African Unity at 50 or the Burden of our Nationalities

It was a very impressive month of May for me this year. I followed the 50th anniversary of the Organisation of African Unity, now African Union.  The round tables, the semi-circles and the plenaries.  Most of the debates are decades old and the same questions that were asked 50 years ago are still on the  table. They have aged but are still alive.

Incidentally, I travelled to Stockholm, Sweden about the same time. Like is the case in many of these gatherings, the Swedish Ministry of Foreign Affairs and SIDA - The Swedish International Development Agency, the organisers of the Stockholm Internet Forum, had done a great job of  making sure that key Freedom of/on the Internet figures from Africa were there. From East to West, North to South, via Central.. they were folks from all across Africa. There were more Africans there, than we had at the Africa Internet Governance Forum in Cairo, last year.

I met Jacob Akol, from South Sudan, in Stockholm. He gave me a book, with a very provocative title. I committed to reading it and since I have been traveling since then, I have been reading bits and chunks of it.  It turned out to to be not just an impressive book, but also one that came in time. Akol, in his memoirs really did a region by region experience of Africa, recounting very sordid experiences of human suffering, resilience, wickedness and corruption. He has been to almost all 54 countries of Africa.

I am happy I asked for an autograph before even I opened the book to begin reading. I will cherish it. And yes, if you see "Burden of Nationality" anywhere, buy several copies, one for yourself, and for others.

My other May experience was in the visit of a friend. Of Zimbabwean origin, this friend had to visit a Francophone country in West Africa. Granted, that particular country did not have a consular representation in Harare. So my friend asked, and yes, you guessed right, she had to go to the French embassy to get this visa:

For frequent travelers, one can see that this kind of "République Française Visa" was the ones used at about the same time the Organisation of African Unity existed. Before France and other European countries started issuing  the Schengen travel visas.

I asked me several questions:

1. So in May 2013, an African national still goes to a European embassy to apply for visa to visit another African country?
2. So after so many years of "Independence", African countries are still being diplomatically represented by "colonial masters"?
3. What is the meaning of  Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS) if ECOWAS countries cannot issue visas for sister countries in locations where they do not have consular representations?  In the case of my Swedish visa, it was issued by the Belgian embassy in Abidjan

My other "burden of nationality" story in May 2013 was that of  a Nigerian IT Professional, officer in a Pan-African Foundation for IT, who was booked for the eLearning Africa  Conference in Namibia. After having obtained the Namibian visa, he now had to obtain a transit visa from the Republic of South Africa. The total duration of his transit, going and coming, was not up to 24 hours and he was not going to be stepping out of the airport in Joburg.  He was certain the transit visa was not going to be a problem and packed for the trip, planning to pick it up and head straight to the airport for check in. He was refused the South African transit visa. Yes, the trip was called off.

This one really broke me. While Heads of States are feasting and congratulating each other on the 50th anniversary of African Union, or is Unity.. everyday Africans, like me, are asking questions:

1. What exactly is African Unity?
2. Why  do we still go through strenuous and humiliating visa procedures for travel within Africa, after enduring the humiliations inflicted on us by non-African countries?
3. When will African Union become a union of citizens and not of heads of states?

It is June 9, 2013 today. There is talk for a vision and an African  agenda  for 2063.  What can we say, if we look back from the scramble for Africa in 1884, to the days of the slave trade, the Independence of the 1960s,  and all these years of "freedom"...

The first  50 years are gone and next slate of 50 years is being discussed:

1. Will you be around and alive in 2063? Many of us will not
2. Will Africans still  be blaming their colonial masters for everything?
3. How many African Heads of state will still be battling "imperialists" and "Western neo-colonists"
4. When can  Africans travel freely, at least in Africa?

Simply put, when are we, in Africa, going to get rid of the burden of our nationalities?

Is Abidjan back? De retour à Abidjan

Je suis rentrée à Abidjan. J'écris de la maison sur ce vieux divan qui me connait tant! Il y a pas mal de poussière mais .. bof! C'est chez moi. Quand la voiture s'est garée avec mes 4 valises et deux autres sacs, tous les gardiens du quartier ont “fait mouvement” vers moi. Ils étaient tous heureux. Je connais le sourire jaune du vieux Mamoudou, édénté! Il y en a qui ne voulaient pas attendre que je monte avant de commencer leur histoire. “Ah madame, on eu chaud ehh”. “Vraiment c'était dure, dure même”.

Dès mon aéroport d'embarquement, la sécurité nous a demandé les carnets de vaccination. “Nous avons reçu un courrier d'Abidjan faisant savoir qu'avant d'embarquer, il faudra se mûnir de son certificat de vaccination”. Je savais qu'on contrôlait à la déscente à l'aéroport mais là.. c'est nouveau. Je ressens un peu de fierté. Alors on m'a contrôlé. Je ne sais pas si c'est pour cholera ou c'est pour la fievre jaune.

Fin d'enregistrement. Je sens mes intérieurs trembler.. ce genre de “frisson-fièvre-félicité” qui s'emparait de moi quand j'avais 8 à 15 ans.. quand il s'agissait d'aller en colonnie de vacances. C'était un genre d'enthousiasme, mêlé de joie, d'attente des aventures, avec une pincée de soulagement “d'avoir à partir d'un endroit que j'aimais moins à un autre que j'aimais plus”. Au Duty Free, j'achete un gros paquet de chocolat blanc de Toblorone. Pas question de ne pas fêter ça!

Attérisage à Abidjan. Comme tout bon abidjanais, j'allume mon portable, et je contrôle mon crédit restant. Ouais, le roaming, ça coute cher. Tout va bien. Je sors de ma classe affaire presqu'en courant. Dans ma tête, ça disait “il faut que je respire, il faut que je respire”! Car chaque ville a son air. L'air d'Abidjan, c'est unique. C'est pas aussi sec que l'air d'Accra. Il y a moins d'agression dans l'air d'Abidjan que l'air de Lagos. C'est plus accueillant que l'air parisien. Je sais.. pas. C'est la lagune, la verdure et l'humidite tout melangé!

Il y a le premier contrôle. Des passports CEDEAO (Communauté économique des états de l'Afrique de l'ouest) n'ont pas de problème. On descend, et il y a le contôle de la “fameuse” carte jeune de vaccination. En suite, l'immigration. Je constate que certaines choses ont changé. Il y a des girdons pour permettre aux beaucoup plus d'arrivants de faire un rang organisé. Certains “vieux” visages sont là. Je constate un changement dans le comportement des officiers. Plus de respect. Je leur donne “Assez bien”.

Baggages prit, je me dirige vers les douaniers. On m'interpelle. Il s'agit de l'imprimante. La dame me demande d'aller à leur bureau. J'obeis. Une dame officier se trouve là. Elle contrôle chaque valise. Se rassure, et me demande de partir. Dans ma tête j'attendais une certaine “donc tu as envoyé quoi pour nous?”. Cette question n'est pas arrivée. Un jeune m'aide à refaire les valises, les remonter dans les chariots. Je lui offre un baton de Toblerone. Quand je fais ça.. ce que je suis contente du service rendu! Je note les douaniers “très bien”

Je change un billet de 50$. Je reçois 23000 Francs CFA. Mon ancien “client” est toujours là. Je tourne, et voici le vieux! Cela fait au moins 5 ans que ce vieux aux cheveaux gris est devenu mon ami. Il m'accueille avec une chaleur.. à fondre le coeur. Je lui demande de trouver un taxi qui a un gros coffre. Mais il a pris une minute pour me raconter comment il a eu à vivre la guerre. “C'était pas facile ma fille.. mais Dieu est grand”. J'achete une carte de recharge.. pour Internet. En ce moment je respirais déjà Abidjan plein les poumons! Ils sont là! La foule qui vient accueiller! Debout, regards à 360 dégrees attendant leur biens aimés. Ils sont là! Le bramôgos djosseurs. Ceux qui se débrouillent à l'aéroport comme le vieux; le type qui me change des devises, celui qui vend les cartes.. tout le monde est là! Je note 'RAS – rien à signaler'.

Les taxis étaient aussi là.. avec les mêmes airs des vautours autour d'un animal mourant. Ils se bagarrent encore a cause des clients. Ils surfacturent toujours. Mais celui sur lequel je suis tombée est vraiment d'une race à part. La voiture était dans un était piteux. Le chauffeur sale, vraiment sale. Le corps, l'habille et chaussures. L'haleine, je vous epargne sa déscription. Normallement j'aurais du commencer une conversation avec lui.. mais l'odeur..

Comment se fait il que ces gens qui sont les premiers à recevoir les arrivants une fois hors de l'aéroport ne sont pas controlés? Pourquoi ne sont ils pas en uniforme? Pourquoi n'afficheons nous pas les tariffs? Comment se fait-il qu'un chauffeur me demande de lui payer 15000 Francs CFA pour une course de l'aéroport à la commune de Cocody? Si on me “mange” comme ça, qu'en est il de ceux qui arrivent à Abidjan pour la première fois, qui ne savent pas exactement où se trouve leur destination? Comment demande t-on une personne de sortir d'un avion, de classe affaire, pour ne pas trouver un taxi climatisé? Pour combien de temps durera ce traumatisme? A qui incombe le travail? A qui devrais-je m'addresser?

Bon, on engage la route. Je constate que les éléphants sont partis, détruits. J'avais appris que les gars du carrefour Akwaaba étaient parti aussi, mais je voulais vérifier de mes propres yeux.. tellement j'en avais marre de ce point de contrôle. Oui, ils sont partis. De l'aéroport jusqu'à chez moi, je n'ai pas vu un barrage. Pas un seul. Au niveau de Café de Versaille, j'ai vu un groupe des hommes en tenue. C'est marqué FRCI. Franchement, je n'ai pas un bon souvenir d'un groupe de militaire.. donc moins je les voir.. mieux ça vaut pour moi.

C'était quoi même le titre de ce blog? Bon je voulais juste m'intéroger.. me demander si Abidjan est de retour? Je crois qu'elle y arrive. Je constate que les efforts y sont consenti. Je vois ce peuple qui ne veut pas baisser les bras.. on y arrivera. J'y crois.

Il faut tout de même garder les yeux ouverts. Il y a certaines choses où on doit aller doucement pour bien les refaire.. mais il y a d'autres qu'il faut faire “en bris”. L'union c'est en douceur.. mais la discipline et le travail.. ceux là, on doit y aller d'une manière résolue.

Demain je vais tourner. Comme on dit à Abidjan, “je vais mettre Abidjan sur ma tête”. Il faut que mon corps, mon esprit, mon ame, mes pensées, mon imagination, mes sensations, ma peau, mes rognons.. sachent qu'ils sont à Abidjan. Il y a aussi des coins qui me doivent certains services. Le coin de choukouya, le coin de poulet et poisson piqué, les allocodromes.. mon aestheticienne, mon couturier, mon église.. SOCOCE, Prima, Orca.. vraiment.. ils sont “foule”

Dès mon reveil, je vais me chausser et me tapper mon itinéraire de footing habituel. Au retour je vais faire une pause chez la burkinabé chez qui j'achete mon gombo, tomate, oignon et poisson magne! Je prendrais mon temps pour saluer les enfants.. ceux à qui je dois des bonbons depuis des mois. Je vais m'assurer que mes voisins sont tous là..

Je vais reprendre ma vie!

Travel by phone: how ICT adds zest to my life!

Yesterday I did a different kind of travel.  I traveled through the greater Accra, the Central, the Eastern and finally the Western regions of Ghana.  All the time, seated in front of my computer, doing research,  and drafting a paper for an African-Union related institution.

Where did I go?  I took off from Accra, to a place called Kade in the Eastern region.  There is a research facility in a tiny village off Kade and there was a meetup scheduled there.  The initial journey was okay.. and the business of the day was done.

But the journey back was the THE one.  "I" was no longer coming back to Accra but going to Takoradi, in the Western region.  So the challenge was to come from Kade to somewhere in the Central region, either to a place called Mankessim  or to Winneba junction.  I needed to go from Kade to Swedru and onwards.

It was raining.. and we were looking for a  nice restaurant too!  Then hopefully, short cut, to link Swedru to Mankessim.  We passed through the villages, all named "Agona" something, then finally to Swedru itself. I have always thought that Swedru was a big place.. but well.  When we stopped by to ask "How far is Swedru from here"?  The answer was  "This is Swedru you are in".. Ah okay..

Then that question, can we go directly to Mankesssim from Swedru or do we need to come back to Winneba junction before going on..  we asked three different groups on the way.  Two of them said you must go down to Winneba junction, one said maybe you can find a way. So we decided to go down to Winneba junction.

The rain let up a bit after Winneba junction, finally caught launch: fufu and bushmeat at a restaurant a bit before Apam junction.  Then hit the road again.  The rain came back.. by the time we passed by Mankessim, it was 5:30 PM but was a dark ast 7:30 PM.  The decision needed to be taken.  Do we continue to go all the way to Takoradi or stop in Cape Coast for the night?  By 7PM, we pulled into a nice little hotel in Cape Coast, not far from the STC bus station and checked in there..

Then the attendant looked and said: "Oh, Master, your tyre is flat"! Well, get some rest, the gas station is opposite.. we will fix all of that in the morning! And will be in Takoradi before 10 AM!

Nice trip huh?  Well, dont forget I said I did all of that on phone!  I was just speaking with the person inside the car..while they drove.. all of that distance..

Oh yeah! Phone call rates are getting cheaper..if you have a "preferred" number.. you can talk all day, talk all night.. and travel... on phone!

Journey to Kiremba (Kissing the clouds)

Burundi is one of the war-thorn countries in Africa. I bet the only images you have seen from there are those of thin war-weary soldiers carrying guns that are about the same height with them. Or maybe the ones of women and children with clothloads of property running away from villages to seek refuge from... the soldiers...

As the plane was descending to Bujumbura... I "saw" why the region was called the great lakes region. There were waters, lakes, rivers, mingling with green rolling hills... So before touchdown, my mind made itself up to enjoy the place.

I had come to do the Monitoring and Evaluation of projects run by the Digital Solidarity Fund

The Airport in Bujumbura had a country architecture - in the form of hills and valleys.. Once you hit the main road to town, there is this big billboard with BB and BB. Brussels and Bujumbura, Belgium and Burundi... inciting you to fly Brussels Airlines... Yup!

I enjoyed the fresh fruits for the days I spent in Bujumbura city. The fishes that you eat in the restaurants are from the nearest lakes... they have a kind of freshness that is akin to milk... aie aie aie!

Okay, so we are on our way to Kiremba. The journey will take 4 hours up and down the hills. Ah! So Rwanda is not the only country that has a 1000 hills? No. Burundi also does.. So over there, you dont travel from place to place or town to town.... you travel from hill to hill. And every hill has its name..

Boy, those guys can build winding roads. Up, up, up, up, and up. Then down, down, down and down. Green, greener, green and greener! Beautiful!

Then my ears start... the feeling you get in the plane... due to the altitude... And when I look down, its tea farms to the left, banana farms to my right. Green and beautiful!

All this time inching up, up, into the clouds... literally... until we went right into them.

I begged them to let me out. Those things were clouds, real ones, all around... I let them caress my hands. I just stood in the middle of it all. Breathings huge lung-fulls of the pure goodness.

Trust me, I stuck out my tongue... and tasted the freshness... It tasted like...forget it... the only word is heaven!

Lost in the mountains, Kiremba welcomes us. Bernabé, who was leading us was a 60-year old guys. He kept talking about his parents - both of them. We go round the projects talk with people who are accessing the Internet on connections brought in with a satellite .... shared their joys, the challenges and their hopes.

Then we went off to see the school, the church, the hospital and the Orphanage
Bernabé's father shows up, he has walked down from his hill to the orphanage. He was going to lead us round to the farms that help supply food and milk to the more than 100 children in the orphanage. We were going downhill. The man looked good for his age, healthy and smiling. But since it was a bit slippery going down, I offered my hand and he took it.

Then we come to this place where you need to take a wide step. I felt it was better to hold his back and let him step over before I do. Then I noticed his hand was on my back...

Hang on! Who is assisting who here? The old man says he was holding me to make sure I did not fall! Oh my! So it was the 90-year old man that was leading me.. I asked why, because I felt he was the one needing assistance...

No, he said. I was born and bred in Kiremba. These hill paths know my footsteps. And I know every winding path around here.

After the visit, he takes us to his own hill to see his wife. I look at this couple who have been lovers for over 70 years. They live on their own, no heart issues, no eye glasses, no major health issues...

And I tell me.... these guys are still around for many more years to come...