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IT’S THE ECONOMY, STUPID: Why the current push for a referendum is a distraction from the reforms Kenya needs

The history of Kenya is a story of distracting the people of Kenya from fundamental economic reforms that would allow the Kenyan people to participate in their economy and have institutions that serve them, rather than serve the interests of Western capital and its local caretakers in government. BY WANDIA NJOYA

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IT’S THE ECONOMY, STUPID: Why the current push for a referendum is a distraction from the reforms Kenya needs

The history of Kenya is a story of distracting the people of Kenya from fundamental economic reforms that would allow the Kenyan people to participate in their economy and have institutions that serve them, rather than serve the interests of Western capital and its local caretakers in government. The latest referendum push led by Raila Odinga, against our will, despite claiming otherwise, is just the latest installment in the process of scuttling economic and social reforms.

And yet, Raila’s insistence on a referendum to restructure political power is, strangely, a fulfillment of his father Jaramogi Oginga Odinga’s principles. Until recently, I held onto the romantic notion that Jaramogi was interested in fundamental social reform, and was opposed to the capitalist and feudal accumulation of wealth by the Kenyatta family and their fellow ethnic elites. That was until I stumbled about the work of Nicola Swainson, author of The Development of Corporate Capitalism in Kenya, 1918-1977. I now understand what Julius Malema calls the “arrangement” of Kenya very differently from before.

To understand the Jaramogi paradox, one must first go back to what happened with colonialism and independence. According to the popular story of independence, the Mau Mau peasants fought against foreign domination, and now Kenya is an independent country. An increasingly popular amendment to that narrative is that Jomo Kenyatta was never part of the Mau Mau, and that is why, after independence, he betrayed the Mau Mau cause, protected the white settlers and became a version of them. An additional amendment is that Jaramogi understood that it was “not yet uhuru,” and that by forming the Kenya People’s Union with Bildad Kaggia, he sought to promote land reform and politics based on issues, not identity.

Thankfully, more Kenyans are beginning to understand that the first president was never interested in freedom. But what remains is our view of the Europeans as all sharing the same interests. Understanding the different European interests is key to understanding what exactly Jaramogi stood for, and how Raila’s politics do conform to Jaramogi’s position, but at the same time do not serve the interests of Kenyans. ​

As Swainson explains, the settlers, the British government and the British corporations were all serving different interests. When the British East African Company landed in Kenya, it did not have white settlers in mind, and in fact, it only supported their stay in Kenya on the understanding that what the settlers would produce on the land would serve British corporations at home.

Thankfully, more Kenyans are beginning to understand that the first president was never interested in freedom. But what remains is our view of the Europeans as all sharing the same interests. Understanding the different European interests is key to understanding what exactly Jaramogi stood for, and how Raila’s politics do conform to Jaramogi’s position, but at the same time do not serve the interests of Kenyans. ​

However, the settlers didn’t play to script. They consistently fought against the colonial government’s control of land, agriculture and trade, and towards the 1950s, they were getting more control of agriculture and trade in the colony.  But the Achilles heel of the settlers was that they still needed the colonial government’s military might to force Africans off their own land, and to work on the colonial farms.

After the Second World War, the British homeland needed more resources for its recovery and started to put more pressure on the colonial government to expand the extraction of resources from the colonies. For more resources, the colonial government needed to expand trade and land ownership to Africans, and encourage the growth of an African middle class to help the British corporations. But the settlers would have none of it. As a result, the colonial government had a hard time pleasing both the settlers here and the government back home.

The stalemate ended in the 50s, when the peasants revolted against the settlers.

Of course, the settlers did not have the firepower to crush the rebellion, and so the British government sent its troops. But once in charge, the British government pressed the settlers to concede to more African involvement. This move allowed the British state and corporations to weaken the hand of the settlers and to strengthen their own. It also allowed more space for the compromised African elites who would not ask for radical social reform. Companies like Brooke Bond and East African Breweries, and later on Bamburi Cement, consolidated their positions in Kenya as the clueless Jomo Kinyatta initially told Kenyans that since the British were leaving, we could have the land back.

Jaramogi began his career before independence intending to be a businessman. As he explains in his book, Not Yet Uhuru, his initiation into politics came from the realisation that the British were putting obstacles in the path of African capital. African land was community-owned, which meant that Africans could not borrow loans because they did not have title deeds. Africans couldn’t form cooperatives unless the colonialists controlled the cooperatives. Africans couldn’t get credit and couldn’t buy shares. Africans couldn’t set up businesses in the towns, only in the “bush”. Town trading, even in Kisumu, was reserved for Asians.

The colonial government justified all this micro-managing of African entrepreneurship in the name of Africans needing to be protected from going into debt (the irony!). Jaramogi, therefore, understood that the obstacles to African capital were racial and political. He decided to join politics, because, in his words, “politics was the only sphere [of African advance] approved by the government.” That was when he quit teaching and ran for a seat in Central Nyanza African District Council. Thus Jaramogi entered politics as an indigenous capitalist.

At independence, Jaramogi would rudely discover that the fault lines of access to capital simply shifted from race to ethnicity. The Kikuyu elite fixed the economy so that even though Western corporations would continue to exploit the country, it was only the Kikuyu elite who could share in the exploitation. In other words, entrance into the comprador elite group was necessarily ethnic.

And, as Swainson explains, the Kenyatta government set into motion a series of laws to control access to capital. Laws required the British multinational corporations to employ African managers and board members, and to give them shares. One cabinet minister, whom Swainson doesn’t name, was so notorious for demanding ten percent of the start-up capital of Western multinational that he got the nickname “Mr Ten Per Cent.”  In 1975, the government wrote laws that allowed African elites to seize the businesses of Asians, and even though the law talked of non-citizens, Asians who were Kenyan citizens also lost their businesses.

At independence, Jaramogi would rudely discover that the fault lines of access to capital simply shifted from race to ethnicity. The Kikuyu elite fixed the economy so that even though Western corporations would continue to exploit the country, it was only the Kikuyu elite who could share in the exploitation. In other words, entrance into the comprador elite group was necessarily ethnic.

So Jaramogi understood that it was not yet uhuru, and that the transactional economic relations between the exploited peasants and Western capital hadn’t really changed. Western capital had simply fired colonial settlers and replaced them with African (Kikuyu) elites to help Western capital to continue exploiting the majority of Kenyans. In other words, independence was just about replacing white chief executive officers with black ones and putting some black faces on the board – but the companies were still foreign-owned. And, as we now know, it was more difficult to fight against the black “nyapara” for Western capital, because they used ethnicity to erase the class distinctions between themselves and the ordinary Kenyans.

Since then, the obsession of Jaramogi and now of his son, is to reform this political set- up so as to open up the economy. The referendum is part of first seeking the political kingdom, with the promise that the economy will be added to it as well.

But in this 21st century, we need to refuse the formula of one first and the other later. We must fight for the economy now.

Jaramogi’s experience highlights the problem that we still have today. It’s difficult to make money if you are not in politics. The laws and economy are structured so that if you’re not a politician, or if you do not have politician friends, you can barely make it as an “entrepreneur”. And if you’re not a Kikuyu connected to the Kenyattas, it is even harder for you to join the elite. All you can do is negotiate with the Kenyatta elite or its ethnic representatives.

However, this relationship between politics and economics is now a catch-22 because you need money to run for office in order to be in a position to grow your business. This means that without education, poor people stand a slim chance of social mobility, unless they find the formula to steal. And stealing means that you can never go to jail because you have enough to bribe a judge, assuming charges are leveled against you in the first place.

Since independence, the role of the political class (almost synonymous with the Kikuyu elite), with the help of Western governments, has been to keep performing elections and ethnic politics to blind us to this reality. In the name of reform, they make Kenyans obsessed with the mathematics of the ethnic composition of government and probabilities of electoral success so that the Western capital involved in our exploitation continues to remain faceless and we do not see politicians as a mere comprador elite getting their 10 per cent.

That is why Kenya has gone through a succession of political reforms that do not fundamentally change the economic arithmetic. In 1963, KADU crossed the floor. We repealed Section 2A of the constitution and re-introduced multiparty elections three decades later. In 2005, we had a referendum. In 2008, a coalition government. In 2010, as a result of the chaos of 2008 and pressure from the international community, we finally got a constitution that puts the Kenyan people at the center of governance.

But with this last reform, some things have changed, although not nearly enough. With devolution, the people are starting to see fundamental changes that they had not seen for the previous fifty years. We have also now got bolder in demanding public participation in policy and governmental institutions. Kenyans are now demanding more, and are even more adamant about it.

Unfortunately, that is not what the political elites on either side want. Of course, the Kenyatta family maintains an interest in the status quo, where it controls the economy and reduces elections to a joke whose purpose is to justify why Western corporations must still trade in Kenya since Kenya has a “democracy”. Their son is sinking us into debt simply because he wants to build infrastructure and exploit our labour for capital.

In addition, the institutions of this country are still solidly colonial.  The politicians and their political appointees in government bodies still plan the country and the economy as if we Kenyans don’t exist. For example, healthcare reforms have not been to treat Kenyans, but to encourage medical tourism and Kenyan doctors trained by our taxes go abroad so that they can send remittances. Meanwhile the government imports a handful to Cuban doctors as a way of showing the finger to Kenyan ones.

Foreign ideas and foreigners have driven the recent education curriculum reforms, and the contempt for Kenyans is so bad that the government would only recognise the problems we have been talking about after they hired foreign experts to tell them the obvious. Land is being given away to foreign landowners in Laikipia and Isiolo, with Africans branded as threats to wildlife, which needs wazungu to conserve the environment.

​Our politicians have become so predatory that when our health is threatened by poisoned sugar, their first worry is that Western tourists and investors might hear the truth and not bring their money to Kenya.

Even politicians’ wives repeat the contempt for African Kenyans. The Kenya government organised Melania Trump’s visit to orphaned human and animal children, and the US First Lady wore colonial settler costume. In other words, Kenya is a country of no people, or no adults. Children have no parents and the job of the elite is to help the West help us.

Our politicians have become so predatory that when our health is threatened by poisoned sugar, their first worry is that Western tourists and investors might hear the truth and not bring their money to Kenya.

And for all these insults, all we get is managerialist lip service to Kenyans through plans like Kenya Vision 2030 and the Big 4 agenda. The fancy strategic plans have not prevented inequality from growing at a rate faster than before. According to Oxfam, 8,300 Kenyans own more wealth than the bottom 99.9 per cent (more than 44 million of us). Kids are still not going to school, and healthcare is still out of the reach of most Kenyans, yet the weak public services are still being privatised.

So we can no longer hold onto the Jaramogi-Raila ideal that our lives can improve only after we have more diverse ethnic representation in the top political office. The one thing that must remain is that the government must be accountable to the people. Armed with the constitution, Kenyans have made great strides in this endeavor, and we must not let politicians fool us into abandoning our struggle in the name of cutting down spending and reforming power sharing.

Photo: Oxfam Kenya

Most of all, the political class must realise that there is a new generation in Kenya. We have abandoned the naivete of the Nkrumah doctrine and have started to put a face to Western capital and ask what havoc it is wrecking in this Kenya. We now realise that referendums and elections cannot address our issues when the billionaires and their Western friends have the money to rig elections, compromise the electoral bodies and pay Cambridge Analytica millions of dollars to misinform and distract Kenyans from the real issues. So we don’t want an economic conversation after we’ve tinkered, yet again, with political succession problems. We want an economic conversation now.

During the Cold War, it was less easy to see the love affair between black Kenyan elites and white capital. The educated Kenyans were few and a majority of them were working for government. The population was smaller, and the government was funding social services in places where the educated Kenyans raised their kids. Also, the threat of Communism in the East and the strong welfare states in the West meant that the World Bank and the United States were more sympathetic to our government funding education and healthcare. But with the neoliberal turn and the fall of the USSR, Western governments no longer felt the same.

So as the World Bank reduced funding for social services, kids like me, with educated parents, started to see that our economic fortunes were worse than theirs. We can’t afford the same social services our parents afforded at our age. In addition, social media has enabled us to get live updates on the social struggles all over the world. We not only see Donald Trump, but also Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez. We not only see Theresa May; we also follow Jeremy Corbyn. We listen to the conversations of people like Chris Hedges, Tariq Ali and Yanis Varoufakis.  Some of us have studied in the US and have been raised by Pan-Africanists. We don’t just hear about Frantz Fanon, Julius Nyerere, Thomas Sankara, Malcolm X, Angela Davis and James H. Cone. Now we also read them.

So we now see the face of capital more clearly than our parents did. And the more we ask questions about why our money doesn’t stretch as far, the more we see that the poor are worse off than us.

So we are not the generation of 1974 or 2008. We are no longer people who believe that our economic and social problems will be solved through mere political reshuffling without a conversation about the economy. We know that the problem is that white capital still runs this country and that our old school politicians want a referendum to make themselves, not us, comfortable. We know that a referendum will simply waste money on campaigns and popularity contests, the same money that politicians now say that we waste on counties and MPs. And in the end, the referendum will leave the logic of the market, driven by foreigners, very much intact.

What we need is economic reform. We want a government whose pillar of development is WE THE PEOPLE, because we Kenyans are talented, resourceful and simply awesome. We don’t want to hear more of foreign investors and tourists when we want to put our minds and muscles to work. We need the toxic relationship between the state and capital to end. Title deeds should no longer be used as loan security. We want a country that believes in us Africans and that will give us loans because they know we can do the work and succeed. If one does not use land, let them give it back to the public and the public will find someone who will use it. You should not be able to sell land, because you did not make it.

What we need is economic reform. We want a government whose pillar of development is WE THE PEOPLE, because we Kenyans are talented, resourceful and simply awesome.

We want an education that makes Kenyans proud to be human and African, and that encourages them to be creative.

We want universal healthcare because our people deserve to be healthy and live in dignity. That way, our people will also not be afraid to try new ideas because they will not be worrying about healthcare for mothers and kids.

We want a tourism industry that appreciates that the best tourists are WE Kenyans. The communities living alongside wildlife can offer us their homes, build hotels and take care of wildlife better than any foreign “conservationist” who inherited land from King George V.

The push for a referendum instead of economic reforms comes from a fundamental flaw in the Jaramogi doctrine:  the belief in indigenous capital as the main economic driver and that we need ethnic diversity in the top 1% of this nation to gain economic justice. And that we cannot get ethnically diverse capitalism before we get political reforms. This naive Jaramogi-Raila belief in indigenous capitalism forgets that capitalism is fundamentally designed to be ethnically exclusive, and ultimately racist.

We still honour Jaramogi for opening our eyes to the complicity of the Kenyattas in economic injustice. And we honour Raila for accepting to be the face of the spirited fight of the Kenyan people against the feudal, capitalist and Western-dominated arrangement that we call independence. However, one thing is clear from Raila’s political career: he’s not willing to extend his challenge to the status quo to the economic realm. That is why he gave up on the most legitimacy he ever had – the people’s presidency – as well as the economic boycott that was our best weapon to challenge Kenyatta’s and Western capital’s hold on Kenya.

The push for a referendum instead of economic reforms comes from a fundamental flaw in the Jaramogi doctrine:  the belief in indigenous capital as the main economic driver and that we need ethnic diversity in the top 1% of this nation to gain economic justice. And that we cannot get ethnically diverse capitalism before we get political reforms. This naive Jaramogi-Raila belief in indigenous capitalism forgets that capitalism is fundamentally designed to be ethnically exclusive, and ultimately racist.

We are a new generation. We have tasted the promise of the constitution in putting the people of Kenya at the steering wheel of our own destiny. We are not willing to destabilise the constitution and with it, the framework for public involvement at the counties through devolution, and the demand for public participation in national policy-making. We believe that we can have, and need to have, economic reforms before constitutional change. Most of all, we do not believe that freedom can ever be too expensive.

So we are not seeking first the political kingdom on its own; we are seeking the political kingdom through the economic one. Once we cut down the economic stranglehold of the elites on the economy, we will get closer to a reality where a girl from Turkana or a boy from Kwale, through sheer will power, hard work and social support from an educated nation that is able to see through the ethnic and racist lies, can grow up to become the president of Kenya.

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Wandia Njoya is a scholar, social and political and commentator and blogger based in Nairobi, Kenya.

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THE KENYATTA SUCCESSIONS: The Resurgence of Hegemonic Politics in Central Kenya

DAUTI KAHURA explores the similarities between the Change-the-Constitution movement orchestrated by the so-called Kiambu Mafia in the 1970s and current calls to amend the constitution that appear aimed at scuttling Deputy President William Ruto’s chances of ascending to the presidency in 2022.

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THE KENYATTA SUCCESSIONS: The Resurgence of Hegemonic Politics in Central Kenya

THE current clamour by a certain section of the political class across the board to change Kenya’s constitution is not anything new; we have been here before. Two years before the death of Kenya’s first president, Jomo Kenyatta, in August 1978, and after the hotly contested 1974 general election, this clamour reached its zenith, with its protagonists coming out openly to hold public barazas across the country to caution people about the danger of having one Daniel arap Moi succeeding Jomo. This group wanted the constitution changed so that a vice president could not automatically become president upon the death of the president, an amendment that would have made it impossible for Moi to succeed Jomo. Moi was a Kalenjin from Baringo and the so-called “Kiambu Mafia” despised him and could not in their wildest dreams countenance the fact that a non-Kikuyu could ascend to State House.

Nearly forty years later, in February 2018, a little-known and first time MP for Tiaty constituency in Baringo County, received wide media coverage when, out of the blue, he proposed changes to Kenya’s 2010 constitution. The 45-year-old MP, William Kamket, through his Constitution Amendment Bill 2018, advocated for the inclusion of a powerful position of prime minister and the scrapping of the position of deputy president. (The current constitution is hardly a decade old, having been promulgated on August 27, 2010.)

Less than a month later, on March 9, President Uhuru Kenyatta and his strident political nemesis, Raila Amolo Odinga, in a surprise manoevure, appeared on the steps of Harambee House – the seat of government – to declare a political détente by publicly shaking hands and smiling broadly for the cameras. Soon after, Raila, who had successfully petitioned Uhuru’s contentious presidential win on August 8, 2017 at the Supreme Court, only to stay away from the fresh presidential election on October 26, 2017, started agitating for constitutional change.

Through the Building Bridges Initiative (BBI) formed immediately after the handshake, Raila has repeatedly said he is advocating for a future “all inclusive” government that will be devoid of cycles of violence that invariably manifest themselves every election year. The former prime minister, who has been tasked with spearheading BBI – a body made up of both President Uhuru and Raila’s circle of confidantes – has said that the Initiative will come up with suggestions on areas in the constitution that need to be changed. Since then, there have been additional disparate voices supporting this clamour for change, among them the National Council of Churches of Kenya (NCCK) and the Kenya Conference of Catholic Bishops (KCCB).

Through Building the Bridges Initiative (BBI) formed immediately after the handshake, Raila has repeatedly said he is advocating for a future “all inclusive” government that will be devoid of cycles of violence that invariably manifest themselves every election year. The former prime minister, who has been tasked with spearheading BBI – a body made up of both President Uhuru and Raila’s circle of confidantes – has said that the Initiative will come up with suggestions on areas in the constitution that need to be changed.

The Kiambu Mafia

But we have been here before. Barely two years into his imperial presidency, the septuagenarian Jomo Kenyatta surrounded himself with political honchos from Kiambu, who in due course were to infamously acquire the sobriquet Kiambu Mafia. The group consisted of Jomo’s inner kitchen cabinet; among the most powerful were his brother-in-law Mbiyu Koinange, the de facto leader, his nephew Dr. Njoroge Mungai and James Gichuru, who, during Kenyatta’s detention years acted as the president of the KANU party, holding fort until 1960 when he vacated the seat for Kenyatta after the latter’s release from prison. It is this Kiambu Mafia that saw to it that political power was firmly established and consolidated among and within an emerging Kiambu cabal, so much so that the cabal boasted that “Uthamaki ndugakera Chania.” (“The political kingdom will never see the light of day beyond Chania.”) Chania is the river that flows through Thika town. It is the river that divides Kiambu County from Murang’a.

With cracks beginning to emerge between Mzee Kenyatta and his first vice president, Jaramogi Oginga Odinga, as early as 1965, the president and the cabal felt confident enough to take on Jaramogi and his band of supporters in the ruling party KANU. First, to show his disaffection and to dissociate from Jaramogi, Kenyatta did away with the Luo cap that Jaramogi had gifted him, which Kenyatta often proudly wore.

It was in the aftermath of this disagreement that the scheming of the Kiambu Mafia, with the full knowledge of the president, came into full view when it called for a KANU conference in Limuru town in 1966. With the sleight of hand of the cabal’s project now exposed, the mandarins, with the help of the brilliant, cosmopolitan and, urbane politician Tom Mboya (who happened to be a Luo), warily crafted the idea of eight vice presidents to tame and humiliate Jaramogi. The eight vice presidential slots were divided among the then eight provinces of the country.

The deliberate picking of Limuru town in Kiambu District as opposed to holding the meeting in Nairobi, the capital city, was very telling. Was Mzee Kenyatta and the Kiambu Mafia telling all and sundry that the country’s Uthamaki now rested in Kiambu District?

Mysterious deaths and political assassinations

However, the ideology of Uthamaki (based on the idea that only people from the Kikuyu ethnic group are entitled to run the country) only gained feverish currency among the Kikuyus after the assassination of the mercurial Minister of Economic Planning and Development, Thomas Joseph Mboya on July 5, 1969, at the tender age of 39. It was around this time that the famous 1969 oath-taking was secretly and hurriedly organised to ostensibly bind the Kikuyu community to defend its Uthamaki from andu aa ruguru (communities from Western Kenya).

“The secretive oathing of 1969 was the zenith of Uthamaki consolidation,” Nelson Mwangi Gichohi, the former all-powerful Nakuru District Commissioner, once told me. “Most of the oathing was concentrated in Gatundu division. There was also oathing in Nyandarua District, but I will be lying if I tell you I know the specific locations.” (Gichohi died at the age of 96 and was buried on October 5, 2018 at his Nyandarua farm.)

The Mafia was wary of any politician who remotely seemed like he would succeed the aging monarch Jomo Kenyatta who had suffered his first stroke in 1969.

However, the ideology of Uthamaki…only gained feverish currency among the Kikuyus after the assassination of the mercurial Minister of Economic Planning and Development, Thomas Joseph Mboya (TJ) on July 5, 1969, at the tender age of 39. It was around this time that the famous 1969 oath-taking was secretly and hurriedly organised to ostensibly bind the Kikuyu community to defend its Uthamaki from andu aa ruguru (communities from Western Kenya).

“With an aging and ailing Jomo, who was prone to stroke attacks, the Kiambu Mafia worried that his death might occur before they had dealt with all the real and imagined opposition,” a retired politician from Central Kenya, who was then a young man and who witnessed first-hand the political machinations of the dreaded and ruthless Kiambu Mafia, told me. “Their first hurdle was to clear the opposition within the mainstream KANU party, before moving in to deal with the KADU wing of the ruling party.”

KADU, which stood for Kenya African Democratic Union, had been an opposition party in the lead-up to the 1963 general elections. Its chief protagonists, among others, were Ronald Gideon Ngala and Daniel arap Moi. The party propagated a “majimbo” constitution that would be based on federalism, a system of government that was favoured by the “White Highlands” British settlers who wanted regions to have more autonomy.

On January 29, 1969, five months before Mboya was gunned down on Government Road (today Moi Avenue) at 1.00pm as he stepped out of a chemist’s shop. But five months before, [Clement Michael George] Argwings Kodhek was involved in a fatal accident at the junction of the present-day Wood Avenue and Argwings Kodhek Road. He was 46 years old when he died.

Meticulous and suave, Kodhek, a UK-educated barrister, had been Jomo’s lawyer at his trial in Kapenguria in 1952, alongside Dennis Pritt, a Queen’s Council (QC) and Achhroo Ram Kapila, among others. At the time of his death, Kodhek, whose English names’ initials were turned into a play of words by his Luo people – Chiedo Mor Gem (meaning the oil of Gem), was the Minister for Foreign Affairs and the MP for Gem.

IT’S THE ECONOMY, STUPID: Why the current push for a referendum is a distraction from the reforms Kenya needs

Read also: IT’S THE ECONOMY, STUPID: Why the current push for a referendum is a distraction from the reforms Kenya needs

On December 12, 1972, Ronald Ngala, who had been KADU’s president and a founding member before the party was dissolved in 1964 to join KANU, was involved in a mysterious freak accident at Konza, 15km from the Machakos town junction. Thirteen days later, on Christmas Day, the former Minister of Power and Communications died at the Kenyatta National Hospital aged 49. Nobody has ever explained why Ngala, who traditionally celebrated Jamhuri (independence) Day with the president, was travelling to his coastal home on that Jamhuri day.

In March 1975, the Uthamaki “hyenas ate one of their own”, as the politician John Keen put it. The badly mutilated body of Josiah Mwangi Kariuki (popularly known as JM), the 46-year-old MP for Nyandarua North and an Assistant Minister in the Office of the President, was found in the Ngong Hills Forest. JM’s eyes had been gouged out and his lifeless body had been left in a path frequented by hyenas.

“Furious Nyeri Kikuyus immediately accused the Kiambu Mafia of killing JM,” recalled Gichohi. Although JM’s rural home was in Ol Kalou, where he had a big farm, his ancestral origins were in Nyeri. The Kikuyus from Nyeri vividly recalled what the Kiambu Mafia had said in 1966 – that Uthamaki would never transcend River Chania.

Gichohi narrated how three years before the death of Jomo, the Kiambu Mafia, suffering from “psychological insecurities generated by the founding president’s ill health”, felt sufficiently threatened by JM’s rising popularity countrywide to the extent that they decided to put a stop to his presidential ambitions. On many occasions, said the late Nakuru DC, the Mafia had warned JM to cease his political ambitions but he ignored them.

The formation of a parliamentary select committee to investigate the death of JM was aimed at assuaging the hurt nationalist feelings of a majority of Kenyans who identified with JM. It also sought to exonerate Jomo’s government from suspicions that it had ordered the killing of the populist politician. The select committee was chaired by Elijah Mwangale, the then the MP for Bungoma East. To seemingly lend credence to the committee, it included some of JM’s friends like Waruru Kanja.

Gichohi narrated how three years before the death of Jomo, the Kiambu Mafia, suffering from “psychological insecurities generated by the founding president’s ill health”, felt sufficiently threatened by JM’s rising popularity countrywide to the extent that they decided to put a stop to his presidential ambitions. On many occasions, said the late Nakuru DC, the Mafia had warned JM to cease his political ambitions but he ignored them.

The committee’s final report incriminated Mbiyu Koinange, the then Minister of State in the Office of the President and Jomo’s bosom buddy and brother-in-law. Furious that the Mwangale-led committee had dragged Mbiyu’s name in the report, Jomo is reported to have said that to have Koinange’s name in the report was like having his own name there. The president trashed the report, which also led to the sacking of cabinet ministers John Keen, Masinde Muliro and Peter Kibisu. Keen was the Assistant Minister for Agriculture and the MP for Kajiado North. Masinde was the Minister of Co-operatives and the MP for Kitale East. Kibisu was the Assistant Minister for Labour and the MP for Vihiga. They all were accused of endorsing and supporting the report.

Within just six years, the Kiambu Mafia had snuffed out the lives and political careers of two political heavy weights – Tom Mboya and JM Kariuki. Jaramogi Oginga Odinga, the former vice president, was put under house arrest between 1969 and 1971. Still, the years between 1970 and 1976 were dicey times for the Kiambu Mafia. Mzee Kenyatta’s health was failing by the day, and it was just a matter of time before they woke up to the fact that he was no more.

To the extent that they did not want to be caught flat-footed, the Mafia must have realised that it was impossible to eliminate every possible threatening political force, so they cleverly came up with a political scheme: the creation of a party within a party. The creation of Gikuyu Embu Meru Association (GEMA) by the Kiambu Mafia apparently coincided with the weakening of the ruling party KANU. GEMA, which was supposed to be a welfare organisation in theory, was in fact a vehicle for the Kiambu political protagonists’ scheme to propagate Uthamaki philosophy as they sought to strangle KANU’s nationalist credentials, which were a direct threat to their devious plan.

The “Change-the-Constitution” movement

As Mzee Kenyatta’s health was deteriorating quickly, the Kiambu Mafia hatched another plan towards the end of 1976: the Change-the-Constitution mantra. With a constitution that expressly said that in the event that the president was incapacitated or suddenly died, the vice president would automatically take over the reigns of power, the Kiambu Mafia fought tooth and nail to stop Daniel arap Moi from succeeding Mzee Kenyatta.

The front man for the group was Dickson Kihika Kimani, the MP for Nakuru North and the controversial leader of the Ngwataniro Mutukanio land buying company. In September, 1976, the group, led by the political operator Kimani, held its first meeting in Nakuru to propose that the rules of succession be modified. A month later, Kihika, whose base was Nakuru but who had aligned himself with the Kiambu Mafia, repeated the assertion on October 3 in Limuru as he held a fund-raising meeting.

The activities of the Change-the-Constitution protagonists were stopped by the all-powerful Attorney General, “Sir” Charles Njonjo, who, two days later, issued a terse statement: “It is a criminal offence for any person to encompass, imagine, devise, or intend the death or deposition of the President.”

Kenyatta followed Njonjo’s statement with his own from State House: “The government reiterates its earlier statement by the Attorney General.” Thus the Uthamaki project of the GEMA/Change-the-Constitution group of 1976 had been nipped in the bud.

Before his fall from grace in 1983, Charles Njonjo, the influential and powerful Attorney General, is reputed to have boasted that were it not for him, Vice President Moi would not have ascended to the presidency. “Had I not laboured single-handedly, to ensure that the provisions of the constitution were adhered to, Moi would not have been president and there would have been chaos in the country,” Njonjo is reported to have said this to all who cared after Moi had entered State House.

When Moi became president, Kihika Kimani pledged his loyalty to him with the following statement on September 8, 1978, two weeks after Mzee’s death: “President Moi is the only natural leader Kenyans have with the necessary qualifications to lead the nation following the untimely death of President Kenyatta…It is the people, the majority of Kenyans, if not all, who are now pleading with him to become their President.”

Cynics believed that this professed loyalty was just a scheme to buy time, as many in the Kiambu Mafia believed that Moi would be a lame duck president and would not hold office for long. They were wrong: Moi consolidated his power and remained in office for 24 years. (In their book, The Kenyatta Succession, Joseph Karimi and Philip Ochieng describe the various intrigues, plots and personalities behind the Change-the-Consititution movement.)

Kenya’s political folklore has it that before his ouster from public life (through a commission of inquiry into his conduct by President Moi), Njonjo had since the early 1970s been conspiring and marking time to succeed President Jomo Kenyatta. His presumed support – apparently through proper constitutional means – for Moi and his wars with the Kiambu Mafia were a ruse in his master game plan to wrestle state power from Moi after taking credit for “planting” the former vice president in State House. His infamous remark, “Engethua ndogoria itingekinyera nyeki” (A limping leader sheep cannot lead the rest of the flock to greener pastures), suggesting that Moi was a weak president and therefore just “a passing cloud”, was used to incriminate and label him a traitor.

The return of Uthamaki

Twenty-four years after GEMA and the Change-the-Constitution adherents had failed to stop Vice President Moi from taking over from Kenyatta, who quietly died on the night of August 22, 1978, the Uthamaki project reared its head once more on the eve of the third multiparty elections in Kenya in December 2002. The scion of the Kenyatta family, Uhuru Muigai Kenyatta, was running for the presidency against Mwai Kibaki, a portly conservative politician from Othaya, Nyeri County, who had united with Raila Odinga to form a formidable opposition to the younger Kenyatta and Moi’s KANU party.

Kenya’s political folklore has it that before his ouster from public life…Njonjo had since the early 1970s been conspiring and marking time to succeed President Jomo Kenyatta. His presumed support – apparently through proper constitutional means – for Moi and his wars with the Kiambu Mafia were a ruse in his master game plan to wrestle state power from Moi after taking credit for “planting” the former vice president in State House.

The Change-the-Constitution movement of 1976 was a scheme by a certain section of the Central Kenya carpetbaggers to stop a Rift Valley Kalenjin politician from succeeding President Jomo Kenyatta. The current push for changing the constitution has been interpreted in certain quarters of the Rift Valley region as a plot by a certain Central Kenya political cabal to stop another Rift Valley Kalenjin politician – Deputy President William Samoei Ruto – from taking over from President Uhuru Kenyatta, who is serving his second and final term. In essence, then as now, Rift Valley is the political theatre of brinkmanship.

The Kiambu mandarins of Change-the-Constitution movement of 1976 sought the help of Jaramogi, who in their first meeting in Nakuru, sent his political ally and former Kenya People’s Union (KPU) leader, Achieng Oneko, to represent him. For some time it looked like Jaramogi was ready to lend the outfit his nationalist credentials. Even though the Kiambu Mafia had orchestrated Jaramogi’s political banishment, they craved for his singular political support.

The Change-the-Constitution movement of 1976 was a scheme by a certain section of the Central Kenya carpetbaggers to stop a Rift Valley Kalenjin politician from succeeding President Jomo Kenyatta. The current push for changing the constitution has been interpreted in certain quarters of the Rift Valley region as a plot by a certain Central Kenya political cabal to stop another Rift Valley Kalenjin politician – Deputy President William Samoei Ruto – from taking over from President Uhuru Kenyatta…

Then as now, a section of the ruling Jubilee Party, led by a section of the Central Kenya political class, has roped in Raila Odinga, Jaramogi’s second son, to help them push for a change in the constitution. Although, these same political players have in the recent past called Raila all manner of names, including telling him he is a “slow punctured politician” and is “too old and should retire”, they now seem to have rediscovered his political usefulness. David Murathe, President Uhuru’s lackey and chairman of the Jubilee Party, recently said that Raila should not think of retiring from politics, since he was still energetic enough and Kenya needed his style of politics.

The build-up to the Change-the-Constitution push of four decades ago was preceded by deaths, house arrests, and incarcerations. Will the current Change-the-Constitution movement also be accompanied by the death of certain politicians’ careers? Only time will tell.

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OL’ MAN RIVER AND THE DAM STATE: The secret life of ASAL river basins

In this final part of a three-part series, PAUL GOLDSMITH traces the rise and fall of the lowland-coastal regions of East Africa and the Horn and examines why water management in these regions exemplifies the imbalance between the centre and the periphery. He argues that the Kenyan government’s failure to adopt indigenous knowledge and technological innovations has resulted in white elephant projects that have done little to solve the country’s water crisis.

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OL’ MAN RIVER AND THE DAM STATE: The secret life of ASAL river basins

Major river systems are intrinsic to the long economic histories of the regions they transect. However, although the Tana River basin covers 20 per cent of Kenya’s land mass, the river itself, in terms of water volume and vital economic functions, is not the kind of waterway one associates with the world’s famous rivers. This, however, does not diminish the Tana River’s historical importance, which is critical to understanding the larger background against which the High Grand Falls Dam project is being framed.

Insofar as the three major rivers spanning the eastern highland-lowland gradient share the same highland water catchments and are also linked within the Vision 2030 policy framework, the case of the Tana cannot be examined in isolation from the Athi-Galana and Waso Nyiro North systems. The Athi-Galana takes a route similar to the Tana, skirting the contours of Kenya’s eastern highland-lowland gradient, but is often only a trickle by the time it reaches Malindi. The flow has been further reduced following the establishment of the one-million-acre Galana irrigation scheme bordering Tsavo East National Park. For people depending on Malindi’s tourism sector, this is a positive development as the drop in volume reduces the siltation of local beaches, a problem that contributed to the rise of Watamu as an alternative beach holiday destination. Before the scheme started, tourism sector stakeholders were advocating a plan to reroute the river to an outlet north of Mambrui.

The historical evidence indicates that most of the seasonal streams of northern Kenya and the coastal hinterland were permanent rivers before Africa’s shift to the drier climatic regime that occurred around the middle of the 13th century. The Waso Nyiro was once this region’s mightiest river, judging by the large watercourses like the Malgis laga (Swahili for dry watercourse) descending from the highland areas of Samburu and Marsabit that fed into it and the channels it carved out north of Magogoni in Lamu. Both Magogoni and Dodori, both of which are next to the site of a proposed coal-powered plant, are much larger than the channel where the present-day Tana River meets the sea. This may also be due to the fact that some of the lower Tana’s waters disappear into the lakes and wetlands of the Tana Delta. The Delta is a uniquely varied ecosystem that supports a wide variety of habitats, including riverine forest, grassland, woodland, bushland, lakes, mangroves, dunes, beaches, estuaries and coastal waters.

The historical evidence indicates that most of the seasonal streams of northern Kenya and the coastal hinterland were permanent rivers before Africa’s shift to the drier climatic regime that occurred around the middle of the 13th century. The Waso Nyiro was once this region’s mightiest river…

The Waso Nyiro now terminates at the Lorian swamp near Modo Gashe, but this too has changed over the past three decades. Its water often fails to reach Lorian due to the expansion of commercial farms and small-scale irrigation upstream. During most years, it often ends at a small outpost called Gotu; during extended droughts the flow is so reduced that animals in Samburu, Shaba, and Buffalo Springs reserves upstream can be seen drinking from puddles along its banks. The 1000-kilometre-long Tana River’s greatest attribute, against this backdrop, may be that it continues as a permanent watercourse transecting a long stretch of semi-arid lowlands before reaching the coast.

The rise and fall of coastal settlements 

The current condition of the three rivers linking Kenya’s eastern gradient to the Indian Ocean and the current focus on exploiting them close to their highland sources distract both from their important role historically and equally critical contribution to the livelihoods of the diverse communities downstream.

A thousand years ago, the region these rivers bisect were connected to the Shungwaya economy, whose main hub was located at Bur Gao, now a small town across the Kenya-Somalia border. Although colonial historians described Shungwaya as a kingdom, later work established that it was actually a trade network that linked the early Swahili city-states to the African interior as far as Lake Turkana.

OL’ MAN RIVER AND THE DAM STATE: Kenya’s misguided Big Water policy

Read also: OL’ MAN RIVER AND THE DAM STATE: Kenya’s misguided Big Water policy

The volume of water these rivers carried was less important than their role as conveyors of people and their domestic animals, and trade. The Shungwaya economy catalysed the shift of coastal settlements to a maritime culture around a thousand years ago, when they became part of the growing Western Indian Ocean economy. All of this contributed to the process of creative syntheses giving rise to the Swahili language and culture, a distinctively African urban society characterised by its strong tradition of co-evolutionary interaction.

The decline of Shungwaya, attributed to the climatic shift mentioned above, coincided with the 13th century rise of the Ajuran Sultanate, a centralised state that exploited the Juba and Shebelle rivers to develop Africa’s only case of a hydraulic empire. The Ajuran presided over extensive irrigation works and constructed an extensive system of wells and cisterns that allowed them to control their nomadic Somali and Orma neighbours and a swathe of territory extending across much of southern Somalia to eastern Ethiopia. The Sultanate, whose capital was located at Afgoye, collapsed during the 17th century, but the system of agricultural production and taxation remained in place until the 19th century.

The large volume of agricultural produce and other commodities supported the rise of Swahili port towns like Mogadishu, Merca, and Barawa on the Benadir coast. The inland networks that expanded through the influence of Shungwaya and the Ajuran Sultanate funneled a range of products to coastal towns that were exported to metropolitan hubs like Baghdad and Cairo; before long the commodities began reaching India, and eventually found their way to Venice and Lisbon. The codification of mercantile capitalism under Islam was an important enabling factor in both cases.

The wealth and reputation accompanying the growth of coastal settlements arising across the eastern Africa littoral between Mogadishu in the north and the Rovuma River in the south attracted the interest of the Chinese. The forty-ship fleets of large vessels commanded by the famous Admiral Zheng He, who led two expeditions between 1417 and 1422 to the region the Arabs dubbed the Land of Zinj, was significant even by today’s standards.

The large volume of agricultural produce and other commodities supported the rise of Swahili port towns like Mogadishu, Merca, and Barawa on the Benadir coast. The inland networks that expanded through the influence of Shungwaya and the Ajuran Sultanate funneled a range of products to coastal towns that were exported to metropolitan hubs like Baghdad and Cairo; before long the commodities began reaching India, and eventually found their way to Venice and Lisbon. The codification of mercantile capitalism under Islam was an important enabling factor in both cases.

The rivers also played a role in the migrations of the proto-Meru, who abandoned their settlement on Manda Island following the onset of Portuguese hegemony. Their migration up the Tana covering several generations, and the interactions en route and after their crossing of the Tana into what is now Tharaka, underpinned their own process of creative syntheses, leading to the development of what is arguably Africa’s most sophisticated agro-permaculture system based on a multigenerational concept of environmental resource management that predated the Western embrace of sustainability by over two hundred years.

In his insightful 1989 book, Identities on the Move, Gunter Schlee documents how similar dynamics influenced pastoralist clans and niche adaptations in northern Kenya. Herders in the Lake Turkana area established contacts with the coast centuries ago, and following a large environmental calamity overtaking present-day Marsabit County over five hundred years ago, a number of clans sought refuge on the coast. This interaction left an imprint on the indigenous orientation of coastal Islam, which in turn is reflected in the religious practices of the Gabra and Rendille, who integrated the five daily Islamic prayer cycle into their own monotheistic belief system. There are three Bajuni clans of northern Kenya origin, and the Bajuni sorio purification ritual is a variation of the Rendille ceremony known by the same name, even though there has been no contact between the two communities for several hundred years. By the same measure, when Meru miraa traders began showing up in Lamu after independence, the Bajuni welcomed them as watu wa Pwani in recognition of their coastal origins.

The false Kenya A-Kenya B dichotomy

The details of these historical interactions preserved in the traditions of these communities are indicative of the dynamic qualities of the cultural ecologies and pre-colonial political economy that developed in the river basins linking the coast to the mainland. The coast-mainland divide instilled during the colonial interlude is a false dichotomy in contrast, and these examples are also cited in order to posit that there is an alternative developmental model to the top-down planning imported by the colonial state.

The Tana River inscribes a long arc defining the border separating modern Kenya from the vast lowland expanses of “Kenya B” (a terminology used by the inhabitants living north of the river to describe themselves when making a distinction between them and “Kenya A” inhabitants south of the river). The region’s diverse cultural groups formed an economic mosaic that was beginning to enter a phase of proto-state formation during the late pre-colonial era. Similar developments were beginning to gather speed across much of what is modern day Kenya during the latter half of the 19th century. Imperial intervention short-circuited these processes, and with far-reaching ramifications for the inhabitants of Kenya B.

In the case of the coast and the lower Tana River hinterland, the unremarkable village of Kipini is emblematic of the lower Tana hinterland’s decline following the destruction of the Witu Sultanate and its satellite settlements in 1895 by a British expeditionary force. The population living within Witu’s fortified town walls was more than 50,000 at the time. The prosperous Sultanate welcomed slaves running away from the plantations run by the pro-Busaidi Lamu elite, and minted its own currency and postage stamps.

The irony of the Sultanate’s fall is that its demolition was triggered by the death of German loggers during an altercation that broke out after they racially abused their Swahili co-workers. The British were not happy that Witu had engaged their imperial competitors, but the killing of Europeans was a precedent they could not allow to go unpunished. Eliminating the Witu Sultanate solved two problems: it eliminated opposition to their imperial intrusion, while the agricultural collapse that followed allowed the British to annex the Lamu mainland as Crown Land.

The reduction of Witu’s population to just a few thousand people a century after its destruction is indicative of the malaise that spread across the larger region following the imposition of colonial rule. Decades of stasis became the basis for the region’s post-colonial marginalisation and social exclusion.

A similar trend overtook the ecologically and historically similar Juba River basin to the north in Somalia, with the exception of the commercial banana production that became Somalia’s only agricultural export industry. While traditional pastoralism dominated the large expanse between the Tana River and northern Somalia, these island ecologies contributed to the symbiotic relationships sustaining the livestock economy.

Prioritising dam building and state irrigation schemes over the livelihoods of communities long present in the region is a variation on the mono-culture developmental model Syad Barre attempted to implement in Somalia’s Juba River basin. Michael Maren elucidated the resulting conflicts in his book, The Road to Hell: The Ravaging Effects of Foreign Aid and International Charity, and things went further downhill after its publication in 1997.

The current highland-lowland division symbolised by the Kenya A-Kenya B dichotomy is an anomaly in regards to the socio-economic dynamics illuminating the historical record. It manifests in the problematic record of large-scale projects and other planned interventions across the region. The simple fact of the matter is that the larger lowland-coastal economic landscape discussed here once attracted settlers and refugees from across the seas rather than being an incubator for famines, clan warfare, and political turbulence. This explains one observer’s speculations that life in southern Somalia may have better four hundred years ago than it is now.

There are indications that the larger region bordering the Ethiopian and Kenyan highlands is recovering its mojo. However, many of the problems and historical injustices addressed by Kenya’s new constitution could have been avoided if the policy prioritising investment in high potential areas had been extended to the high potential economic sectors in Kenya’s neglected regions. But they were not, and if the Vision 2030 Big Water policy dominates the template for the area falling north of the Tana River, it may turn out to be a case of the worst is yet to come.

The current highland-lowland division symbolised by the Kenya A-Kenya B dichotomy is an anomaly in regards to the socio-economic dynamics illuminating the historical record…The simple fact of the matter is that the larger lowland-coastal economic landscape discussed here once attracted settlers and refugees from across the seas rather than being an incubator for famines, clan warfare, and political turbulence. This explains one observer’s speculations that life in southern Somalia may have better four hundred years ago than it is now.

We can only imagine the counterfactual scenarios that may have occurred if the local societies were in a position to manage the transition on their own terms.

Hydraulic states and rain-based social organisation

Water has been used as a mechanism of control since the rise of the earliest state systems. In a book called Oriental Despotism, Karl August Wittfogel developed the concept of hydraulic empires, which were expansionary states that flourished in the ancient world. Hydraulic states emerged in ancient Mespotamia, the Indus Valley, pre-Columbian Mexico and Peru, and Egypt. These states’ power was based on their control of water. Hydraulic states gave rise to impressive public works and statuaries that remain up to this time, and transformed kings into demi-gods and pharaohs.

OL’ MAN RIVER AND THE DAM STATE: Kenya’s misguided Big Water policy

Read also: OL’ MAN RIVER AND THE DAM STATE: Why the High Grand Falls Dam project is a bad idea

The hydraulic state is best understood as an ideal type based on environmental determinism. Debates generated by the concept led critics to argue that the hydraulic empires of antiquity were based on pre-existing central political organisation that enabled the rulers to expand their power through irrigation and water infrastructure. Marx and Engels’ Asiatic Mode of Production is another variation on the theme that emphasises a rigid and impersonal state’s monopoly of land ownership, political and military power, or control over irrigation systems.

Water has been used as a mechanism of control since the rise of the earliest state systems. In a book called Oriental Despotism, Karl August Wittfogel developed the concept of hydraulic empires, which were expansionary states that flourished in the ancient world. Hydraulic states emerged in ancient Mespotamia, the Indus Valley, pre-Columbian Mexico and Peru, and Egypt. These states’ power was based on their control of water.

Regardless of the order of events, domination through the control of water is a recurring idea that has resurfaced in science fiction like the Dune series and post-Apocalypse scenarios like Mad Max: Fury Road and contributes to the growing genre of eco-disaster films and other works of fiction.

Areas dependent on rain, in contrast to these examples, tended to give rise to decentralised social structures based on clans, segmentary lineages, age-set organisation, local councils, and other horizontal structures. This kind of organisation supported mobility, resilience, and the sharing of risk-spreading and coping strategies across diverse communities. Range scientists have associated the problem of unpredictable rainfall and high levels of uncertainty with the opportunistic exploitation of natural resources—a proclivity that comes with an obligation to share and redistribute. While this opportunism is embedded in pastoralist societies, variations on the same “make hay while the sun is shining” meme, is also observable among their neighbours, and in discussions with civil servants and politicians.

Economies conditioned by rainfall dominated across most of eastern Africa and the Horn, the exception being the secondary states represented by the intra-lacustrine kingdoms. The configuration of small states in present-day Uganda, Rwanda, and Burundi were the product of agro-pastoralist syntheses that, consistent with our discussion, were enabled by stable environmental conditions and plentiful water.

Areas dependent on rain..tended to give rise to decentralised social structures based on clans, segmentary lineages, age-set organisation, local councils, and other horizontal structures. This kind of organisation supported mobility, resilience, and the sharing of risk-spreading and coping strategies across diverse communities.

Such variations highlight the influence of environmental forces and shared social orientations on regional political economies. Hard-nosed planners and developmental experts will dismiss the narrative presented here as a historical fairy tale with no relevance for the present. There are, however, multiple examples of how the forces of nature and historical pathways reassert themselves during periods of system transitions, and there are multiple signs from all over the region that the region’s periphery is entering a phase transition that will render many of their plans and projects irrelevant.

Gunnar Myrdal released his influential book, Economic Theory and Under-developed Regions, around the same time Wittfogel published Oriental Despotism. In his analysis, the same elements of resource control central to hydraulic empire also guided Europe’s colonisation of much of the global South. Colonies were resource-rich areas located on the periphery, and the imperial project focused on the extraction and control of these resources. This was accomplished through a type of agro-managerial despotism that parallels the example of hydraulic empires.

The post-colonial states in this part of the world have become vehicles for a maladaptive combination of the opportunism embedded in rain-fed systems and the rigidity of hydraulic states. Kenya’s water management is symptomatic of the larger imbalance between the center and the periphery. This helps explain the militarisation of northern Kenya and why the Tana Delta became one of the primary incubators for the Mombasa Republican Council’s secessionist agenda.

Following the present state-based pathway is likely to lead to more of the same – not a good idea when alternatives exist.

Post-colonial water hangover

During the late 1970s, the Government of Kenya announced that it was committed to delivering potable water to every Kenyan household by the year 2000. This goal proved elusive and the target date passed without comment or controversy. The task appeared simpler than it actually was, and acknowledgement of this now comes with the awareness that management of water from above can also be a source of disease, death, and regime change.

The designation of water as a basic human right guaranteed by Article 43(1) of Kenya’s 2010 Constitution replaced that ambitious technocratic objective with a lofty principle but one that will not be attained because the operationalisation of water rights is a function of four factors: availability of the resource; investment in delivery and distribution systems; technological innovation; and the policy and planning process.

During the late 1970s, the Government of Kenya announced that it was committed to delivering potable water to every Kenyan household by the year 2000. This goal proved elusive and the target date passed without comment or controversy. The task appeared simpler than it actually was, and acknowledgement of this now comes with the awareness that management of water from above can also be a source of disease, death, and regime change.

Nailing the process should be the easy part, but this has not been the case as the first two installments of this series documented. Lessons learned for developing water resources cited in one USAID case study highlight the importance of exposing decision makers to alternative institutional arrangements and successful models of service delivery involving local stakeholders, embedding frameworks for mediating conflicts, and devolving management to local institutions.

The Kenya government’s US$25-billion LAPSSET corridor scheme, whose objectives include the transformation of the lower Tana River basin, is a product of the exact opposite mentality. The problem is not the roads and the infrastructure, but the hegemonic policies that have long treated the larger region as an unproductive expanse requiring developmental planning from both without and above.

The High Grand Falls Dams project on the Tana River reinforces this assumption by minimising the import of the project’s impact on the communities downstream, and failing to acknowledge the value of livelihood strategies fine-tuned to the region’s environmental and infrastructural conditions. The lack of consultation with minority communities appears to be standard procedure, even for non-controversial projects, like the expansion of geothermal electricity generation at Ol Karia.

Unlike electricity, water cannot be generated, only conserved. In the case of Kenya, the water is there. Developing the delivery and distribution infrastructure and maintenance is the hard part. Constructing local dams where appropriate is obviously an important option; to this end, the government identified a number of Arid and Semi Arid (ASAL) sites for water storage development.

Marsabit is an important highland island in the middle of a large desert. Residents suffer from protracted water shortages aggravated by degradation of the mountain’s cloud forest. The Badassa Dam was initiated in 2009 to alleviate the problem. It is an example of a worthy project that enjoyed the full support of the local community, especially after some 1,000 goats keeled over and died after drinking water from an old well. Like in the recent case where eleven rhinos died after being moved to the Tsavo, the problem was due to seasonally high concentrations of minerals, according to subsequent analyses. The dam became another case study of how badly things can go wrong.

Construction of the Badassa Dam, which is designed to hold 5 million cubic metres of water, stalled in 2011. Design flaws and the shoddy work of the government-appointed contractor led to a court case in 2013. Contrary to the ruling of one of several court cases, the wealthy Marsabit businessman who filed the suit ended up taking over the project. Things went badly again, resulting in major losses for the new contractor, who was forced to sell property in Nairobi to survive after being forced to go into hiding. In another stroke of irony reminiscent of the Tana River’s shift away from the Hola Irrigation Scheme, The Standard reported in 2014 that Badassa Dam’s source of water had dried up.

These finance-draining dam stories continue to pile up across the country. The Crocodile Jaws Dam in Isiolo presents another variation on the same theme. There’s no need to describe it – just watch the Oscar-winning animated film Rango. The movie shares the same water-grabbing plot line – the diversion of precious water away from the town to support the big money resort, or the LAPSSET tourist city in this case, but probably without the Hollywood-style ending.

Meanwhile, the flooding of the towns next to the Tana River earlier this year was not due to the heavy rains, but due to the siltation of the Masinga dam that has proceeded at a rate six times the level anticipated when the dam was built.

Smart technology and precision agriculture

The problem remains. A 2017 study reports the proportion of Kenyans with access to clean water is declining, in part due to population growth outstripping the government’s capacity to provide. This highlights the array of small-scale water catchment solutions now taking root in places like Makueni, Isiolo, Samburu, and even in Kusa along the shores of Lake Victoria that feature enhanced rocky outcrop water catchments, sand dams, and home water storage tanks and dams. Such scale- appropriate developments and growing pace of technological innovations across the world are revising path-dependent approaches to water.

The Slingshot water purifier can turn the water from Lake Turkana or the from the polluted Nairobi River into super purified medical quality water. The machine, which is the size of a crate of soda, can purify 1,000 litres per day and costs US $35. There are inexpensive nano filters for water bottles with pores small enough to catch viruses. This tech is the best bet for eliminating the ubiquitous plastic water bottles that actually do not guarantee safe water and are choking the oceans. Even the traditional toilet, a water wasting device that has not changed for 130 years, is being redesigned to recycle the water and to use the waste to recharge your mobile phone while sitting on the thrown.

Agriculture consumes 70 per cent of the world’s water. Experts predict a range of innovations from smart grids and self-repairing pipes to high-tech irrigation systems that will reduce the water used by over 30 per cent. These developments are fast tracking the growth of precision agriculture, an approach to production that utilises an array of components ranging from sensors to soil surveys and variable rate fertilization. The future of Kenya’s food security is precision agriculture, not large irrigation schemes. Large farms on the slopes of Mt Kenya are implementing precision agricultural methods, enabled by the growth of companies offering the requisite support services. Players in the contract-farming sector are introducing precision agricultural practices to medium-sized growers in the lower zones, and it is only a matter of time before this spreads to areas like the lower Tana River with its untapped potential for small- and medium-scale agro-pastoral development.

Agriculture consumes 70 per cent of the world’s water. Experts predict a range of innovations from smart grids and self-repairing pipes to high-tech irrigation systems that will reduce the water used by over 30 per cent. These developments are fast tracking the growth of precision agriculture, an approach to production that utilises an array of components ranging from sensors to soil surveys and variable rate fertilization.

Ari.Farm is an exemplar of developments of the new economy emerging in war-torn areas after decades of stasis and conflict. Using a very original business model based on subscriptions from the community, the firm is a magnet for diaspora capital that has established greenhouse farms and camel dairies in Somalia’s riverine area to supply Mogadishu. Ari.Farm also has a farm in Kenya that is delivering camel milk to Nairobi. The ubiquitous goat, which is resistant to capital-intensive mass production, is becoming the high-end animal protein of the future, and Ari.Farm just may turn out to be the dryland’s version of Eastleigh’s Garissa Lodge phenomenon.

Fourteen counties on Kenya’s periphery have come together to form The Frontier County Development Council, predicated on a “holistic and integrated approach to promote and strengthen inter-regional linkages”. The Council is one example of developments behind the region’s shifting system state. Human capital investment and provision of basic infrastructure in these high potential but historically marginalised zones, together with symbiotic linkages to pastoralist capital, can transform the larger region. The lower Tana and its invisible stakeholders should be given the chance to become part of the process leading over time to a new diversified river valley economy, and a sanctuary where all the bird watchers of the world will congregate.

This is only the beginning. The road will be difficult, but a dynamic confluence of capital, culture, and technology will see the influence of the post-post-colonial African mode of production in the former Shungwaya region become water under the bridge. This is the point in the process when the stakeholders can determine what form of upstream water management should be undertaken.

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KING LEOPOLD’S BRUTAL LEGACY: Congo’s war against women

CLAUDIO BUTTICÈ shows how rape has been routinely used a weapon of war in Africa’s most resource-rich country for more than a century and why the international community has remained largely silent about this devastating crime against humanity.

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KING LEOPOLD’S BRUTAL LEGACY: Congo’s war against women

This year the Nobel Peace Prize went to the Congolese gynaecologist Denis Mukwege, a doctor who is known for his amazing skills in repairing through reconstructive surgery the terrifying damage inflicted on women who have been raped.

Although official data from the government states that sexual violence has declined in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, the so-called “rape capital of the world” still remains hell on earth for countless women. Congo is a country where sexual violence has been (and probably still is) used as a weapon of war, mirroring the traumatic colonial experience it went through. But weaponised sexual violence does not occur only in this country; it is a very well-known and widespread practice in almost every theatre of war across the globe.

Doctor Miracle’s crusade

Dr. Denis Mukwege, the so-called “Doctor Miracle,” is not the first black African to receive the Nobel Peace Prize. The first recipient was Albert Luthuli, who was awarded the prize in 1960 for his non-violent activism against apartheid. Since then, many African personalities, such as Nelson Mandela, Wangari Maathai, and Leymah Gbowee, have won the Nobel Prize for their relentless non-violent struggle for the safety of African men and women whose civil rights are routinely violated. Every time a Peace Nobel is awarded, we can’t but celebrate the impressive efforts that these men and women did to make Africa (and the entire world) a better place. Yet, it is sad to think that in 2018, we still need people like them to fight for human rights that we should have for granted across the entire globe. The world would really be a better place when there is no need to award a Nobel Peace Prize anymore.

Dr Denis Mukwege. Photograph by Torleif Svensson/EPA

Denis Mukwege is one of the few Africans who were fortunate enough to have the opportunity to train and graduate in gynaecology in France. However, he did not choose to pursue a better, high-paying career in Europe. Rather, he came back to the Congo to help those who needed him most. He studied medicine because he wanted to assist women in his own country where pregnant women were dying unnecessarily during childbirth due to complications.

Dr. Mukwege’s life’s mission changed in 1999 when he encountered a woman whose genitals had been horrifically mutilated after soldiers raped her with a gun, which they then fired. “Her whole pelvis was destroyed. I thought it was the work of a madman, but the same year I treated 45 similar cases,” he explained. The same year, he founded the General Referral Hospital of Panzi in Bukavu, DRC, and spent the next 20 years advocating for women’s rights internationally. Since then, he and his team of specialists have changed the lives of more than 40,000 victims of rape. The gynaecologist is now recognised as one of the world’s leading experts on repairing injuries caused by sexual violence.

Dr. Mukwege’s life’s mission changed in 1999 when he encountered a woman whose genitals had been horrifically mutilated after soldiers raped her with a gun, which they then fired. “Her whole pelvis was destroyed. I thought it was the work of a madman, but the same year I treated 45 similar cases,” he explained.

Dr. Mukwege never stopped spreading the message about the atrocities perpetrated not just in the Congo, but in every other country where rape is used as a weapon of war – a weapon that is more devastating than bullets and bombs. Doctor Miracle lobbied to raise awareness about a heinous crime that destroys entire families through social stigma, that devastates human bodies through mutilation, that spreads diseases, and that leaves behind a trail of unwanted children that serve as a living reminder of the injustices of war.

In September 2012, Dr. Mukwege had the courage to address the United Nations where he criticised the Congolese government and neighbouring countries for their lack of commitment to stopping “an unjust war that has used violence against women and rape as a strategy of war“. A month later, a group of four men took his daughters hostage and killed his guard during an assassination attempt. After he narrowly escaped death, he was forced into exile in Europe for a few months. He came back to Bukavu on January 14, 2013 after his patients raised funds to pay for his return ticket by selling pineapples and onions.

Named African of the Year in 2009, the 63-year-old doctor has been the recipient of numerous other prizes and accolades, including the UN Human Rights Prize. And it’s not a coincidence that Dr. Mukwege keeps receiving awards to this very day even the war in the DRC officially ended in 2003. In the DRC and in other parts of Africa, rape is still used very frequently as a tactic to brutalise entire communities and to control the continent’s immense wealth. Nonetheless, is one of the most underreported war crimes that often occurs with the complicity of the deafening silence of the international community.

Colonial legacy

Under the Belgian King Leopold II’s brutal regime, the population of Congo was halved from 20 million to 10 million due to deaths by disease, starvation, and torture. The levels of savagery and cruelty reached by the Belgian colonialists and their minion army have rarely been witnessed throughout human history. Countless women were kidnapped and raped and children were forced into labour camps where they were routinely whipped and abused. The hands of labourers who didn’t meet their daily quota of rubber were brutally chopped off. In 1886, a German journalist counted that the puppet soldiers of Leopold’s army severed over 1,300 hands in one day, including those of many children.

These heinous crimes were committed by the Belgians with the silent consent of the Americans and the Europeans, who had a voracious hunger for rubber and ivory. Raw materials were in high demand, as they were needed to drive the industrialisation process that brought motorised transport and many other commodities in Western countries. It didn’t matter if they came at the expense of millions of Congolese lives lost – the Belgians’ thirst for blood was as unquenchable as their King’s lust for new riches. By exploiting the Congo, Belgium became a wealthy nation that was even admired for its philanthropic efforts in civilising the “savages” who inhabited the country. As an African proverb says, “Until the lions have their historians, the tales of hunting will always glorify the hunter.”

The levels of savagery and cruelty reached by the Belgian colonialists and their minion army have rarely been witnessed throughout human history. Countless women were kidnapped and raped and children were forced into labour camps where they were routinely whipped and abused. The hands of labourers who didn’t meet their daily quota of rubber were brutally chopped off.

Eventually, independence came in 1960, but the country’s nightmare was not over. After the first democratically elected Prime Minister Patrice Lumumba’s assassination in 1961, Belgium and the United States supported the dictatorship of Mobutu Sese Seko, a corrupt leader who kept Congo on a short, West-friendly leash for another 30 years.

Even after Mobutu was finally overthrown in 1997, a new war consumed the country, leaving at least 4 million people dead and countless victims of rape, torture, violence, and human exploitation in its wake. Today, it’s hard to tell whether the vicious cycle of brutality that continues to ravage the Democratic Republic of Congo is the legacy of one century of colonialism.

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The Western press has every interest in reinforcing the stereotypical idea of African countries being doomed to failure and tribalism after their white paternalistic guides left them on their own. Nonetheless, it’s undoubtedly true that those who are exploiting the human and natural resources of Congo through violence are black Africans who learned their lessons from their colonial forefathers. But while Western interference never stopped being present in the country, those who govern Congo today must be held fully accountable for every crime they keep committing.

Rape as a weapon of personal destruction

Rape is always an atrocity, but what happened in Congo in the last few decades is well beyond horror. Women of all ages were dragged into forests by militia, tied to a tree and raped for months. The internal walls of their genitalia got torn as a result of repeated forced intercourse. Objects, such as guns, were also frequently brutally shoved into their vaginas. The rapists did not consider the age of their victims. As Cecile Mulolo, the psychologist at the Panzi Hospital, explained in an interview a decade ago, the oldest victim she came across was in her 80s and the youngest was just 16 months old.

When the walls of the uterus and bladder are perforated, a fistula forms, which prevents the woman from being able to control her bowels. Urine comes out involuntarily, and chronic pain becomes a constant companion. This mutilation becomes her mark, as she is ostracised by her husband and villagers treat her like a leper. The violence thus never stops after the atrocity.

Rape is always an atrocity, but what happened in Congo in the last few decades is well beyond horror. Women of all ages were dragged into forests by militia, tied to a tree and raped for months. The internal walls of their genitalia got torn as a result of repeated forced intercourse. Objects, such as guns, were also frequently brutally shoved into their vaginas. The rapists did not consider the age of their victims. As Cecile Mulolo, the psychologist at the Panzi Hospital, explained in an interview a decade ago, the oldest victim she came across was in her 80s and the youngest was just 16 months old.

Sometimes the aggressors are so angry, drunk, or just mad that they even fire their guns while they’re inside the women. The consequences are beyond devastating. Those who are lucky (or unlucky, depending on the point of view) to survive must bear the consequences of this horrific act of violence for the rest of their lives. The repulsive moments they endured are forever lodged in their minds and the physical and psychological after-effects of the rape stay with them forever.

Rape is an abhorrent practice that knows no gender either. Males are raped almost as frequently as females, and possibly even more. A survey published in the Journal of the American Medical Association found that in Eastern Congo 22% of men reported that they had been raped during the war, compared to 30% of women. But since fewer than 1 in 10 male rapes are reported because of the heavy social stigma associated with it, it’s easy to understand how these numbers can be much higher.

Rape is an unacceptable act of violence that dehumanises those who experience it. Even the few who are not excluded from their own community must live with the shame of what happened to them. Women are victimised twice as they must bear the burden of rape in the form of unwanted children who will grow up as estranged human beings marred by a crime they didn’t commit. Sexual crimes in war must be dealt with zero tolerance, and not any differently from how the international community views chemical and biological warfare.

The indifference and guilt of the international community

Sexual violence has been used as a terror tactic during wartime for centuries. Rape is used to humiliate and dominate the enemy, and when the conflict originates from ethnic reasons, it can also be used as an instrument of ethnic cleansing. The Rwandan genocide of 1994 is a known example of this, as evidence suggests that military leaders actively endorsed this practice. Muammar Gaddafi went as far as purchasing a large number of Viagra-like drugs to “encourage” his troops during the Libyan civil war. This is not a problem that affects just Africa; war rape happens, again and again, every time a conflict erupts between two different religious, ethnic, or cultural groups. It happened in the Darfur region in Sudan, during the Bosnian wars, and to oppress the Tamil minority in the Sri Lankan conflict.

But what did the international community do to stem this plague? Well, for the most part they talked a lot about it and did a lot of “condemning”. But in practice they did not do much. When the Bosnian rape camp where the Serbian troops kept Muslim and Croatian women captive in order to impregnate them were found in 1993, rape was finally recognised as a crime against humanity by the Geneva Convention. But in the aftermath, the International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia found a total of just five men guilty of crimes against humanity in the form of rape and sexual enslavement. Despite the many (rather weak) actions taken by the UN to prevent wartime sexual violence from occurring, including the famous resolution 1820 that defined this practice as a war crime, mass rapes are perpetrated over and over again everywhere. Condemning is not enough, it never was enough.

But what did the international community do to stem this plague? Well, for the most part they talked a lot about it and did a lot of “condemning”. But in practice they did not do much.

But why take action after a rape has been committed when common sense would suggest that the best way to stop a crime is to prevent it from happening in the first place? On several occasions, the UN’s peacekeeping forces have failed the local population, leaving local militia and rebels free to wreak havoc on civilians. Ten years ago, the perpetrators of the Rwandan genocide fled to Congo, and together with the Congolese Mai-Mai militia, they began a spree of sacking and gang-raping 20 miles from a UN base. Why did the “keepers of the peace” ignore the warnings of the local community leaders?

The truth is actually worse than one can imagine. When over 95% of peacekeeping soldiers are males who carry out their operations in a hyper-masculine cultural environment, that’s nothing short of a disaster waiting to happen. Abuse and sexual exploitation of women and minors have a long-standing history, and all of the major contingents of the UN peacekeeping forces eventually appear to be implicated. During the 1993 Bosnian genocide, for example, UN soldiers took advantage of brothels in Sarajevo run by Serbian slavers who forced local women into prostitution. In Sudan, when the civilians took shelter in their headquarters, the Egyptian peacekeeping army raped at least six women who were they were supposed to be protecting. The Uruguayan peacekeeping contingent had to be withdrawn from Haiti because of protests sparked by the rape of a 14-year-old boy. In Congo, senior officials were even accused of bribing witnesses in an attempt to cover up several sexual scandals. The sexual exploitation and abuse of children by UN peacekeepers have also been reported in other strife-torn countries, including Liberia and Sierra Leone.

As a weapon, rape is much more devastating than bullets. To quote the words of Jeanna Mukuninwa, a 28-year-old victim of rape from Shabunda, Congo: “At least with a bullet, you die. But if you have been raped, you appear to the community like someone who is cursed. After rape, no one will talk to you; no man will see you. It’s a living death.”

African women don’t need another hospital in Bukavu to treat the devastating consequences of rape and brutalisation on their bodies. African women don’t need another heroic man like Dr. Mukwege who devotes his entire life to reconstructive surgery to patch up the damage inflicted by a handful of cruel beasts. African women and men need (and deserve) to live in a world where they are respected as human beings, where their bodies are never violated, and where rape is a barbarity of the past rather than a present threat. A world where the dark cloud of colonialism has finally lifted.

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