertility have been recorded among populations living in oil producing regions.

There is also a need to establish accountability mechanisms to ensure that resources are used properly and that the communities in the oil producing regions receive their share of the oil revenues as stipulated in the law.

Further, the government and civil society organizations must educate the communities concerned about the benefits and the challenges that come with oil production activities in their regions, including how relocating to other regions can help them escape the health ordeals that they are currently facing.

It will not be easy to bring order to the sector, especially after more than three decades during which the oil companies explored and produced crude oil without proper government oversight. However, environmental degradation and human suffering must be put to an end as they negate the whole idea of producing oil to fuel development and render the resource a curse rather than a blessing for South Sudan.

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