Arjen Westra’s African Weblog

Just back from Samburu /Turkana land in the middle of Kenya. Had an interesting conversation with a friend on a camelfarm. The area had a lot of rain recently, so it is green, the camels and cows are fat. But… World Food Program from the United Nations officialy declared that the area a drought area and … says the area needs food assistance and… now gives food assistance. So the nomadic Turkana and Samburu lifestyle of selling goat, living on milk, blood , meat is neglected by giving them their daily portion of food (soya, mais, oil etc), for free. Even though a lot of people are not hungry in the area. Somebody went to the office to tell WFP to stop the operation, but he was a kind of neglected according to my friend. At the same moment, there are other areas where people are realyy hungry at this moment…

Back from Northern Kenya, Turbi. Spent days travelling with open trucks, soldiers through a remote desert area. Reporting on mass killings in Turbi. Still remember the eyes of a two-year old girl, Diko. She was in the Marsabit hospital, her legs speared after an attack on Turbi. Her mother was sprayed with bullets.

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Clashes in Northern Kenya, Marsabit. More than 76 people were killed. reasons for the clashes: water shortage and rivalry about pasture grounds. On the way with local transport to the desert area for reports. Helicopters of the Kenyan army and police are chasing the bandits in the border area between Kenya and Ethiopia at the moment. The Nation, Kenya’s main newspaper’s frontpage headline today: Kenya’s Killing Fields.

Clashes in Northern Kenya, Marsabit. More than 76 people were killed. reasons for the clashes: water shortage and rivalry about pasture grounds. On the way with local transport to the desert area for reports. Helicopters of the Kenyan army and police are chasing the bandits in the border area between Kenya and Ethiopia at the moment. The Nation, Kenya’s main newspaper’s frontpage headline today: Kenya’s Killing Fields.

The talking about poverty in the world is going on this week in Scotland at the G8 summit. Meanwhile people on this continent survive. Last night I was walking down the street near my place. I met Patrick, 16 years old, with the face of an 32 year old. Patrick is a tailor and he has lived in the streets in old clothes since I first met him three years ago. I could smell the glue. Patrick was high. He was happy to see me and I was honestly happy to see him. I promised him my shoes a few weeks ago but I didn’t see him anymore. Sometimes the streetguys are chased by the police. ‘Please Arjen, help me, I have a bed but I don’t have a house. I am a tailor…. I want to work for my future. I don’t want to steal.’ Suddenly some of those caracters that you meet when you are working here, passed through my head: The little Don David for example, 9 years old. I called him ‘the silent reporter’. He was abducted by rebels in the North of Uganda, drugged, forced to kill his friends so he would be a better soldier. He had a dream of going to London. Or the ladies I spoke to in Eastern Congo, last year. Raped by soldiers and husband and the rest of the family killed by soldiers and other things that you can’t imagine. A lot of these things have to do with poverty. As journalists, we have the chance to give these people a voice. People in London they have a voice if they want to share whatever happened to them, the media are there to record their opinion about a bomb attack, where they were, what they did and so on. Today in Africa, hundreds of people will die, voiceless. For me, living her, provides a G8 summit and the bombings in London with some perspective. Today I visited Mama Matunda, the lady with a fruit stall. Nairobi City Council chased her away weeks ago. Without a proper reason they completely destroyed her stall. I was passing the place where she used to sell her fruit salads. A young man looked at me and walked towards me handing out a flyer. ‘Mama has moved. Now she has a new market stall with fruit salads. At the official market’, says the flyer. The young man smiled at me: ‘I am her son. Are you coming?’ I realised what I see around me every day: people will survive here, whatever world leaders decide in Scotland this week.

The talking about poverty in the world is going on this week in Scotland at the G8 summit. Meanwhile people on this continent survive. Last night I was walking down the street near my place. I met Patrick, 16 years old, with the face of an 32 year old. Patrick is a tailor and he has lived in the streets in old clothes since I first met him three years ago. I could smell the glue. Patrick was high. He was happy to see me and I was honestly happy to see him. I promised him my shoes a few weeks ago but I didn’t see him anymore. Sometimes the streetguys are chased by the police. ‘Please Arjen, help me, I have a bed but I don’t have a house. I am a tailor…. I want to work for my future. I don’t want to steal.’ Suddenly some of those caracters that you meet when you are working here, passed through my head: The little Don David for example, 9 years old. I called him ‘the silent reporter’. He was abducted by rebels in the North of Uganda, drugged, forced to kill his friends so he would be a better soldier. He had a dream of going to London. Or the ladies I spoke to in Eastern Congo, last year. Raped by soldiers and husband and the rest of the family killed by soldiers and other things that you can’t imagine. A lot of these things have to do with poverty. As journalists, we have the chance to give these people a voice. People in London they have a voice if they want to share whatever happened to them, the media are there to record their opinion about a bomb attack, where they were, what they did and so on. Today in Africa, hundreds of people will die, voiceless. For me, living her, provides a G8 summit and the bombings in London with some perspective. Today I visited Mama Matunda, the lady with a fruit stall. Nairobi City Council chased her away weeks ago. Without a proper reason they completely destroyed her stall. I was passing the place where she used to sell her fruit salads. A young man looked at me and walked towards me handing out a flyer. ‘Mama has moved. Now she has a new market stall with fruit salads. At the official market’, says the flyer. The young man smiled at me: ‘I am her son. Are you coming?’ I realised what I see around me every day: people will survive here, whatever world leaders decide in Scotland today.

Internet is soooooo slooooow today! Takes me hours to send only a few emails. Hope will get better.

Back in my country Kenya. At least I can understand what people say here, no more Portuguese. After an intense trip you look at all the things from a distance. Gives a kind of air in the head, makes you want to write. In the plain I had an interesting conversation with a Somali Kenyan who had just met Morgan Tsvangirai, the Zimbabwean opposition leader, being in Pretoria, South Africa for a while. The man was proud of a present he got from the Zimbabwean and showed me Tsvangirais biography and his autograph inside. The situation in Zimbabwe must be terrible at the moment, more than a million people in camps, food shortage. Tsvangirai is going to change the situation, hert had told the Kenyan travel companion. ‘I will invite you for my inauguration’, he had told full of confidence. Arriving home I had a cold Tusker with my friends.