Often, the soil in tropical forests is not well suited to agriculture and can be farmed for only a few years. Unless the subsistence farmers practice good land management, the soil degrades quickly, and they are forced to encroach further into the forests and grasslands. When rains fall, the earth is washed into the rivers, leaving barren land behind. As the trees are cut, the landscape is transformed, and the risks of soil erosion and desertification increase. In this way, a cycle is set in motion that not only threatens the survival of the people who rely on the ecosystems' resources—its watersheds and rainfall patterns, its flora and fauna—but also has the potential to endanger the climatic systems on which the entire planet depends.
To be sure, individuals such as myself—government ministers, university professors, civil society activists, and development specialists—need to be involved in crafting policies and legislation both within and across our countries' borders for utilizing natural resources sustainably and sharing them more equitably. But sometimes when we do our work in high-level meetings, we're not making changes where they really matter—in this case, in the world where that farmer places her blade in the soil. If she's not given assistance to stop farming the way she was on that hillside, she'll finish the business of destruction begun by the previous generation and exacerbated by poor governance, expanded by globalization, and intensified by the failure in Africa to focus on development that benefits the African people.
I don't blame the farmer for attempting to eke out a living. Because of my work with the Green Belt Movement planting trees with communities in Kenya, including many in the country's Central Highlands, I know how hard it is to grow anything on a slope! But, as I stood there that morning, the woman on the hillside in Yaoundé came to represent to me the collective challenges that face many African countries.
I wondered how much of the revenue of the hotel—which was owned by a foreign corporation—was making its way into the government's coffers, and then, in turn, how much of that money the government was investing in its agricultural sector, including in an extension service, that could educate the woman and assist her in farming more sustainably. I thought about what the farmer's situation might have been fifty or a hundred years earlier, when there were fewer people, stronger social and community networks, and no hotels, and whether a woman of that generation—someone not unlike my own mother, who grew her own food for almost her entire life—would have considered herself happier or wealthier than her fellow African subsistence farmer of today.
If the African states' agricultural extension services had not been underfunded or neglected in the decades since African nations became independent, this farmer not only might have learned the right way to prepare the soil for planting, she also might have had access to information, modern equipment, and governmental support that would have enabled her to farm more efficiently and less destructively. Perhaps she might even have had extension or agricultural cooperative officers who would have assisted her, instead of exploiting her and taking advantage of her poverty, illiteracy, and powerlessness. If, in turn, development practitioners and international agencies had, in their work with national governments, given more priority to investing in Africa's farmers, the continent's agriculture might not be in such poor condition today. And that woman farmer might not be practicing such destructive agriculture.
If African states had prioritized the budgets and work of the ministries of agriculture and environment instead of defense and internal security—indeed, if governments had concentrated on practical measures that helped their people rather than, at times, investing in grandiose, attention-seeking projects or misguided attempts to satisfy the demands of outside investors, often at the expense of their own peoples—then perhaps long ago the woman would have been provided with land more suitable for farming than that hillside.
If the continent's governments had organized their development priorities so that productive land itself had been used more wisely, natural resources conserved, and suitable urban planning undertaken, the farmer might not have been forced up that hillside. If they had addressed the inequities of land distribution left over from the colonial period, then not only might many of the conflicts that have plagued the continent been avoided or lessened in intensity, but this woman might not have been tilling that steep slope. If they had advocated more forcefully for the industrialized nations to reduce their own agricultural subsidies, and had argued for fairer trading terms, then this farmer might have had a greater number of markets and a better price for her produce.
If the African leaders had invested more in education, the creation of sustainable employment options, and inclusive economies, and if they had been more concerned with the welfare of their people and not with their own enrichment, then perhaps this farmer would have gone to school. Perhaps she would not have been a subsistence farmer but instead a manager for a larger, more efficient farm that could have freed her from grinding poverty.
I also asked myself this: How many people concerned with the continent's development—Africans and non-Africans alike—would even have noticed such a woman on the hillside? Although many of the politicians and others who work in the various ministries of the environment, public works, human development, or health throughout Africa are intelligent and educated, and may be highly motivated, how many even see farmers such as the ones I saw that day? Shuttled from hotel to conference center and back in luxury cars, accustomed to high-powered meetings with donors or officials, many policymakers may not take the time to recognize how hard the people of Africa are working to make a living in circumstances that are getting more difficult, day after weary day.
I may notice individuals like this woman because I have worked with people like her in the Green Belt Movement tree-planting campaign. I strongly believe that if Africa, particularly that part of the continent south of the Sahara, is to progress so it is no longer dependent on aid from the international community, or if it is to cease being a byword for poverty, conflict, and corruption, it is on hillsides like these and with women such as that farmer that we must work. That's where those of us concerned about the fate of Africa and her citizens must focus our energies, for it is where the vast majority of Africa's peoples are, and it is with their lives that we must engage.
Unless that farmer—and millions of others like her—acquires what she needs to develop her skills and educate herself and her children, and is encouraged to make decisions that can take her on a different path, then future generations will look back fifty or a hundred years from now and shake their heads. They'll experience expanding deserts and degraded lands, and increased numbers of displaced people migrating in search of food, water, and greener pastures, sometimes across national borders. They'll suffer through the inevitable conflicts that occur when people scramble for scarce resources.
THE LEADERSHIP REVOLUTION
The Challenge for Africa lays down a set of principles for what it will take to change the life of that farmer, who represents the 65 percent of Africans who continue to rely on subsistence agriculture; to avoid the crises of the future; and to ensure that Africans alive today experience good governance, basic freedoms that include respect for human rights, development that's both equitable and sustainable, and peace. Some of the measures I suggest to counter Africa's many challenges are practical—an engagement in grassroots democracy and the strengthening of civil society, so people's energies can be released to shape their own lives and development priorities, and governments can support them in realizing their vision.
Other measures are less tangible. Fundamentally, I argue, Africa needs a revolution in leadership—not only from the politicians who govern, but from an active citizenry that places its country above the narrow needs of its own ethnic group or community. Those in power—the presidents, prime ministers, politicians, and other elites—have to recognize that the way Africa has been conducting its affairs of state has neither protected nor promoted the welfare of the continent's citizens nor provided for
the long-term growth and stability of its nations. This ought to be unacceptable to the new leadership in Africa.
The revolution I propose requires the development of policies that work for the benefit of all citizens rather than the advantage of a few. It necessitates standing up to international interests that seek access to the considerable natural resources with which Africa is blessed for less than their fair market value. It entails implementing decisions that encourage the dynamism and entrepreneurship of African peoples, protecting them from unfair competition, and nurturing economies that add value to the commodities the rest of the world desires so much.
The revolution demands that its leaders not merely support honesty and transparency in government from the president and the highest ministerial level to the grassroots, but embody it in their behavior as well. No longer should African leaders or their supporters play politics with ethnicity, grab public lands, sell off national resources, and loot the treasury—or tolerate such actions by others. They must foster values such as fairness, justice, and working for the common good rather than turning a blind eye to violence and exploitation, or promoting narrow self-interest and opportunism.
Perhaps the most important quality that the African leadership needs to embrace, and which is desperately lacking across the continent, is a sense of service to their people. Too many Africans still live in hope that their leaders will be magnanimous enough not to take advantage of their weakness and vulnerability, and instead to remove the causes for why so many continue to live in fear.
The revolution in leadership and the need to instill a sense of service cannot be confined only to those at the top of African societies, however. Even the poorest and least empowered of Africa's citizens need to rid themselves of a culture that tolerates systemic corruption and inefficiency, as well as self-destructive tendencies and selfishness. They must grasp the available opportunities and not wait for someone else magically to make development happen for them; they must realize that, no matter how meager their capacities and resources, they have the means to protect what is theirs. Africa's peoples, wherever they are in society, need to hold politicians and themselves accountable, value long-term sustainability over short-term gain and instant gratification, and plan wisely for an uncertain future rather than settle for an expedient present. Instead of milking the cow called Africa to death, everyone should feed, nurture, and love her so she can thrive and provide.
Africa has been on her knees for too long, whether during the dehumanizing slave trade, under the colonial yoke, begging for aid from the international community, paying now-illegitimate debts, or praying for miracles. At both the top and the bottom, all Africans must change the mind-set that affects many colonized peoples everywhere. They must believe in themselves again; that they are capable of clearing their own path and forging their own identity; that they have a right to be governed with justice, accountability, and transparency; that they can honor and practice their cultures and make them relevant to today's needs; and that they no longer need to be indebted—financially, intellectually, and spiritually—to those who once governed them. They must rise up and walk.
In confronting these challenges, the environment needs to be at the center of all decision making. Neither Africa nor the world can afford for the continent to continue to be solely the resource base for the industrialization and development of countries outside her borders—whether in Europe, the Americas, or Asia. Instead, together, African countries and the international community should enable the African peoples to protect their precious ecosystems—the land, wetlands, fisheries, rivers, lakes, forests, and mountains—and use them responsibly, equitably, and sustainably. Development practices must be conceived and implemented holistically.
If a critical mass of Africans adopts an attitude of preservation over exploitation, collective responsibility over individual gain, and common feeling for the continent rather than narrow ethnic nationalism, they will have a chance to survive. They will also have an opportunity to experience an African revival such as what I believe Thabo Mbeki, the former president of South Africa, envisioned when he invoked the African Renaissance.
My concern for an African revival is personal. As I described in my autobiography, Unbowed, my life represents the aspirations—as well as the complexities—of the contemporary African citizen. Unlike many others who write about or lead large-scale efforts in support of Africa, I am not an economist, a social scientist, or a political theorist. I haven't worked on the staff of a donor agency or large international development organization. Just about all my life has been spent in Kenya. By training, I am a biological scientist and taught for many years at the University of Nairobi. For five years I served in Kenya's parliament, as well as in the government of President Mwai Kibaki as an assistant minister for Environment and Natural Resources. But for more than thirty years I have remained a keen member of civil society, especially through my work with the Green Belt Movement.
I was raised in central Kenya in a rural village with no modern amenities. I grew up in the shadow of both Mount Kenya and colonialism's last throes. My community, the Kikuyus, was adversely affected by colonial expansion: traumatized by physical displacement, the gradual and systematic extermination of many good aspects of our culture, and the oppressive reaction to the Mau Mau struggle for self-determination and Kenya's independence. This history has challenged the community's ability to raise subsequent generations of children, many of whom have drifted onto the streets or are members of the outlawed Mungiki sect. Many African peoples experienced similar assaults on their societies over the course of several centuries. Such deculturation has left many Africans ill-equipped to deal with the forces of modernity, principally political and economic systems that are still alien to them, and may not be in their, or Africa's, best interests.
Yet I'm also someone who benefited extensively from the opportunities provided by a Western model of education, introduced by the colonial administration. I know firsthand how the liberating self-determination of Western culture can act as a positive force in one's life. (Without it, I probably wouldn't be writing this book and sharing my thoughts.) Nevertheless, I believe passionately in the need for African communities to discover the value of embracing their own destiny and determining their own futures, rather than solely and passively relying on outside forces.
My dual identities—both “Western” and “African,” local and international, a member of the elite and someone from a rural background—capture the essence of what might be perhaps the deepest and most complex issue of all facing Africa: what it means to be an African today. Part of this identity is one not determined by Africans themselves. Too often, it seems, Africa has been seen as ungovernable, incomprehensible, and immune to the efforts of more enlightened nations' attempts to civilize it—in short, as unable to help itself. Africans too often have allowed themselves to be defined by these retrogressive stereotypes and have not seen themselves as they are: a spectacularly varied and dynamic cluster of what I call “micro-nations”—communities bound together by their environment, experiences, culture, and history that interact with other communities within the larger nation-state and region. Africans must reclaim and embrace their diversity if they are to flourish.
As the title of this book suggests, the work that needs to be done will be hard, for those who lead as well as for those who are led. And while Africans should continue to welcome the international agencies, donor nations, and private ventures that have expressed an interest in helping the continent develop in a manner both sustainable and just, ultimately the fate of the continent depends on its citizens. It cannot be overemphasized: Africans must decide to manage their natural resources responsibly and accountably, agree to share them more equitably, and use them for the good of fellow Africans. Otherwise, they will continue to allow outside forces to seduce or bully their governments into arrangements that allow those resources to be removed from the continent for a pittance. It is for Africans to determine wheth
er they will work hard to build up their own talents and abilities, strengthen their democracies and institutions of governance, and foster their peoples' creativity and industry. Or, instead, whether they will continue to nurture a culture of dependency through the acceptance of loans and development assistance, which has resulted in too many Africans waiting for outside help instead of unleashing their energies and capabilities and taking actions today that will improve their lives in the future.
Only Africans can resolve to provide leadership that is responsible, accountable, and incorruptible. It is they who must embrace their cultural diversity, restore their sense of self-worth, and use both to create thriving nations, regions, and the continent itself. It is they who must begin the revolution in ethics that puts community before individualism, public good before private greed, and commitment to service before cynicism and despair.
Of course, these challenges apply not only to Africa but to the world as a whole. It is a simple, although often overlooked, fact that the planet's biological resources are finite, and that the current development path is imperiling the ecosystems on which human life and livelihoods depend. Reimagining ways of relating to the environment must become the major concern of the citizens of every country on this planet. This is especially important now that the scientific consensus is that climate change is already upon us and that Africa in particular will be negatively impacted. The challenge for Africa is, therefore, a challenge for all of us, too.
A LEGACY OF WOES
ONE OF THE major tragedies of postcolonial Africa is that the African peoples have trusted their leaders, but only a few of those leaders have honored that trust. What has held Africa back, and continues to do so, has its origins in a lack of principled, ethical leadership. Leadership is an expression of a set of values; its presence, or the lack of it, determines the direction of a society, and affects not only the actions but the motivations and visions of the individuals and communities that make up that society. Leadership is intimately influenced by culture and history, which determine how leadership perceives itself and allows itself to serve: whether it has self-respect, and how it shapes public and foreign policy. I have no doubt that independent African states would have made far more progress if they had been guided by leaders motivated by a sense of service to their people and who therefore practiced better governance, creating opportunities for their people to prosper.
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