africa report
TRANSCRIPT
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By: Joshua Gale
August 20, 2011
Water, in Kenya, as it was referred to so many
times during my experience there, is life. For the entirety
of my time in Kenya, I lived with the Samburu people of
Northern Kenya, a nomadic, indigenous sub sect of the
Maasai tribe. In crossing the expansive cultural divide, I
found myself being met with many obstacles; probably
the biggest would be the language barrier that held a firm
foundation and set an obvious separation between the
local people and myself. Amidst those obstacles, my
purpose in Kenya remained quite clear; to document the
progress and completion of water wells funded by
donations of various amounts from people of the United
States. With every location I had the fortune of visiting,
came a dialog, one that many times, oddly enough,
occurred without words, between the recipients of the
water wells and me. Sometimes one's presence with his
or her stated purpose says plenty enough. The message
that was communicated to me from them came in
different forms and the contextual property of every well
was changed for each particular location, but that
message was always clear—and always came with a
silent undertone of urgency. The message was simply
this: Water is important. [Please or thank you for your]
help.
Kenya is currently in a drought, as it was in 2006,
2009, and the latter months of 2010. The effects Kenya
has been experiencing from the lack of water, and
especially clean water, can not be expressed even to a
small degree in numbers, and to put them into words is
nearly as difficult. Accurate calculations could not
possibly be made by even the most skilled analysts
because the effects extend well beyond what any
numeral can convey. Even beyond the seriousness of
the epidemic of cholera and other water borne diseases,
other lesser known effects have surfaced, such as
clashes or fights between tribes who find themselves
competing for the same water hole. The term "water
wars" has been coined to describe such an event. For
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example, Tribe "A" and tribe "B" may have coexisted
peacefully for hundreds of years, but their precious
supplies of water have been depleting due to the lack of
rainfall and now there are fewer supplies of water to
support the two dehydrated tribes of people. What
occurs is the same thing that has throughout history;
unless a mutual understanding is decided upon, they
fight. If tribe "A" is more powerful than "B" then "A" will
take control of the water supply and that leaves tribe "B"
to either die fighting or to die from dehydration. Dr. Tina
Ramme of Harvard University has been working for 7
years trying to help a famished community but finds
herself and her funds falling short of tackling other
concerning issues because most of her attention is spent
attending to the shortage of water. I asked her once,
"Why are you so focused on water?" She replied, "I have
been trying to help with supplying the community with
food as well, and sometimes I manage to get both done,
but honestly a person can survive for one to two weeks
without food—they can only make it a few days without
good water." Water wells, which in Kenya are many
times called "bore-holes," can be drilled and the
development of such wells is clutch for the distribution of
clean water—and in Dr. Ramme's case the procedures
are being taken for that to happen.
Water that is sprung from such water wells is used
for a variety of purposes. A few of the wells I visited had
made use of the well by starting community organic
gardens; it was really interesting to see members of the
community walk out to their portion of the garden and
pour cups of water on each individual plant. Another
community took that concept one step further and
harvested the leftover vegetables and sold them at a
local market—the money obtained from this went straight
into education through the purchase of school supplies
and paying of fees for the children of the community.
The water is used for other things as well such as
sterilization for operations (pregnancies) and also helps
keep the livestock, which is extremely important for a
nomadic society, hydrated in extreme cases. Water wells
have become an excellent response to the water crisis,
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but unfortunately there are factors, geological,
governmental, and monetary factors, that are hindering
the development of such wells.
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The process required to drill a bore-hole is quite
simple in theory; an inquiry is made with an engineer,
who is responsible for analyzing an area and for testing
that area in order to find the prime location to drill;
permission is granted from the government to drill the
hole deep into the ground; a drilling rig is deployed to the
location; the well is then drilled out; piping is laid; and
finally people have access to water—and of course
monetary transactions sometimes of sizable amounts are
littered throughout the process. It's essentially the same
procedure required to drill a well in the United States. As
I traveled to the location of the first water well site, a
place near the city of Maralol, I realized very quickly one
key element that hinders the progression of the timeline
of procedures; the road we had been taking from Nairobi
made a not-so-subtle change from pavement to gravel to
dirt. I could spend time trying to put down in words the
texture of that particular stretch of road, but I feel as
though an analogy would do it much better justice.
Imagine riding a gigantic, old wooden roller coaster at Six
Flags for four hours and it would be at a comparable level
of comfort. The roads go only from bad to worse. I once
had the joy of riding on a freshly paved road with Dr.
Ramme, who was an American courageous enough to
drive on them, and she said to me, "The trip that you just
took back home," which was about a 45 minute drive,
"used to take us about 8 hours."
About midway through my time in Kenya, I
traveled on yet another terrible road that if rated on a
scale of awful roads would put the "roller-coaster road" to
shame. I have never in my life ridden on a worse road,
which I deem from henceforth appropriate to be called a
"path." This path wound its way through the Great Rift
Valley to a small community of people that found refuge
on the outer edge of one the Valley's many mountains
that were large enough that only God himself could have
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imagined them. The path had literally been chiseled, and
with seemingly little effort, out of the mountains
themselves. The drive to that location with a drillingmechanism, which is mounted onto a large diesel truck
the size of a semi, would be at least a full day's journey.
After finally arriving, the bush-truck we were riding gave
its final sputter and halted. I stepped out onto the ground
made of solid rock, looked at the steep slant that fell in
elevation ahead of me, looked to the mountains that
stood gentle but strong like a council of elders circled
around us, and there a moment of enlightenment came
over me—we were not drilling a bore-hole in my
backyard through soil and clay back home. The skill
required for drilling wells in Kenya is of a whole new
caliber. Some of the donors from home had gotten a bit
flustered at how long this particular well had taken to drill,
clearly unmindful of the geological factors that were at
play and the present, physical conditions that require
diligent work of to time and planning.
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"Don't even employees of the government get tired
of dealing with these roads? Why don't they push to
have the roads paved if only for their own selfishmotives?" I inquired of Mujumba, a native Kenyan man
who was taking a break from work at the camp where I
stayed for the second half of my trip. He was a large
fellow for a Kenyan, formally trained in construction to be
a manager—that training is where he learned to speak
English. He just let out a haughty laugh in reply to my
question. It was not much of an answer; especially not
one that I was hoping for and a silence fell between the
two of us for a minute or so when I heard the woof of air
from a distant helicopter. Finally, in reply to my question
he looked at me and pointed to the helicopter, "that's the
way the people who actually have the power to change
things travel."
Kenya's government, as a whole, is broken. In
1963, Britain left its unctuous colonial thumbprint on
Kenya and, along with its independence, Kenya adopted
Britain's Western idea of parliament. Corruption has
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rooted itself deeply into the political ties of "freedom" and
from then on that corruption has only run its ridges
deeper. Along with its integrity Kenya's legislature hasabandoned its duty to serve all the people of Kenya and
its members began to serve only themselves as
individuals--and those who have enough excessive
amounts of money to manipulate things themselves. The
newly paved road I mentioned earlier was not paved by
the government—in fact, any Kenyan whatever did not
pave it. It was paved by China. China has discovered
that there are oil reserves in Kenya and believe that there
is enough oil to be refined so that they need their own
road to get to it. Of course, the old Kenyan roads would
not do, so they simply took control and built one
themselves. The road—that runs right through Maasai
territory—was widened, trees were blazed, and any other
nuisances that previously stood in their way were
removed. Over the following three years, with the last
attack occurring this past May, Kenyan policemen
committed horrendous crimes against the local people in
attempts to eradicate them from their land. Livestock,
stolen. People, beaten and murdered. Livelihoods not
helped but demolished at the hands of their own sworn
protectors. China has paid off Kenya's debts—only tocause Kenya to be indebted to China. What China wants
is many things and if judged upon their influence in
Northern Kenya they limit themselves at nearly no costs
to get it; in this case, their desires are land and oil.
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"China is selfish," I can still hear a young man
lament—his voice trails off and I hear it again like a track
stuck on repeat. I was riding home one day from an
unsuccessful expedition where we had hoped to spot a
lion or two. The sun was settling below the skyline, the
moon had already begun to rise when our car decided it
was through with life—a head gasket broke—and rolling
to the side of the road we went. When the rolling
stopped I looked up at a bus station full of at least ten
dark figures, silhouettes in our headlights. Fortunately,
those dark figures were not murderers out to hunt
Muzungus, "Westerners," like my imagination had quickly
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jumped to but were actually very nice people. In fact,
nice enough to help and savvy enough that they, at least,
diagnosed the problem of our car. The sun was longgone now, far more knowledgeable mechanics than me
were there at our aid, and we were still sitting, waiting, so
I decided to seize the opportunity to do some night
photography. I retreated with my camera and tripod
across the road when I realized rather quickly I was being
followed. Once again, in complete contrast to where my
imagination plummeted to, those following me did turn
out to be interested in my camera—but not interested in
taking it, just in it, and even more so, my ability to use it.
"Where are you from?" A young guy about my
age asked as I was fiddling with the exposure settings on
my Nikon.
For some reason I was a bit nervous about
revealing my nationality, but managed to suppress my
nerves and calmly let out, "the United States."
There were roughly five Kenyans that surrounded
me, all of which had been gawking at my camera, and
they were suddenly much more interested in my originthan the "television" I held in my hands. "I hear you put a
man on the moon," one man said. His eyes shifted from
me and made a slow motion to the moon and with utter
amazement those eyes bounced back at me and he
asked, "How did you manage that?"
Just to clear the air of any potential
misconceptions, I quickly reassured him I had nothing to
do with that shuttle launch. Following that clarification, I
gave a rather brief explanation about NASA and the one
space shuttle I had ever seen down in Florida. I also
mentioned how the program has actually been cut but left
out the fact that there is a lot of doubt that the lunar
landing even happened. And with that came the
outpouring of questions about buildings and famous
rappers and cars and electricity and, finally, politics.
"What is your government like?" the one who asked
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about the moon wondered again, but now with even more
sincerity in his voice.
"Umm...it's okay, I guess." I said, unsure how to
approach the topic. "It's very big and I'm very small. Like
all ruling bodies it has its bit of corruption—you know,
some pretty self-serving individuals at the head of
things."
"Not like ours." He said drawing back some. "You
know Westerners are the ones who set up our governing
structure..."
"I do know that...” I knew that our Western
philosophies had infiltrated their Eastern approach to life
and from that chaos has nearly devoured Kenya's
legislature. All the pieces are there, people delegated
and put in power for their government to work in a way
very similar to ours in the United States, but the
functionality is misconstrued—destined for anything but
success. Their past is different from ours. Our histories
unalike. And thus they think dissimilarly. And now, owing
to the faults of a multitude of people or possibly to the
fault of none, their government has fallen into a subdued,internal chaos. None of that is ever as real as when you
are actually talking to someone affected by it--the ones
who carry the burden of a truly apathetic government. I
decided to avoid that conversation all together though
and, with a sense of empathy, I continued, "...you're right.
The violence you guys have experienced would never fly
back home."
"Well I like the United States." He retorted rather
quickly and I was thankful, for it brought the mood of our
conversation back up. "China, they're just selfish. They
build this road for themselves--not for our benefit. And
they brought the corruption and violence that came along
with it. An American is the one that bought the computer
we have in my school for us...and the books for our
library too."
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John Burnett, an accomplished journalist and
speechwriter for members of congress on Capitol Hill,
found himself growing weary of the “clap-trap of politics”and ended up pursuing alternative careers where he
found himself working for the United Nations as a relief
worker for the country of Somalia, a country located just
north of Kenya. In Where Soldiers Fear to Tread , Burnett
recounts one of his many experiences. A young
Somalian mother approaches him holding an infant. She
hands Burnett the baby and walks away from him. Just
like that. Clearly the mother is unhappy and Burnett
shouts for her to come back to get the child but she
disappears around a corner down the street. She’s gone.
Utterly confused he whips around to Harun, his driver
and Somalian coworker, and asks what to do with the
baby. Harun replies, “It dies, captain…Malaria.”
Compelled to action, he writes:
“I cradle the baby in my arms as we speed out of
the port, down the dusty road toward town…
“Harun drives up the roadside hill…I clasp the
baby tightly, protectively. Before, this was just a job, a
duty. Now it is a mission. I want desperately to get thisbaby to the hospital; I want desperately for this child to
live.
“The baby’s fever has abated apparently, for he is
no longer shivering and I relax. I look down at the infant
and smile, talk to him softly.
“The child’s eyes, heavily lidded, stare back at me.
They are glazed and old tears are drying on his cheeks. I
wipe his eyes and try to reassure him, soothe him. But
now I sense, I suddenly realize, that there is nothing
there! A second ago—just a second ago there was life.
Now there is nothing, not a living thing, not a soul, not a
smile.
“…[At the hospital] I hand the baby over gently,
and with…reverence [the nurse] takes the little body in
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his arms, turns, and walks through the hospital doors. I
am left stunned. Emptied.
“It is written that a child dies from malaria every
thirty seconds in Africa. But why do I have to be a part of
this child’s death? Is there a purpose? Am I supposed to
get some sort of message? Are we merely statistics?”
“Make sure to buy a few malaria treatments,” my
father gives me one final instruction as he leaves to go
back home—he was with me for the first half of the trip.
“They cost about a dollar.” A dollar. One, single, dollar , I
remember thinking. That’s Less than one pack of
chewing gum these days…
My father, Bobby Gale, directs Unto the Least of
His, a non-profit organization that in various ways has
raised enough money for the installation of 14 water wells
and also for whom I was in Kenya to do such
documentation in the first place. "We have all the money
necessary to help," I have heard him say. "It's just still
sitting in people's pockets." Money, inherently, really is
an easy issue to resolve. In fact, the lack of funding is
quite possibly the most common of obstacles thatsurfaces when people try to make a significant change
anywhere. The sad irony is that it is also one of the
easiest to be resolved if it were handled honestly. It is at
the hands of those who see compassion as a weakness
and greed as rebuttal that people are dying from
problems derived from a lack of humanity’s basic and
essential needs—in this case, water. When the
monetary efforts recede, unfortunately a helping hand
can only go so far and so many times it ends up falling
short.
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As with every fire that needs but a small spark to
ignite or as with any crop that needs but one seed to
sprout, compassion is igniting from within communities all
over the world and from that hope is being planted in the
hearts of millions of Africans because of the relief efforts
that are being made. The Kenyan water crisis is not one
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just of natural calamity—the true fabrication of this not-
so-natural disaster that has landed itself on the Eastern
coast of Africa is one derived from a mix of corruptionand global apathy. If the blinds were pulled back and our
world’s potential to help were to be revealed, the drought
that is impacting those communities with such brutal
force could be withstood and the people of Kenya
relieved. It is my prayer that people continue to open
their hearts and minds to a world beyond their borders,
and that we, as a global society, learn to love across
boundaries because that is the solution—not only to the
water issue but to many others as well.
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