As deforestation gathers speed, women are forced to walk longer and longer distances to find wood for cooking and heating and clean water. In times of environmental difficulty, children, particularly girls, may be taken out of school to help with harvests and the collection of wood and water, or to look after their younger siblings as their mother's workload increases. Thus, protecting the mountain forests would help achieve gender equality (MDG 3) and improve the chances that all girls complete primary school, and as a result have a chance to continue their education to a higher level (MDG 2).
In addition, many of Kenya's national parks, and the wildlife within them, benefit from the Tana River and the rainfall from Mount Kenya and the Aberdares. (The presence of two species of monkey, more commonly found in Uganda and Congo, in the Tana basin is a reminder of the rainforests that once covered much of Africa from west to east.) If the mountains' ecosystems are destroyed, the savannahs will not be sustained. Tourism then will be a thing of the past, even though it's one of the most important sectors of the Kenyan economy and a major generator of employment, which, of course, contributes to poverty reduction. It goes without saying that city dwellers also depend on the environment's capacity to provide food, sources of energy, and water.
All of these challenges to human development could be avoided or their intensity reduced if the government managed the forested mountain ecosystems more sustainably. As it is now, the impact of the forests' destruction is felt by many economic sectors, and it is frustrating efforts to realize all but one of the MDGs, number eight, which calls for “a global partnership for development.” But when a country has been unable to realize the other MDGs, how can it form a partnership for development? The very basis for such development is absent.
Likewise, Ethiopia, which had 40 percent forest cover at the turn of the twentieth century, has only 3 percent today—a result of a cash crop economy, overgrazing, and the use of trees for fuelwood, all of which have contributed to the threat of famine. This is holding its own development back.3
As it currently stands, Africa's economies will need to grow by upward of 7 percent per year if they're to keep pace with efforts to halve extreme poverty (MDG 1) by 2015.4 Even though it's true that Africa had further to go in 2000 to meet the MDGs than other developing regions, it should be a cause of some embarrassment to the peoples of Africa that most countries on the continent are unlikely to have met a majority of the MDGs by the target date.
THE ESTABLISHMENT OF MONOCULTURES
The situation in Kenya is not helped by the establishment of monocultural plantations of exotic species of trees (a scheme until recently known as the shamba system). During the 1930s and ’40s, the British colonial authorities deemed large sections of the five “water towers” (Mount Kenya, Aberdare, Mau complex, Cherangani hills, and Mount Elgon) suitable for commercial plantations of fast-growing species of pines from the Northern Hemisphere and eucalyptus from the Southern. The eucalyptus and pines were intended to provide timber for the then-emerging building industry and firewood for steam engines. Local flora were considered slow-growing and economically less exploit able than imported species of trees, and, therefore, large sections of indigenous forests were clear-cut and replanted with the imported tree species.
To manage the plantations of nonindigenous trees that were established, the colonial administration introduced a farming method—called shamba, which means “field” in Kiswahili—whereby the forestry department allowed communities living near the forests to cultivate food crops while nurturing the commercial seedlings, for free. As one might imagine, the shamba system worked very well for the colonialists and for the peasant farmers, who were hungry for land to grow crops. The trees thrived in the cool environment (Mount Kenya is seventeen thousand feet above sea level) and in the then-virgin soil. Unfortunately, as the human population grew, the demand for land to grow food crops likewise expanded. As government foresters authorized more and more forest to be converted into farmland, more indigenous trees were felled for more plantations and for farmers to grow food crops—a situation exacerbated by increased demand for timber. I remember as a child seeing huge bonfires in the forests as the indigenous biodiversity was burned to make way for the commercial tree plantations.
Shamba plantations are harvested every thirty years or so. The continuous planting, harvesting, and replanting of the same commercial monocultures of trees, along with the long-term cultivation of food crops by farmers, drastically minimizes the prospects for local biodiversity to return. The shamba system is also rife with opportunism and corruption from farmers, who benefit from growing food crops on forest land, and government officers, who are tempted to sell trees, lease land, and allow charcoal burning and illegal grazing. For esters, who control access to the public lands, are eager to allow people back into the forests. The remuneration for facilitating some of these activities ends up in the pockets of some foresters rather than in the national treasury.
I have opposed the continuation of the shamba system for many years. I don't consider plantations of exotic monocultures of trees to be forests, but rather tree farms. Unlike indigenous forests, plantations destroy local biodiversity, leaving the land bare except for the monoculture of trees. Plantations lack the ecological and biological systems to retain and conserve rainwater: the extensive leaf system, the intensive and varied vegetation, the debris of biological materials that accumulate and form a sponge at ground level. In forests, a not insignificant amount of water is retained on leaves, bark, and in the soil. When it evaporates, it creates the humidity that feeds other ecological systems and the rainfall cycle. All these are removed when the forest is clear-cut, cultivated, and planted with food crops and plantations. It is partly for that reason that the plantations lack the capacity to receive and conserve rainwater. When it rains, much of the water rushes down the slope and is lost and many rivers either dry up or have their water levels greatly reduced.
When the NARC government came into power in 2002, it was more committed to conserving the environment than the previous administration and it banned the shamba system. While environmentalists in Kenya applauded this decision, it was greeted with dismay by many MPs and the public whose parliamentary constituencies border the forest. Many Kenyans lack an appreciation of the difference between an indigenous forest and what I call a tree farm. Kenya's forests are worth far more intact than they are fragmented or converted into tree farms.
For the first time as a partner of the Kenyan government (the new NARC administration), the Green Belt Movement launched a project to restore degraded forests in the Aberdares. Local women grew indigenous tree seedlings and planted them in the forest. For each seedling that survived, the women (and some men who joined them) were compensated with a small financial incentive to continue their work. If a woman planted many trees and ensured that they survived, she could earn a decent income to pay for school uniforms, books, and fees; nutritious food; or health care for herself, her husband, and their children. It is through this kind of approach that the Green Belt Movement addresses the MDGs in a holistic and sustainable way.
Nature has an extraordinary capacity to regenerate, especially in the tropics, and the benefits of a revitalized natural system don't have to take years to manifest themselves. By the end of 2007, it was clear that the Aberdares had begun to rehabilitate. Although the areas of the forest that had been cleared previously still did not have significant numbers of trees, many bushes had returned. More important, it was possible to see how, when the rains fell, water no longer ran off; instead, it was absorbed by the new vegetation, made its way to their roots, and replenished the underground reservoirs. As a result, rainfall patterns improved, some streams that had dried up returned, and the water levels in the rivers that emerged were noticeably higher. The rivers themselves were cleaner, and in some, fish had returned. Even the quality and quantity of tea produced in the area were reported to have greatly increased.
Many of my constituents told me that they
saw that the rivers were healthier and appreciated that more water was available to them for washing, drinking, and cooking in their households. They had gained a greater understanding of the role that forests play in providing water. They were also, through much environmental education, aware of the alternatives to encroaching on the forests: that there was no reason why Kenya could not establish shambas and exotic plantations in the two-thirds of the country that is arid or semi-arid.
In addition, they were aware that crops could be cultivated in shambas outside the forest, or in the many tracts of land that Kenyans do not fully use. They also knew the Green Belt Movement had recommended that Kenyans with land should plant 10 percent of it with trees, which could supply the timber industry and allow the land to be used much more economically than it is at present. In all these ways, pressure from communities on the government to cultivate crops in the forests would be reduced, or ended altogether; indeed, people who lived near the remaining indigenous forests could participate in their restoration by, like the Green Belt Movement groups, replanting native tree species and, in turn, bringing back the indigenous biodiversity.
In spite of these arguments, a substantial number of the same people who welcomed the return of the rivers and the regrowth of the forest informed me, as their MP, that they would still prefer to return to the forests to cultivate food crops because of the high demand for and cost of food. Even though the benefits of ensuring that the rivers were full and clean were evident, my constituents were unable to think beyond their immediate needs.
They forgot or chose to ignore the dry riverbeds and the degraded soil, and concluded that they were unwilling to sacrifice their current desire to grow potatoes, carrots, cabbages, and other such foods in the forest in favor of long-term survival. This is food they could have farmed on their own plots, if they had invested in fertilizer or used manure from animals and biomass to improve the quality of the soil; or food they could have bought in the markets, if their coffee and tea were better managed and they received their due income from its profits. In a sense, the forests were victims of the corruption both in the management of the forests and in the cooperatives that the farmers belonged to.
Under pressure from foresters and communities, the Kenyan government is now planning to bring back the shamba system, under a new brand: the Plantation Establishment and Livelihood Improvement Scheme (PELIS). PELIS opens the door to the possibility of further destruction of remaining forests. If the government offers the poor an opportunity to cultivate crops in the forests through the PELIS program, I doubt the people will say no for the sake of the forests' long-term health (and their own).
This short-term thinking reflects the failure of people and their governments to look too deeply into the root causes of environmental decline. When a river dries up in Kenya or a crop fails, people tend to pray to God for more rain and food. They will wonder if food aid will become necessary if the harvests fail, or worry whether the boreholes and wells will be similarly affected. What they don't do as much as they should is ask why the river has dried up or crops have failed—questions that involve a deeper analysis and a more holistic approach to the management of ecosystems.
This only intensifies the need for responsible governance from those who do have an understanding and are entrusted with the long-term welfare of both the people and the resources that they need to survive. Given this mandate, it is extraordinary that the Kenyan government should even consider reintroducing the shamba system in a country where only 2 percent of forest cover remains. Moreover, why would any African government pursue such a policy in light of the projections of the toll that climate change will exact on the continent?
THE MARCH OF THE DESERT
The challenges facing agricultural communities throughout Kenya are mirrored throughout Africa and many of the poor countries in underdeveloped regions. In these regions, concern for environmental issues is treated as a luxury. But it is not: protecting and restoring ecosystems, and slowing or reversing global warming, are matters of life and death. The equation is simple: whatever we do, we impact the environment; if we destroy it, we will undermine our own ways of life and ultimately kill ourselves. This is why the environment needs to be at the center of domestic and international policy and practice. If it is not, we don't stand a chance of alleviating poverty in any significant way. Nor will we create for the African people a continent where security and progress can be realized.
Indeed, if we are serious about engendering cultures of peace in Africa, protection and rehabilitation of the environment must be a priority. This is partly because at the heart of many of the conflicts that continue to challenge Africa are degraded land, depleted water sources, lack of rain, poor soils, and desertification.
The recognition that underlying almost every conflict is either a struggle for control over resources or a scramble to access them after they have become scarce is clear in almost every conflict on the continent, from Chad to Somalia, Sudan to Ethiopia and Kenya. When I flew north to visit Chad in August 2008, I looked out of the plane windows over the landscape and saw, over and over again, the remnants of abandoned villages: as many as fifty huts spread out in a circle and, all around them, desert. These people had not left their villages after being attacked. They had come to the area when it was fertile, established farms, and cultivated their crops. Then the land had become completely degraded and they were forced to move on, to the next fertile area and the next village.
I could only ask myself: Where could these people go next? The Janjaweed militias who attack citizens from the neighboring region of Darfur may have many political and economic justifications for their actions, but it seemed clear to me that they were pushing farther south in search of new grazing grounds for their livestock for the same reason the villages had been abandoned: the relentless march of the Sahara Desert. The result is conflict, rape, violence, hundreds of thousands of deaths, and vast numbers of refugees.
To reverse the process of desertification requires massive investment, and yet this does not appear to be a priority of many African governments. The ordinary people who live in the villages may not always fully comprehend what is happening to their environment; they just keep moving on. And if their governments understand, they don't seem to care or seem to be doing much about it.
I am often asked whether a trade-off is required between the environment and development. I always say no. We need and must have both; what is important is a good balance between the two. Africa is still rich in natural resources that can be used sustainably and equitably for the benefit of her peoples. Up until now, however, most African governments have not prioritized the environmental sector in terms of budget allocation, nor made it a central focus of parliamentary discussion or policy development. Even when policies are in place, they are rarely enforced to their full effect.
The results of this lack of prioritization are evident in the serious ecological decline throughout the continent. According to the UN Food and Agriculture Organization, between 2000 and 2005 Africa lost about ten million acres (or 1 percent) of its forests a year—a rate more than three times the global average.5 Loss of forest was significant in Angola, Cameroon, the Democratic Republic of the Congo, Nigeria, Sudan, Tanzania, Zambia, and Zimbabwe. According to a recent UNEP study, the current pace of deforestation is a concern in thirty-five African countries, while significant loss of biodiversity affects thirty-four. Overgrazing and other poor farming practices have led to the expansion of the Sahara Desert south into northern Nigeria and northern Kenya. Malawi has been almost wholly deforested.6 And the list goes on.
THE CHANGING CLIMATE
According to UNEP's Global Environment Outlook 4 (2007), which compiled data from scientists and international agencies on the entire range of environmental and social indicators, by the middle of this century climate change could affect growing seasons in northern Africa, because less rain will water semi-arid systems. On the coasts of western and central African nations, rising
sea levels and flooding could result in the disruption of coastal settlements, while the further destruction of mangrove swamps and coastal degradation could have negative impacts on fisheries and tourism, with some estimates pointing to a 2 to 4 percent loss of agricultural GDP in that region.
Southern and western Africa, as well as the Sahel region, may become more parched, including in the drylands that skirt expanding deserts. Similarly, the Kalahari through to the arid regions in northern South Africa, Angola, and Zambia may experience larger sandstorms and more dynamic dune fields (that is, shifting desert landmasses), because less moisture and higher winds will lead to a decline of the vegetation that binds sand to the ground.7
Scientists are predicting that some regions in Africa will receive more rain, particularly in the tropics and some parts of the east. This may allow the cultivation of new crop varieties. However, previously malaria-free highland areas in Ethiopia, Kenya, Rwanda, and Burundi could increasingly see the presence of malaria-carrying mosquitoes, especially by the 2080s. Southern Africa, too, may see the southward expansion of the transmission zone for malaria-bearing mosquitoes. Mountain biodiversity could be impacted, and there is the possibility that fish stocks in some major East African lakes could decline.8Climate change threatens to eliminate or severely reduce the glaciers on Mounts Kenya and Kilimanjaro, as well as those in the Rwenzori Mountains of Uganda.
A world where climate shocks become more common will also ratchet up risk factors for conflict between and within countries. Researchers found that when shortfalls in seasonal rains led to drought and economic distress in forty sub-Saharan African countries between 1981 and 1999, the likelihood of civil war rose by 50 percent.9 Millions of Africans may become environmental refugees this century because of the effects of climate change. This is in spite of the fact that, at 4 percent of the world's total, and one ton of carbon dioxide a year per person on average, Africa's collective and individual greenhouse gas emissions are negligible—in contrast to those of the emerging economic giants of China and India, and Europe. And North America, home continent of the United States, one of the world's top emitters of greenhouse gases, consumes over 24 percent of total global primary energy despite having only one-twentieth of the world's population.10
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