Burkina Faso's transitional government struggles

Burkina Faso's transitional government was appointed in November last year and given a year to redress some of the institutional rot that had settled under the 27-rule of Blaise Compaore. In his later years, after his regime had been shaken more than once by protests and paralyzing strikes, Compaore became a fairly benign autocrat who maintained his grip on power by using the classic divide-and-rule tactic of allowing dozens of political parties and one-man NGO's to flourish. It's one of the reasons that Burkina Faso has an energetic, engaging 'civil society' -- for lack of a better word -- which exercises considerable influence on the post-Blaise political negotiations. University professors and human rights activists are part of the transitional leadership, and when I was in Ouagadougou in March, here's what one such delightfully straightforward cabinet minister had to say:      

"There's been a misunderstanding from the beginning. People thought we could just wave a magic wand and completely change Burkina Faso, that we could take the country back to the golden age, so to speak. It's good to have dreams, to have ideals, of course, but I also think that people don't understand there's a lot of work to be done. People want us to go faster than we're able to. The government is more like the conductor of an orchestra in which everybody has to play his part. We're trying to install the rule of law. That takes time."

"I have a case of someone who embezzled a serious amount of money three years ago. This is just one of the cases I'm dealing with. This person's only sanction was that he got transferred between ministries. He has admitted to stealing, and he has even promised to return the money. So I asked, has he ever been heard by a disciplinary council? Well, no. Why not? Well, because we don't have a disciplinary council. So I fought for a month and a half to make sure we get a disciplinary council. Then, I receive the first report from the council, expecting that they heard the person in question about the error he has made. But instead, they say: we don't really know how this works, this is a first for us, can you organize a seminar to educate us? So I said, okay, I'll educate you in five minutes. I had someone read out to them the governing text of the disciplinary council."

"Of course, I understood by then that they weren't at all keen to hear him, and I proposed we lodge a complaint directly with the justice department. And they're like, no no no, the treasury's judicial agent already has his file. So I asked, does this mean the justice department has started legal proceedings? And you know what the answer is? No, in fact, they're trying to reach an amicable agreement."    

"I mean, this is just one concrete case. Sometimes I think that people just don't like change, you know?" 

The news according to the newspaper

The state-owned Daily Graphic usually prints more than 60 pages a day, half of which are ads for cars and phone networks, as well as colorful full-page obituaries announced under the header 'Celebration of Life'. Founded in the days of the one-party system, it's a newspaper that's adept at publishing as little news as possible, proffering stories that range from the trivial to the deferential, with little by way of analysis in between. Most stories are invariably illustrated with head shots of ministers and presidents, though there is the occasional mangled metal and bloody corpse from yet another car wreck. From yesterday's edition:

Editorial, page 7:
The Daily Graphic thinks that wrongdoing is assuming alarming proportions in our society because unlike the past when societal values would rein in deviants, now, we tend to worship material things and well-to-do persons without questioning the sources of their wealth.

News, page 33:
ECG orders pastor to pay for illegal connection
The head pastor of Miraculous Jesus Ministry in Koforidua, Prophet Nyame Akwadaa, who was found to have illegally connected power to his church premises, has been given seven days to pay his bill or face prosecution. The illegal connection, which covered a period of 24 months, amounted to ¢19,087 ($4,338). Prophet Akwadaa was apprehended by a special task force of the Electricity Company of Ghana (ECG). Briefing the Daily Graphic, the regional manager of the ECG, Mr Michael Baah, said the task force, in a surprise move, visited the church and found out that there had been an illegal connection of electric power to the premises. He said when the team confronted Prophet Akwadaa, he could not defend his action and was subsequently given seven days to pay the amount involved. Mr Baah said that was the second time Prophet Akwadaa had been busted for illegal connection of power to his church.

Accra, after the floods

Last week I received messages of concern and a phone call from my parents, who were on holiday but had for this occasion switched on their mobile phone to reach me all the way from France. In Accra, the grimy charmless city I've adopted as a temporary home, a gas station at one of the busiest traffic hubs in the city had exploded during extremely heavy rains in what was a bit of a freak accident. Dozens of people sheltering under the roof of the gas station were killed instantly as a huge ball of fire shot out over the black sky, and many others drowned, including prostitutes from an adjacent brothel. What's certain is that the rains had caused flooding several feet high, and the water was streaked with gasoline from an apparent leak. After that, there are different versions of what happened: it may have been the spark of a rickety light socket or a faulty generator; yet another version featured a cigarette butt that set everything alight, though with the rains and Ghana's taboo on smoking in public, that seems unlikely. The flooding was the first I've ever experienced, and what shocked me wasn't just the government's badly feigned commiseration with the victims, but the fact that the flood water consisted mainly of waste water from overflowing drains and gutters. In the poorest areas of the city, the mud smells like shit. I can't count the number of times I washed my foot after stepping in a puddle of black slime earlier this week, taking pictures while wearing flip flops. Today I published a short news story that begins like this:

Every year, in June, the floods come.
Rokia Gedle has lived for 23 years in a blue wooden shack without a bathroom or kitchen in Ghana’s capital, Accra. She has raised six children there. She can’t remember not having her home flooded in the rainy season.
“This year was the worst,” said Gedle, a 54-year-old shopkeeper who lost her fridge, TV, cash and clothes to floods last week. “I didn’t realize the water was still going up, up, up until my eldest daughter said we should run outside.”
The hardest hit neighborhoods, including Gedle’s, are still choked with filth left by the city’s overflowing drains and gutters a week after floods killed more than 200 people.

But I think that pictures tell the story better.

Lesbians and prostitutes

Despite Ghana’s democratic credentials, as the locals like to call it, a particularly virulent strain of homophobia runs through Ghanaian society. This is revealed in the absurd newspaper story below and in yesterday’s parliamentary interrogation of a female activist who has been proposed for the job of minister for Gender, Children and Social Protection. Parliament has to approve the appointment and jumped at the chance to drive her into a corner with a line of questioning that was steeped in self-righteous hypocrisy. The minister-to-be, Nana Oye Lithur, a stout woman with a disarming girlish smile, is accused of promoting gay rights because she will not publicly condemn homosexuality; in Ghana, homosexuality is generally agreed to be repugnant and not condemning it simply unacceptable. Oye Lithur argued it is her responsibility to defend basic human rights for everybody, gay or straight. “Homosexuality is a societal issue which I believe we should discuss, debate and deliberate upon and come to a conclusion as to whether we want to accept it or not,” she said. Today, on radio, church leaders and lawyers stumbled over themselves to call her a liar and a coward. Ghanaians tend to take the moral high ground on everything, using God and ‘African values’ to ward off reprehensible western practices like smoking, homosexuality and allowing women to voice an opinion.

And now, the pride of Accra, the city’s most popular weekend destination, a haven of unabashed consumerism, is seriously under threat. From the Economic Tribune:

Lesbians take over Accra Mall

One of the greatest challenges facing the managers of Accra Mall is how to deal with lesbians and prostitutes, who are using the shopping center as a fertile ground to practice their illegal trade. One major area where such lesbians and prostitutes advertise themselves is behind the doors of the various female washrooms situated in the mall. As soon as one sits on the water closet, the first thing that catches one's attention is the writing scrawled by many hands behind the door.

The contact numbers and the names of the lesbians are written on the doors with blue and black ink. Apart from lesbians, some prostitutes have also written their phones numbers behind some of the restrooms for business.  Some of them read: “Are you a lesbian? Call Lydia on …. for a chat. If you are a white lesbian, call me on… for relationship,” among others. 

“It is difficult to identify prostitutes because of the crowd that shows up on a daily basis,” said Michael Oduro Konadu, marketing officer of the Accra Mall. “Most young ladies who parade themselves on the corridors are prostitutes either waiting to be picked up by their clients or looking out for men seeking sexual adventure. Lesbians and prostitutes are posing great challenge to us, but we want to assure our customers that we shall deal with the problem as soon as possible.” 

Dispatches from the frontline

Last week in Mali, an excited crowd of journalists packed into rented 4x4’s to see what was happening at the frontline, hoping for signs of war and scenes of combat, craving the adrenaline rush of being the first to enter an inhospitable danger zone. What they found instead was bored Malian soldiers smoking cigarettes in the shade of a tree or washing their feet before prayer as taut French troops made it clear the rebel-held towns were sealed off from nosy reporters. Some colleagues sat down to Twitter about likely military strategies and the prospect of a protracted guerrilla war that would take months if not years to win; others berated the French for being ‘typically French’, code for lacking joviality and displaying an ostensible indifference to the urgent needs of the press corps. Meanwhile, their Malian helpers discreetly chatted up their bosses’ competitors to see if better gigs could be had now or in the near future, peddling their expertise and knowledge of local languages. After waiting for days in towns with nothing to offer but ramshackle bakeries, bottled Coca-Cola and curious village kids riding donkey carts, they became suspicious: surely the military were doing something sinister -- conducting acts of revenge perhaps? It all sounded frantic, and rather pointless. Judging from boastful Facebook posts, suddenly we were all experts on Mali. Yet no one really knew what was going on, and no one knew what was going to happen, least of all the fact that the French army would pretty much sweep out the Islamists in two weeks.

 

Then the dirt road to Diabaly finally opened to the press, and relieved residents told stories of gunfights and fear. Film crews focused on burned out pick-up trucks; there wasn’t a whole lot else to see. Nearly everywhere else, life carried on as usual. The region is marked by an amazing feat of engineering called the Markala dam, which was designed in the 1930s by French colonialists to create tens of thousands of hectares of farmland. The French wanted cotton; the Malians now produce rice. The canals are used by women of all ages to simultaneously scour the dirty dishes, wash clothes, and entertain the babies. In Mali, household chores are always done together, never alone. This, not the frontline, impressed me most.

Mali's army feels vindicated

"A couple of years ago there was an incident when a subordinate refused to obey the order of an officer. The officer was beside himself with anger, shouting, threatening to kill the guy, but the guy said: 'I don't have to listen to you, I paid 300,000 CFA to get myself into the army!'. That's how it is: once somebody accepts your envelope, you don't owe him respect anymore. Corruption eroded the army at every level. Sure, each year parliament approved the defense budget. The money was there -- on paper. In my department for example, we were allocated five million CFA ($10,000) per year. But we received 300,000 CFA ($600). The rest was taken by my bosses in Bamako. In 20 years, the government never bought new military vehicles or new weapons. Our rifles were more than 20 years old. We had nothing."



"Our Generals aspired to be politicians. Those that weren't sent to retire, they are still in the army but they sit at home. They tend to their garden, haha. We don't want to listen to them anymore. They stayed in their big houses in Bamako campaigning for parties allied to the president while we were up north facing the rebels. And when the rebels opened fire, do you know what the hierarchy in Bamako said? 'Did you do something to provoke them?' I mean, seriously! Some men were given rifles without a striker -- rifles that don't work. Then the rebels attacked and captured an entire company. Everybody in the barracks, their throats were slit. Nearly 150 men. How is morale now? Oh, it's very good. We feel vindicated. The French have come and because of them, all the Europeans are sending equipment. Even the Russians are helping out. We weren't just complaining. People understand that now."

Mali

As a journalist I know better than most people that TV news reflects only a small part of the full picture, and often a distorted one at that. Still, boarding a plane to Bamako this week, I was apprehensive about what I was going to find. The Islamists in northern Mali carried out an effective intimidation campaign, forcing residents to attend the stoning to death of an unmarried couple and the public amputations of hands and feet of four smalltime thieves in order to make it clear they mean business with their talk of Sharia law. These cruel spectacles were well-publicized in the west. Add kidnappings of tourists, and grainy images of shoddily clad, heavily armed men riding the back of a pick-up truck with faces covered in black cloth, and Mali seems no Mali no longer, but a sad African version of Afghanistan.

As soon as I drove into Bamako, my nervousness evaporated. Little has changed except for the occasional soldier lining a main road and street vendors hawking French flags. Hundreds of thousands of people have fled the north for fear of what may come, but they remain invisible, camping out at the homes of relatives. The funky vibe of Bamako lifted my heart -- women wearing fantastically colorful robes made of hand-dyed fabric, ancient canary-yellow Mercedes taxis, red dirt roads, friendly limpid handshakes and easy chitchat with practically everybody one meets. I met a taxi driver happily complaining about the ills of democracy, which opened the door to corruption and theft, which led to the coup, which in turn resulted in the mess Mali finds itself in now. I asked if he thinks elections are necessary after the war. "Of course," he exclaimed. "Without elections we won't get money from donors, and Mali can't survive without donor funds." Others spoke about the innate deviousness of the light-skinned Touaregs, who are good-for-nothings with crime running through their veins and brought Mali to the brink of collapse by signing a pact with the Islamists. Many believe the Islamists are in fact not Islamists at all, but cocaine smugglers who seek to keep out the prying eyes of the state.

 

Twenty-year-old Fatoumata left her native city of Gao last year; schools closed when the rebels marched in. She moved in with an uncle while her parents stayed behind to protect the family home. Fatoumate spoke with her eyes focused on the ground, as a well-behaved northern girl does. When I put away my notebook, she relaxed. "I had passport pictures taken when I went back to Gao to see my parents," she said, chuckling at the memory. "Women need to wear a veil from head to toe. Otherwise you'll get flogged. Would you like to see it?"