On March 27, 2020, around mid-morning, my friend Said Adejumobi informed me of the passing of our friend Thandika Mkandawire. I received the news with shock and called my friend Said back to ask him to clarify what he had told me. Both of us remained quiet on phone for some time. We did not seem to believe what we were discussing. Our personal emotions did not allow us to say much.
But immediately after our short and mumbling conversation, I decided to call Bayo Olukoshi in Addis. I thought he would be emotionally stronger to brief me. It was the same on his end too. Involuntarily, I sat down to read the messages that Thandika and I had exchanged in December 2019 and early in January 2020. I turned attention to the selfies we had taken on 9 December 2019 in Nairobi, over, first, several cups of tea, and later, several Tusker beers (for him) and red wine (for me), which he helped select.
Love of data and objectivity
Several reasons made me counter-check the sad news about Thandika’s death. We had been friends since the 1990s. In my interactions with him, I learned the need to check and counter-check data and information irrespective of the source. Thandika was one person whose dexterity with data remain unparalleled. He did not believe in using data without verifying its objectivity, as well as the manner in which the date was assembled. He could literally “torture” data to speak the truth by comparing different sets and sources. Triangulation – if you may – was a major issue of concern to him. This is what I learned from him, especially at the time of finalising my PhD studies at Copenhagen’s Centre for Development Research (CDR), where he came for a research fellowship around 1998.
The second reason for counter-checking the sad news about Thandika was personal. At midnight of 23 November 2019, at exactly 00:08, I received a message from Thandika. The message read: “Are you in Nairobi the first 12 days of December?” I immediately replied and said: “Hi Prof: Yes, I will be; let us keep in touch!” This was the usual way we communicated for a number of years, especially when he joined the London School of Economics. He would send students for field work to Kenya. Before doing so, he would send me a message asking whether I am around. He would then let me know that a student would be coming to see me. And the students he sent to speak to me or seek advice were the type you would love to have around for long. They were brilliant and schooled in “torturing data”, Thandika style.
Our meeting in December 2019 was also special in a way. We met on 9 December. He asked me where we could meet in the Westlands part of Nairobi and I could not immediately pick a place. I knew he had been unwell, and I was not sure whether I should take him where we could have a cup of coffee and meal or a place for a drink. I decided to pick a coffee shop – Java – which he liked very much.
Thandika was open to conversations, especially conversations based on data. Our meeting in December happened to be one such conversation. The meeting over coffee was one of the best I ever had with him. He was finalising his manuscript on his passionate topic. He was analysing new trends in Africa’s development. Many of us certainly knew that he was always very creative in the use of data and would find innovative solutions using data that was in the hands of many. During our conversation, I could see his fresh ideas in examining Africa’s development challenges and policy solutions.
The manuscript he discussed with me had data on Africa’s growth and development from the 1960s to 2019. He called one of the graphs a “killer graph” because he was able to examine growth factors from the 1970s to the present. He was of the view that the factors that fuelled Africa’s growth in the 1970s were very different from the factors that have been accelerating Africa’s growth from the late 2000s period. He identified the services sector and, in some instances, the ICT sector as responsible for the current growth. He argued that these would not have sound impact on Africa’s development. This is the argument he wanted me to critique once he was through with the drafting.
Coffee shop or beer bar – the embarrassing choice
Thandika was a man of humour. There was an instance at one particular conference in Nairobi where a speaker could not pronounce Thandika’s second name, Mkandawire. Thandika simply made it easy for him by telling him to pronounce it as Mkanda Wire (mkanda is Swahili for rope; and wire is a metal thread/rod). This left everyone laughing.
The manuscript he discussed with me had data on Africa’s growth and development from the 1960s to 2019. He called one of the graphs a “killer graph” because he was able to examine growth factors from the 1970s to the present.
He was humorous even when talking about serious and personal issues. After our coffee, he suddenly asked me: “Karuti, I did not know you would bring me to a coffee shop! When did you think I stopped taking Kenyan Tusker?” Of course, I had chosen the coffee shop as a venue because I thought I was being considerate. He had had cancer treatment and I thought we should consume something light. He told me that he had remained in remission for a while. But in his usual genius way of stating even the most difficult subjects, he quickly added, “But you know these things change…remission may be temporary or permanent…”.
We proceeded to a different restaurant for a Kenyan beer and my red wine, which he had the pleasure of selecting for me. I dropped him late at night at his apartment. I was feeling guilty because we had stayed out so long at night.
Influence on African scholarship
Sometime in 1998, Thandika came to Copenhagen for a research fellowship, just after his tenure at the Council for the Development of Social Science Research in Africa (CODESRIA). It was here, at the Centre for Development Research (CDR), that I came to really understand and appreciate the immeasurable support he lent me and other younger scholars. He had come to join our friend and leading Africanist, Peter Gibbon, a friend who was also my supervisor.
Thandika arrived in Copenhagen and had immediate intellectual impact. He had the ability to see things that Danish Africanists would or could not see. In fact, in some discussion, there was a question on why African scholars were no longer writing as they did in the previous decade and why they were not influencing policy thinking. Thandika simply walked the discussion through the turns and crises of higher education, neoliberalism and its impact on scholarship, and the significance of politics on university education.
Again, he showed his ability to look at Africa with fresh eyes when he pointed out to them two simple facts. One, the consultancy “industry”, including Denmark and Sweden (his home), had drained universities of talents that should be used for research. This was the basis of his then CDR working paper, “Notes on Consultancy and Research and Development Research in Africa”.
He also gave another reason, but in passing: the generation of African leaders that was implementing the neoliberal Structural Adjustment Programmes (SAPs) in Africa did not have an understanding of the role of higher education in Africa’s development. For him, the first generation of African leaders, such as Julius Nyerere in Tanzania and Kwame Nkrumah in Ghana, had a good understanding of this role, especially because many of them were educated and had peasantry backgrounds. (These challenges were later well addressed in a book on African intellectuals that he edited and which was published by CODESRIA.) He did point out that there was a quest to build a developmental state in Africa that would play the role of building institutions, but this effort was increasingly undermined by restructuring efforts forced by the West.
I am indebted to Thandika in another respect. We had a habit of occasionally going for simple lunch meals or going for a drink during some evenings. Nothing fascinated Thandika than research ideas. One of these evenings, we discussed my research work on the politics of land in Kenya. Before I could explain what my main research question was, he immediately quipped: “Why is land such an issue so many years after independence? Where are the large farms that the colonial settlers occupied in the white highlands?” This, of course, led to me to go further to get answers through a review of records – and getting new dimensions in every page I turned.
After a quick review of the data on large farms, I realised that the land question is a political question whose solution does not lie in titling or market solutions. At this time, Thandika had consolidated his arguments on the paper on “Crises Management and the Making of Choiceless Democracies”, as well as a paper on Malawi’s agriculture, employment and labour. Our discussions around these issues revealed the primacy of the state and the struggles for democratic reforms as central issues in understanding the state of development on the continent.
Before I could explain what my main research question was, he immediately quipped: “Why is land such an issue so many years after independence? Where are the large farms that the colonial settlers occupied in the white highlands?”
It was when he was in Denmark that Thandika was approached to apply for the post of Director at the United Nations Research Institute for Social Development (UNRISD). There had been no other African at this post and it was evident that regional blocs, including South East Asia and some European countries, were lobbying for their candidates. We had long discussions on what to do and how to do it but, trust me, Thandika does not lobby. It was left to his credentials to speak for him. His writings and publications spoke for him, in addition to extremely good reference letters by prominent scholars and Africanists.
He continued to publish and his works on Africa’s development are extensively cited by researchers. I have included his works in the courses I teach. I usually find it refreshing going back to his publications whenever I want to reboot my thoughts on Africa’s development. Indeed, one time I came to learn that my students often joke that one cannot be my friend without citing Thandika Mkandawire’s works.
IDS and CODESRIA
Every time we met, Thandika would ask about the state of research at the Institute for Development Studies (IDS) at the University of Nairobi, where I am based. He was indeed very happy when we met in Copenhagen and learnt that I was based at IDS. This is because of many reasons. First, as he told me and explained during the 15 CODESRIA General Assembly, IDS (Nairobi) and CODESRIA have an organic relationship. The life of both institutions was quite intertwined. CODESRIA has origins anchored in IDS and other development studies centres in Africa.
Thandika explained that in the early 1970s, the directors of development research centres in Africa met several times in Bellagio, Italy, with the support of the Rockefeller Foundation. But the African directors of development research institutes, including the then IDS Director, Dharam Ghai, decided to meet more regularly because they had lots of things in common. They began to convene as the Conference of Directors of Economic and Social Research Institute (the original CODESRIA). The meetings were generally informal and aimed at sharing information and research ideas on the state of development in their respective regions. They met annually and decided to rotate the hosting of the meetings, moving every year from one region to another. Over time, however, Samir Amin, the eminent and quintessential intellectual, decided to host the “conference of directors” at the UN Centre where he was the director – the African Institute for Economic Development and Planning (IDEP) in Dakar. After getting a “permanent home”, the conference transformed into a council – the Council for the Development of Social Science Research in Africa (the present-day CODESRIA).
Thandika explained that in the early 1970s, the directors of development research centres in Africa met several times in Bellagio, Italy, with the support of the Rockefeller Foundation. But the African directors of development research institutes, including the then IDS Director, Dharam Ghai, decided to meet more regularly because they had lots of things in common.
With this history, Thandika would always ask me about the state of development research at IDS and the challenges we face. When he learned that I had been appointed the Director of IDS, he immediately wanted to know what help I required from his end; and whether there was room for public debates similar to the “Kenya Debate” that IDS convened in the 1970s. In our meeting of December 9, he specifically asked me to plan for his “coming at IDS” to give a public lecture in March/April 2020. He had requested that I pass this message and greetings to his old friends, Prof. Peter Anyang’ Nyong’o; Prof. Michael Chege; and Prof. Winnie Mitullah. We had agreed that I would begin convening public intellectual debates, and that I would reach out to CODESRIA to add value to these debates. On 11 January 2020, I received another message from Thandika reminding me of our drink and discussion. I remember I was awaiting his manuscript. And he was waiting for the big debate at IDS in March/April 2020.
It was not meant to be. How I wish we could stop death! Thandika Mkandiwire’s passing is not easy to just accept on my part. He has left a mark on the academy and his influence will remain forever in our social science texts in Africa. I have had the honour of referencing his works; and asking students to read his articles for fresh ideas. I feel that his mark on African scholarship is indelible.
Farewell Thandika! My heartfelt condolences to his Wife Kaarina, his family and his many friends across the globe.
Farewell my mentor! Farewell my friend
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SAPs – Season Two: Why Kenyans Fear Another IMF Loan
The Jubilee government would have us believe that the country is economically healthy but the reality is that the IMF has come in precisely because Kenya is in a financial crisis.
Never did I imagine that opposing an International Monetary Fund (IMF) loan to Kenya would be viewed by the Kenyan authorities as a criminal act. But that is exactly what transpired last week when activist Mutemi Kiama was arrested and charged with “abuse of digital gadgets”, “hurting the presidency”, “creating public disorder” and other vaguely-worded offences. Mutemi’s arrest was prompted by his Twitter post of an image of President Uhuru Kenyatta with the following caption: “This is to notify the world . . . that the person whose photograph and names appear above is not authorised to act or transact on behalf of the citizens of the Republic of Kenya and that the nation and future generations shall not be held liable for any penalties of bad loans negotiated and/or borrowed by him.” He was released on a cash bail of KSh.500,000 with an order prohibiting him from using his social media accounts or speaking about COVID-19-related loans.
Mutemi is one among more than 200,000 Kenyans who have signed a petition to the IMF to halt a KSh257 billion (US$2.3 billion) loan to Kenya, which was ostensibly obtained to cushion the country against the negative economic impact of COVID-19. Kenya is not the only country whose citizens have opposed an IMF loan. Protests against IMF loans have been taking place in many countries, including Argentina, where people took to the streets in 2018 when the country took a US$50 billion loan from the IMF. In 2016, Eqyptian authorities were forced to lower fuel prices following demonstrations against an IMF-backed decision to eliminate fuel subsidies. Similar protests have also taken place in Jordan, Lebanon and Ecuador in recent years.
Why would a country’s citizens be against a loan given by an international financial institution such as the IMF? Well, for those Kenyans who survived (or barely survived) the IMF-World Bank Structural Adjustment Programmes (SAPs) of the 1980s and 90s, the answer is obvious. SAPs came with stringent conditions attached, which led to many layoffs in the civil service and removal of subsidies for essential services, such as health and education, which led to increasing levels of hardship and precarity, especially among middle- and low-income groups. African countries undergoing SAPs experienced what is often referred to as “a lost development decade” as belt-tightening measures stalled development programmes and stunted economic opportunities.
In addition, borrowing African countries lost their independence in matters related to economic policy. Since lenders, such as the World Bank and the IMF, decide national economic policy – for instance, by determining things like budget management, exchange rates and public sector involvement in the economy – they became the de facto policy and decision-making authorities in the countries that took their loans. This is why, in much of the 1980s and 1990s, the arrival of a World Bank or IMF delegation to Nairobi often got Kenyans very worried.
In those days (in the aftermath of a hike in oil prices in 1979 that saw most African countries experience a rise in import bills and a decline in export earnings), leaders of these international financial institutions were feared as much as the authoritarian Kenyan president, Daniel arap Moi, because with the stroke of a pen they could devalue the Kenyan currency overnight and get large chunks of the civil service fired. As Kenyan economist David Ndii pointed out recently at a press conference organised by the Linda Katiba campaign, when the IMF comes knocking, it essentially means the country is “under receivership”. It can no longer claim to determine its own economic policies. Countries essentially lose their sovereignty, a fact that seems to have eluded the technocrats who rushed to get this particular loan.
When he took office in 2002, President Mwai Kibaki kept the World Bank and the IMF at arm’s length, preferring to take no-strings-attached infrastructure loans from China. Kibaki’s “Look East” economic policy alarmed the Bretton Woods institutions and Western donors who had until then had a huge say in the country’s development trajectory, but it instilled a sense of pride and autonomy in Kenyans, which sadly, has been eroded by Uhuru and his inept cronies who have gone on loan fishing expeditions, including massive Eurobonds worth Sh692 billion (nearly $7 billion), which means that every Kenyan today has a debt of Sh137,000, more than three times what it was eight years ago when the Jubilee government came to power. By the end of last year, Kenya’s debt stood at nearly 70 per cent of GDP, up from 50 per cent at the end of 2015. This high level of debt can prove deadly for a country like Kenya that borrows in foreign currencies.
When the IMF comes knocking, it essentially means the country is “under receivership”.
The Jubilee government would have us believe that the fact that the IMF agreed to this loan is a sign that the country is economically healthy, but as Ndii noted, quite often the opposite is true: the IMF comes in precisely because a country is in a financial crisis. In Kenya’s case, this crisis has been precipitated by reckless borrowing by the Jubilee administration that has seen Kenya’s debt rise from KSh630 billion (about $6 billion at today’s exchange rate) when Kibaki took office in 2002, to a staggering KSh7.2 trillion (about US$70 billion) today, with not much to show for it, except a standard gauge railway (SGR) funded by Chinese loans that appears unable to pay for itself. As an article in a local daily pointed out, this is enough money to build 17 SGRs from Mombasa to Nairobi or 154 superhighways like the one from Nairobi to Thika. The tragedy is that many of these loans are unaccounted for; in fact, many Kenyans believe they are taken to line individual pockets. Uhuru Kenyatta has himself admitted that Kenya loses KSh2 billion a day to corruption in government. Some of these lost billions could actually be loans.
IMF loans with stringent conditions attached have often been presented as being the solution to a country’s economic woes – a belt-tightening measure that will instil fiscal discipline in a country’s economy by increasing revenue and decreasing expenditure. However, the real purpose of these loans, some argue, is to bring about major and fundamental policy changes at the national level – changes that reflect the neoliberal ethos of our time, complete with privatisation, free markets and deregulation.
The first ominous sign that the Kenyan government was about to embark on a perilous economic path was when the head of the IMF, Christine Lagarde, made an official visit to Kenya shortly after President Uhuru was elected in 2013. At that time, I remember tweeting that this was not a good omen; it indicated that the IMF was preparing to bring Kenya back into the IMF fold.
Naomi Klein’s book, The Shock Doctrine, shows how what she calls “disaster capitalism” has allowed the IMF, in particular, to administer “shock therapy” on nations reeling from natural or man-made disasters or high levels of external debt. This has led to unnecessary privatisation of state assets, government deregulation, massive layoffs of civil servants and reduction or elimination of subsidies, all of which can and do lead to increasing poverty and inequality. Klein is particularly critical of what is known as the Chicago School of Economics that she claims justifies greed, corruption, theft of public resources and personal enrichment as long as they advance the cause of free markets and neoliberalism. She shows how in nearly every country where the IMF “medicine” has been administered, inequality levels have escalated and poverty has become systemic.
Sometimes the IMF will create a pseudo-crisis in a country to force it to obtain an IMF bailout loan. Or, through carefully manipulated data, it will make the country look economically healthy so that it feels secure about applying for more loans. When that country can’t pay back the loans, which often happens, the IMF inflicts even more austerity measures (also known as “conditionalities”) on it, which lead to even more poverty and inequality.
IMF and World Bank loans for infrastructure projects also benefit Western corporations. Private companies hire experts to ensure that these companies secure government contracts for big infrastructure projects funded by these international financial institutions. Companies in rich countries like the United States often hire people who will do the bidding on their behalf. In his international “word-of-mouth bestseller”, Confessions of an Economic Hit Man, John Perkins explains how in the 1970s when he worked for an international consulting firm, he was told that his job was to “funnel money from the World Bank, the US Agency for International Development and other foreign aid organisations into the coffers of huge corporations and the pockets of a few wealthy families who control the planet’s resources”.
Sometimes the IMF will create a pseudo-crisis in a country to force it to obtain an IMF bailout loan.
The tools to carry out this goal, his employer admitted unashamedly, could include “fraudulent financial reports, rigged elections, payoffs, extortion, sex and murder”. Perkins showed how in the 1970s, he became instrumental in brokering deals with countries ranging from Panama to Saudi Arabia where he convinced leaders to accept projects that were detrimental to their own people but which enormously benefitted US corporate interests.
“In the end, those leaders become ensnared in a web of debt that ensures their loyalty. We can draw on them whenever we desire – to satisfy our political, economic or military needs. In turn, they bolster their political positions by bringing industrial parks, power plants, and airports to their people. The owners of US engineering/construction companies become fabulously wealthy,” a colleague told him when he asked why his job was so important.
Kenyans, who are already suffering financially due to the COVID-19 pandemic which saw nearly 2 million jobs in the formal sector disappear last year, will now be confronted with austerity measures at precisely the time when they need government subsidies and social safety nets. Season Two of SAPs is likely to make life for Kenyans even more miserable in the short and medium term.
We will have to wait and see whether overall dissatisfaction with the government will influence the outcome of the 2022 elections. However, whoever wins that election will still have to contend with rising debt and unsustainable repayments that have become President Uhuru Kenyatta’s most enduring legacy.
Haiti: The Struggle for Democracy, Justice, Reparations and the Black Soul
Only the Haitian people can decide their own future. The dictatorship imposed by former president Jovenel Moïse and its imperialist enablers need to go – and make space for a people’s transition government.
Haiti is once again going through a profound crisis. Central to this is the struggle against the dictatorship imposed by former president Jovenel Moïse. Since last year Mr. Moise, after decreeing the dismissal of Parliament, has been ruling through decrees, permanently violating Haiti’s constitution. He has refused to leave power after his mandate ended on February 7, 2021, claiming that it ends on February 7 of next year, without any legal basis.
This disregard of the constitution is taking place despite multiple statements by the country’s main judicial bodies, such as the CSPJ (Superior Council of Judicial Power) and the Association of Haitian Lawyers. Numerous religious groups and numerous institutions that are representative of society have also spoken. At this time, there is a strike by the judiciary, which leaves the country without any public body of political power.
At the same time, this institutional crisis is framed in the insecurity that affects practically all sectors of Haitian society. An insecurity expressed through savage repressions of popular mobilizations by the PNH (Haitian National Police), which at the service of the executive power. They have attacked journalists and committed various massacres in poor neighborhoods. Throughout the country, there have been assassinations and arbitrary arrests of opponents.
Most recently, a judge of the High Court was detained under the pretext of promoting an alleged plot against the security of the State and to assassinate the president leading to the illegal and arbitrary revocation of three judges of this Court. This last period has also seen the creation of hundreds of armed groups that spread terror over the entire country and that respond to power, transforming kidnapping into a fairly prosperous industry for these criminals.
The 13 years of military occupation by United Nations troops through MINUSTAH and the operations of prolongation of guardianship through MINUJUSTH and BINUH have aggravated the Haitian crisis. They supported retrograde and undemocratic sectors who, along with gangsters, committed serious crimes against the Haitian people and their fundamental rights.
For this, the people of Haiti deserve a process of justice and reparations. They have paid dearly for the intervention of MINUSTAH: 30 THOUSAND DEAD from cholera transmitted by the soldiers, thousands of women raped, who now raise orphaned children. Nothing has changed in 13 years, more social inequality, poverty, more difficulties for the people. The absence of democracy stays the same.
The poor’s living conditions have worsened dramatically as a result of more than 30 years of neoliberal policies imposed by the International Financial Institutions (IFIs), a severe exchange rate crisis, the freezing of the minimum wage, and inflation above 20% during the last three years.
It should be emphasized that, despite this dramatic situation, the Haitian people remain firm and are constantly mobilizing to prevent the consolidation of a dictatorship by demanding the immediate leave of office by former President Jovenel Moïse.
Taking into account the importance of this struggle and that this dictatorial regime still has the support of imperialist governments such as the United States of America, Canada, France, and international organizations such as the UN, the OAS, and the EU, the IPA calls its members to contribute their full and active solidarity to the struggle of the Haitian people, and to sign this Petition that demands the end of the dictatorship as well as respect for the sovereignty and self-determination of the Haitian people, the establishment of a transition government led by Haitians to launch a process of authentic national reconstruction.
In addition to expressing our solidarity with the Haitian people’s resistance, we call for our organisations to demonstrate in front of the embassies of the imperialist countries and before the United Nations. Only the Haitian people can decide their future. Down with Moise and yes to a people’s transition government, until a constituent is democratically elected.
Deconstructing the Whiteness of Christ
While many African Christians can only imagine a white Jesus, others have actively promoted a vision of a brown or black Jesus, both in art and in ideology.
When images of a white preacher and actor going around Kenya playing Jesus turned up on social media in July 2019, people were rightly stunned by the white supremacist undertone of the images. They suggested that Africans were prone to seeing Jesus as white, promoting the white saviour narrative in the process. While it is true that the idea of a white Jesus has been prevalent in African Christianity even without a white actor, and many African Christians and churches still entertain images of Jesus as white because of the missionary legacy, many others have actively promoted a vision of Jesus as brown or black both in art an in ideology.
Images of a brown or black Jesus is as old as Christianity in Africa, especially finding a prominent place in Ethiopian Orthodox Church, which has been in existence for over sixteen hundred years. Eyob Derillo, a librarian at the British Library, recently brought up a steady diet of these images on Twitter. The image of Jesus as black has also been popularised through the artistic project known as Vie de Jesus Mafa (Life of Jesus Mafa) that was conducted in Cameroon.
The most radical expression of Jesus as a black person was however put forth by a young Kongolese woman called Kimpa Vita, who lived in the late seventeenth and early eighteenth century. Through the missionary work of the Portuguese, Kimpa Vita, who was a nganga or medicine woman, became a Christian. She taught that Jesus and his apostles were black and were in fact born in São Salvador, which was the capital of the Kongo at the time. Not only was Jesus transposed from Palestine to São Salvador, Jerusalem, which is a holy site for Christians, was also transposed to São Salvador, so that São Salvador became a holy site. Kimpa Vita was accused of preaching heresy by Portuguese missionaries and burnt at the stake in 1706.
It was not until the 20th century that another movement similar to Vita’s emerged in the Kongo. This younger movement was led by Simon Kimbangu, a preacher who went about healing and raising the dead, portraying himself as an emissary of Jesus. His followers sometimes see him as the Holy Spirit who was to come after Jesus, as prophesied in John 14:16. Just as Kimpa Vita saw São Salvador as the new Jerusalem, Kimbangu’s village of Nkamba became, and still is known as, the new Jerusalem. His followers still flock there for pilgrimage. Kimbangu was accused of threatening Belgian colonial rule and thrown in jail, where he died. Some have complained that Kimbangu seems to have eclipsed Jesus in the imagination of his followers for he is said to have been resurrected from the dead, like Jesus.
Kimbangu’s status among his followers is however similar to that of some of the leaders of what has been described as African Independent Churches or African Initiated Churches (AICs). These churches include the Zionist churches of Southern Africa, among which is the amaNazaretha of Isaiah Shembe. Shembe’s followers see him as a divine figure, similar to Jesus, and rather than going to Jerusalem for pilgrimage, his followers go to the holy city of Ekuphakameni in South Africa. The Cameroonian theologian, Fabien Eboussi Boulaga, in his Christianity Without Fetish, see leaders like Kimbangu and Shembe as doing for their people in our own time what Jesus did for his people in their own time—providing means of healing and deliverance in contexts of grinding oppression. Thus, rather than replacing Jesus, as they are often accused of doing, they are making Jesus relevant to their people. For many Christians in Africa, therefore, Jesus is already brown or black. Other Christians still need to catch up with this development if we are to avoid painful spectacles like the one that took place Kenya.
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