Morocco

Ah, Morocco. I have a number of friends who have been there. I haven’t only been to Melbourne’s Moroccan Soup Bar. (Boy, have I been there! It’s been far too long since I got to enjoy a chickpea bake… a devastating lack!) So, sitting on the other side of the Strait of Gibraltar, there it is. Happy Independence Day, Morocco!

Morocco’s been inhabited for quite a while—at least 10,000 years, apparently. And in the classical world, Morocco was pat of that Mediterranean world as trading colonies popped up—these were set up by the Phoenicians, and the Berbers were also still around. In the seventh century, the first Islamic conquest of North Africa swept into Morocco—and what has become Morocco today was a region of Berbers influenced by Arabs. Obviously that Arabic cultural influence remains.

And the rest of the world? Well, interestingly Morocco was the first country to recognise the USA’s independence, back in 1777. In December of the same year Morocco’s Sultan declared that American merchant ships enjoyed the protection of the sultanate, and not long after this the Moroccan-American Treaty of Friendship was put in place. This is America’s oldest intact friendship treaty. Who knew?

While Europeans did arrive along the coast in the fifteenth century, they didn’t make much headway inland. It wasn’t until the 19th century, though, that Europe really got in on the action—France showed its interest in Morocco as a whole back in 1830, and in the 20th century the UK recognised France’s “sphere of influence” in Morocco In 1906 there was a formalisation of European relations: France and Spain were entrusted jointly with policing the country.

Independence? Well, the country gained its independence from France on 2 March 1956, and a month later, on 7 April, Spain relinquished its protectorate too. This being the case, I’m not entirely sure why 18 November is Independence Day.

Incidentally, Western Sahara is a territory that is largely under Moroccan control—control is disputed by the Sahwari Arab Democratic Republic, a partially recognised states that claims sovereignty over the whole territory. An unfortunate outcome of the conflict regarding Western Sahara is that there have been severe human rights abuses in the region, including displacement of Sahrawi civilians, and the expulsion of Moroccan civilians from Algeria, who back the Sahrawi government.

Today’s pome is by Hassan Najmi, and comes from A Crack in the Wall: New Arab Poetry.

The exiled

To Abbas

Their palms are coffins
and their heads are hats for distant clouds.
And behind them there is time
without flowerpots
 or arms

They had left.
And leaving itself returned.
And still they did not come back. 

— Hassan Najmi
from A Crack in the Wall: New Arab Poetry
translated from the Arabic by Khaled Mattawa

Angola

So, it’s still 11 November, if you don’t mind…

Which means it’s also Angola’s Independence Day. You remember Angola? On the Southwest coast of Africa, just north of Namibia, also bordering the Democratic Republic of the Congo and Zambia. Angola had a relatively long colonial period—the Portuguese claimed it as a colony in the 16th century, and it didn’t gain its independence until 1975. While its people are some of the poorest on the African continent, the country is a large producer of petroleum and diamonds—the second largest in Africa. A lot of money has disappeared. Having trouble getting an idea of the size of the place? It’s about twice as big as Texas.

Angola is another region where the Bantu spread. Prior to the arrival of the Bantu people, the region was inhabited by Khoisan hunter-gatherers. Still, some Khoisan remain, even to the present day.

And the Portuguese? In 1483 they established relations with the region, and Angola was a link for trade between Europe and Asia. The explorer Paulo Dias de Novais founded the capital Luanda in 1575—and so it goes. Angola was also a serious participant in the slave trade.

There was a brief interruption of the Portuguese presence with the Dutch occupation of Luanda from 1641 to 1648, but things went back to normal. It took a few more centuries before exploration of the interior really got under way, and then the borders were fixed in 1885. Actual administration of the interior didn’t started until the twentieth century—and a quarter of a century before Angola gained its independence, it was designated as an overseas province of Portugal, known as Portuguese West Africa.

And then came the Angolan War of Independence. Following on the heels of this was the Angolan Civil War—which was a real Cold War conflict. With the Eastern Block backing one group (MPLA) and the United States backing another (FNLA) the conflict raged along. The Polish journalist Ryszard Kapuściński writes about this—I seriously recommend his work.) Though the civil war ended in 2002, the country is still living in the aftermath. Most of the internally displaced have returned home, but the situation remains desperate for most of the population.

Today’s poem from Angola is by Jofre Rocha. I believe I found it in the Penguin Book of Modern African Poetry, but I didn’t notes it down when I found the poem. Apologies!

Poem of Return

When I return from the land of exile and silence,
do not bring me flowers.

Bring me rather all the dews,
tears of dawns which witnessed dramas.
Bring me the immense hunger for love
and the plaint of tumid sexes in star-studded night.
Bring me the long night of sleeplessness
with mothers mourning, their arms bereft of sons.

When I return from the land of exile and silence,
no, do not bring me flowers…

Bring me only, just this
the last wish of heroes fallen at day-break
with a wingless stone in hand
and a thread of anger snaking from their eyes.

—Jofre Rocha

Zambia

There’s something magical to me about the countries starting with “Z.” (Oh, and that’s “Z” pronounced Zed and not Zee. That’s important to me…) I don’t know why—it’s irrational. Or is it? The music of certain words is of central importance in my life. That’s why I post poems at the end of these explanations. Zambia. Independent from the UK on this day in 1964.

Zambia. Surrounded by the Democratic Republic of the Congo and Angola, by Tanzania and Malawi, by Mozambique, Zimbabwe, Botswana and Namibia. Capital: Lusaka.

Zambia—it’s been inhabited for thousands of years. During the Bantu expansion the Tonga people came to Zambia, followed by the Nkoya people. Then the Nsokolo people and the Ngoni people. More magical sounds. The name Zambia comes from the Zambezi river. Before that the British called it Northern Rhodesia. The British arrived in the late nineteenth-century, claiming the area as a British protectorate.

Zambia and copper. The Copperbelt lies in the northwest, and the economy has been dominated by copper mining, though recently the government has been trying to diversify.

Zambia and independence: enter the one-party state under Kenneth Kuanda. Multi-party elections arrived in 1991. In 1997, a coup d’etat. Other problems—HIV/AIDS, sadly not a surprise.

Zambia and poetry. I looked, and what I found comes from a tradition of oral poetry—from an article by J K Rennie. “Cattle, Conflict, and Court Cases: The Praise Poetry of Ila Leadership” from Research in African Literature, the Winter 1984 issue.

Shikaumbu at the Battle of Isanvu

Move over, let me through, I am the lion who kills 
     by day!
You don’t speak of Isanvu, where Kalubi built; we
     churned blood in the mud, they never retreated,
     Mulangu Nalukanko;
This, this, this is war, Moonga!

—from “Cattle, Conflict and Court Cases: The Praise Poetry of Ila Leadership,” by J K Rennie. Reseach in African Literature.

Equatorial Guinea

Independence Day for Equatorial Guinea! And you will be surprised to learn that Equatorial Guinea is not, in fact, equatorial. It just misses, lying one degree north. The nation includes a continental region (coastal, not surprisingly) and an insular region—Bioko island is where the capital (Malabo) lies. Wow. I’m learning stuff already. Independence was achieved in 1968—independent from? Spain.

In terms of pre-European history, we don’t know a lot. It’s believed the first inhabitants were Pygmies—and there are still small populations of Pygmie peoples in the north of Rio Muni, the continental part of the country. Bantu and Fang populations migrated between the 17th and 19th century. It’s thought that the Bubi—the first inhabitants of Bioko, may have come from the Fang. From my understanding, though, none of this is absolutely certain.

In terms of Western contact, it’s said that Fernão do Pó—a Portuguese explorer—was the first European to discover Bioko island, back in 1472. He called it Formosa (for “beautiful”) and then it took on his own name before, more recently, becoming known as Bioko. Portugal colonised the island and nearby Annabón in 1474, and then in 1778 the islands were ceded to Spain.

Independence? Well, as well as pressure from Equatoguineans, Spain was also under pressure from the United Nations to grant independence. On 11 August 1968 a referendum was held, with 63 percent of the electorate in favor of the constitution that had been drafted. Before the official “Independence Day” Equatorial Guinea elected Francisco Macías Nguema as president. The next part of the story? In 1970 the country became a one-party state. In 1972 Macías took on the title President for Life. Under governmental neglect the basic infrastructure of the country—electricity, water, roads, health—fell into ruin. The economy went south, and foreigners left the country, along with skilled Equatoguinean citizens. Pretty bleak.

1975: the schools were closed. 1978: the churches were closed. Colonial names were all replaced with native names.

Then in 1979, Macías’s own nephew Obiang led a coup d’état. Macías was arrested, tried and executed. Obiang is still in power today. Elections have generally been considered fraudulent, and government corruption is still rife.

There was an alleged coup attempt in 2004, but it failed. This recent coup attempt is a weird one—it’s been called “the new Kuwait” by some. It was led by mercenaries, and most financied by British-based backers. The goal? To open the country’s mineral wealth. Among the backers? This is where is gets a little weird. Margaret Thatcher’s son, The Hon. Sir Mark Thatcher was involved. There’s also speculation that Jeffrey Archer was involved. It just seems weird.

From the weird to the poetic—today’s poem, “Delirium,” is by María Nsue Angüe. It comes from Marvin Lewis’s An introduction to the literature of Equatorial Guinea: between colonialism and dictatorship.

Delirium

In the mirror of my past
there appear ghosts enmeshed
in a dark curtain, where my present

is shattered, and my future
crumbles in nothingness.

Faces of shadows swarm
in my mirror!
Your faces sketched by hunger
carry a stamp of misery as deep
as the revolving song of my sadness
that shouts at me to the depth of my bones
that I shall die like the offended Christ
who having been born in his time
those of his era did not recognize him.

—María Nsue Angüe

Uganda

On 9 October, 1962 Uganda gained its independence from the UK. So—Ugandan Independence Day. I admit that when I think of Uganda I can’t help but think of Idi Amin. We’ll get to that. So Uganda is landlocked, in East Africa—not to far from the centre of the continent really. Its neighbours are Kenya, Sudan, the Democratic Republic of the Congo, Rwanda and Tanzania. Just looking at that list you can see another history of turmoil. Oh, and while the country is landlocked there are a lot of large lakes. So. No shortage of water.

The first known inhabitants came to the region between 2000 and 1500 years ago. These were Bantu peoples, bringing in ironworking skill—and new social structures. Still, it wasn’t until the 14th or 15th century, with the Empire of Kitara, that these ideas translated into a more formal societal and political structure. I guess that means before that these structures were on a smaller scale, less formal.

Being part of the African interior, Uganda came into contact with the outside world—both Arabic and European—later than the coastal regions of Africa. In the 1830s Arab traders were the first to move inland, from their posts along the Indian Ocean coastline. Thirty yeas later British explorers ventured into the region, as they were searching for the source of the Nile. Of course, once the explorers had arrived, missionaries had to follow. That’s just the way it goes, apparently. What comes next? The desire to profit. So Uganda came under the charter of the British East Africa Company in 1888, leading to its political emergence as a British protectorate in 1894. It took another twenty years for the final shape of the protectorate to emerge—more territories were integrated—and this is what became modern-day Uganda.

So independence led to a long period of coups and military rule. And, yes, the most famous instance of the latter was Idi Amin’s rule from 1971 until 1979. His rule ushered in human rights abuses, political repression, extrajudicial killings and ethnic persecution—including the expulsion of Asians (in particular entrepreneurial Indians) from the country. Estimates on the number killed during his rule vary—they range from 100,000 to half a million.

When Idi Amin was overthrown, there was still a period of instability—it took until the 1986 deposition of General Tito Okello and the establishment of Yoweri Museveni ‘s rule for the situation to stabilise. It took a further decade for elections to occur: Museveni was voted back in—international and domestic observers stated that the vote was valid, though the opposition candidates rejected the results. He has won two subsequent terms, though the 2006 elections were cause for concern—the Supreme Court of Uganda, though voting to uphold the election results, noted that the process had involved intimidation, violence, voter disenfranchisement and other irregularities. So, while he has been praised in the west, it appears that the system isn’t perfect. (An understatement?) Museveni’s tenure has also been subject to allegations of corruption and embezzlement of public funds. Also, torture is reported as a widespread practice among security organizations. Rights for refugees and immigrants has been an issue too—apparently there have been forcible deportations and violence directed against refugees.

Today’s poem is by Taban Lo Liyong. He was born in Northern Uganda, studied in the United States, and taught in Nairobi. The poem is “Song from the Congolese.” I admit, I like this melting pot. I'm afraid I'm going to have to check up on where I found it initially and update later.

Song from the Congolese

When I was young mother told me to shut up
     or else the ten-eyed giant would hear me.
When I was young mother told me to finish my food
     or else daddy would spank me dead.
When I was young sister told me to steal
     or else I would not get my meal.
When I was young mother told me to bathe
     or else the akula would catch me at night.
When I was young I was told to be home at night
     or else abiba would eat my liver.
When I was young teachers told me to pray at night
     or else Satan would be by my side.

Now that I am old the giant comes and visits me:
     I can see his red ten eyes and bloody teeth;
Now that I am old I can feel the hand of father
     when with rage he beats me as if I was a foe;
Now that I am old I still remember sister 
      when hunger comes and gnaws my entrails;
Now that I am old I know the Black Maria for sure
     as the truck to take me for cutting up;
Now that I am old I know the eagle overhead is for sure
     that bird which eats my life while I am alive;
Now that I am old I go to pray
     in order to get some quiet.

—Taban Lo Liyong

Lesotho

When I was in primary school and my brother was just starting high school, he came home with an assignment—I don’t know what class it was for (Geography?)—to write a project of Lesotho. (His best friend was given Swaziland: I think everyone in the class had a different African nation.) So it feels like I’ve always known where Lesotho is, that it’s an enclave surrounded entirely by South Africa, and when naming as many African nations as possible, it’s one I would never leave out. But I’m realising today that, despite this awareness, I don’t know much about Lesotho. For instance: something as basic as the capital. (It’s Maseru.) Since today is Lesotho’s Independence Day (celebrating their 1966 independence from the United Kingdom) it’s time for me to do a little reading. Hey! Lesotho is the only country that is entirely above 1000 metres above sea level. Wow. Snowy in the wintertime.

During the Bantu migration south, Bantu peoples arrived in the region that is now Lesotho—they spoke a dialect that is known as seSotho, and the name Basotho was their name for themselves.

When Lesotho first became a single polity is was known as Basutoland—this happened in 1818, when Moshoeshoe consolidated Basotho groups and, from 1823, became their king. During the 19th century, under Moshoeshoe I, the Basotho found a series of wars with Boers settling in land traditionally used by the Basotho. As a result of this warfare, Lesotho lost quite a bit of land—still referred to as the “Lost Territory.”

Eventually Moshoeshoe asked the British for help, leading to the country being placed under British protection in 1868. After Moshoeshoe’s death, the protectorate of Basutoland was annexed to Cape Colony—but Cape Town couldn’t control the territory, and so the reins went back to Britain.

The Basotho opposed transfer to the Union of South Africa: I don’t know how things would have proceeded if it weren’t for apartheid, but the policy of apartheid effectively halted the annexation process. 1959 saw a new constitution, 1965 general legislative elections. And then: independence.

Unfortunately Lesotho experienced the all-too-common problem of political turmoil when independence arrived. Post-independence elections meant nothing when the ruling party saw it might lose: the results were thrown out, parliament dissolved, and a national state of emergency declared.

In 1986—by Military Council decree—executive power was transferred to the king (Moshoeshoe II)—who was stripped of his power in 1990 and exiled. A new constitution in 1993 saw the King given only ceremonial powers.

And things have continued to be rocky: multiparty elections returned in 1998—and in August 1998 a violent protest occurred outside the royal palace. South African and Boswanan troops, at the request of the government, entered the country (on what, it turns out, was my 19th birthday) to help prevent a military coup. Recent elections have been judged to be free and fair. Hopefully some stability will help things along.

Things seem to be improving a little—but there have been serious human rights abuses reported too, such as torture of detainees, lengthy pre-trial detention, child labour, and discrimination.

It took me some serious investigation to find a text for you—not a lot has been translated. Still, I found David Bellin Coplan’s book In the Time of Cannibals, which cites the songs of migrants from Lesotho who go to work in the mines and cities of South Africa. The following example of these migrant’s “word music” is by Majara Majara. I found it online here.


It contains nothing, this singing:
I say I know how to make this rope,
And I know how to finish it.
I say to you, long-time poets,
The days are two you [Coplan] visited me;
This is the last day:
You will respect me, the honorable one, trule.
I am not an apprentice but a doctor—
I am the horned one;
I’m not longer an owlet but a great horned owl.
What am I saying to you, my parents?
I’m the horned one who stays in the trees

—Majara Majara
from David Bellin Coplan’s In the Time of Cannibals

Guinea

2 October brings us to Guinea’s Independence Day. I know you might get confused here—there’s Guinea, Guinea-Bissau and Equatorial Guinea, all separate nations. (I must admit that adding in the South American Guyana and French Guiana can confuse… well, at least me, further. But I expect that ‘s just me. But remember, if it’s spelt like the odd British currency amount for a pound and a shilling—who thought of that?—then it’s in West Africa.) Independence came in 1958, went Guinea ceased to be a French holding.

Oh, and the name actually comes from a Sosso word—“Guinee.” I like the story there. Explorers arrived and asked a group of women the name of the country—the women were washing clothes in the river. The women (not surprisingly) didn’t understand what the men were asking, and (again, not surprisingly) were afraid. What they said was “guinee nai mora,” which apparently translates as “we are women.” So. The Europeans assumed that “Guinee” was the name. Now, I don’t know if this is apocryphal, but either way, it’s meant to be the standard “and that’s how Guinea got its name” story.

Modern-day Guinea started out as part of different African empires—around 900 CE it was part of the Ghana Empire, before, 300 years or so later, moving into the Sosso kingdom. In 1235 the Mali Empire moved into the region. Later the Songhai Empire came along—but civil war proved a problem there. And, of course, Europeans came along—the Portuguese were the first—arriving around the same time as the Songhai state was beginning, in 1460. It took a century for the slave trade to start—and until 1592 for the Songhai Empire to end. But I believe that’s coincidence.

And the French? Well, colonisation took place during the Scramble for Africa. 1890 was the year, and a few years later the Guinea was made part of French West Africa. When Charles de Gaulle held a referendum in 1958 on a new French constitution and the creation of the Fifth Republic, colonies were given the option of independence, or retention of colonial status. At that time, Guinea was the only colony to opt for immediate independence, and it follow quickly on the heels of this: the referendum took place on 28 September, independence was declared on 2 October. That’s quick moving.

Of course, independence did bring some familiar problems: a dictator (Ahmed Sékou Touré) who didn’t place human rights high on his priority list. He ruled until his death in 1984, when Lansana Conté took over—changing the economic direction of the country, but keeping with the dictatorial style of leadership. The first elections were held in 1993—but those elections, and all held since, have been disputed and Conté is still the president. Last year Eugene Camara—an ally of Conté’s—was nominated as Prime Minister. This was met with violent demonstrations and strikes, with the government responding by declaring martial law. Conté did agree to nominate a new Prime Minister—his options came from a list of candidates drawn up by labor unions and civic leaders. Still, it sounds like tings have a long way to go.

On a lighter note, there are nearly 11,000 members of the Scouts in Guinea.

Today’s poem comes from the anthology French African Verse. This poem is by Nene Khaly. Enjoy!


Bad Weather

The West wind shakes the leaves
The leaves fall, troubled consciences
Extinguishes consciences
Crush Africa

The sun of the Soudan fires the savannahs
The savannahs are shut to tomorrow’s harvest
The stolen harvests in the silent grainstores
Starve Africa

The round of the frenzied winds
The dead silence of faulty consciences
A sun of wretchedness drying the skins
And savannahs with their harvests of thorns
Make my dark heart bleed

See now, at this moment the eternal rain is falling

Rain that cuts the paths with ravines
Slippery paths that betray my steps
Unconfident steps that lead nowhere
Not even back home

But ebony cheeks have drained these waves
And the sea has swelled up new breasts
In the future cry of the new-born child
Let the wind sing with the leaves in the rain
And my sun
To cauterize these tears.

—Nene Khaly
from French African Verse

Nigeria

So Nigeria gained its independence from the United Kingdom on 1 October 1960. Three years later, also on 1 October, Nigeria was declared a republic. I could not have told you before now that Abuja is the capital, nor that it is the most populous country in Africa. (I do know the city of Lagos is in Nigeria—but only just learned that while it is the largest city, it is not the capital.)

I noticed some spectacular Nigerian objects when I visited the Smithsonian Museum of African Art a while ago. And you know what? People have been making art of various kinds in Nigeria for a few thousand years.

Europeans first arrived in the guise of the Portuguese, but it was the British who moved in later that left the greater mark. When the British were done with the Napoleonic Wars they expanded their trade with Nigeria, and later Britain’s relationship with Nigeria began to formalise so that, on 1 January 1901, Nigeria became a British protectorate. I suppose it is to Britain’s credit that, following the growing demand for Nigerian independence, after World War II the British Government legislated successive constitutions to move Nigeria toward self-government until full independence arrived.

It didn’t take long for disruption of the political process to occur. In 1966 alone there were a number of military coups, leading not just to political upheaval but, not surprisingly, ethnic tensions and violence. The Eastern Region declared itself an independent state (the Republic of Biafra) in 1967 leading to the Nigerian Civil War.

Following the end of the civil war came oil. Oil money came to the Nigerian state—but where did it go? Corruption meant that this oil-wealth didn’t really benefit the Nigerian people.

After a long time under military rule, 1979 saw Nigeria return to democracy—briefly. Unfortunately, Shehu Shagari’s civilian regime was seen as corrupt and incompetent, which lead to another military coup. However, after the new regime of Mohammahu Buhari promised reform but didn’t get much done in a hurry, there was yet another coup, placing Ibrahim Babangida. It took until 1993 for the next democratic elections to be held. The result? Babangida declared the results void. The population responded with mass protests and violence. A caretaker government took over briefly—and very victim to, yes, another coup. The dictator General Sani Abacha proved brutal, yet avoided coups through bribery on an impressive scale. He was fund dead in 1998.

Now Nigeria is back on the path to democracy—perhaps. The elections that have been held since 1999 have all been condemned as massively flawed. Meanwhile, the Niger Delta crisis continues.

Given the ongoing crisis, it’s perhaps appropriate that today’s poem comes from the anthology Against Forgetting, a collection edited by Carolyn Forché (disclosure: I know her, and she’s fantastic) of poetry of witness. This poem is by Wole Soyinka. Please read more of his work.


Civilian and Soldier

My apparition rose from the fall of lead,
Declared, ‘I’m a civilian.’ It only served
To aggravate your fright. For how could I 
Have risen, a being of this world, in that hour
Of impartial death! And I thought also: nor is
Your quarrel of this world.
                                          You stood still
For both eternities, and oh I heard the lesson
Of your training sessions, cautioning—
Scorch earth behind you, do not leave
A dubious neutral to the rear. Reiteration
Of my civilian quandary, burrowing earth
From the lead festival of your more eager friends
Worked the worse on your confusion, and when
You brought the gun to bear on me, and death
Twitched me gently in the eye, your plight
And all of you came clear to me.
                                           I hope some day
Intent upon my trade of living, to be checked
In stride by your apparition in a trench,
Signalling, I am a soldier. No hesitation then
But I shall shoot you clean and fair
With meat and bread, a gourd of wine
A bunch of breasts from either arm, and that
Lone question—do you friend, even now, know
What it is all about?

—Wole Soyinka
from Against Forgetting

Botswana

I love the word Botswana. I know that’s neither here nor there, but, well, I do. When the country was still a British protectorate, it was known as Bechuanaland—and there’s nothing wrong with that. Except—Botswana has, in my own mind, more romance. It’s the sound of it. It only became Botswana following independence (30 September, 1966) and we’re here to celebrate nationhood, right? Happy Botswana day! I assume you remember that Botswana sits between South Africa, Namibia, Zambia and Zimbabwe.

Bantu peoples arrived in Botswana sometime between 200 and 500 CE. I haven’t found a lot about the history at this stage—in fact (I wish I had time to check up multiple sources for every entry…) what I really know starts at the 19th century, and the Tswana people of Botswana came into conflict with the Ndebele tribes arriving from the Kalahari Desert—add to that a new batch of settlers, the Boers from Transvaal. Batswana leaders appealed for help, and, in 1885, became a protectorate of Britain. It remained separate when the Union of South Africa came about in 1910, though there were provisions for later incorporation into South Africa. This obviously never occurred, and when apartheid led to South Africa’s withdrawal from the Commonwealth, it became clear that Botswana was going to stay separate.

After Britain accepted proposals for Botswana’s self-government in 1964, the capital was moved from Mafikeng to the new city of Gaborone the following year. 1965 saw a new constitution and general elections, before the move to full independence in 1966. Oh—I haven’t found any coups in my reading (correct me if I’m wrong) though leadership has only passed through a few hands since independence, with the current president the son of the first president, and the presidency twice pasting to vice presidents. So, while it’s a multi-party democracy, the country has been dominated by the Botswana Democratic Party. I find that interesting. Economically the country is doing pretty well—not much foreign debt, and the country has gone from being one of the poorest countries in the world to a middle-income country.

It’s not all rosy. AIDS is a big problem here as elsewhere in Africa—in fact, Botswana has the second highest HIV infection rate in the world. Swaziland beats it.

Wildlife? Yes. We have lions, cheetahs, leopards, hyenas, wild dogs…

Today’s poem from Botswana is by Barolong Seboni. I found it online here. It's published in The Penguin Book of Modern African Poetry.

memory

life is but memories unborn

the world revolves
like a cranium
on the neck of time
we remember; we forget
then we die
hoping to become eternal
memories yet unborn.

between the begetting
and the forgetting,
in memory lies life.

— Barolong Seboni

Guinea-Bissau

I mentioned that I like to have my ignorance remedied, right? Well, today is Guinea-Bissau’s Independence Day (hurrah!) and I have to admit that until today I knew nothing about the country except that it’s on the West coast of Africa. Granted, I’ve just learned that it’s one of the smallest nations in continental Africa, so I’m guessing that we don’t hear much about it on the world stage, but I didn’t even know that it was a Portuguese colony. Independence was declared on 24 September 1973, and formally recognised almost a year later, 10 September 1974. “Bissau” was added to the name to distinguish this country from the country of Guinea (previously a French territory) as Guinea-Bissau had been known as Portuguese Guinea. Why Bissau? It’s the name of the capital.

So Guinea-Bissau was part of the kingdom of Gabu, once—and the kingdom of Gabu was itself part of the Mali Empire. Even though the Portuguese first started colonising in the 16th century, parts of the Gabu kingdom survived into the 18th century—it wasn’t until the 19th century that the interior of the country was explored by Europeans. And, yes, the slave trading was roaring in this area.

The movement for independence started in 1956—both here and in Cape Verde. The African Party for the Independence of Guinea and Cape Verde had support from Cuba, China, the USSR as well as other African countries—the support included weaponry, and a guerrilla-like war ensued. It took close to twenty years, but in the end the movement won out.

Unfortunately, independence didn’t end the bloodshed. The winners slaughtered their former enemies, soldiers who fought alongside the Portuguese—thousands of them died, while some managed to escape either to Portugal or elsewhere in Africa. Many of the slaughtered were buried in unmarked mass graves.

It took until 1994 for multi-party elections to take place—and they were followed 4 years later by an army uprising, kicking the president João Bernardo Vieira out. The next elections were in 2000, and a new president (Kamba Ialá) was elected—followed, three years later by (you guessed it) a military coup. In 2005, Guinea-Bissau held elections again, two years after the coup. Ialá ran again, but Vieira (yes, the president deposed in 1998) was the winner in a runoff election.

So, the official language of the country is still Portuguese—but you know what? Apparently only 14 percent of the population speaks it.


I found this poem by Amílcar Cabral online here. http://www.vidaslusofonas.pt/amilcar_cabral_2.htm Enjoy.

Island

            - A poem by Amílcar Cabral – Praia, Cabo Verde, 1945 -
 
Mother, in your perennial sleep,
You live naked and forgotten
and barren,
thrashed by the winds,
at the sound of songs without music
sung by the waters that confine us...
 
Island:
Your hills and valleys
haven’t felt the passage of time.
They remain in your dreams
–  your children’s dreams –
crying out your woes
to the passing winds
and to the carefree birds flying by.
 
Island :
Red earth shaped like a hill that never ends
– rocky earth –
ragged cliffs blocking all horizons
while tying all our troubles to the winds!

—Amílcar Cabral
Translated by John D Godinho

Mali

So it’s 22 September at the landlocked nation of Mali is celebrating its national day—and, yes, it is the anniversary of their 1960 independence from France. Don’t get it mixed up with Malawi—they’re in very different regions. Mali is in Western Africa, and the country goes right into the Sahara—the area that is now Mali was once part of three West African empires in control of trans-Saharan trade—the Ghana Empire, the Songhai Empire and, of course, the Mali Empire. (The trade was in gold, salt and other precious stuff… for anyone who doubts the preciousness of salt, there’s an excellent fairy tale about a daughter giving her father, the king, salt… while he doesn’t appreciate it at first, of course he at last realises the true worth of the stuff—and his daughter. It’s a Lear/Cordelia type of story.) After Europeans started establishing sea routes, the trans-Saharan trade routes sort of fell by the wayside.

And then Mali was one of the countries that ended up under French control during the Scramble for Africa—it used to be known as French Sudan. Just prior to independence, Mali and Senegal got together to become the Mali Federation in 1959. The Mali Federation gained independence from France on 20 June in 1960, but then Senegal withdrew—and of course Senegal is now an independent nation—and on 22 September Mali got to celebrate independence all over again, as—well, Mali.

So the first president—Modibo Keïta—was keen on the one-party state, socialist in its leanings. Eight years later, following economic decline (something I imagine no-one wants to think about today…) there was a military coup. Bloodless, though. That’s something. The new regime, with Moussa Traoré in control, tried to turn things around. They were hindered by a long, harsh drought—from 1968 until 1974—student agitation, as well as three attempted coups. But its not like the government—a military regime after all—was dreadfully put upon. Until the late 1980s, dissenters were repressed.

1991 saw another coup, and then in 1992 the first democratic, multi-party elections were held in the country. The two presidents that have served since then—Konaré and Touré have seen the country become one of the more stable countries in Africa.

Today’s Malian poem is by Siriman Cissoko—he actually lived in Senegal, but was born in Mali.


O Earth, from Ressac de nous-mêmes

I have laid them
my dead
in the gentleness of your loved breasts
there where the waterfalls wash the feet
of the cliffs
Keep them
o earth
keep in the folds of your clay
keep the bones of my brothers.

Often in the evening
I shall go and weep for them there
at the hour when the heart
draws arpeggios
across the koras
of dream.

And if one day the wind of liberty
came breathing after me
on your mountains and dunes
your rivers and plains
o earth
let it cradle
and rock
my brothers
heroes whose flesh was torn
and who are dead that liberty might live.

—Siriman Cissoko

Swaziland

Ah Swaziland—mostly surrounded by South Africa, but also bordering Mozambique. Today we’re celebrating Swaziland’s Independence Day—locally known as Somhlolo Day. Independence from the United Kingdom arrived on this day in 1968. Unfortunately, not long after this—in 1973—a State of Emergency was declared, and while the government claims it has been lifted, political movements are still suppressed.

It’s an ancient country—by which I meant that there are artefacts indicating human presences for tens of thousands of years, with prehistoric rock paintings dating from around 25,000 BCE, but also evidence of very early human existence in the region—as in well over 100,000 years. More recently, this is another country that experienced a large influx of Bantu peoples—when the Ngwane people couldn’t match growing Zulu strength they moved north into what is now Swaziland, establishing what became the Swazi nation.

The British first became involved in the 19th century after Mswati II requested help from the British authorities in South Africa—trying to stem the tide of Zulu raids into Swaziland. after Mswati’s death the people made agreements with Britain and South African, and then the South African Republic established colonial rule over the country, over the objections of Swazi royalty. South Africa withdrew with the onset of the Boer War, but only a few years later the British came along and proclaimed their rule, separating Swaziland from the Transvaal Colony in 1906.

Sixty years later the United Kingdom were open to discussion on a new Swazi constitution, resulting in independence two years later. In 1973 King Sobhuza repealed the new constitution, dissolved parliament, outlawed political activity and trade unions. In 1979 a new parliament was brought about. With a new monarch, new disputes cropped up, and in 1984 the prime minister was replaced, before the Queen Regent was herself replaced. This struggle between pro-democracy voices and the monarchy has continued in the ensuing decades.

With this restriction of political activity, it’s not surprising then that Swaziland is 138th in the world in terms of the Press Freedom Index.

Finding a poem from Swaziland proved a challenge—again it’s a matter of translation. While English is an official language, SiSwati is dominant. The piece below is actually a fragment of a poem on a warrior king. I believe it is from an oral tradition—I found it online here.


Fragment on warrior king:
They are calling you, they are giving you a message/
King of the inner circle!
They are not calling you for nothing,
They are calling you to a war of nations, stabbing and killing.

Gabon

17 August is Gabon’s Independence Day—the Gabonese gained their independence from France on this day in 1960. So, that’s 48 years of independence nationhood, right? The country has had two presidents in that time. Well, discounting a 24 hour interruption. Let’s find out more.

Initial inhabitants? Pygmy peoples. Absorbed into an influx of Bantu tribes. Europeans came along in the 15th century—in fact, the name “Gabon” comes from a European source. It originates in the Portuguese word for cabin—Gabâo. So, that was the coastal contact. The interior always takes a bit longer—it was 1875 before Pierre Savorgnan de Brazza led his first expedition into the Gabon-Congo region. He founded the imaginatively named town, Franceville.

When France put together a bunch of territories to make French Equatorial Africa (yes, it’s equatorial), Gabon became part of that federation—lasting from 1910 until 1959. And then came independence.

So the first president, Léon M’ba, led the country for 6 years, from 1961 until his death in 1967. (There was actually a usurper in 1964—for 24 hours. Jean-Hilaire Aubame ended up in prison for ten years.) His vice president became the successor, and Omar Bongo has ruled the country ever since. In the 1990s reforms came in to move the country to a multiparty democracy, but President Bongo has been consistently re-elected. Though there have been questions about the fairness of these elections, international observers say that the results were representative, though there were perceived irregularities.

Mmm. Rainforests. They cover 85 percent of the country.

Poetically, I have a Gabonese Pygmy song for you today—it comes from 3,000 Years of Black Poetry3,000 Years of Black Poetry, and was translated by C. M. Bowra.


The Elephant II

Elephant hunter, take your bow!
Elephant hunter, take your bow!

In the weeping forest, under the wing of the evening
the night all black has gone to rest happy:
in the sky the stars have fled trembling,
fireflies shine vaguely and put out their lights:
above us the moon is dark, its white light is put out.
The spirits are wandering. 

Elephant hunter, take your bow!
Elephant hunter, take your bow!

In the frightened forest the tree sleeps, the leaves
      are dead,
the monkeys have closed their eyes, hanging from the 
      branches above us:
the antelopes slip past with silent steps,
eat the fresh grass, prick their ears,
lift their heads and listen frightened:
the cicada is silent, stops his grinding son.

Elephant hunter, take your bow!
Elephant hunter, take your bow!

In the forest lashed by the great rain
Father elephant walks heavily, baou, baou,
careless, without fear, sure of his strength,
Father elephant, whom no one can vanquish:
among the trees which he breaks he stops and starts again:
he eats, roars, overturns trees and seeks his mate:
Father elephant, you have been heard from far.

Elephant hunter, take your bow!
Elephant hunter, take your bow!

In the forest where no one passes but you,
hunter, lift up your heart, leap and walk:
meat in front of you, the huge piece of meat, 
the meat that walks like a hill.
the meat that makes the heart glad,
the meat that we’ll roast on our coals,
the meat into which our teeth sink,
the fine red meant and the blood we drink smoking.

Elephant hunter, take your bow!
Elephant hunter, take your bow!

—Gabon Pygmy song
translated by C. M. Bowra
from 3,000 Years of Black Poetry

Republic of the Congo

We’re back in Heart of Darkness territory, as on 15 August the Republic of the Congo celebrates its Independence Day—the country became independent from France in 1960. Compare with the Democratic Republic of the Congo, the Republic of the Congo is quite small—but size isn’t the issue. (After all, 15 August is also Liechtenstein’s national day—now that is a tiny nation…)

Original inhabitants? Pygmy peoples. Their replacements? Bantu tribes. First European contact? 15th century, with the Portuguese. Slavery? Check: the Portuguese were trading for slaves in the interior, while the coast was a source for the transatlantic slave trade. Scramble for Africa? Well, the Congo river was a target for conquest, and a number of powers fought for the territory. Eventually it was divided between three powers—the Portuguese got Cabinda (now an area of Angola), which is north of the Congo on the Atlantic Coast, Belgium got only a small part at the mouth of the river—but the enormous hinterland, while France took the area north of the river.

The area that is now the Republic of the Congo was initially joined with other French holdings, and called French Equitorial Africa: it included Chad and the Central African Republic too.

While there was a pretty quick ousting of the first president, it took eight years for a coup d’état to happen. (I have to admit to finding it quite depressing that I read these histories now waiting for the coup—but I expect them all over. They just happened longer ago in some places.) A year after Captain Marien Ngouabi took over, he announced that the country was a people’s republic. In 1977, still president, Ngouabi was assassinated.

After being under a Marxist regime for decades, in 1992 mutli-party democracy entered the game—though, as usual, it hasn’t been smooth sailing. 1997 saw the beginning of a civil war that ended when a peace deal came into effect at the end of 1999. The 2002 elections following this were considered a sham—and a new constitution allowed the president more power and a longer term.

Most people live in the southwest area of the country—there’s a lot of tropical jungle up north that doesn’t see many people.

Today’s poem is by Tchicaya U Tam’si. I have to admit it’s another I found while roaming around looking for pieces, but I didn’t record where I found it. When there’s time, I’ll fill in these gaps.


Epitaph

                    from L’Arc musical (1970)


We are this union
of water salt and earth
of sunshine and flesh
bespattering the sun
no more among the sea marks
but because there is this song
which ruins all the gulfs
which recreates a genesis
of wind weather and flesh!

I predict a babel
of unoxidized steel
or of crossed blood
mixed in the dregs of all surges!
After the red man,
after the black man,
after the yellow man,
after the white man,
there is already the man of bronze
sole alloy of the soft fires
we have still to ford.

—Tchicaya U Tam’si

Central African Republic

On 13 August, 1960 the Central African Republic attained its independence from France—only two days after neighbouring Chad. A lot of people I talk to don’t even know that the Central African Republic is a country—it is, and its name tells you where it is. How could you forget a country whose acronym is CAR? The country is mostly Sudano-Guinean savannah. I don’t think I’ve ever been in an area designated at savannah. Another thing for the list. Oh, and the first democratic elections were held in 1993—and a few years ago the country was thought to be a leader in sustainable development, though its one of the poorest countries in the world.

The Central African Republic was one of those areas of Africa that came under European control during the Scramble for Africa. A few countries wanted to territory, but it ended up in Frances hands after some swift moves and negotiations. The colonial rule began around 1900. With colonial rule came the brutal exploitation of native populations by the private companies hoping to turn a buck in the region.

Prior to full independence, the country—then still called the colony of Ubangi-Shari—became an autonomous territory in 1958, and it was then that it took the name of the Central African Republic. Early on it established a one party state, which was followed by the first overthrow in 1965 by Colonel Jean-Bédel Bokassa, who declared himself president for life in 1972 and then named himself emperor in 1976—following this up a year later with an opulent crowning ceremony. President-for-life-ness/emperorhood were cut short by a 1981 coup, and the country was ruled by a military junta again, with the movement toward democracy arriving in the late 1980s. This movement gained ground after the fall of the Berlin Wall—yes, that had reverberations even in central Africa.

Recently there’s been violence in the country, and while there have been battles between government troops and rebel forces, civilians have been caught in the middle—some refugees have fled to Chad.

Today’s poem is by Emmanuel Boundzéki Dongala, and comes from the anthology Négritude: Black Poetry from Africa and the Caribbean.


Prayer and repentance of a little Christian

lord
why did you make this morning
so grey so sad
is it because I sinned
last night
are you that angry
lord

even the strutting rooster
hasn’t sung this morning
even the little sparrows
haven’t left their nest under the eaves

lord lord
I have sinned and I confess it
but it isn’t really all my fault
when I let my eyes look deep deep down in hers
(O lord those eyes
they could have made me do all kinds of things
they could have made me eat meat on good Friday
they could have made me put my cross away
they could have made me talk back to the holy-father-pope himself)
I kissed her and the catechism lesson slipped my mind

lord lord
I have sinned and I confess it
I confess
I found her long black flowing hair
prettier than the holy-virgin-mary’s
(O lord I’m so ashamed)
make me suffer the punishment of sinners
no don’t take pity on me
I admit my hopeless my unpardonable and my mortal
sin

but lord
take pity on my uncle who wants a healthy crop of palm wine for a dowry

take pity on mamma who needs a healthy crop of maize and manioc

take pity on that poor black skinny ant who’s carrying his heavy cross of straw

lord
I admit my hopeless my unpardonable and my mortal
sin

but to them dear lord who aren’t to blame
give them back that shining sun that’s all their joy
give them back that sky of blue that makes them throb with love
and give mamma that sun she wants so badly for her crop of manioc

but don’t let me go on living
because I skipped my Sunday catechism class.


—Emmanuel Boundzéki Dongala
from Négritude: Black Poetry from Africa and the Caribbean
translated from the French by Norman R. Shapiro

Chad

Chad—its sometimes call the “Dead Heart of Africa.” It’s a long way from the sea, and is mostly in a desert zone—including, of course, a swathe of the Sahara. I actually didn’t know until today that the capital is N’Djamena. In fact, I’d ashamed to say I had never even heard of N’Djamena. Chad is a melting pot—over 200 ethnic and linguistic groups, though the official languages are French and Arabic. The former comes from the countries time as a French colony: Chad gained its independence from France on 11 August, 1960, leading us to today’s Chadian Independence Day. The French period was practically a blink of the eye in terms of the countries timeline—though of course those colonisers had a big impact for a relatively short stay. Still, the French only officially moved in in 1920—so Chad spent a mere 40 years under French control, while there have been people living in the region since the 7th millennium BCE.

Following independence there has been a bit of tension—the first president, François Tombalbaye proved unpopular after a few years—a civil war broke out in 1965 that lasted a long time. There was a coup in 1990, and then more recently the Darfur crisis has spilled over from neighbouring Sudan into some areas of Chad, causing a few problems.

This year saw the Battle of N’Djamena (which makes me even more ashamed I didn’t know the capital). On 2 February Charian rebel forces entered the capital, initially taking on a large part of the city, attacking the presidential palace. The palace didn’t fall, though, and within a few days the government’s troops had pushed the rebels out of the city, and they retreated. It has been the first revel attack—there was another failed attack in April 2006. There was a peace agreement signed last year in October 2007—but that collapsed a month later. There’s concern that what has been considered a humanitarian crisis in the country could become a humanitarian “catastrophe.”

I had a hard time finding texts from Chad—there are a few writers (including Joseph Brahim Seïd, Baba Moustapha, Antoine Bangui and Koulsy Lamko), but their work is hard to find. I still hope to track some down at some point. In the meantime, while I was ferreting around in the strange places this project takes me, I found an account of the legend of how the Buduma tribe—who primarily living on the islands of Lake Chad—came to Chad. It’s from P. A. Talbot’s article “The Buduma of Lake Chad” which appeared in the The Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute of Great Britain and Ireland, Vol. 41, (Jul. - Dec., 1911).



A Kanembu, Bulu by name, fell in love with his sister-in-law during the absence of his elder brother, who had gone on a pilgrimage to Mecca. As the latter’s return was delayed, the pair took his death for granted, and went through a form of marriage. On the husband’s return Bulu feared punishment for his misdeed, so he fled to Lake Chad, and lived in hiding on one of the islands. He was obliged to live on fish or such small game as he could snare, till one day a great calabash of millet was found entangled in the reeds which fringed his place of retreat. Bulu thought that this must have been blown over from the western shore, and therefore determined to go thither and procure a supply of grain. He was captured on landing and taken before the head chief of the Sos, who treated him kindly. The chief had a beautiful daughter named Saiorom, from whom perhaps the peninsula takes its name. Bulu repaid his host’s kindness by making love to the girl, with the result that her father was obliged to give her to him and send them both back to Lake Chad in order to conceal the disgrace which had befallen his family.


—P. A. Talbot
from The Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute of Great Britain and Ireland

Côte d’Ivoire

I know some of you will look at the name of this country and then say “Oh! The Ivory Coast!” but I’m discouraging that. The reason? The Ivoirian government officially discourages this usage, and asks that Côte d’Ivoire be used in all languages. Côte d’Ivoire is in West Africa—and, yes, it is on the coast, with the Gulf of Guinea to the south.

We don’t really know much about Côte d’Ivoire from the period before the Portuguese pulled up in the 1460s. Apparently the major ethnic groups arrived quite recently. So pre-European contact it’s a little bit of a blank slate.

The country didn’t suffer from the slave trade as much as neighbouring countries—the European ships seemed to like other areas of the coast better, so the Ivoirians were lucky there. The colonial era started in the 1840s when France decided they wanted to get involved, and built naval bases along the coast. Taking over the interior took longer—into the 1890s the French were battling it out with the Mandika forces that were coming in from Gambia, and the Baoulé kept up guerrilla warfare until 1917—even as France had another war on its mind.

And what did the French have to offer? Coffee, cacao and banana plantations. Of course, with plantations came forced labour. How is it that the abolition of slavery only applied outside of Africa? If the mountain comes to Mohammed does that suddenly allow the mountain to put Mohammed to work? (I suppose it’s obvious that this makes me a little grumpy. The country basically dodges the bulk of the slave trade, only to be effectively enslaved after its over.)

But then came independence: first Félix Houphouët-Boigny started a trade union for cocoa farmers. Good stuff. Soon enough Houphouët-Boigny was elected to the French parliament, and the French abolished forced labour. And about time. In 1958 Côte d’Ivoire became autonomous, followed by independence in 1960. 20 years later Côte d’Ivoire was the world’s leading source of cocoa. Yum.

So Houphouët-Boigny became the country’s first president. Unfortunately this was a one party system, and he ruled right up until his death in 1993, though his government was forced to support a multi-party system at the end. Nonetheless Houphouët-Boigny’s favoured successor (Henri Konan Bédié) succeeded him, nad was then re-elected. (The opposition was disorganised.)

The next step? A coup in 1999. This was followed by a peaceful election in 2000, which saw Laurent Gbagbo oust the stager of the previous year’s coup. Unfortunately in 2002 there was an uprising while Gbagbo was in Italy, and some say that Robert Guéï, having led one coup, attempted another—this is disputed. Either way, Gbagbo returned, signed accords with rebel leaders and, when the peace agreement fell apart, ordered airstrikes against the rebels. While Gbagbo’s term expired in 2005 it was deemed impossible to hold an election under the circumstances, and Gbagbo’s government was extended by a year. In 2006 the UN backed another one-year extension of the Gbagbo government. In 2007 a peace deal was signed.

Oh, child soldiers. There are child soldiers serving in militia groups linked to the government in Côte d’Ivoire. Ex-rebel groups also employed child soldiers. Needless to say, I—to understate my position in the extreme—am not a fan.

A poem. “Leaf in the Wind” by Bernard B Dadié, who was born in Côte d’Ivoire. He worked for the French government in Senegal for a time, but when he returned to to his homeland he became part of the independence movement. He was Minister of Culture in Côte d’Ivoire from 1977 to 1986. Once again I’ve failed in my duties to record the exact place I found this poem, and it’s translator. I’ll have to followup when I get a chance to clean up these entries…


Leaf in the Wind

I am the man the colour of Night
Leaf in the wind, I go at the drift of my dreams.

I am the tree putting forth shoots in the springs
The dew that hums in the baobab’s hollow.

Leaf in the wind, I go at the drift of my dreams.

I am the man they complain of
Because opposed to formality
The man they laugh at
Because opposed to barriers

Leaf in the wind, I go at the drift of my dreams.

I am the man they talk abut:
     ‘Oh him!’
Him you cannot hold
The breeze that touches you and is gone

Leaf in the wind, I go at the drift of my dreams.

Captain at the stern
Scanning the scudding clouds
For the earth’s powerful eye;
Ship without sail
That glides on the sea

Leaf in the wind, I go at the drift of my dreams.

I am the man whose dreams
Are manifold as the stars
More murmurous than swarms of bees
More smiling than children’s smiles
More sonorous than echoes in the woods.

Leaf in the wind, I go at the drift of my dreams.

—Bernard B Dadié

Burkina Faso

Another African nation, another independence day. On 5 August Burkina Faso celebrates their Independence Day. Date? 1960. Coloniser? France. Sometimes it’s just known as Burkina—which translates, apparently, as “men of integrity.” We like integrity. Landlocked, located in West Africa, it’s surrounded by plenty of nations: Mali, Niger, Benin, Togo, Ghana and Côte d’Ivoire. Oh, and it used to be known as the Republic of Upper Volta, but the name was changed in 1984. The capital is Ouagadougou—I love that name.

So, people have been in Burkina Faso for over ten thousand years, and agricultural life in permanent settlements appears to have emerged around 5000 years ago. Iron, ceramics, religion—all these emerged between 1500 and 1000 BCE. More recently, in 500 or so years ago it was an important economic area for the Songhai Empire. Yes, there was life before Europe got involved.

And they got involved pretty late. The Mossi kingdom was only defeated by the French forces (colonising forces, that is—does that make it any better?) in 1896, and became a French protectorate the same year. Still, there were large pockets it didn’t yet have under control, and it took a few years to make sure the majority of the territory was “conquered.” While it was a French colony, the capital was Bamako.

The privilege of being French? Why, you could be drafted for World War I.

Then the French decided to dismantle the territory, distributing the area between Côte d’Ivoire, French Sudan and Niger. This was not a popular move: after World War II ended, anti-colonial sentiment rose, and the French reinstated “Upper Volta” with its previous boundaries in 1947. Eleven years later the country became self-governing, and then came 1960’s independence.

The first military coup? 1966. Twelve years later civilian rule returned, only to be followed by another coup in 1980, followed in 1983 by a counter-coup. The latest coup was 1987—since then Blaise Compaoré has been in charge. Compaoré was elected President in 1991—but apparent the election didn’t mean much, since the opposition boycotted. This was followed by re-election in 1998 and 2005. The last of these re-elections was controversial (and, yes, opposition parties participated) as the constitution had previously stipulated the President could only serve two terms, and have reduced those terms from 7 years to 5. Yes, the math is simple. He’s been president for 21 years now.

Poem? This one’s by Frédéric Pacéré Titinga. I found it online here. I love the idea of a “Hymn of Debris.”


Hymn of Debris

The mountain caved in

Just before dawn!

Night reigns completely!

The huge mahogany of the village

Has blown to pieces;

The termites hold the power of the Crowns.

The lion’s roar has stopped

In the haunted savannah!

Night reigns completely!

The immense hope of the village

Has blown to pieces;

The termites hold the power of the Crowns!

Terrified falcon,

Abandoned,

Worn out,

Maggoty,

Betrayed by the spirits,

Bending the millenary knee

That cracks
Under the damned breath of the ancestors,

Defenceless people,

Orphaned people,

Humbled
Under the mournful COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO

Of artificial trivialities

Carrying a past of hope,

Betrayed,
Livid,

Stabbed,

Crushed,

Terrified falcon,

Terrified falcon,

Terrified falcon,

Go!

Go under the enemy howls,

Dark survivor,

Tormented one-legged man

Unfortunate centipede

Go over your debris

Hope of the beheaded

Go!

Tomorrow,

The sun will be high in the sky.


—Frédéric Pacéré Titinga

Niger

Don’t get it confused with Nigeria. That’s the first thing. Niger is landlocked, and, yes, it does border Nigeria—it also shares borders with Benin, Burkina Faso, Mali, Algeria, Libya and Chad. Whoa—that’s quite a few borders! It’s not the biggest African nation by quite a long stretch—it comes in at 6th largest of Africa. Still, there are a lot of countries on that continent, and Niger is definitely a big one. 3 August? Independence Day for Niger, celebrating the 1960 declaration of Independence from France. Oh, and another thing not to get confused: the people of Nigeria are referred to as Nigerians, while the people of Niger are Nigeriens. That one letter makes a difference. Respect it.

I have one word for you: chariots. Chariots? Read on, my friend. These days Niger is largely subsumed by the Sahara, but it hasn’t always been that way. The area has been inhabited for at least 12,000 years, and evidence from the early period, in the form of paintings, indicate something much more lush than what’s there today—wild and domesticated animals, chariots (hey! I had no idea there were chariots in this region of the world) and, apparently, a rich societal system. That’s so interesting—this flourishing, complex society that left a record so we have some idea of what Niger was like before desertification took place. More recently, Niger was part of the Songhai Empire, which in the 15th and 16th century was one of the largest African empires.

So then came the Europeans—as with a lot of the interior, explorers didn’t make contact with this part of the work until the 19th century. Among the early explorers were the British explorer Mungo Park (fab name!) and Germany’s Heinrich Barth. They were searching for the source of the Niger River. Then came the French—they were present in the 19th century, but Niger only became a French colony in 1922.

So, suddenly you’re French. Like other French colonies in the region, Niger was being administered out of Dakar in Senegal. They were granted French citizenship, as well as some degree of participation in political life. In 1956 voting inequalities were removed, and a larger measure of self-government was allowed. In 1958 the country became an autonomous state within the French community, but with their declaration of independence, Niger severed its official ties to France.

We’re familiar with the story right? First there were fourteen years of one-party rule: civilian Hamani Diori was the country’s first president. Then, following drought and accusations of corruption, there was a coup d'état that tossed Diori out. The coup was followed with thirteen years of military rule—again, one party. Unions and students then began demanding a multi-party democratic system. By 1990 the then-current regime agreed, and new parties and community organizations began to emerge. In preparation for a new constitution and open elections, the country held a peace conference in 1991, and at the end of that year a transitional government was put in place, as they paved the way for elections.

The results of the first election, though, led to cohabitation between president and prime minister, and the government found it difficult to move forward. Unfortunately this led to another overthrow. Ouch. Baré, who led this coup, died in 1999, leading to the formation of a National Reconciliation Council. The next election was considered, in general, to be free and fair and at least there hasn’t been an overthrow since then. Unfortunately, since last year there has been a Tuareg Rebellion (the second of these) in northern Niger, and this has had, not surprisingly, negative effects both politically and economically. The Tuareg are one of the semi-nomadic ethnic groups making up Niger’s population.

Hey? Have you looked at pictures of the Sahara recently? Do.

Today’s poem is actually by Susan Rich, a member of the Peace Corp who lived in Niger. It tells something of her relationship with the Nigerien woman Aisha. I found it online here.


Nomadic Life

When I come back with the cups of tea
the sugar bowl has been emptied,
my imported M&M—
gone. Flies stretch their legs
search, then spiral
in a dust storm of light.
Aisha sits solemn in afternoon heat
examines the inside of ice cubes
questions what makes water
strong or weak.
We invent common words between us,
point at the refrigerator door,
the photograph of ferns rising out of snow
the last volunteer left behind.
I’d like to trade with her
my typewriter keys
for the way she navigates the desert,
reads the coordinates of sand.
I want to know as Aisha knows
when it’s time to follow
the ambivalent line of landscape
keep faith in dunes that disappear.
By evening when she tastes
my color-coated chocolates
shares them with her friends
we both will recall the nomad
the other woman
we each might have been.

—Susan Rich