Meeting new people

Having been travelling around the African continent for the best part of twenty years, I want to take stock and reflect on the lasting impressions those experiences have had on me. I believe I can safely claim to be in a position where I am able fairly and objectively to compare the impressions I've had, one against the other, city by city, country by country, or even region by region. What I shall be comparing is how easy it has been, or not, to talk to people and form new friendships. 

Starting with the good, East Africa as a whole, for me, proved to be the most liveable region, and I have visited all five regions—North Africa, West Africa, Central Africa, Southern Africa, and East Africa. Both Kenya and Uganda have left positive impressions on my mind. I did not stay long enough in Rwanda to form a substantive impression, but there is nothing negative to be said from that short stay. I have found that in all of my travels on the continent, Kenyans, in particular, are the easiest to talk to and to get along with. I always look forward to having a conversation with a Kenyan because you're almost guaranteed that they would be open and forthright, and be without restraint, even if they're not telling you the truth, which is rare. Ugandans too are easy to talk to, but to a somewhat lesser degree because they tend to be more formal and restrained.

In Southern Africa the conviviality I saw—and I saw a lot of it—was not extended to me to the extent that I might have wished. This caused me to be constantly reminded of my status as an outsider. It was the same both in South Africa and Botswana, save for one exception, Mandla, the Zulu gentleman in Johannesburg with whom I engaged in lengthy conversations that I secretly wished would go on forever for being so delightful. Most other times the language spoken around me was not English, so I found myself almost always on the outside and not able to engage and participate, and for this reason was unable to make new friends. Nevertheless, my Motswana friend whom I had gone to visit in Botswana was outstanding. He saw to it that I did not have a single lonely moment.

Central Africa is represented here by the Republic of Congo, or Congo Brazzaville. It was here that the disadvantage of not being proficient in the main language(s) came into full effect. The predominant languages here are French, Lingala and Kikongo, and as an English speaker one might as well be invisible. I did try to assert myself though, by demonstrating my limited French language skills, but to no avail. I guess It was fortunate that my friend was keen to practice and improve on his English, so he took me under his wing, acting as a shield against the barrage of incomprehension that I had to confront. No, it was not easy meeting new people and making new friends here, but mainly because of the language barrier. In attitude, the people were just as convivial as any others, and had my French been that little bit more practiced, I might have fared better. 

North Africa presented itself to me not as warm and friendly. Instead, the feeling was one that was cold, almost as if any friendliness from my direction was unneeded. I came away feeling that I would not be keen to return, and in fact, that I would avoid this part of the continent.  

West Africa has more variation in character than can be described in a single paragraph. There is little similarity in establishing social contacts between, for example, in Togo, and The Gambia. Etiquette and temperament are different. So is language. Some societies are more tolerant and liberal; some are overtly religious and downright conservative. It is not an easy landscape to navigate, a lesson I learned the hard way having arrived in The Gambia with expectations that later proved to be misplaced. 

In my experience though, it is West Africa that offers the warmest friendliest people, in Nigeria especially, but also in places like Benin and Liberia. The warm boisterous nature of the ordinary Nigerian makes him or her an easy friend to make. I could say the same for the Beninese, and the Liberians, except for them not being quite as direct and assertive as the average Nigerian, who normally is a pleasure to be around. Ivorians might possibly fall into this category as well,  but those not mentioned specifically here are those whom I have found to be somewhat complicated. In saying all this, I speak for myself alone, and am informed solely by own personal observations. Peace. 

East African drought, the 'worst in 60 years'

A drought developing across the Horn of Africa is now the worst in 60 years - affecting 10 million people, according to the United Nations.

I don't know if the governments of the people in the affected countries are as interested in this serious issue, as are the foreign aid agencies. There is the suggestion in some quarters, that the drought is a direct consequence of the world's changing climate, a situation for which the Africans who now are suffering the most, bear the least responsibility.

See here for more

Poverty as entertainment?

This post is a direct response to Rasna Warah's post in Kenya's Daily Nation newspaper of 20 March 2011. I came across it here where it was reposted.

I watched Famous, Rich and in the Slums (here on YouTube) when it was aired in Britain by the BBC recently and my consternation at the issues featured was directed neither at the makers of the documentary, nor at those who participated in it. My anger, instead, was directed at the authorities in Kenya, who seem to be clueless as to their responsibility towards the country's citizens and in particular, the inhabitants of Kibera, a slum area in the country's capital city. Lest I incur the angst of my readers, I make haste at this point to clarify that this is not intended as an onslaught on the aptitude of the Kenyan government singly, since such failure is characteristic of the majority of the governments of Africa.

The author in the Daily Nation opined:

"There are dozens, if not hundreds, of charities operating in Kibera and other slums like it, with few significant results to show for their efforts. 

There may be slightly more sanitation facilities in the slums now, but the living conditions have become only slightly less appalling - they have not improved dramatically. And the slum continues to grow."

And I ask, in all of this where are the Kenyan authorities? What function does the municipal authority in Nairobi perform when a sizeable segment of the city's population are forced to live in such squalid conditions? The author in the Daily Nation was critical of the NGOs that operate in the slum and seemed unhappy about what was referred to as "slum tourism", but I beg to differ.

It's puzzling that we do nothing about a problem and then think that we are justified in criticising the foreigners who make an effort to tackle our problem, one which we have previously ignored. Why do we become angered when westerners point at our festering sores that we have pretended did not exist? Most annoying for me is the fact that Raila Odinga, Kenya's Prime Minister, holds the parliamentary seat for Langata Constituency, which covers much of the Kibera slum.

My take on this is that it was never the intention of the makers of and participants in this documentary, (participants who in any event, include a considerable number of Kibera residents themselves), merely to provide entertainment for the film's viewers. What the film did for me was to vividly highlight the failure by another of Africa's governments to take an interest in, and responsibility for the welfare of those whom they govern. The situation is the same in much of Africa and I have written about the same thing in relation to Nigeria previously on this blog.

My Sleepwalker

The phone on my desk rang. It was Silla from reception asking if I was available to see a client who was very upset and wanted to see someone right away. I asked what the problem was and Silla said the woman didn't speak much English, but that she had indicated that her son was in some kind of trouble with the police. From the tone of Silla's voice, I knew she really wished that I should see the woman. I respected Silla, for her many years of experience, and for that Mauritian flair with which she expertly and confidently executed her duties at the front desk. So I deferred to her judgement, set aside what I was working on and asked that the woman be shown in. 

The door opened and a 30-something year old Somali woman entered my room carrying a child in her arms, a toddler. Following behind her was a lean bespectacled teenager. The resemblance was obvious to see, I could tell immediately that these two were mother and son. Mrs G's frustration was clear, so I did the best I could to get them to relax. I then got down to the business of finding out what I could do for them. Mrs G spoke little English, but her son A, who was 18 and attended school, acted as our interpreter.

The story was that sometime the previous week, policemen had visited their home and invited A, the son, to the police station. After the visit to the police station on that date, the son had been released on police bail and was requested to attend the police station again today. Mrs G had accompanied her son to the police appointment this morning, and, (thrusting the charge sheet at me), said her son had now been charged with the offence of breaking and entry.

Their neighbour next door, a female Polish immigrant, had made a complaint to the Police that she had been awoken from sleep in the middle of the previous night. On waking she realised that what had roused her were sounds and movements in her bedroom. She lived alone in her flat and normally left her bedroom window open at night during the summer months. She was alarmed, fearing that there might be an intruder in her bedroom so she switched on the bedside lamp. To her utter dismay she found a black man standing before her, inside her bedroom. She screamed, and the black man seeing that she had awakened, suddenly turned around, rushed to the open window, climbed out, and vanished into the darkness on to the roof of the kitchen extension of her building. She called the Police immediately and some officers were sent over to make sure this woman was alright. 

Seeing that she was okay the officers requested that the woman attend the police station in the morning to make a statement. In making this statement in writing at the police station, the woman suggested that the black man in her bedroom bore a striking resemblance to the young son of the Somali family that lived next door to her. (I know all of these facts because I later got to read the statement that this woman gave to the police. During their first visit to my office, Mrs G and her son had only told their side of the story).

Now what Mrs G said to me during that first visit was that throughout his childhood A had suffered from somnambulism. He had been a serial sleepwalker, but that as he reached adolescence the incidence of sleepwalking had reduced significantly. The family had been living in London since her son was about six years old, and as a child he had received medical treatment for the condition. She was afraid that his sleepwalking might have resumed, although apart from this present incident, there were no recent incidents that she knew of. She thought her son could have been sleepwalking when he climbed out of their upstairs bathroom window in the middle of the night, and made his way on to the roof of their patio extension. He must have crossed over to the roof of the neighbour's kitchen extension, crawled across that roof to the neighbour's upstairs bedroom window, which was open, and climbed into the neighbour's bedroom.

The son himself had no recollection of the incident. He told police that he did not remember climbing out of the bathroom window of their house. Mrs G said her son's bedroom was down the corridor from hers, and that she had heard nothing. But his bedroom was directly next to the bathroom, and going by the allegation made by the neighbour, she feared that her son might have done that which he was now accused of doing. I accepted the case because I thought this would be interesting. My client (A, the son) was due in court the next Monday morning.

Early Monday morning I arrived at the Camberwell Magistrates Court and obtained the Advance Information documentation from the Crown prosecutor. He (or she) is obliged to make these available to me. In this bundle of documents is contained the victim's statement, and the statements and reports of the police officers who had attended the scene and conducted the investigation. I also noted from the papers that the victim had subsequently positively identified my client as the "black man" she saw in her bedroom.

On the basis of the information contained in the Advance Information bundle I advised my client to plead "Not Guilty", and this is what he did when the charge was read out to him in the crowded courtroom. 

Monday morning in any magistrates court is busy because of the overnight cases from the previous weekend. Detained cases are given priority. These are mostly remorseful young men who let alcohol get the better of them during the Friday and the Saturday night just gone. On this day there was a wife beater too. I said the courtroom was crowded, but half of the public gallery was taken up by what seemed like the entire adult Somali population of the borough where my client resides. 

I genuinely doubted that the prosecution would be able to prove (to the standard of proof that is required) that my client "broke into and entered" the victim's "dwelling place, with the intention of committing an offence", the legal definition of the crime of 'breaking and entry', which is what my client was now charged with. I realised that the mental element, (the intent), was a crucial element of this offence and that the prosecution would have great difficulty in proving that my client indeed climbed into his neighbour's bedroom, if at all, with the intention of doing something unlawful.

It was a 'Not Guilty' plea then, so the matter was to be adjourned and a date set for trial. At this point I interjected, saying that my client would be relying on medical evidence in his defence. For this reason, a reasonable period of time was required to obtain the medical report. I requested an adjournment for four weeks, and my request was granted. The next date would be for a case management conference, a date for the court to assess the preparedness of the parties for trial.

Leaving court with me and surrounded by several loudly chattering Somali men and women, Mrs G was smiling, looking happier than I had ever seen her before then. I shook many appreciative hands, and I wondered why, since this was only the beginning of this case.

"Now to see to that medical report", I thought to myself, as I left them and headed back to the office.. (To be continued).