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This satirical portrayal of the fictional West African 'Mimboland’ begins with the anguished reflections of a rather stereotypical Emmanuel, experiencing an emotional breakdown of sorts after failing university exams. Acutely aware of the unrealistic expectations of his family and the rural villagers who pin all their hopes on his return, Emmanuel simultaneously navigates his way through a shaky relationship and the dirty, dangerous yet glamorous streets of the fast city.

Ironically it is the mysterious demise of Emmanuel’s home village, Abehema, which releases him from the burden of breaking the news of his academic failures to his father and the rest of the village. An attempt by one of the elders or notables (Emmanuel’s father) to restore a sense of justice and order to the prevailing political system corrupted by the chief, guilty of embezzlement and possibly murder, spearheads the tragedy. Conflicting explanations raise the issues of scientific explanations (gas from a volcanic eruption) versus the prevailing belief in a system of magic and witchcraft (the chief harnessed supernatural forces to punish the village elders).

Souls Forgotten is an excellent and compelling satirical portrayal of the underlying tensions between the modern and the traditional faced on the continent today. These dichotomies are a central thread and exist within the central characters themselves. Language is a key thread in the book, with the linguistic competencies of the characters in pidgin, French, or the local languages, often impacting centrally on their relations with others in the society, particularly in the city. Moreover, the chauvinistic central character is unemployed and expects his working girlfriend to arrive home in time to cook his favourite meal, yet later they seemingly find happiness in ‘true love’,marriage and children. The elders’ coup attempt to impose political and social justice is ultimately lost to the stronger power of magic and witchcraft. The forgotten souls, the victims of the supernatural disaster of Abehema, turn to the Western hospital in their desperation. The traditional ties of friendship, kinship and loyalty are temporarily abandoned as one man faces financial ruin with the death of his cattle.

The tensions are constantand there is seemingly no absolution, though ultimately Emmanuel seems to find the balance between tradition and modernity through love and family; and more importantly in his new identity as political actor via the creation of an NGO which, it appears, will give his people agency and the hope of real change in a context fraught with nepotism and corruption, and the uncertainty of the power of the supernatural. Unfortunately though, it is only the Africa of Nyamnjoh’s novel, which has such a happy ending. Increasingly modernisation results in the growth of individualistic versus collectivist cultures, and Africans the continent over have yet to find ways to shift the centres of power.

This is an engaging read from a well-established scholar who surprises with his competencies as both researcher/ academic and novelist. Nyamnjoh’s writing is intoxicating and entices the writer into the deep, dark and complex world of ‘Mimboland’ that the central characters in this, his 6th work of fiction, occupy.

*Prof Nyamnjoh recently joined the Faculty of Humanities, Dept of Social Anthropology, UCT. This book is available in the Main Library at 828.9655NYAM.

 

 

 

There is a well-known ‘tradition’ of state censorship and state initiated restrictions on the media in Africa (Bourgault, 1995). During the colonial era foreign powers imposed restrictions in the name of ‘national security’, while in the post-independence the one-party dictatorial regimes continued these restrictions in the name of ‘national unity’ (Mue, 1999).

Today, South Africa remains an exception on the continent as one of few countries considered to have ‘genuine’ press freedom. According to the worldwide press freedom index (FXI), South Africa ranks 44th out of 168 countries. The constitution guarantees freedom of expression including freedom of the press. But despite constitutional provisions and South Africa’s position in relation to the rest of the continent, lawsuits against newspapers and journalists have been fairly common, as are interdicts preventing the broadcast or publication of specific items.

Constitutionally and legally South Africa has one of the most liberal contexts for media freedom, after decades of censorship through a variety of laws under apartheid. Freedom of the press is protected by the Bill of Rights, the Promotion of Access to Information Act and the Archives Act. The Bill of Rights (chapter 3 of the Constitution) contains several clauses that affect the freedoms of expression and information.

However, a Freedom of Expression Institute (FXI) report stated that South Africa is experiencing more censorious activities against the media in the second decade of its democracy, with harassment of journalists and the commonplace activity of courts issuing interdicts or gag orders against the media (Afrol News, 2008). Government has regularly used dated apartheid era laws to subpoena journalists. In 2007 for example, the Mail and Guardian newspaper (M&G) was prevented from publishing the details of an explosive report into alleged corruption, abuse of power and intimidation at the SABC, by a high court interdict. Since May 2005, six interdict applications have been launched in the Johannesburg High court against the M&G alone. Another high-profile case involved an interdict from the Johannesburg High Court which prevented the M&G from publishing a follow-up to its report on oil company Imvume paying R11-million of taxpayer’s money to the African National Congress. Similarly, in 2006, Johannesburg High Court Judge Zukiswa Tshiqi dismissed with costs the SABC's application to have the M&G remove the Sisulu Report on the blacklisting of certain analysts and commentators by the SABC (FXI, 2007).

Government agencies and private organizations are increasingly relying on interdict requests as part of a trend towards pre-publication censorship, hindering the efficient functioning of investigatory news organizations and the ability of newspapers to report on breaking news. During the period in which there was global controversy over the Danish cartoon depictions of the Prophet Mohammed, a high court order prevented several local Sunday newspapers from reprinting the cartoons, even before they had made a decision on whether or not to republish them. This kind of pre-publication censorship by judges allows them to overrule the power of editors to decide what is published; and leads the media to self-censorship. Similarly, Jonathan Ball Publishers decided not to publish Jonathan Kirby’s satirical novel Songs of the Cockroach because they feared that the Democratic Alliance might sue them.

While mainstream news journalism blurs the boundaries of what is legally acceptable in terms of reporting, political satire in the form of opinion, columns, cartoons etc occupy a different realm in the media landscape.
Two interesting examples emerge: the one is the publishing of the cartoon which has led to the court case by president Jacob Zuma against cartoonist Jonathan Shapiro (who writes under the pen-name Zapiro); and the second is the pre-censorship of a television documentary on political satire, which the South African Broadcasting Corporation (SABC) declined to broadcast on two separate occasions.

Firstly, the cartoon under question depicts ANC Youth League president Julius Malema and the general secretaries of the ANC, SACP and COSATU – Gwede Matashe, Blade Nzimande and Zwelinzima Vavi, holding down a female Justice System. Zuma is depicted with a showerhead above his head, in reference to his comments during his rape trial that he had showered to reduce change of contracting the HI virus after having unprotected sex with an HIV positive woman. The cartoon ran in the Sunday Times newspaper on September 7 2008. As a result, Jacob Zuma is suing Zapiro for libel, for R7 million. Prior to this, in 2006, Zuma instituted claims against a number of media outlets, mostly for articles, columns and Zapiro cartoons published during his rape trial. In January 2008 he accepted a R50 000 settlement from Afrikaans Sunday newspaper Rapport, after they published a readers’ letter during his rape trial which contained a defamatory sentence.

Zuma’s allies say that the cartoon was designed to depict Zuma as a rapist despite his acquittal, but Zapiro said that "It showed Jacob Zuma, with the help of his political allies, threatening and intimidating the judiciary to try to manipulate the courts for him to be exonerated and escape going on trial [for corruption], thus paving the way for Zuma to become president" and that he used Lady Justice to represent the South African judicial system, as the figure is internationally recognized as a symbol of justice (M&G online).

Political satire, and cartoons are powerful in their potential to influence political and social life as they often form a site for public debate. Distinct from political journalism, cartoons are a vital component of free speech, freedom of expression and a free press (Manning & Phiddian, 2008). Tunc (2002) for example has argued for the role of political cartoonists in the democratization process, particularly as they tackle controversial issues and the political establishment. Zuma lodged defamation claims against the media for R63-million in 2006 alone, and interestingly nearly all the items in which Zuma felt he was defamed were opinions or cartoons (M &G, 2008). Such incidents can undermine editorial independence and press freedom through leading to self-censorship.

Secondly, and more recently, the SABC failed to air an edition of the investigative magazine television show Special Assignment on the topic of political satire, citing legal concerns. Ironically, the show was subsequently downloaded from the M&G website, causing such heavy online traffic that it almost blocked the site (Newmarch, 2009). The most contentious point of the cartoon may have been Zapiro’s cartoon that shows Jacob Zuma about to rape a blind ‘Lady Justice’.  A previous case similarly saw the SABC serving papers on production companies Broad Daylight Productions to prevent the screening of the documentary "Unauthorised: Thabo Mbeki ". Modelled on British spoof TV series Splitting Image, Zapiro’s Z-News, featuring local politicians in the form of puppets, was commissioned by the SABC but then shelved. These incidents imply that self- censorship is possibly the single biggest threat to the independence of the public broadcaster.

Ultimately self-imposed censorship leads to a biased media and compromises the media’s ability to fulfill its ‘watchdog’ functions. If the news media are to play a critical role in holding the state accountable in our deliberative democracy, then the increasing trend of using the courts to silence the media is a threat to press freedom. This is particularly worrying as it most frequently pertains to cartoons and other kinds of political satire, which fall outside of the realm of mainstream reporting. The nature of a liberal democracy is that in order to protect the rights of the many, at any given time the sensibilities of the few will be offended (Hanson, 2006). One might argue that press freedom in South Africa is being threatened by a censorial political culture and that the positive impact of the supportive and constitutional environment is being subverted by political forces operating openly within a liberal democracy (Merrett, 2001).

References

Afrol News (2008). Concern over "creeping censorship" in South Africa. Available online at http://www.afrol.com/articles/14323. Retrieved 21 June 2009.

Bourgault, L. (1995). Mass media in sub-Saharan Africa. Bloomington: Indiana University Press.

FXI, Freedom of Expression Institute. (2007). FXI outraged by gag on M&G newspaper. Available online at http://www.fxi.org.za/content/view/124/51/. Retrieved 21 June 2009.

Hansen, R. (2006). The Danish cartoon controversy: A defense of liberal freedom. International Migration 44(5): 3-62.

M&G, (2008). Zuma, Rapport settle defamation claim out of court. Mail and Guardian. Available online at http://www.mg.co.za/article/2008-01-16-zuma-rapport-settle-defamation-claim-out-of-court. Retrieved 21 June 2009.

Manning, H. & Phiddian, R. (2005). The political cartoonist and the editor. Pacific Journalism Review 11(2): 127-150.

Merrett, C. (2001). A tale of two paradoxes: media censorship in South Africa, pre-liberation and post-apartheid. Critical Arts 15(1).

Newmarch, J. (2009). SABC Cancels Show, M&G Makes It a Hit. Business Day. Available online at http://allafrica.com/stories/200905280090.html. Retrieved 21 June 2009.

Mue, N. (1999). Press freedom's changing legal regime--still a dangerous landscape. Rhodes Journalism Review 18(61): 8-9.

Tettey,  (2002). The media, accountability and civic engagement in Africa. United Nations Development Report, Occasional Paper. Available online at http://hdr.undp.org/en/reports/global/hdr2002/papers/Tettey_2002.pdf. Retrieved 21 June 2009.

Tunc, A. (2002). Pushing the Limits of Tolerance: Functions of Political Cartoonists in the Democratization Process: The case of Turkey. International Communication Gazette 64: 47-62.

Notes from a position paper presented at the workshop entitled: The legal, ethical, economic and socio-cultural challenges to press freedom in South Africa and Brazil, UWC/Stellenbosch University, 22 June 2009

I went jogging around 6.30am last Tuesday morning before work, when I casually greeted another jogger in an equal state of huffiness. On my way back I nearly tripped over the police tape of a section of road cordoned off, with a body being sombrely being covered by the cops. Flashing lights lit up that section of the still dark road, and my dog growled briefly at the kind officer who lifted the tape and shone his flashlight so we could pass. This incident left me pondering the frailty of life, particularly after I later heard on radio news that the body was that of a jogger who was attacked, stabbed twice for his cellphone, and who died on the side of the road, discovered by a roving patrol van. A few hours later I heard a description of the dead man on the radio, and was startled to learn that this was the same jogger I had greeted so casually on my run. Not only was he a fellow jogger, but a fellow hiker, a member of the small group of people who practice the sport I love so much.

I usually jog alone, but on Tuesday morning I had my staffie along (mostly in the hope that she would help me increase my running speed). This really got me thinking about several things. Had I been on time (I was 'running' late that morning) and had I not had the dog, I may have stepped right into the attack or worse yet, been the victim. And why do we have so much violent crime in South Africa? Perhaps it’s naive to imagine that one might politely request a potential victim to hand over their valuables; but somehow the idea that someone might deem it necessary to take another’s life – over a few material possessions (in this case a measly cellphone) – seems unpalatable.  Other African countries have similar levels of crime – pickpocketing and other petty thefts – but these are rarely accompanied by stabbings or shootings. Perhaps this incident was nothing more than a jolt to my privileged life in the Southern Suburbs, since such crimes are commonplace on the Cape Flats and elsewhere. Johnny Steinberg (in The Number) explains that crime has always been present for the vast majority of South Africans, and that it was only when it started spilling out into middle class suburbs that we noticed; and that moreover, crime is a form of low-intensity civil war. Sure – with our history of severe inequality (which continues today) it almost even kinda makes sense.  But I think it (together with many other things) is symptomatic of a sick society. We need to start thinking about getting at the root causes of crime. There’s something wrong with our society when people can kill other human beings for their possessions. Equally indicative of our sick society is those drivers who don’t step at pedestrian crossings, people who litter, parents who don’t teach their kids to say please and thank-you and adults who don’t respond to cellphone messages.

Of course this also got me thinking about how we choose to live our lives. I often run and walk alone – but never when I feel that my personal safety might be threatened. I am adventurous, not stupid (or so I like to think). Do all joggers now have to run in packs, fearful of muggers? Do I turn the poor staffie into a regular jogging mate? Do we have to get an alarm system and electric fencing? (we must be among the few who don't already)

I think the solution is to live life and not to become victims of fear. Exercise a degree of measured caution but not expect the worst. In defence of/ reaction to my own fear, I piled the poor staffie into the car and went hiking to Noordhoek Peak from Silvermine the day after. I was relieved when upon meeting an affluent looking cyclist, said faithful staffie growled fiercely as he approached up the hill, lycra clad and wearily pushing his Diamond Back, in desperate need of the good news that the rest of his route was downhill.

I’m not planning on emigrating anywhere, anytime soon. And I haven’t yet figured out the solution to the ‘problem’ of crime. So in the meantime, if you encounter a sweaty and huffy jogger with a staffie, don’t be offended if they both growl at you.

From public service broadcasting to public service media. Gregory Ferrell Lowe & Jo Bardoel (eds). 2007. Nordicom: Sweden.

This title brings together papers and discussions from the RIPE@2006 conference, concerned primarily with the transition from public service broadcasting to public service media within the European Union. The theme of the conference was Public Service Broadcasting in the Multimedia Environment: Programmes and Platforms. The key questions addressed by both the conference and the chapters in this book include: What is the mission of public service media in a multimedia environment, within the content of digitization, globalization and convergence? How can the public service enterprise be renewed while maintaining its underlying ethos of communication in the public interest? And, how might policy makers explore the possibilities inherent in developing a uniquely European dual media system?

The book is divided into two sections: The first deals with the challenges involved in policy development; and the second addresses content-related aspects with the focus on strategic and tactical implications. The core challenge outlined is the transition to public service media. The latter is defined as a move away from the traditional transmission model toward demand-oriented approaches to service and content provision. Audiences are seen as partners (versus targets), and the authors argue that existing policy perspectives lack a clear understanding of how the social realm shapes technology and media “because the view is constrained by economic and technological determinism” (p.12).

The distinction between public service media or PSM versus public service broadcasting is not immediately clear; but the authors’ definition of the term emerges as being centred primarily around the role of the audience. The growth of new media means greater interactivity by users, who can become “co-creators of their local and personal mediascapes” (p.215). Instead of a ‘ratings-driven’ notion of the audiences, the authors argue for an audience massage model (borrowing from McLuhan) which critiques the discourse about the audience in three ways: rhetorical, focusing on the content of audience research; framing, focusing on critiquing the dominant quantitative methods of audience research; and structural, paying attention to the political and economic structures which constrain the language about audiences. One of the limitations to be overcome in the transition to public service media would thus be to explore alternate views of the audience, including perspectives informed by qualitative research methods.

There is usually no standard definition of public broadcasting, except that programming is concerned with identity and community, and in some way informs and educates audiences. These ideas are often hard to reconcile with commercial imperatives, because PSM is financed by the public. The authors stress that public service media “must be a service for the public – but also for the government and others powers acting in the public sphere” (p. 255).



In terms of programming, the contributors argue for more hybrid programming (e.g. infotainment), while reaching and appealing to increasingly complex publics. Trends in commercial broadcasting underscore the need for PSM. In particularly, they do not meet the cultural and democratic requirements of public service broadcasting, nor do they provide a forum for public discourse in the democratic process. In addition, PSM should counteract the impact of the fragmentation and lack of social cohesion, which may accompany the rise of new technology. Furthermore, the book argues that PSM organizations must develop into cultural industries, adjust educational content to the requirements of the 21st century, and promote intercultural dialogue at home and abroad.

A fair amount of discussion focuses on potential funding sources for PSM, particularly of its new digital media services. While trends across the region are uneven, funding for digital services is generally modest compared to budgets for TV and radio. There is ongoing debate about whether to charge users additional fees for extra services, introducing advertising or revenue sharing deals with telecom providers or network operators. The challenge for PSM in mature democracies has always been how to maintain political and operational independence from the state, while being tied to it via dependence on funding. Situated between the state and the market, the authors argue that “it is the market which has increasingly been exerting a greater influence on how the scope and role of public broadcasters are defined” (p.87). As the media landscape in Europe becomes more commercial, PSM should balance a potential move to commercial activities with its need for legitimacy.

The book also covers the role of current affairs and reality based programming, the role of entertainment to reach popular audiences, PSM models of education, youth consumption of public service news, and satire as cross-media entertainment for public service media. Case studies from Britain, Denmark and the Netherlands are presented to illustrate the discussions.

While this text acknowledges the impact of new media in the delivery and development of the public service model, there is little discussion of its practical implications. Some issues might include uneven access to new media, as well as potential reach of new audiences such as youth.

The writing style is often unnecessarily verbose, making it hard to recommend this text for media students. However, despite the focus on the North, the nuanced and theoretically solid debates about the future of public service broadcasting make this a useful read for global media scholars and public service practitioners, insofar as some lessons might be transferable. Many European countries failed to meet the commitments that their governments undertook at the 4th European Ministerial Conference on Mass Media Policy in Prague in 1994 to maintain a strong public broadcasting system. This makes this text particularly important and timely contribution to the debates about the future of public service broadcasting, both in Europe and elsewhere. As one contributor writes, “There is no guarantee that PSM will survive in the 21st century. If they are successful in winning strong popular support and participation, and this can only be done by remaining relevant to the audience and partners among the general public, policy will take its cue from that. There is a chance of a new beginning. It must be seized” (p. 44).

The Alternative Media Handbook, by Kate Coyer, Tony Dowmunt and Alan Fountain. 2007. Routledge: London and New York.

Globally, alternative forms of media have been increasing in response to the concentration of media ownership and control. The Alternative Media Handbook is the most recent in a series of media practice handbooks aimed at students and media professionals. Other titles in the series include The Newspapers Handbook, The Television Handbook, The Cyberspace Handbook, among others; but what sets this title apart is its underlying theoretical focus on advocacy, together with more interpretive and subjective styles of journalism, in support of media pluralism.

While alternative media practices and projects are flourishing around the world, most journalism schools still focus on a uniformity of practice, which includes neutrality, factuality, balance, objectivity, and so on. This book focuses on a style of media production, which represents a theoretical departure from objectivity, to a deliberate focus on subjectivity, in the interests of social change and community development, via alternative media projects.

Of course the term ‘alternative’ itself has come under scrutiny in recent years, and the authors provide a clear explanation of how the theorizing around the term has evolved. They include discussions on Chris Atton’s use of the term ‘alternative’, David Garcia’s coining of the term ‘tactical media’, Clemencia Rodriguez’s use of ‘citizen’s media, as well as the concurrent terms ‘activist’ and ‘autonomous’ media. The authors of this book settle on ‘alternative’ media as these types of media are typically significantly less powerful than the mainstream, though they also recognize “that they provide resistance, opposition and counterexamples to tired and reactionary mainstream uses of media, [and that] they are of primary social, cultural and political importance” (p.10). More importantly though, the authors acknowledge that one cannot reduce this to a simple binary opposition: alternative versus mainstream; and demonstrate that ownership and control of the media often reflects other economic, social and political inequalities that exist within and between nation states. They also note that theorizing on alternative media, and indeed, discussions about which term might be most apt, often occur in academic circles. They position their book as an attempt to start a conversation between practice and theory, not only to inform readers about alternative media theories and projects, but more importantly, to inspire them to get involved.

The book is divided into three sections: Part 1 explores the history and evolution of alternative media; Part II describes a range of diverse case studies from the field; and Part III provides practical advice for how to start your own alternative media project, from print, websites and radio, to blogging and podcasting.

In part I, Kate Coyer provides a fascinating account of pirate radio broadcasters in Britain and the United States, Alan Fountain reviews alternative film, video and television in the UK, Angela Phillips covers the alternative press and Chris Atton gives a brief history of the web and interactive media. These contributions show us how people engaged in the production of alternative publications and other forms of media are driven by a sense of solidarity, though they are often limited by the challenges of distribution and sufficient funding. This is an incomplete history though, as the authors in this section deal mainly with the rise of alternative media in the UK (with some brief mentions of the North and Latin America), without making the connections with other alternative media histories from other parts of the world.

Part II forms the major component of the book, with short discussions and descriptions of projects that fall into the categories of radical journalism, experimental forms of television, culture jamming, student media and media activism; as well as new technologies, distribution and audiences, and access to broadcasting. Much of these descriptions e.g. community radio in Australia or Adbusters, are easily found elsewhere; but what is useful about the book is that it brings together some of these projects (as well as new ones), so as to more easily compare and contrast them. In the sections on alternative media in development, and distribution and audiences, the authors also provide useful reflection on researching alternative media in participatory ways.

Given the dearth of research on student media, this is perhaps one of the most useful sections of this book. As the authors acknowledge, student media “have a strong history of radicalism and affiliation with social movements…[and] today still exist at the heart of revolutionary uprisings and at the centre of political violence” (p. 232). The chapter focuses on student radio and the student press, though again the focus is primarily on Europe and North America.

The final section of the book, “Doing it yourself”, deals with how to get started in radio production, starting a community radio station, video production, creating websites, blogging, as well as culture jamming and zines. Besides a useful list DIY media-making resources on the web, the section also provides a useful chapter on funding and finance, giving practical tips on how to approach funders, as well as on self-financing and DIY fundraising. This “Doing it yourself” section, targeted at activists, is perhaps the most useful and important section of the book, as it helps us to move beyond the theory, to actually practicing the ‘alternative’. The contributions of a range of activists from various media in short breakout sections to longer essays helps to paint a picture of the diversity and simultaneous similarity of alternative media projects. The focus here is on skills needed to produce this kind of media, but the authors note that “skills are never neutral, and are always in the service of one cultural or political goal or another” and that “it is also true that the status that having skills confers – particularly in the media – is often used as a spurious way of excluding and disempowering people without them” (p. 263).

The Alternative Media Handbook is ambitious in its attempt to provide histories, overviews of current projects, as well as practical information about how to get involved in the production of alternative media. As a result, sections I and II fall somewhat short, particularly in their limited geographical scope, but should nonetheless provide a useful introduction to students, particularly those accustomed to more mainstream journalistic practices centered around notions of objectivity and impartiality. Section III is probably most useful, particularly to activists, or those who wish to challenge and transform the mediascape. While it is implicit throughout, what the book lacks is a clear approach to the practice of civic or public journalism, which is ultimately what alternative media practices represent.

I might easily have been forgiven for assuming that all the cab drivers in Ghana support Barack Obama when trying to flag down a ride on the streets of Accra last week. I guess they took one look at my hair (braids) and outfit (let’s call it backpacker chic), and reckoned that yelling “Go ’Bama” would ensure that I’d pay more than the 2 or 3 cedis it should cost to get from Oxford Street to Labada Beach.

But this blog post is about my first visit to West Africa, rather than “what Obama can do for Africa” and why I believe this to be bit of a sophism. And while I’d like to join the fray, this post doesn’t reflect much on the issues of racial identity politics that surface when you’re mistaken for ‘other’, though it occurred to me, while reading Fisher’s Race (2007) this week, that it’s true: race matters.

Ghana is often cited as one of the friendliest African cities. A friend jokingly told me how Ghanaians are so polite that they’d even prefix an insult with (an obsequious) “please sir”. At the time I laughed, but later I realised that perhaps I could explain this using the theoretical prism Fanon (1961) provides: and better understood his argument that white colonialism imposed an existentially false and degrading existence upon its black victims, to the extent that it forced their conformity to its distorted values. Ghana was the first African country to receive independence in 1957 (from the British), which begs the question, why was my first impression of Accra that of one big sprawling slum? I experienced mild ‘culture shock’ at the fact that nothing seemed to work as it should: water came out of the tap, but only if you were lucky. People were always late, restaurant service was bad and the food, even worse; and I’ve never seen so much trash in public spaces.

Walter Rodney wrote about how Europe under-developed Africa, and at first I was inclined to agree that colonialism and neo-colonialism, together with foreign aid and foreign ownership of the means of production, had resulted in what appears to be a lack of basic services and the development of a dual economy. The famous bustling markets are over-crowded with everything on sale from trotters to suitcases, but at Koala supermarket you can buy oreos and liquifruit, at a price of course.

Ghana is the 2nd largest producer of gold on the continent (in fact the word Ghana means King of Gold), but perhaps it is the series of coups after Nkrumah’s rule that led to the population not having a strong sense of ownership in their country after independence. Like in South Africa, India and other colonial nations, civil disobedience started out as a form of political protest, but then later became normalised e.g. public urination or excessive littering etc. Or perhaps, it is a combination of both things. After all, thousands of acres of productive farmlands have been ceded to transnational mining interests, with modern ‘open-pit’ gold mining stripping away productive agricultural land and contaminating rivers, severely affecting fishing communities.

But economics aside, I tried to stay away from the touristy Oxford Street and walked as much as I could. I read the local newspapers and was intrigued to find a thriving culture of A1 colour posters, a version of the tabloid press aimed at illiterate members of society, but providing news as well as social commentary and satire via pictures only. I sat on the beach in the rain and watched fierce Atlantic waves form the backdrop to local soccer games (August is the coldest month, with minimum temps around 27 degrees); I bought jollof rice and fried plaintains from roadside vendors and quenched my thirst with coconut water; and I drank palm wine in rural eastern Ghana, where I also learned about the role that local community radio station, Radio Ada, plays in the promotion of local culture and commerce. The business reporter goes to the market and broadcasts prices of available goods on the radio. “Now the men believe us”, said one woman. “They hear the prices on the radio and they hear what’s available, and they know we’re not lying when sometimes we get low prices or come back home with the fish”.

I swayed to highlife music at Chez Afrique near East Legon, and the next morning I waited for two hours while Kwame (not his real name) began the laborious process of burning CDs of highlife and hiplife music from the computer in his video rental store. This seemed to be the only way of buying local music, though hundreds of DVDs of the latest American movies and sitcoms were freely available on the street, high quality pirates imported from Nigeria.

Ghana was crazy, sad and beautiful. And somehow, all I can remember is sitting on a plastic chair in the market, watching the world go by and sipping a tepid coke, and thinking to myself, “you’re home”.

Introduction
ICTs have been a valuable tool in the activities of the global social movement of citizen activists. Cellphones in particular (Tilly, 2003) have been used to create ‘flash mobs’ engaging in protest action, and Wasserman (2005) reflects briefly on the potential for text messaging to be used as a form of alternative media by organisations working at grassroots level, to build networks of resistance.

Mobile activism refers to the use of cell phone technology by non-profits in particular, to organize, mobilize, motivate and inspire, as part of broader multimedia strategies. Manuel Castell describes how mobile phones have changed the landscape of organizing because they have created a new public space for communication that "effectively bypasses the mass media as a source of information." This "new public space" -- the mobile phone -- has created not only a forum for information, but is a unique tool in the mass organization of protests movements and other forms of demonstration. Mobile phones have also enabled protesters and others to tell their story in video and pictures even when other media is curtailed.

One of the first reported widespread uses of mobiles in a mass demonstration took place during the World Trade Organization meetings in Seattle in 1999 where organizers and demonstrators used mobile phones to coordinate and mobilize activists, allowing them to change tactics or move people at quicker speeds than in previous protests. In the most recent US elections cellphones were used as a new channel to reach supporters with timely, topical messages, particularly as a supplement to more traditional email campaigns. In particular, under-age youth were targeted with Obama wallpaper and ringtones in an attempt to reach their parents (http://yrmama4obama.com/). Rheingold (2002) writes about how SMS messages were used in Manila in 2001 to start, coordinate and mobilize demonstrators which led to the fall of Joseph Estrada, the first time a government fell victim to a smart mob powered by mobile phone technologies. Some even joked that the peaceful revolution was a "coup de text," referring to the instrumental role that SMS played in the ousting of Estrada.

Similarly in Africa, the use of cellphones in elections is widespread. In Senegal’s 2000 presidential election, citizens armed with radios and cellphones helped to prevent incumbant president Abdou Diof from rigging the elections. During the balloting radio stations sent reporters with cellphones to voting stations to instantly report results as ballots were counted, making it difficult for authorities to change the results. (Mbarika). Similarly, a vote in Sierra Leone last August briefly threatened to disintegrate amid rumours of violence—also spread through text messages—but quickly returned to order when some 500 observers at the various polling stations sent text messages to the central system saying that the rumours were false (The Economist, 2008).

On another level, cellphones have proven useful for isolated communities to participate in the global economy. Farmers have used them to track prices and to cut out middle-men, and in the Ivory Coast, farmers were able to track commodity prices for coffee and cocoa through their cellphones.  

Mobile activism in Kenya
In the 2007 Kenyan election, SMS messages were used widely to distribute information to Kenyans from outside the country, and to spread news and information among Kenyans. Before election day, SMS messages were circulated because other modes of communication were monitored by government. In the days after the election, the Kenyan government banned all live radio and television broadcasts and warned Kenyans about circulating news via SMS. “The ministry of Internal Security urges you to desist from sending or forwarding any SMS that may cause public unrest. This may lead to your prosecution," read an SMS received via Safaricom. But   news was circulating mainly by means of SMS messages. Friends and family members abroad would monitor news in their countries and SMS this information to Kenyans who had no access to news.

The news blackout meant that there was no way for citizens to know what was happening in other parts of the country or whether it was safe to travel, and informational SMS messages provided such details. Some messages were sent to thousands of anonymous numbers via an application created for this purpose; but a large number of messages comprised a complex network of ‘forwards’, sent from individuals to others in their address books. The most common messages contained information about the registration numbers of vehicles ferrying fraudulent ballots or individuals sent to incite violence;  after the election others allowed the safe passage of travellers by sending out alerts about road blocks and stoning incidents; and other SMS messages contained ethnic hate speech designed to incite violence, highlighting the potential negative uses of text messaging.
 
Conclusions
Cellphones can be powerful tools for democratic participation and the growth of civil society (Stein, 2005). But there are also potential limitations in the form of censorship by carriers/ service providers. In the United States in 2007, Verizon Wireless refused Naral Pro-Choice America, a women's rights group, from sending messages to people who had opted into a text-message campaign, though they quickly reversed their decision after extensive media coverage and public organizing (MobileActive.org, 2008).

The Kenyan case demonstrates the rapid spread of information via cellphone, where viral spread can lead to mass media pickup and widespread dissemination. For example, when an alleged improper conversation between Philippines President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo and an elections official (about rigging) was made public, it became a popular ringtone. There are potential negative effects when the content of messages cannot be monitored or controlled; and the potential for hate speech is always there. Further, cellphone networks can be jammed or shut down, and governments and service providers could compromise anonymity or limit dissemination (as in the Verizon example). But there is the potential to reach youth and others with political information or voter education messages, and the new QR codes could be used in all kinds of ways, from fundraising to presenting information to signing up constituents for a mobile campaign.

*This is a summary of a presentation made during a staff seminar to CFMS staff and students, April 23, 2008. The paper is still under construction.

You can also listen to an interview on this subject with Josh Ogada, Programme Officer, Fahamu South Africa.

part 1.mp3

part 2.mp3

part 3.mp3

It was only after we moved into our new home last week, when I realised how firmly apartheid geography and all it’s oppressions of the mind are firmly entrenched upon South Africans' collective psyche. My family and I appear to have moved across one of this city’s many invisible barriers, with some interesting and often humorous consequences.
We didn’t really consider this when we made our offer to purchase, based largely on price, size, absence of need for renovations and proximity to work and school. That’s our story, and we’re sticking to it. Jokes aside, I’m not really a believer in the glorification of the ghetto (mentality). But that’s a subject for another post.

Okay, so apart from the eerie silence, which usually descends soon after sunset, we were beginning to feel right at home when the well-meaning elderly woman from down the road stopped by to welcome us to the neighbourhood, and to warn that “people around here keep to themselves, not to be racist or anything.” My husband nodded sagely, probably hoping that she would keep to herself, but oblivious to his expression (a mixture of amusement and disbelief) she quickly went on to add that “you may be used to coloured areas which are bustling (sic) and sociable, but here people keep to themselves even though they’re not unfriendly”.  I wouldn’t quite refer to our old neighborhood as ‘bustling’ and the only time I ever witnessed anyone borrow any consumable from another household was in that ridiculous television ad for sunlight liquid in which a boy runs for miles with a tablespoon of the green stuff after having borrowed it from a distant neighbour. I rather think that what she meant to convey was that failure to conform to the social ‘culture’ of the neighbourhood might leave us with at least a visit from the local law enforcement, if not a burning cross on the front lawn. Fortunately we don’t have a front lawn. And she was placated easily enough with a nice cuppa Earl Grey. The previous tenant had also left a telephone number for us to call in the event of any loud music that she said sometimes came from the adjacent house. Quite honestly, even though I prefer my own loud music through my iPod ’phones, a little music once in a while might be nice, as an indication that real people live around me (as long as it’s not country and western or anything classical ala Krzysztof Penderecki).  

Now it all makes sense. Out on a jog with my dog (on a leash) the other evening, I must have really frightened the elderly gentleman who promptly picked up his little Cuddles (or some such named poodle-esque dog) and glared at me with much disdain despite my cheery (if breathless) greeting.  The assumption here is more than likely that people of a certain complexion (like myself), have similarly ill-mannered and raucous dogs. There are at least three mitigating factors precluding such behaviour from my ferocious-looking but mild-mannered staffie: her first name is Karin, she’s in the market for a pet futon (they actually make and sell such things), and she’s bathed with Head and Shoulders 2 in 1.

It’s been a long time since the abolition of the Group Areas Act, but still it seems that for the most part, the character of neighbourhoods doesn’t really change much. People are still miles apart, physically and probably conceptually as well. We’re still living with railway lines, freeways and other imagined boundaries between us, with very few people actually testing the so-called contact hypothesis. Those that fall into certain old apartheid categories, still feel a strong sense of ownership and protection over who occupies spaces they have come to see as their own, and what kind of behaviours are considered ‘acceptable’ in these areas. Our example is just one. The recent attempt by a local teacher to move into Khayelitsha is another.

Like Silwane kaNjila wrote, some of my best friends are white. But if any of the neighbours are reading, rest assured, even though our car has mags, at least it’s not a Ford Cortina…we’re not going to run a shebeen out of the garage, we won’t hang any washing in the front windows, we don’t drink box wine and our dog won’t bite you, not unless you block the view of the television from her futon...

OK, so for many of you it's a case of "been there, done that, tagged the photo". But even if it is yesterday's news, I'm still busy researching Facebook. Scroll down for my research questions and methodology... But let me get right to the point. I want to survey UCT students about their FB usage, but I need some help with access to large lecture groups. All it would involve is about 10 minutes - to explain the research and to distribute the questionnaire - perhaps at the end of a lecture. If you're willing to offer your students as guinea pigs, please email me tanja.bosch@uct.ac.za so that I can get my lab coat ready for a visit to your classroom.

I'm hoping that, if nothing else, we can find out more about students' use of online social networking networks and the potential for building online learning communities...and of course, if we (UCT) are to follow the route of blocking access (like many employers have done), then we do so from an informed perspective...Hope you can help me! 

Research Questions
•    How are UCT students using Facebook?
•    How do UCT students’ networks on Facebook relate to their networks in the classroom?
•    How do UCT student FB profiles reflect the “digital divide” (with reference to language, class and race; Internet user demographics in South Africa)?
•    How are tutors and lecturers attempting to engage with students using Facebook?
•    What potential does FB hold for building learning communities?

Methodology
•    Unstructured qualitative interviews with UCT students who use Facebook
•    Quantitative survey of UCT students who use Facebook
•    Online ethnography and qualitative content analysis of UCT student profiles
•    Collective case studies of UCT faculty using Facebook for academic purposes
•    Conversation analysis of student moves on Facebook (e.g. on the wall)
 

Given that I’ve spent the large majority of this weekend working, I allow myself the luxury of a frivolous post. Is this what it’s come to? This is what I do for fun these days? Well, last night’s fun involved converting wma files to mp3 on a mac (more fun than you’d imagine), so I guess this is an improvement. Anyway, as if the start of term, convening 3 courses and teaching 4 (in the 1st semester alone) isn’t enough, I’m also in the midst of buying a house – yes, we’re finally selling out, but rest assured there’s no metaphorical white picket fence in sight. So I’m on the phone with the attorneys and they’re asking for our names and personal information. “So you’re both unmarried”. “No”, I respond. “We’re married” (it’s a long story, involving ceteris paribus and apricot brandy in rural Southeastern Ohio). “To EACH OTHER??” “Yes, to each other”, I answer wearily.

What’s so odd about the fact that I kept my maiden name? After all, it didn’t stop my mother-in-law from giving me a cow (literally). Yes, I suppose I am a feminist (just by virtue of being a [black] woman), but it was all purely practical. They’d already printed my PhD (and various other meaningless certificates), I was too lazy to queue at Home Affairs for a new passport and ID, and given that I’m also an environmentalist of sorts (I recycle), the thought of all the extra space a double-barrelled surname would take, just seemed like a terrible waste of paper…though I suppose South Africans have mastered the use of the hyphen – much better than our appalling apostrophe usage.  My husband, the progressive modern man, doesn’t seem to mind. He must have read, “Don’t sweat the small stuff”, and then figured that we could rather argue about how many of the Super 14 fixtures he’ll be chained to the bar for.

I’d never really thought about it before, but after all the questions this week (from other women), I started to think that perhaps surnames are one of the most powerful tools used by patriarchal systems to deny women personal identity, much like prison inmates or soldier recruits are given a number. Our son takes his father’s surname, and I honestly couldn’t give a toss if a few small-minded individuals think he was born “out of wedlock.” Our dog, on the other hand, takes the hyphenated combination last surname (given the unlikelihood of her mating with another hyphenated surnamed dog). There are, of course, many exceptions to this norm: Iceland, Spain, some parts of Africa, Iran, Yemen, Jordan, among others. But I would have had a difficult time explaining this to the bank who just said unashamedly, “That’s umm... nice. Well you had better bring your marriage certificate along with you then.”

It actually makes having suffered through a PhD worthwhile. I can use my academic title and my maiden surname and suffer through the Woolworths cashier asking me, “Are you a real doctor?” - instead of having Mrs incorrectly tacked on to my maiden name (that just seems wrong). And when Dr Jekyll owes money, Mrs Hyde can answer the phone and say that she’s not in. I suppose, in the end, like much of today’s “shallow, satisfying, lipstick feminism”, one can have it both ways.

When I moved back to Cape Town from the United States, I was surprised to find that much of my student late night viewing, mostly of reality television shows, was to be found on local channels in South Africa. The intellectual part of my character instinctively snubs reality TV as ‘low culture’ (ala Raymond Williams), somewhere on par with soap operas, but I must confess to my own secret fascination with mediated spectacle.

South Africa was slow to jump on the bandwagon, but M-Net doubled its viewership in 2001 after the local version of Big Brother, following up that success with it’s own version of the U.K’s Pop Idol (De Jager, 2002). There have been other uniquely local offerings, e.g. the (very irritating) Going Nowhere Slowly, described by the producers as Reality TV platteland style.

Much of what’s available on our screens (which academic can afford DSTV? [money and time]) seems to be local versions of American shows e.g. The Apprentice, Big Brother, Survivor, Idols, The Weakest Link, and most tasteless of all, The Biggest Loser, among others. Purchasing a format and making a local version of an already successful programme is obviously cheaper, and it is the ordinary aspects in such local versions that are most likely to be adapted (Bonner, 2003). The careful choice of ordinary participants (and in South Africa, a racially diverse group) is probably the most important and well-orchestrated component of the spectacle. There are many arguments about the production of television to constitute and represent the nation, and certainly, our reality TV shows have been instrumental in telling us how South Africans act in public, what they aspire to, what they fear, and how they react under unusual conditions. And perhaps it also says a lot about us, the ‘imagined community’ of viewers, glued to our screens to see ourselves being (mis) represented. In fact, one might argue that the voyeurism of (reality) television shows us how to manage our lives to reflect the identity we would like to present (much along the lines of Facebook), often through the consumption of commodities. The most typical of these kinds of shows are those that offer a 'makeover', sometimes as extreme as to include surgery (such as a recent programme on M-Net).

With some of these makeover/style shows (read: let us change your wardrobe and hair and make you look more like Barbie’s cousin), there seem to be an endless supply of gullible women available as subjects. Though, as a colleague pointed out to me this week, there is a British reality style show, which targets gullible men too. In the US there’s (my favourite) Queer Eye for the Straight Guy, which, while highly watchable, seems to imply that a man has to be gay to moisturize, and to know that pink is the new black.

But our reading of the spectacle of reality TV might also be constrained by cultural factors, and ambivalence over what should and should not be seen. The editing of fragmented shots into continuous sequences, and the omission of certain visuals e.g. in their supposed ‘total coverage’, US networks edited out the images and sounds of falling bodies from the World Trade Centre because they deemed it too brutal (King, 2005); in South Africa, the long running controversy over the alleged sexual assault on Big Brother Africa.

But the term “Reality TV”, as used since the late 1990s, is actually something of a misnomer, since the very nature of the medium implies a particular presentation of reality. These programmes don’t claim to actually show some kind of minimally mediated ‘real’ (as in shows like Cops or World’s Worst Drivers), involve placing ‘real’ people in contrived situations, observing what happens and most often reducing the number until only one remain (Bonner, 2003). In most cases, the programme settings are so contrived and fictional, that there’s nothing ‘real’ about the staged events of reality TV.

In 2004, South Africa was on the verge of purchasing a porn reality TV show (Private Stars), but it never made it to our screens (or did it?). And thankfully we have no local versions of the silly matchmaking shows like The Bachelor/ Bachelorette or Temptation Island (no, I neither support nor celebrate Valentine’s Day). But either way, the creation of local versions of international (mostly American) reality shows says more about the McDonaldization of society and glocalization, than the SABC’s budget. But hey, at least it’s local stuff. And that’s way better than the rubbish like Ricki Lake and Days of Our Lives etc that so many South Africans appear to be hooked on.

I found a whole shelf of books on reality TV in the library today, and once again found myself saying, “This is fascinating, I want to write a paper on this.” I’m a radio (and new media) person, but hey, maybe it’s time to diversify a little. And maybe I will, when someone can tell me where and when I’ll have time to claim a so-called “Research Day”…

References:

BBC News. (2001). SouthAfrica’s reality TV race test. BBC news, 26 July 2001. Available online at http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/entertainment/tv_and_radio/1458386.stm. Accessed 13-Feb-08.

Bonner, Francis. (2003). Ordinarytelevision. Sage Publications: NewYork.

De Jager, Christelle.(2002). Rivals reach for stars. Variety. Available online at http://findarticles.com/p/articles/mi_hb1437/is_200202/ai_n5932452. Accessed 13-Feb-08.

 

 

Some people do funny things when they’re stressed. When we heard that Marakwet militia were attacking homes just a kilometre away, Min Ouma (mother of Ouma) decided to take a bath. We found stress relief in laughing hysterically about it later that night over a candlelit dinner, but apparently, when stress exceeds the individual’s ability to cope, it results in a series of dysfunctional physical and mental responses. That afternoon, Josh (my husband) and his two older brothers came striding up towards the large ornamental Nandi flame (aka African tulip) tree conveniently positioned on the kitchen side of their sprawling farmhouse, about 400km from Nairobi in Cherangan’yi, rural northwest Kenya, near Kitale. He hardly ever shouts but I knew something was amiss when he yelled out to me from a distance, “Pack your stuff. Women and children are leaving now!” I calmly retrieved our two year old son, Morné, from his play among the chickens (even being pecked by the mother hen didn’t weaken his resolve to try to catch a chick), and tossed our stuff into two backpacks, only deliberating for a moment to consider whether or not I should carry the spade handle and stick I had slept with the night before, when gunshots had rung out in the night, and the acrid smell of burning homes was even more acute than the glow of flames on the horizon.

Local Marakwet troops were attacking, looting and burning homesteads in the area, flushing out kisiis and kikuyus or perceived PNU sympathisers. But rumour had it that they weren’t stopping long enough to ask any questions about one’s political convictions and were indiscriminately attacking and burning. A band of 300 men was allegedly just a few kilometres away, armed with guns (courtesy of the home guard system), and they were coming our way. The home guards were created and armed by government (from colonial days) to protect livestock from attack or theft, particularly in remote areas. My husband and his brothers weren’t taking any chances, and women and children (generally the most vulnerable groups during times of war) were bundled off.

Quite honestly, I didn’t really stop long enough to think about the long standing chauvinistic tradition of sending the women to “safety” and leaving the men (6 of them in total, together with the workers), armed with a ragged assortment of knobkerries and 1 blunt panga that had obviously seen better days, to bravely fight off this alleged army. Obviously my mother in law, Dr Penninah Ogada had a bit more presence of mind than I did, because she insisted on staying to protect the home, delaying our flight by first brewing a pot of Rooibos tea for Morné and packing incredible amounts of drinking water, until her eldest son had to almost physically lead her out of the door and into the car. We drove in convoy to Kachibora, about 10 minutes away, hoping that the police station there would offer some security, and joined what seemed like hundreds of people on the side of the road to wait endlessly for news from the homestead. Morné and his cousins played in the sand with matchbox cars and miniature dinosaurs, and I watched the steady stream of people flow by, many with just one small suitcase, entire families, children carrying children, some leading livestock, but all with the same desperate fear in their eyes.

 Thankfully my husband and brothers in law didn’t engage in battle that day, though later that week, just hours after our departure, the farm workers fended off an attempted raid. It was really from that moment that I knew ordinary Kenyans were not going to quietly accept what seemed like blatant rigging of the elections in favour of current President Mwai Kibaki. We’d been following election news avidly, listening interchangeably to local FM broadcasts on an old A-track machine and the windup radio, and the BBC on shortwave. On our very first day in Kenya, the customs official at the airport engaged my husband in a discussion about the elections and her need to “vote for change” (i.e. for opposition presidential candidate Raila Odinga). A markedly politicised nation, ordinary people everywhere were talking about the upcoming election, often pulling out their voter’s cards to show us, and always saying that it was time for change in the form of a new president. Apathy appears to be alien to Kenyans and many walked for kilometres to attend opposition Orange Democratic Party (ODM) rallies in the city centre. Our sight-seeing in Nairobi had to be redirected many times to avoid the sea of orange bodies blocking the roads – the colour of presidential challenger, Raila and his ODM.

The Ogada family rose at 5.30am on Dec 27th to vote at a local school, but 2 days later everyone seemed uncertain as to whether they should celebrate when we heard the news broadcasts that Raila Odinga of ODM (Orange Democratic Movement) was the leading candidate in 6 out of 8 provinces. Their unspoken unease seemed warranted when Kibaki was later sworn in as president with strange discrepancies between the numbers of ballots and numbers of voters, as well as between numbers announced by the electoral commission and those later broadcast in the media. Allegedly, Raila himself arrived to vote to find that his name was not printed on the ballot paper, one of the many irregularities that plagued the election. We had a hint of what was to come when travelling through Eldoret on our way to Cherang’anyi, we narrowly escaped being stoned by a mob, who seemed to determined to check the trunk of our car for pre-filled ballot papers, apparently common practice. Days later Eldoret turned into a war zone with constant clashes between members of the Kalenjin tribe, which backed Odinga, and the Kikuyus who voted for Kibaki.

Huddled over the shortwave receiver to catch news from BBC and RFI that night, we received an SMS informing of Raila’s arrest for treason (In 1982, he was also arrested after being accused of plotting a coup against President Daniel arap Moi and spent eight years in prison). A local news blackout and ban on live broadcasts meant that all the local FM stations were broadcasting music only, some occasionally pausing to read what sounded like government issued propagandistic press releases. Interestingly enough, this did not stop the informal network of news via SMS, a trend that had begun long before (and continued beyond) Election Day. News alerts (and sometimes political propaganda, usually pro ODM) would arrive to one’s cellphone, and the user would forward the message to all their contacts.

The next morning we left the farm under the cover of darkness at 4am, valuables under the seat, and Morné’s side of the window taped to prevent shattered glass in the event of a stoning. We travelled with a mzee (elder) guide, who being Marakwet, led us through the Marakwet territories of Kapcherop and Kapsowar up bumpy donkey tracks through the mountains and down into the valley to the town of Iten, a tortuous 4 hour detour from the route originally planned. “Follow closely”, he said tensely to our convoy of three cars, carrying the entire Ogada family with children and grandchildren, “and don’t get out of your car or roll down your window no matter what”. The first couple of roadblocks were passable, and often just involved driving around the boulders and rocks in the road. A couple of roadblocks were still smouldering, smoke rising like mist into the forest, a mild reminder of what had happened there the previous day. At one point there was an entire tree across the road, as an ominous warning to turn back. At dawn we encountered our first manned roadblock, in the light of what must surely have been one of the most beautiful sunrises I’ve seen. Boulders across the road, a group of men on either side - they moved menacingly towards us before we even stopped or spoke. On the left I caught a glimpse of a bow and arrow, on the right the glint of pangas in seemingly better shape than the one at the farm, and right by my window a man was picking up a big rock, presumably to hurl it at us. I clutched Morné closer to me and when I opened my eyes again we were being waved on. We were the right ethnicity, for the moment at least. I think we breathed a collective sigh of relief at that point, and I counted at least another 15 similar roadblocks before they suddenly ended and the beautiful Lake Baringo came into sight, and I got the camera back out from under the seat.

Attached to each car’s front bumper were sinendet vines used by the Kalenjin to signal that one was on one’s way to a wedding or funeral. This insider information provided by mzee was to faciliate our safe passage as a way of saying “we go in peace”. Later, down in the dry valley, a stark contrast to the lush forests we had just traversed, the drivers removed them quickly, as here it might not be as helpful to be perceived as Kalenjin.

In Iten we met the mzee’s son in law who escorted us the rest of the way to Nakuru, where we heard en route that Luos and Luyas were being flushed out of cars and hacked to death. There we met Paul, my sister in law’s colleague, and a Kukuyu who was to lead us through the final home stretch. A student of Penninah’s called as we arrived there and said, “Wait there, don’t move until I tell you it’s safe, stay there for an hour or so, get a cooldrink or something and pretend for the sake of the children that everything’s normal”. We didn’t know this as we ate hot chips and sipped tepid soft drinks in the midday sun at a roadside café. It was only the next day that she shared the news of this phone call with us. When we eventually set off it seemed to me that the worst must surely be over. An hour into the trip we were suddenly directed on a detour, through a bumpy road, Josh convinced that we were being led off the highway and right into a trap of some kind. Groups of excited young men passed by the slow moving traffic and peered into cars. When they got to our lead car they said “these are Luos in this car”, but mercifully Paul waved them on. I didn’t look back at the highway down below us on the right, too scared for what I might see, and instead read Chicken Licken (his favourite book that week) to Morné, hoping he wouldn’t notice my voice occasionally faltering. Josh’s elder brother later told us that he had seen bodies lying on the road with a machete wielding mob dancing around them. Any earlier (or later) and it might have been us.

I had been scared when we petted a tame cheetah at the animal orphanage in Nairobi a week earlier, but nothing compared to this. Fear remained settled and knotted in the pit of my stomach until I lay in bed that night, amazed to be alive. The Saturday night after our harrowing trip back it seemed fitting that the first song I heard at a small bar called Sippers in Hurlingham was “Celebrate” by Madonna. The Tusker beer bottle caps said “Happy festive season, don’t drink and drive”. Later that night we bought the DJs entire collection of Kenyan hip hop for 1200 shillings (R120). It all seemed pretty surreal after what we’d been through, though we were the lucky ones. The casualties of the Kenyan violence far outnumbered our family. Besides those killed (the press says around 500, aid organisations say thousands), there are the displaced, running or driven from their homes in a senseless war that is, after all, turning out to be ethnically motivated. The literature tells us that violence is a last resort in a stressed population. The existence of violence is a warning that the population is already over-stressed for reasons that are usually obvious. Since 2002 the Kibaki government has been implicated in various corruption and land grabbing scandals, often privileging the Kikuyu people for land ownership and major government jobs. The opposition Luo presidential candidate, Raila Odinga, was seen to represent major change, particularly for the poor and dispossessed. The fact that the conflict is worse in the countryside than in urban Nairobi (except for fighting in urban slums like Mathare and Kibera) is indicative of a problem much larger than discontent with a rigged election. Kenyan politics has been reduced to ethnic alliances, and people perceive their hardships as directly proportional to ethnic favoritism. Politicians have exploited ethnicity to their advantage, and consequently tribalism often overrides any sense of nationalism.

I’ve always had a strong attachment to the continent, and a distinct identity as an African. Having never witnessed the worst of apartheid’s atrocities, and despite living the low intensity war currently being waged in the form of crime, this was the first time that I had witness first hand, the crimson heart of Africa bleeding, as Livingstone once wrote. This was my 4th or 5th visit to Kenya (and I’ve travelled widely in Southern and East Africa) and for the first time I really experienced the continent first hand. I saw right into Africa’s heart and it was filled with beautiful sunrises and beautiful sunsets, but it was also bleeding and tears ran down into her smile. Back in Cape Town Morné asks constantly about his granny and his cousins, and I hope that he will grow up to be as proudly African as I am, despite the tears.

Pictures of the family holiday can be seen at http://uctac.facebook.com/album.php?aid=26560&l=7157a&id=543989288

Book review:

Hunter-Gault, Charlayne. (2006). New news out of Africa: Uncovering Africa’s Renaissance. (New York: Oxford University Press), ISBN-13: 978-0-19-517747-3

Veteran award winning reporter Hunter-Gault blends personal memoir with reportage and analysis, to challenge stereotypical reporting of Africa by, primarily, the Western media. It is no secret that media representations of the continent are most often stereotypical or sensationalised, focusing on conflict and disease; and the author sets out to systematically paint a different portrait: one of Africa which shows good, or so-called ‘new’ news. Hunter-Gault intends to give “examples from [her] experiences and observations to create a status report of a continent in a hopeful transition, albeit one that is slow and sometimes maddeningly regressive” (p.x). And here, she argues, the role of the African journalist is that of guardians of their new world. (More)

Preparing to teach a third year core course lecture on the subject of this post raised several points of interest for me this week. I've spent a blue Monday morning pondering the viability of community radio in South Africa, and wondering whether, particularly in light of lessons from the Australian situation about the farcical nature of "access and participation", community radio is to be taken seriously. Continue reading for my article, which timeously arrived in the mail last week, published in local refereed journal, Communicare 26(1) July 2007. It discusses how Bush Radio and religious community radio stations in the Western Cape use their broadcasts to build social identities. But I disagree with myself (that's a good thing in research, right?), and think that I need a whole new theoretical direction if I'm to continue researching community radio. (More)

I've been too busy Facebooking (yes, it's a verb) lately, to keep this blog updated. My research on Mxit and adolescent girls is still in the literature review phase, but my recent facing has got me thinking that there's a research topic/ journal article in there, somewhere! (More)