This was the 11th women’s forum hosted by the Association for Women’s Rights in Development (AWID). It’s the first time that the event has been hosted in Africa, and had record attendance – over 2,200 participants came from all over the world! About 30% of these came from African countries and 11% from South Africa alone (partly because, as a means of encouraging participation, a certain number of free spots were reserved for South African participants). Though there were some men in attendance, the overwhelming majority of participants were women. And I have to tell you, the energy of the place was amazing. It was really inspiring to hear from and to meet so many women who are all working to achieve gender equality, whether this be in a feminist context or not.
Most of the women attending the conference came from an organizational perspective – they worked for NGOs, non-profits, funding organizations and the like. We were nine in our indigenous African women’s delegation: Lucy and me, one other woman from Kenya, one from Uganda, two from Tanzania and three from South Africa. We also met up with indigenous women from Latin America, who were here with the International Indigenous Women’s Forum (FIMI). I was finally able to meet a FIMI colleague from Nicaragua with whom I had had a long email correspondence, which was wonderful. It’s so different and so gratifying to meet someone in person after organizing logistics online together for so long!
The theme for the conference this year was “The Power of Movements” – a discussion both of the women’s rights movement and its direction and drawbacks, and of intersecting movements. What impressed me most about the conference was the effort that the organizers had put into consciously including groups which have traditionally been marginalized within “mainstream feminist” circles (i.e. Western, white, middle-class, straight, cisgender, able-bodied, etc.). There were LGBTI groups present, disabled women, indigenous women and sex workers. Though at this point in time the representation of minority groups was mostly superficial (for example, though there was an effort to reach out to disabled women, there were no sign language translators and none of the workshop information was available in Braille; and although there was an effort to reach out to queer and trans women, the language used in the main plenary sessions was still quite heterocentric and gender essentialist, second-wave feminist-style), at least it’s a step in the right direction.
I was very excited to meet women who are working in queer rights in Africa. I hadn’t seen any LGBTI organizations in Kenya, though I know they must exist. Such organizations are frequently driven underground for fear of persecution, as in many countries homosexuality is illegal and the stigma against it is still strong. In South Africa, the first country in Africa to legalize same-sex marriage, there is more in the way of visible LGBTI organizing, but that still doesn’t mean that there’s more acceptance, especially in rural areas. I was awed by the women who were working in countries which are so hostile to their presence, yet they persevere because they believe so strongly in equal rights for all people. They are not ashamed to fight for the right to love who they want, the right to be treated with dignity and respect, the right not to be beaten or killed simply for looking or dressing the “wrong” way, or for holding or (god forbid) kissing their partner in public. The right just to exist. One woman in particular, who was working for GALZ (Gays and Lesbian of Zimbabwe) really impressed me. I had no idea that such an organization existed. And I can’t imagine the bravery that it must take to work in such a difficult context.
There was an overwhelming variety of sessions and workshops to choose from, and I wasn’t able to attend all those I was interested in, but I did get to some cool ones. I went to the launch of the new edition of the Feminist Africa journal, a session on sex workers and feminism, another one on disability and sexuality, one on African feminism, and one on indigenous and non-indigenous cooperation. I think attending this conference has been very helpful to me in terms of realizing that in the future I would really like to work in an explicitly feminist and queer-positive environment; these things are important to me, and I would like to see them acknowledged in a work context. Although I remain passionate about indigenous rights and would like to continue to be involved in this field to a degree, I think there are other areas of work, particularly in women’s rights, which draw my attention more strongly. I intend to keep on communicating and possibly working with IIN and FIMI in some capacity, but I would love to expand my horizons a bit in the coming years.
Although I love the energy and diversity that large conferences bring, the number of pressing issues that this kind of gathering brings to light is terrifying! There’s just so much to address, so many different groups fighting for rights, equality, freedom, recognition – domestic workers, transwomen, artists, journalists, women from grassroots and indigenous communities, political prisoners, rape survivors – the list goes on and on. It gets to be too much when you see just how much work there is to do. But it’s comforting to know that although the world can be a huge and frightening place, at least there are others who are there to stand beside you, to pull you up when you fall and take up the chant when you grow horse, and to assure you that no, you’re not crazy for giving a damn.
"and when we speak we are afraid
our words will not be heard
nor welcomed
but when we are silent
we are still afraid
So it is better to speak"
-Audre Lorde
November 24, 2008
November 16, 2008
the journey
After a frustrating flight, during which our plane was delayed, we missed our connection and our luggage was misplaced, Sophia and I arrived at the Cape Town airport on Thursday afternoon to meet the rest of our delegation. Though it was a flight full of misadventures, it was an amazing one because it was Sophia's first time in an airplane. Her first time to peer down at the world below as if at a child's playthings, her first time to soar amongst the clouds. She was apprehensive about it (arriving at the airport two hours before our agreed meeting time!), but I think she enjoyed it. There were a few obstacles, language being the primary one, though we did muddle through with the few phrases between us, and a lot of gestures and laughter. Dress was another. As Sophia is always in traditional dress, of course she arrived on the day of the flight fully decked out in gorgeous beaded necklaces -- many of which had dangling metallic pieces. The poor woman was patted down every time she went through security. The other thing I hadn't realized when I was rushing about the airport in Johannesburg trying to make our hopeless connection was that Sophia had never used an escalator before. I try to be sensitive to these kinds of things, but this was one thing that, in my hurry, I never even considered. Can you imagine encountering an escalator for the first time as an adult, without anyone explaining it to you? They can be tricky enough at the best of times. It was only when I saw her stumble on the escalator at the convention centre and asked her about it then that I realized!
It was all very exciting, really, to be going through all of these things with someone experiencing them for the first time, and seeing all the amazing complex technologies and frustrating procedures that we live with and take for granted through fresh eyes. It was an adventure, and we made it to Cape Town safe and sound (though tired and chilly). Next stop.. the women's forum.
It was all very exciting, really, to be going through all of these things with someone experiencing them for the first time, and seeing all the amazing complex technologies and frustrating procedures that we live with and take for granted through fresh eyes. It was an adventure, and we made it to Cape Town safe and sound (though tired and chilly). Next stop.. the women's forum.
November 10, 2008
Morogoro
Morogoro is a beautiful town. About three hours’ drive West of Dar es Salaam, it lies at the base of the Uluguru mountain. The mountain itself is rich and green, and most of the produce in Morogoro comes from the many farms which are wrapped improbably around the mountain’s contours. I’ve been here for a week now, and I can say that the town is much bigger and livelier than I expected it to be. Here you can go to the disco any day of the week and dance the night away to Tanzania’s own bongo flava (a Swahili musical genre blending pop, hip hop and traditional melodies), or to lingala, which comes from Congo and is very popular all throughout East Africa. There’s even a hotel with a pool, where we spent a lazy Sunday afternoon swimming and chatting. It’s a small town, but people are very active and engaged in all sorts of activities. There’s a big Swahili school here, agriculture, livestock rearing and many little shops, cafes and bars.
While I’m here, I’m working with a small community-based organization called Parakuiyo Pastoralists Indigenous Community Development Organization. This organization is only two years old, and was formed in response to the marginalization of pastoralists in government policy and developmental projects in Tanzania. Their current program is a land rights project, which aims to inform pastoralists about their rights in regards to land use and ownership, and to help resolve land conflicts in a more constructive manner. There have been many conflicts in the region between pastorlists and agriculturalists competing for the same resources – conflicts in which people on both sides have lost their lives. Hopefully this project will help foster a better relationship both between pastoralists and the government and police force, and pastoralists and the farming communities with whom they sometimes clash. Since I’m here for such a short time I won’t have accomplished that much by the time I leave, but I’ve at least been helping to develop a project proposal on political participation and good governance, and a monitoring and evaluation system.
Another of Parakuiyo’s projects is a high school for pastoralist children. The school serves the entire Morogoro region, which occupies 72,939 square kilometers. Parakuiyo helped the community to engage in fundraising activities to build the school, and helped convince community members about the value of education. Maasai children are often kept home from school for a variety of reasons. The boys are frequently needed at home to take care of the livestock. Indeed, anyone traveling through Maasailand for any length of time can’t help but notice the many young boys watching cattle or sheep, staring warily at strangers passing through. The girls are often kept at home to help with domestic chores, like fetching water or firewood, particularly in areas where the environment is very degraded and these resources are scarce. Girls are also sometimes married off quite early, and forced to drop out of school. Sometimes parents simply can’t afford the tuition. Parakuyo secondary school is remarkable because attendance, the bane of many a school in pastoralist areas, is not an issue here. Through Parakuiyo’s efforts and the efforts of the headmaster, the community has really rallied around the school. Tuition is lowered for low-income families, and now it’s becoming the norm for children in these parts to attend the school. The fact that the community managed to fundraise the bulk of the funds for construction probably helps, as it’s a project that they can take pride in and feel that it belongs to them. The school only opened in January 2007, and already they have 158 students, 78 of whom are girls. They’re expecting at least 80 more students to enroll for the next year.
Though attendance and enthusiasm are high at Parakuyo, the school is desperately lacking in facilities. Though, like most secondary schools in Tanzania, it is a boarding school, none of the dormitories have been finished yet because of lack of funds. Students are forced to sleep on mattresses on the floor of rooms that are used for classes during the day. When we visited, the mattresses had been hung over the rafters, exposing the uneven concrete floor beneath. There is no kitchen, only a small shelter for cooking, and no storage area. There is no laboratory. There are only five teachers for the whole school, only one of whom is female, and none of whom are qualified to teach science. Transportation is also a problem, since the area is remote and the roads in bad condition, particularly during the rainy season. It had been raining on the day we visited the school, and considering how much trouble our taxi had getting into the village, and how muddy our additional half-hour walk was, I could just imagine what a nightmare it might be to bring in supplies or get a sick student to a medical centre.
In a way, it’s discouraging to think that as much as this community has struggled, and as many minds have been changed about the value of education, there are still so many challenges to overcome. There’s just no money for so many of the facilities that are desperately needed. But at least these kids have the opportunity to get a high school education – that’s something that many Maasai children can’t even dream of.
There are only three employees at Parakuiyo, and I’ve mostly been working with Jacob, the office secretary. He’s been very welcoming, helping me to get settled here and become familiar with the town. On Saturday, the two of us went on a fantastic five-hour hike on the mountain. It was really neat because the mountain is actually inhabited by farmers almost all the way to the peak, although from afar you can’t tell that anyone lives there at all. As we walked along, we passed all sorts of homes, some made of mud and sticks, some of brick, and fields and fields of produce of all sorts. Bananas were the most popular crop, but there were also cabbages, carrots, tomatoes, beets, and herbs – even lettuce. The path was a bit crazy at times, just a tiny narrow footpath over a steep incline. Inevitably, at one point I slipped off the path (the edge of the path was full of plants, but when I stepped onto a section that I thought was the path it was just a hole with plants covering it like an old-school trap), and ended up with half of my body hanging over some hapless farmer’s onion patch! I just got some scrapes, but of course when we came back down everyone was very apologetic about it, which was a little embarrassing.
We stopped at a house near the top, which had been built by German missionaries in 1911. Though it was in a gorgeous location overlooking the town, and I’m sure could be turned into quite a profitable tourist attraction or lodge, it had been severely neglected over the years. Vines were overtaking the outside and a tiny old man was living inside. I’m not sure if he was squatting or if he was renting the place or what. It was all a bit surreal. We bought some beautiful fresh bananas and carrots from some farmers who were preparing their wares for transportation to the town. On our way down we were passed by two of those same farmers, who were the vegetable transporters I suppose. They were both balancing enormous bags stuffed full of carrots on their heads. Those things had to weigh at least twenty pounds! They must really have amazing strength and balance to have brought those carrots on their heads all the way down those steep, twisting paths.
It’s going to be pretty sad to leave Morogoro in a couple of days – I’ve made some good connections here and can see myself returning in the future. But next time I’ll definitely have to beef up on my Swahili before venturing into the communities again! On Wednesday I return to Dar es Salaam, and then on Thursday I’ll be flying out to Cape Town. I’m traveling with a Maasai woman, Sophia. She’s being sponsored by Indigenous Information Network to attend the Power of Movements conference. I’m pretty sure it’s her first time flying, and she only speaks Maa and Swahili, so it might be quite an adventure. And it’ll be interesting to see how people react to her in South Africa, since she’s always in traditional dress. I hope that she doesn’t get too intimidated, but from what I’ve observed about her so far I think she’ll have a good laugh about it.
While I’m here, I’m working with a small community-based organization called Parakuiyo Pastoralists Indigenous Community Development Organization. This organization is only two years old, and was formed in response to the marginalization of pastoralists in government policy and developmental projects in Tanzania. Their current program is a land rights project, which aims to inform pastoralists about their rights in regards to land use and ownership, and to help resolve land conflicts in a more constructive manner. There have been many conflicts in the region between pastorlists and agriculturalists competing for the same resources – conflicts in which people on both sides have lost their lives. Hopefully this project will help foster a better relationship both between pastoralists and the government and police force, and pastoralists and the farming communities with whom they sometimes clash. Since I’m here for such a short time I won’t have accomplished that much by the time I leave, but I’ve at least been helping to develop a project proposal on political participation and good governance, and a monitoring and evaluation system.
Another of Parakuiyo’s projects is a high school for pastoralist children. The school serves the entire Morogoro region, which occupies 72,939 square kilometers. Parakuiyo helped the community to engage in fundraising activities to build the school, and helped convince community members about the value of education. Maasai children are often kept home from school for a variety of reasons. The boys are frequently needed at home to take care of the livestock. Indeed, anyone traveling through Maasailand for any length of time can’t help but notice the many young boys watching cattle or sheep, staring warily at strangers passing through. The girls are often kept at home to help with domestic chores, like fetching water or firewood, particularly in areas where the environment is very degraded and these resources are scarce. Girls are also sometimes married off quite early, and forced to drop out of school. Sometimes parents simply can’t afford the tuition. Parakuyo secondary school is remarkable because attendance, the bane of many a school in pastoralist areas, is not an issue here. Through Parakuiyo’s efforts and the efforts of the headmaster, the community has really rallied around the school. Tuition is lowered for low-income families, and now it’s becoming the norm for children in these parts to attend the school. The fact that the community managed to fundraise the bulk of the funds for construction probably helps, as it’s a project that they can take pride in and feel that it belongs to them. The school only opened in January 2007, and already they have 158 students, 78 of whom are girls. They’re expecting at least 80 more students to enroll for the next year.
Though attendance and enthusiasm are high at Parakuyo, the school is desperately lacking in facilities. Though, like most secondary schools in Tanzania, it is a boarding school, none of the dormitories have been finished yet because of lack of funds. Students are forced to sleep on mattresses on the floor of rooms that are used for classes during the day. When we visited, the mattresses had been hung over the rafters, exposing the uneven concrete floor beneath. There is no kitchen, only a small shelter for cooking, and no storage area. There is no laboratory. There are only five teachers for the whole school, only one of whom is female, and none of whom are qualified to teach science. Transportation is also a problem, since the area is remote and the roads in bad condition, particularly during the rainy season. It had been raining on the day we visited the school, and considering how much trouble our taxi had getting into the village, and how muddy our additional half-hour walk was, I could just imagine what a nightmare it might be to bring in supplies or get a sick student to a medical centre.
In a way, it’s discouraging to think that as much as this community has struggled, and as many minds have been changed about the value of education, there are still so many challenges to overcome. There’s just no money for so many of the facilities that are desperately needed. But at least these kids have the opportunity to get a high school education – that’s something that many Maasai children can’t even dream of.
There are only three employees at Parakuiyo, and I’ve mostly been working with Jacob, the office secretary. He’s been very welcoming, helping me to get settled here and become familiar with the town. On Saturday, the two of us went on a fantastic five-hour hike on the mountain. It was really neat because the mountain is actually inhabited by farmers almost all the way to the peak, although from afar you can’t tell that anyone lives there at all. As we walked along, we passed all sorts of homes, some made of mud and sticks, some of brick, and fields and fields of produce of all sorts. Bananas were the most popular crop, but there were also cabbages, carrots, tomatoes, beets, and herbs – even lettuce. The path was a bit crazy at times, just a tiny narrow footpath over a steep incline. Inevitably, at one point I slipped off the path (the edge of the path was full of plants, but when I stepped onto a section that I thought was the path it was just a hole with plants covering it like an old-school trap), and ended up with half of my body hanging over some hapless farmer’s onion patch! I just got some scrapes, but of course when we came back down everyone was very apologetic about it, which was a little embarrassing.
We stopped at a house near the top, which had been built by German missionaries in 1911. Though it was in a gorgeous location overlooking the town, and I’m sure could be turned into quite a profitable tourist attraction or lodge, it had been severely neglected over the years. Vines were overtaking the outside and a tiny old man was living inside. I’m not sure if he was squatting or if he was renting the place or what. It was all a bit surreal. We bought some beautiful fresh bananas and carrots from some farmers who were preparing their wares for transportation to the town. On our way down we were passed by two of those same farmers, who were the vegetable transporters I suppose. They were both balancing enormous bags stuffed full of carrots on their heads. Those things had to weigh at least twenty pounds! They must really have amazing strength and balance to have brought those carrots on their heads all the way down those steep, twisting paths.
It’s going to be pretty sad to leave Morogoro in a couple of days – I’ve made some good connections here and can see myself returning in the future. But next time I’ll definitely have to beef up on my Swahili before venturing into the communities again! On Wednesday I return to Dar es Salaam, and then on Thursday I’ll be flying out to Cape Town. I’m traveling with a Maasai woman, Sophia. She’s being sponsored by Indigenous Information Network to attend the Power of Movements conference. I’m pretty sure it’s her first time flying, and she only speaks Maa and Swahili, so it might be quite an adventure. And it’ll be interesting to see how people react to her in South Africa, since she’s always in traditional dress. I hope that she doesn’t get too intimidated, but from what I’ve observed about her so far I think she’ll have a good laugh about it.
November 1, 2008
Dar
On Tuesday, George and I took the bus to Dar es Salaam, or Bongo as it's commonly known around these parts. Bongo means "brains" in Swahili; they call it this because you need brains to survive in this city. Or so they say. It can't be much worse than Nairobbery, right?
The bus ride was quite long -- about nine hours and we arrived in the city just as the sun was setting. Though I'm not crazy about long bus rides, this one had the benefit of fantastic scenery. Tanzania really is a beautiful place. It's filled with never-ending mountains and lush countryside dotted with little villages and towns.
Dar is quite a change from all that. It's a sprawling city, with suburbs spilling out in every direction. Our hotel is located in a ramshackle part of town, which seems to be predominantly Indian. Most of the architecture is from the 1930s, and doesn't appear to have been fixed up much since that time. The buildings' facades are crumbling with age, and blackened by pollution. This is just the old part of town, though -- the city centre is more modern, with its gleaming office buildings and modern hotels.
I've found that Dar's reputation as a sketchy, scary city is much overrated. Sure, there's a lot of hassle. Lots of aggressive hawkers and taxi drivers. Lots of pan handlers. Lots of people and traffic. But the hassle from people on the street isn't any worse than in Zanzibar, for example, and the traffic is nothing compared to Nairobi. My major beef with Dar is really the heat. Yes, Zanzibar was hot, but at least then you could escape to the waterfront or the top of a tall building for some ocean breeze. Here the air is trapped between buildings, and is heated from car exhaust and the reflection of office windows. There are beaches, but it takes at least an hour to get to them from the city centre. The beaches are truly beautiful, though. It's amazing that such tranquility and clear waters lie so close to such chaos.
Here I've mostly been working on school applications and making arrangements for my next steps. Soon I'll be heading to Morogoro, a town a few hours West of Dar, to work with one of IIN's partner organizations for a little while. Then it's off to Cape Town in mid-November. So there's lots to look forward to.
The bus ride was quite long -- about nine hours and we arrived in the city just as the sun was setting. Though I'm not crazy about long bus rides, this one had the benefit of fantastic scenery. Tanzania really is a beautiful place. It's filled with never-ending mountains and lush countryside dotted with little villages and towns.
Dar is quite a change from all that. It's a sprawling city, with suburbs spilling out in every direction. Our hotel is located in a ramshackle part of town, which seems to be predominantly Indian. Most of the architecture is from the 1930s, and doesn't appear to have been fixed up much since that time. The buildings' facades are crumbling with age, and blackened by pollution. This is just the old part of town, though -- the city centre is more modern, with its gleaming office buildings and modern hotels.
I've found that Dar's reputation as a sketchy, scary city is much overrated. Sure, there's a lot of hassle. Lots of aggressive hawkers and taxi drivers. Lots of pan handlers. Lots of people and traffic. But the hassle from people on the street isn't any worse than in Zanzibar, for example, and the traffic is nothing compared to Nairobi. My major beef with Dar is really the heat. Yes, Zanzibar was hot, but at least then you could escape to the waterfront or the top of a tall building for some ocean breeze. Here the air is trapped between buildings, and is heated from car exhaust and the reflection of office windows. There are beaches, but it takes at least an hour to get to them from the city centre. The beaches are truly beautiful, though. It's amazing that such tranquility and clear waters lie so close to such chaos.
Here I've mostly been working on school applications and making arrangements for my next steps. Soon I'll be heading to Morogoro, a town a few hours West of Dar, to work with one of IIN's partner organizations for a little while. Then it's off to Cape Town in mid-November. So there's lots to look forward to.
Arusha
To me, the most remarkable thing about Arusha (aside from the gorgeous mountain views) was the number of wedding parties roaming the town on weekends. And it's not just about the people in cars decorated with ribbons and flowers, and the huge groups of women dressed in loud, beautiful patterns -- the amazing thing is that every single wedding party has their own personal brass band which follows them everywhere. You'll see groups of cars passing by, one of which will be a pickup truck, the back filled with dancing, cheering guests, followed by another pickup truck bristling with musicians. They're playing old, beat-up looking instruments (I saw one trombone that was held together by elastic bands), and are slightly quavery and off-pitch, but that doesn't damped their spirits in the least. The brass instruments are joined by drums, and the cumulative effect is something like a high school marching band. But they're playing away like it's the best damn music in the world. I just love their exuberance.
The place I stayed in Arusha was a far cry from the luxurious hotels and camps I experienced over the previous couple of weeks while traveling with my parents. It was a very basic place, right in the middle of the city's central market. The view from my room's window was of rusted tin roofs and concrete walls topped with glistening broken glass, with beautiful Mount Meru looming in the background. In the morning, I was greeted by the sights and sounds of trade -- the men carving and polishing wooden furniture by the side of the road, the women whipping up fabulous creations on their old-fashioned sewing machines, the piles of jeans and rubber boots and pipes and dishes. The little cafes nearby sold thick, sweet chai and traditional dishes (lots of rice-based stuff like pilau, and lots of meat).
Aside from the bustle of hawkers and vendors, Arusha is a bit of a sleepy town. It's a nice place, to be sure, but not a lot going on. I had stayed for a few days and I think that was about the right amount of time. It's clear that Arusha's government is really trying hard to boost tourism in the area by capitalizing on its convenient location for the northern park route, and its safety for people attending conferences and such, but the city itself still has little draw. They would do well to bring more cultural attractions and nightlife to the town, I think.
The best part of Arusha was really just spending some time with Lesikar, who was our guide on the safari -- he was wonderful, keeping me company and showing me around. George also joined me at the end of my stay, which was fabulous -- I really missed him during my vacation, and he brought me some vital items from home as well! George also joined me in the next leg of my journey, to Dar es Salaam.
The place I stayed in Arusha was a far cry from the luxurious hotels and camps I experienced over the previous couple of weeks while traveling with my parents. It was a very basic place, right in the middle of the city's central market. The view from my room's window was of rusted tin roofs and concrete walls topped with glistening broken glass, with beautiful Mount Meru looming in the background. In the morning, I was greeted by the sights and sounds of trade -- the men carving and polishing wooden furniture by the side of the road, the women whipping up fabulous creations on their old-fashioned sewing machines, the piles of jeans and rubber boots and pipes and dishes. The little cafes nearby sold thick, sweet chai and traditional dishes (lots of rice-based stuff like pilau, and lots of meat).
Aside from the bustle of hawkers and vendors, Arusha is a bit of a sleepy town. It's a nice place, to be sure, but not a lot going on. I had stayed for a few days and I think that was about the right amount of time. It's clear that Arusha's government is really trying hard to boost tourism in the area by capitalizing on its convenient location for the northern park route, and its safety for people attending conferences and such, but the city itself still has little draw. They would do well to bring more cultural attractions and nightlife to the town, I think.
The best part of Arusha was really just spending some time with Lesikar, who was our guide on the safari -- he was wonderful, keeping me company and showing me around. George also joined me at the end of my stay, which was fabulous -- I really missed him during my vacation, and he brought me some vital items from home as well! George also joined me in the next leg of my journey, to Dar es Salaam.
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