People are becoming more apprehensive as familiar electioneering rhetoric begins, writes DAVID ADAMS
AS OUR Land Cruiser slowly aquaplanes towards another ditch, Joseph the driver, calmly and without fuss, again steers it back on to firm ground. Unperturbed, I continue gazing out at the most breathtaking landscape I have ever seen.
On every side, undulating tree-dotted hills and valleys, in their multi-hued greenery, sweep away to the horizon. The sun, on its occasional appearances, bounces off near and distant shiny tin roofs, beside which cattle and sheep graze contentedly and men and women till and plant the fertile soil. Occasional strands of conifers, encircled by tiny meadows with grass nibbled short into springy lawns, add an incongruously Scottish or Irish flavour to the vista.
It is the long rainy season and the Nakuru region of Kenya’s Rift Valley is resplendent in all its thirst-quenched finery.
Beauty like this deserves a peaceful and tranquil setting, but unfortunately there is no such law of nature. Terrible violence has stalked this land, and fear of its return hangs like a pall over many of the inhabitants.
I am with Goal’s emergency co-ordinator for Kenya, Dubliner Mark O’Hora; its local project manager Gabriel Wambua; distribution manager Jacqueline Agunda and assistant logistics officer Marlyne Munoko.
We are moving along rain-soaked lanes and byways, often far from any main thoroughfare, meeting people whose homes were destroyed in a two-month orgy of violence that erupted after Kenya’s disputed 2007 elections. More than 1,500 people were killed, and hundreds of thousands forced to flee for their lives as homes, shops and businesses were burned.
Nakuru was one of the worst affected areas. The shiny tin roofs, sprinkled across the land, are attached to some of the 10,000 timber-framed, mud-and-wattle houses that Goal has built for people who were driven out, and have returned to reclaim their little parcels of land.
Surrounded by neighbours outside her new home, Ruth, a single parent, tells us: “We were coming back from voting [in 2007], and heard screaming and saw the flames in the distance. It was our houses, set on fire. We ran to the forest for safety. I gave birth that night, in the grass.”
She hugs her now five-year-old child, and begins to cry, unable to continue: “I am sorry, but it is too painful to talk about.” Her friends move swiftly to offer comfort.
At another location, an elderly woman and her daughter-in-law are mixing cow dung and mud to give a smoother, brighter finish to the outer walls of their adjacent houses. The older woman tells us how her son, who had asthma, died in the ramshackle shed they were forced to live in, before a new dwelling could be built. She insisted that his widow’s house be built close to hers, for comfort. She is fatalistic, rather than scared about the future: “I am a Kenyan, this is my country; I have seen and lived through many things. No, I am not frightened. If it is my time to die, I will. If it isn’t, I won’t.”
“My house and all my livestock and crops were completely destroyed,” says Daniel, a small-scale farmer. “We escaped to the forest, and for a long time I had to rely on friends, who gave me blankets and food for my family. Our attackers would have killed us if they could.”
Many of those who didn’t escape were hacked to pieces with pangas, the large knives used as tools or weapons in this part of Africa, or beaten to death by rampaging mobs. There are echoes of Rwanda in what I am hearing.
The post-election violence of 2007-2008 was not sporadic or random, but directed and organised by politicians and others who have long benefited from playing on the tribal and political divisions that haunt Kenya (a country that is home to about 41 tribes, sub-tribes and ethnic groups). In many instances, gangs of unemployed youths were ferried to places far from their homes to inflict violence on defenceless members of another tribe.
To its credit, the Kenyan government moved fast to restore peace, both physically and by introducing political reforms, including a power-sharing administration and a new constitution. If they had hesitated, something on the scale of Rwanda might well have been the result.
However, the power-sharing arrangement was only temporary, to last the lifetime of this parliament, and underlying problems of extreme poverty, wealthy elites and endemic corruption remain. There is another general election due in Kenya, either in December of this year or March of next (the politicians have yet to agree a date), and some familiar electioneering rhetoric is already beginning to be heard. People are becoming increasingly apprehensive.
“David, I think you should meet Mary,” suggests Gabriel, sensing my pessimism on our return journey from another day spent talking to rehoused victims. “She is engaged in peace-building in this region.”
I’d love to, I say, hoping he doesn’t sense my trepidation at the prospect.
Self-styled peace-builders worry me. Conflict resolution is a highly skilled art, requiring years of training. As we learnt to our cost in Northern Ireland, regardless of how well motivated an individual might be, without proper training and iron self-discipline he or she can very easily make a bad situation much worse. One cannot afford to indulge saintly amateurs when lives are at stake.
Thankfully, I needn’t have worried. Within five minutes of meeting Mary Oyath, a project officer with the Catholic diocese of Nakuru, and a justice and peace commissioner, my mind is set at ease. This is no dreamer, but a highly skilled and cautious practitioner, who works regularly with all of the main actors in the region, gently trying to build relationships.
The more I listen to this remarkable woman, whose life has sometimes been in grave danger, the more I am reminded of the Northern Ireland conflict. We talk about the potency of symbols and the difficulty in getting people to move beyond lazy, self-serving stereotypes. The peripheral conflicts arising from her peace-building efforts also have a familiar ring: justice versus peace; history versus the future; personal benefits versus the greater good.
Oyath is, I think, quietly relieved to hear that the many problems she faces are far from particular to Kenya.
She has made much progress, but concedes that all could be reversed very easily. A lot will depend on how rival politicians choose to conduct their upcoming election campaigns. The most worrying aspect is the large numbers of uneducated, unemployed youth who are ripe for exploitation.
“Nakuru town is amongst the fastest-growing in east Africa,” she says. “Unfortunately it also has the fastest-growing slums. We already had a major problem with unemployed young people who feel they have no stake in society, now we have an even greater problem.”
Oyath works with groups of youngsters from diverse backgrounds: “Many are alienated, marginalised and feel totally devalued. They can easily be manipulated by others. By using them to engage in violent attacks, they empower them for the first time in their lives, and make them feel needed and an important part of the tribal or political family.
“Pent-up frustrations find a release in attacking people characterised as an enemy.”
Ultimately, it seems, there is little chance of Kenya’s problems being finally solved until the critical mass of its young people have access to education and employment, and are afforded a real stake in society. Harmonious co-existence cannot forever be dependent on politicians moderating their language. Rampant corruption and social inequities are other obvious triggers for conflict that must be tackled.
As we set off, back to Nairobi, I gaze out at the large black clouds hovering over the beautiful Nakuru landscape, and hope they presage only more rain.
David Adams is an Irish Times columnist and media officer with Goal, with whom he travelled to Kenya