Tart of Darkness

An International Medley of Enjoyment

2007-05-29T14:56:00.000+02:00

Numerous enjoyable things have happened since I last wrote. These, in brief, are as follows:

I have acquired a new flatmate (Canadian)
I have bought an old car (Japanese)
I have had two wonderful holidays (South African, Indian)

The joys of this international medley are hard to describe but easy to receive. I now have an ever-bubbly and excited companion Danielle to chat endlessly and eat with when I get home (she has engineered the so-called Danielle Food Programme [DFP], which is significantly more complex and logistically thoughtful than the UN’s smaller counterpart, the World Food Programme). I’m also able to drive round Lusaka (and beyond) at will in my neo-cool old-skool 1994 white Nissan Sunny (yes, I have crashed it already…reversed into a taxi on a main road and smashed up the rear bumper…I continue to drive like a complete prick). I visited Kate-Louise’s wonderful and luxuriant safari lodge, Tanda Tula, in the Timbavati game reserve in South Africa (we have now renamed it renamed Tanda Tequila - ‘the love of tequila’ – after our hedonistic and passionate encounter with the Mexican devil). And lastly, I spent some time with the Little One in Bombay, who remains the potent and beautiful firework that most of you know and love.

Danielle preparing the DFP

Tanda Tula aka Tanda Tequila aka Tanda Tarot

Looking for some action

Found some action

Serious action

If napoleon dynamite was an elephant, he would be this one ("Dorkus")

Reminds me of a great thong I used to own

Sunshine glamour

The little one

I love a spaz

I’m writing this blog entry from a blue cotton hammock in which I’m reclining rather smugly. The hammock is suspended from two trees which have laid their roots on the banks of Lake Kariba, the vast and dazzling water which separates Zambia from

Zimbabwe

. I’m here with Danielle, Katja and Calum, who have all made the five hour trip from Lusaka to spend the weekend here at the Kariba Bush Club (the owners are Calum’s friends). It is beautiful; sumptuously so. The striking thing about African wilderness lies in the fact that you do not ‘go’ to a place to find it – it resides everywhere that civilisation is not. As soon as you leave the cities, you are essentially in the wild; in the vast untouched tracts of land that separate urban gatherings. For me, the African bush is defined by its human emptiness, the lack of man’s clumsy footprint. And while the bush, Lake Kariba included, has much to see and enjoy – wildlife, natural beauty, hammocks – it is what is NOT here – cellphones, traffic, noise – that makes it such a unique and meditative place.

I am smug

Birds at Kariba

The remainder of my time in Lusaka is checked by trips abroad – I am visiting the island of Zanzibar in a couple of weeks with the invariably insatiable Criddle, followed by visit to London to wreck myself well before I check myself (and visit The Tiger, aka Anoushka Tiger Mohan Sharma, my newborn niece) . Lastly, New York for a Marakon conference, and then back to Zambia before June is out.

The Little Tiger

So I may not write for a while, but know that I am thinking of you and missing you – yes, every last one of you little fuckers.

Victoria Falls

2007-05-29T09:28:00.000+02:00

After the safari (see previous post, below), my mother and I made our way to Victoria falls, which were the single most spectacular natural phenomenon I have ever seen. The sheer power of them, the breathtaking force of the water, the menacing cacophony of noise – it’s fucking insane. The water at the falls is at the highest level for 20 years, which amplifies their presence to the almost supernatural.

They are a mile wide and over 100m high, and the spray created by the water falling is so dense that it’s like a perpetual monsoon. Walking across the famous ‘knife edge bridge’ was like trekking through a light thunderstorm, with crazy rainbows at all angles, created by the strong sun shining through the mist. A piece of advice: before you die, see Victoria Falls.

South Luangwa

2007-04-24T11:37:00.000+02:00

South Luangwa National Park, in eastern Zambia, claims to be one of the most unique safari destinations around. Why? Because it has among the highest densities of game, and lowest density of tourists, of any game park in the world.

When my mum arrived to visit me in Lusaka over Easter, I decided that we should go and check it out. The result was an incredible and beautiful week, which brought us within hugging distance of lions, elephants, giraffes, hippos, crocs, hyenas, and Norwegians. I’ll never forget it.

Our accommodation was a beautiful wooden hut perched on the side of a lagoon, from which we could see hippos and crocs playing with/killing smaller things. The feeling of being a trespasser in the animal kingdom, of being truly exposed to the wild, was overwhelming.

Our hut (note hippos in water...)

Breakfast on the deck at Mfuwe Lodge

Breeding colony of Egrets

Yellow billed storks in flight

An ibis fishing at sunset

a dry river bed - from april to november there are no rains

Lunching with some elephants

A family of giraffes (see the baby, on the right)

mental

I did start shitting myself at this point

But turns out she was just going for a drink

The enormous Baobab tree vs. my ridiculously small mum

Not every african is an entrepreneur

2007-04-24T11:32:00.000+02:00

For those of you who are wondering what the hell I am doing in Africa...Thomas Friedman explains my project goals (more or less) in his latest article for the New York Times. The basic idea is to bridge the gap between the world bank's $500k loans for multinationals, and the microfinance industry's $50 loans for individuals - i.e., to develop small and medium businesses that create jobs. After all, not every african is an entrepreneur...

NY Times
April 20, 2007
‘Patient’ Capital for an Africa That Can’t Wait
By THOMAS L. FRIEDMAN

Last week, I was touring northern Tanzania when our car passed the small town of Karatu and we suddenly came upon an open field splashed with colors so bright and varied it looked from afar as if someone had painted a 30-color rainbow on the landscape.
As we got closer, I discovered that it was Karatu’s huge clothing market. Merchants had laid out blankets piled with multicolored shirts, pants and dresses, much of it used clothing from Europe, and were hawking their goods.
This was not Nordstrom. A man with a tape measure dangling from his back pocket and a megaphone in his hand was shouting: “A thousand shillings for these trousers. It’s like giving them away.” Men and women, themselves dressed in brightly colored native Tanzanian garments, sifted through the mounds of clothing, holding shirts or slacks up against their bodies to see if they fit.
Scenes like this remind you that Africa is neither all tragedy nor all renaissance. It is a diverse continent that’s struggling to find its way in the global economy and has both of these extremes, but is much more in a middle place that looks like that field in Karatu: a wild, unregulated, informal, individual brand of capitalism, which we need to channel into formal companies that can grow and scale up, even with corrupt governance.
Africa needs many things, but most of all it needs capitalists who can start and run legal companies. More Bill Gateses, fewer foundations. People grow out of poverty when they create small businesses that employ their neighbors. Nothing else lasts.
Whenever you read about capital flowing into Africa, though, it tends to be from big lenders like the World Bank, which have very strict criteria and work on big projects, or from microfinanciers, giving out $50 to a woman to buy a sewing machine. Microfinance has a role, but many people don’t want the pressure of being an entrepreneur. They want the stability and prosperity of a job created by capitalist risk takers and innovators. See India.
In some ways what Africa needs most today is more “patient” capital to spur its would-be capitalists. Patient capital has all the discipline of venture capital — demanding a return, and therefore rigor in how it is deployed — but expecting a return that is more in the 5 to 10 percent range, rather than the 35 percent that venture capitalists look for, and with a longer payback period.
A good example of what happens when you combine patient capital, talent and innovation in Africa is the Kenyan company Advanced Bio-Extracts (ABE), headed by Patrick Henfrey. He and his partners put together a fascinating group of both white and black African farmers and scientists to build the first company in Africa to cultivate the green leafy plant artemisia, often called sweet wormwood, and transform it into pharmaceutical grade artemisinin — a botanical extract that is the key ingredient in a new generation of low-cost, effective malaria treatments commonly known as artemisinin-based combination therapies (ACTs). Malaria still kills nearly one million people in Africa every year, more than H.I.V.-AIDS.
From its factory outside Nairobi, ABE is not only processing the feedstock for the drug, but has also contracted with 7,000 farmers, most with small farms, to grow artemisia in Kenya, Tanzania and Uganda. The crop gives farmers four times the financial yield of corn.
“We are commercializing a product that had never been commercialized,” Mr. Henfrey said. To make it possible, though, the founders had to not only scrape together all their own money, but also had to find investors, like the Swiss drug giant Novartis and the Acumen Fund, a nonprofit venture capital investor based in the U.S., to put up patient risk capital. (Banks demanded collateral that ABE did not have.)
“Those little windows of support make these things happen,” Mr. Henfrey said. “We could not have done it otherwise.”
Nthenya Mule, Acumen’s Kenya country director, commented to me that the stereotype of Africa is that it is hopeless and just waiting around for the West to come to its rescue. In reality, she added, “there are positive things happening in Africa, but they are not happening overnight, and some are happening quietly. ABE is exemplary. You will not see it as front-page news, but in 18 months they set up a factory with 160 people interfacing with 7,000 farmers and supplying one of the major pharma companies in the world.
“Those stories need to be talked about. It is critical to see things in action. A pothole in the road does not require a workshop. Fill it. We need a new kind of drug — let’s go out and make it instead of let’s talk about it for the hundredth time.”

“Corruption is subjective, but fraud is not”

2007-04-16T10:37:00.000+02:00

So it’s about time for an update on Mr Ltombi Kawana, the chairman of the microfinance organisation I am consulting, who was asked to take forced leave in light of corruption charges one month ago.

The charges against him, made by several of his employees, accused him of making loans to relatives and employees and, in certain cases, making multiple loans to the same person under slightly different names. Auditors funded by the Swedish government (who also fund the microfinance institute of which he is CEO) were brought in to check these claims and in due course he has been cleared of all accusations. According to the auditors, who are pretty ruthless, he's clean.

As I said in my post about him a little while ago, I was desperately hoping this would happen. Or in other words, I was hoping he was innocent – because I definitely like and trust the guy, and it would have been a bit of a blow to my idealism if he’d turned out to be stealing from the very cause we are trying to help.

It turns out that the claims made against him were largely made up, but there were a couple of interesting exceptions. Loans HAD been made his sister, but he had markedly redirected the authorisations of these loans so that he did not bias their issuance. In addition, a loan that he had supposedly issued to his secretary (illegal) turned out to be issued to someone completely different, who happened to have an identical name (not illegal). It turns out that the newspaper which initially published news of his suspension definitely sensationalised the case.

Another point of interest, although legally irrelevant, is that Mr Kawana had been recruited from Citibank, after having worked there as an Anti-Fraud officer for several years. After becoming CEO of Pride Microfinance, he identified several employees who he suspected were taking bribes from real customers and fraudulently issuing loans to fake customers. It was these same employees, now under the spotlight themselves, who had tried to frame him with corruption charges - but not before they tried to poison him (I’m serious).

Last year, after he kicked up a fuss about missing money in the company, an assassination attempt was made on him through the use of a local poison in his coffee – this was carefully orchestrated...his secretary was bribed to call in sick so that the aforementioned employees could get access to the coffee that she is usually asked to make. This may seem very far fetched, but ask the doctor who dealt with Mr Kawana’s case at the hospital that day, and you will soon realise that creative methods such as this are not uncommon in this country. In fact, just yesterday i tried some local Zambian cuisine in the canteen opposite my office and was momentarily convinced that it contained a deadly and unnatural substance; but after some consideration realised that it merely tasted like shit. Another phenomenon that is not uncommon in this country.

Mr Kawana, due to be reinstated tomorrow, is now reconsidering whether he wants to spend any more time as CEO of Pride. I suspect it won’t be long before he resigns, and adopts a job that doesn’t carry quite the same threats to his life and career. Sadly, that means he will no longer be Chairman of the Association of Microfinance Institutes, and I may have to finish my project with somebody else. But before he moves on, he has some work to finish: “I don’t care what happens to me, but I want to make sure the people who are stealing money from Pride aren’t allowed to get away with it. Anyone can make claims of corruption on anyone else, they can make something up and people will believe it, but I have real paper evidence concerning these employees. And Nishant, let me tell you something: corruption is subjective, but fraud is not.”

P.s. As I’m sure you know, there’s another leader of an altogether different development financial institution, also hired for the job on an anti-corruption mandate, who has recently been accused of backhand dealings. Unlike Ltombi Kawana, however, Paul Wolfowitz hasn’t been cleared of charges – in fact he’s admitted his sins publicly. Evidently size doesn’t matter…whether it’s micro lending or world banking, one thing is clear: handling aid money is a dirty business.

Cape Town Visuals

2007-03-28T14:11:00.000+02:00

Bloody hell it's beautiful

Kate (left) and Me (right)

Taking the dogs for a walk in the local vineyard - don't let them near the wine!! or grapes!!

Cable car up to Table Mountain

View from table mountain: out to sea

View from table mountain: towards Stellenbosch

View from table mountain: the town

View from table mountain: Camps Bay

On top

Cape Town really isn't that pretty

Outdoor concert at Kirstenbosch

Music + Wine + Mary Jane = Lush

The McCay Sisters - permanently moody

Driving around in the North

2007-03-20T17:55:00.000+02:00

This weekend ended up being a memorable one, for many reasons, but primarily due to my well-documented habit of driving like a complete prick. Let me start from the beginning.

I have a very cool Danish friend here called Katja who I play football with, and she has some friends from Denmark visiting her (Anders and Celia). They had decided to hire a big 4x4 for the weekend, and invited me with them on a road trip to the northern parts of Zambia – right on the border with Congo. We set out Friday night for Mkushi, a small and completely unremarkable town about four hours from Lusaka.

Late Friday night, as the sun was setting, we made it to the Sweetwater guesthouse, which turned out to be less like the beautiful, rustic farm-based idyll we were expecting, and more like a fucking random bug/lizard/retard breeding ground in the middle of nowhere. But still, we had plenty of beer, red wine and playing cards, and we spent the night playing Texas Hold ‘em and gazing drunkenly at the stars.

The next morning, after about three hours of sleep, we woke early to drive further into the wilderness, specifically to find Mulembo falls, a small waterfall which no one had any decent directions too. Still, we decided that we didn’t need directions, or a gps system, or a map, or local guides, and that we’d try and find it anyway. It took a while – many hours of cutting across farmland, driving through streams (we were worried that we might not make it through this stream [below] but our huge badass jeep made it through no problem) and asking for directions from villagers who didn’t speak any English (or often, didn’t speak at all).

But by midday, we had, despite our total lack of direction, made it to the falls, and they were beautiful. Remote, fresh, clear and totally unspoilt. We had a picnic, bathed a little, and felt very smug about exploring the ‘real’ Africa in a car bigger than most apartments in Hampstead. Riding on this wave of glory, I thought I would try my hand at driving us back to civilisation. I’ve never driven a 4x4 of course, but I’m a man, and I have cool aviators, and if that doesn’t qualify you to drive through the African bush, then nothing does.

I pushed Anders aside and took the driving seat, and with no hesitation made my way up the hillside, dodging trees and cruising across wet dirt tracks. The wheels were occasionally spinning in the mud as we went through wet patches, so just as we were reaching a particularly wet dip in the road I decided to take a small detour off the side of the road. Sadly, but somehow inevitably, I drove into a bog full of the stickiest, wettest, shittiest mud you can imagine. The car stopped, and the more I accelerated, the more it dug itself into the mud. Within seconds, the wheels were buried, and the car had sunk so deep that I could barely open the driver door. Ten minutes after taking the wheel, many miles from the nearest tar road, I had managed to get our invincible 4x4 to grind to a halt. We were fucked.

We climbed out of the car, and tried putting tree branches underneath the wheels, which is what you are supposed to do so the car can get traction. But the wheels were so irrevocably buried that it was impossible to get anything under them, and every time we tried to reverse out of the bog the wheels would just spin themselves, and my self respect, deeper into shit. Before long someone from a local village passed us, and stopped to try and help. Within an hour, we had ten people on the case. Two hours in, with the situation ever worsening, we had twenty five men, woman and children from the nearest village working to get our car out of the mud.

This was a major operation. Every single one of us was covered in mud and dirt, doing everything we could think of to get ourselves out. Children were using their hands to scoop mud out of the wheel casing. Women were dragging stones to lay as a foundation so we could jack up the car. Men were up to their waists in mud, felling the surrounding trees and using them to build a bridge out of the bog. I was observing the effort carefully and heavily regretting wearing my new linen shirt.

More than three hours later, long after most of us had lost hope, we managed to reverse the car out of the bog on a solid platform of tree trunks. With a relief and elation that I can only describe as comparable to narrowly avoiding a James Blunt concert, we had escaped. I wish I had taken more photos of the event, but it seemed a little inappropriate to brandish my digital SLR and document the effort while the others were sweating to the core in the midday heat; so sadly I only have a couple of shots.

We gave the villagers all my money and the food we had in the car, which prompted hysterical excitement, to the point where they were willing to re-dump the car in the bog and dig it out several more times for free. I managed to convince them to refrain, and after getting a photo of the incredible people who saved me from certain death by the hands of the Danes, we left Mulembo falls forever. Needless to say, I wasn’t allowed to drive.

The rest of the weekend involved a trip to a larger waterfall – Kundalina, which was breathtaking, especially with the sun setting over it. We also visited Lake Lusiwasu, where we hung out with some kids who liked to fish. I tried to convince them to let me practice my new angling skills, but instead they largely looked at me with a sort of comic condescension. Or maybe it was admiration. I don’t really know.

It was a brilliant weekend; adventurous and beautiful in equal measure, with great company. The trips I’ve taken out of Lusaka have led to glorious, memorable Zambian experiences, and so I’m planning plenty more. As for my driving; I may have to relinquish it to the more experienced when visiting the bush. Or maybe my driving isn’t at fault, and all I need are cooler sunglasses? I’ll figure it out and let you know.

Microbackhand?

2007-03-14T12:22:00.000+02:00

I woke up this morning and started flicking through The Post, the only independent daily here, as I do most days. However, I almost spat my god damn coco pops out when I came across a large article on page 6. It was a little unsettling, I have to admit, to read in the national news that the chairman of the organisation I am consulting (the Association of Microfinance Institutes of Zambia) had been suspended for two weeks so that corruption charges against him can be investigated.

Mr Ltombi Kawana is the friendly, smiling, larger than life chairman of AMIZ (anyone seen the Last King of Scotland? only joking), who I have been working closely with for the last six weeks. He heads up the board of directors, who I meet with monthly to discuss my findings. I work for the UNDP of course, but the AMIZ board are the beneficiaries of my study and essentially the key to my whole project. He in particular has been consistently enthusiastic, and one of the main champions of what I am doing. So what exactly has he been accused of?

Microfinance is the simple business of giving small loans to people who have no other access to finance, so they can build a future for themselves. The recovery rate is pretty bad, however, with default rates anything between 15-30%. This means it can be very tempting to just give loans to your friends and relatives, without expecting anything back - the missing money can usually be hidden in the mountain of other bad debt.

Mr Kawana has just been sent on two weeks forced leave after it was discovered that he had (allegedly) given out plenty of loans to relatives, which is against company policy. On top of that, in some cases up to four loans have been given to the same relative under slightly different names, which is DEFINITELY against company policy. And, as you might expect, none of these loans have been paid back or serviced. The press are aggressively incriminating him so far, with Mr Kawana unable to put up much of a defence (other than his claim that these charges are a retaliation, by certain members of staff, to his discovery that they are corrupt).

So what now? The formal investigation has begun. He has to lie low and stay away from Pride Zambia, the microfinance institution of which he is CEO, while the authorities gather evidence and investigate the charges. At best, they will find that he has not been too naughty and he can continue doing his job (I secretly hope this happens; I like this guy and would welcome assurance that I have not misjudged him). Alternatively, he is found guilty, fined and sacked, and we have to get a new chairman. At worst, the investigation roots out a dirty, nasty, sick, infested underbelly of corruption in microfinance in this country and the whole industry goes to SHIT. Whatever happens, I'll keep you updated!

The State of Zambia

2007-03-12T10:55:00.000+02:00

I’ve been in this country about six weeks now and it’s time for me to render my initial view on the state of Zambia: it’s fucked.

Naturally I’m being melodramatic here, but I’m not far wrong. It is basically pretty fucked. Let’s lay out some of the basics – a country of about 10 or 12 million people (they don’t know exactly how many due to AIDS), the size of several western European nations put together, the fourth largest exporter of copper in the world, close to south Africa and Botswana and other African economic success stories, plenty of arable land…and yet they’ve barely made any strides in terms of development since independence in 1964. Average life expectancy is somewhere around the 35 year mark. GDP per capita has actually DECREASED in the last decade. HIV/AIDS is on the up. And worst of all, things aren’t really going to change in the near future.

So what’s the problem? Why is Zambia in the bottom 15 poorest countries in the world, year after year? That’s a hard one to answer. Personally I think there are a couple of big factors. Most veterans would argue that I’m simplifying the situation, and I can’t deny that. But we have to start somewhere.

Why Zambia is fucked, part 1: The Government

There is plenty wrong with those who govern Zambia, but their economic myopia is the real killer. The copper mines are a telling example – Zambia has enormous reserves of copper, which is one of the reasons Cecil Rhodes (yes, Rhodesia was named after a single white, cigar smoking colonialist) bothered to come here in the first place. Plentiful natural resources should equal a prosperous government. But of course, the British had control over the mines initially, and handed it over to other international companies when Zambia got its independence. These companies pay extraordinarily little export tax – much less than the 3% average in other big exporters like Chile. So the government barely benefits from the rich resources that it has. In fact it often provides free electricity as an incentive for investment, which (given the large consumption of mining companies) may even result in them subsidising multinationals.

Why don’t the government demand more? You might ask that question of the Zambian president, Levy Mwanawasa, who welcomed Hu Jin Tao last month with open arms and the gift of an ‘Economic Development Area’ in the Zambian copperbelt. What this means is that the Chinese can basically set up copper mines, but pay almost no tax or duty for the privilege of exporting it back to Beijing. The Chinese have promised $800m of investment into Zambia, but they are famous for their self sufficiency, and will bring everything they need to mine copper – including the workers themselves – from China. If you don’t believe me, just come to Lusaka and see the brightly uniformed hordes of Chinese that wander through the shopping malls. They are remarkably easy to spot.

Incidentally, the Chinese are appearing all over Africa; from Lilongwe to Khartoum. They are essentially looking for fuel for their own growth: natural resources for construction, and markets they can export goods and services to. It is a well known irony in Zambia that the Chinese export millions of tons of copper from here, turn it into pipes and wiring , and bring it right back to Zambia at a much higher price to use in the local construction industry. An industry which, of course, the Chinese themselves dominate…

I am not, by any means, saying that the Chinese are to blame for Africa’s development stagnancy. Who would refuse such a tempting invite for cheap resources? Admittedly they paved the way by being extremely nice to the Zambian government (constructing a new building for the ministries to be housed in, and erecting a new football stadium for the national team, all for free) but these are relatively small favours in the politics of international trade.

The real problem is the short-termist view of the government, who are seem to prefer a quick buck now, over a fruitful investment for the future. They will do anything to get investment in Zambia, bowing to multinationals and other governments, without really thinking about the long term impact. One might argue that it is characteristic of politicians to work on election cycles, but this is attitude is amplified here, and coupled with corruption (they estimate US$500m disappeared in this country between 1997-2000) it leads to a government that barely looks beyond it’s own fat pot belly.

Why Zambia is fucked, part 2: Aid

While it’s easy to blame the government, there is one potent force that has caused just as much, if not more, damage to this beautiful country: aid. Grants, donations and cash gifts truly have screwed Zambia (and indeed a lot of Sub-Saharan Africa) over. Contrary to the belief of people of many people in the first world, money is not the solution to Africa’s problems. In fact, if it is misused – which it often is – it just makes things worse.

Zambia is hugely dependent on free money. I don’t just mean the government – individual citizens are critically reliant on grants too. So much aid has been put into this country that the Zambians have never had to learn how to survive without it. Every major government initiative is backed with free consultants from aid agencies, with supplementary money to back tax revenue and capacity building funds. NGOs adorn every small district and town in the country, pouring in resources, filling in gaps where the public and private sector are failing. Believe me, there is NO shortage of money is this country. One billion US dollars enter the country from donors every year, and they never expect any back.

Listen to me carefully: despite being a citizen of the west, with your white middle class guilt, you should stop donating money to Africa. Because it isn’t doing any good.

I am not talking about crisis relief: humanitarian disasters like Darfur need your help. NGOs and aid agencies save thousands, if not tens of thousands, of lives every day – from starvation, AIDS, and so on. But if you think that Africa needs increases in annual aid donations in order to build it’s long term future, you’re wrong. ‘Teaching a man to fish’ is really not as easy as you might think. International donors talk of making the country more sustainable, but they simply won’t (or can’t) give it a chance to stand on it’s own two feet. Of course, if they stop holding Zambia’s hand, it will no doubt fall flat on it’s face – and so they are far too scared to do that. But if they continue to support the country in the way they have been, it will never learn to walk.

I may be sounding very right wing here, but if you know me well enough then you’ll realise that I am not suggesting that the West pulls out of Africa. Huge amounts of aid and debt relief are all very well, and may seem like victories to the likes of Bob Geldof, but if the money is not used in the proper way, it is in fact crippling.

Everywhere I go in Lusaka I see white development workers, all working on the same issues, with substantial financial backing – all achieving very little. Donors actively compete to fund individual projects…they fight, for example, over who will provide free computers to the government, and who will fund consultants to the ministry of commerce. There is no co-ordination between donors; in fact there is even rivalry. They are more interested in sexy, high profile projects to write home about than they are in true development of the country as a whole. They rarely have well defined objectives, and even if they do it is even more uncommon for them to demonstrate real, positive impact.

The organisation I am working with – the Association of Microfinance Institutes of Zambia (AMIZ) – is a classic example of unsustainability. Their only revenue is annual fees from their member microfinance institutes, which are a few thousand dollars a year and roughly 10% of their total expenditure as an organisation. So who provides the remaining 90%? International donors, of course. And they have been doing it for years – a few years ago it was SIDA, the Swedish development agency; then DFID, our very own British helping hand. Now it’s HIVOS, a Dutch donor. AMIZ had a funding review meeting with HIVOS last week, who stipulated that their funding would come to an end by late 2008. The onus, they said, is now on AMIZ – stand-alone sustainability is needed. How is AMIZ going to become financially independent, they asked? Of course, AMIZ didn’t really have an answer to this – and they don’t really need one. Because deep down in their hearts, they know that another donor will come along and fund them in (if not before) 2008. In fact, they already have a good idea of who it may be. Naturally, this goes against HIVOS’ noble aims of making AMIZ sustainable. But donors don’t talk to each other (why should they, after all, they are donating their own money, and they should be able to do whatever they want with it, regardless of what is actually needed…). And sadly, this example I have chosen is very symptomatic of the way donors and their beneficiaries work in Zambia.

So what’s my solution? This is not an simple problem. Not at all. It’s very easy for me to criticise development agencies and donors, and it might seem like I’m being overly cynical. But these agencies – the UNDP included – are critical to the developing world. They just need to change the way they do things. Less than two months in, it’s still very early for me to try and figure out a solution, but I have a few suggestions.

Firstly, development needs to become more ruthless. This is the classic view of someone coming from the private sector, but I do believe it strongly. Just because people working in development have ‘good hearts’, it doesn’t mean they can faff around and not work hard to achieve their goals (if they have any). Money that they are using could be used more efficiently elsewhere, to save lives and create jobs. Inefficiency and bureaucracy are, literally, fatal.

Secondly, if development in Africa is REALLY what international donors want, they really need to work together, rather than undermining each other. All donors talking about ‘phasing out’ their funding over time, so that institutions and organisations they are supporting become independent. Yet in practice, few of these entities remain unsubsidised. And thus, there are remarkably few projects that actually support this country without increasing the dependence on that very support.

Thirdly, the giving and receiving of aid is incredibly political. Money is allocated and administered based on a whole host of factors that may or may not be related to the actual needs of the Zambian people. Development agencies, the government, and indeed any other organisation anywhere in the world, are essentially self sustaining, and will do what they need to do to keep their power/status/funding intact. What results is a situation that maximises the longevity of these organisations, and only mildly improves the longevity of Zambia’s citizens. This problem is almost impossible to solve, but it is nevertheless critical.

What I’ve learned while living in Zambia is that there is no shortage of money, or people, to help develop this country. There IS a shortage of good ideas for how to use those resources, and there is a serious lack of efficiency and integrity in administering them, and that’s what’s really causing problems. My suggestions above may sound obvious, but they are incredibly hard to implement. Nevertheless, I believe that international development will change positively, in these ways and others. In fact, as a new joiner to the ranks, I’m pretty much relying on it.

Kafue National Park

2007-03-07T12:33:00.000+02:00

My fifth weekend in Lusaka, and it was time for my first African adventure. I decided that Vic falls would be a good place to go with my mum when she comes in April, so this weekend went to Kafue National Park, the second biggest National Park in the world (after Victoria Park in Hackney). It was staggeringly beautiful, a land of vivid plants and wild elephants, of original sun and deep waters, of breathtaking stillness. I’ll let the photos do the talking.

I took this opportunity to learn how to fish (Shloka had, for some time, been telling me what an intricate and enjoyable art it was). It turns out I am an incredibly talented angler. A natural virtuoso. Fish – unsurprisingly, given my name - love me. My first ever catch (below) was a decent sized silver babel, which I ate for lunch (filleted and lightly battered: delicious). I caught six more that morning, and so most of the lodge staff ate well that day.

Fishing is lush

I have always loved nice birds, but never been that interested in the flying kind – and I don’t mean that I like ostriches…get it?!!! Anyway, given that it’s the end of the rainy season here, the grass on the plains is very long and you don’t see many animals grazing – apart from elephants and impala (antelope). But you see plenty of birds flying around and doing other crazy shit (see above).

Hippos kill more humans than any other animals in Africa – more than crocs, snakes, lions, elephants….even more than pigeons. So I was a little anxious to find a large male hippo chilling out doing some grass at the door to my chalet. Nevertheless, this moderately life-threatening situation made a lovely photo opportunity.

What the fuck is a hippo doing outside my hut?

Why the fuck is that guy in a metro t-shirt taking pictures of me?

I can say that my reading material helped a lot. Richard Dawkins’ The Blind Watchmaker explains how every nuance of nature came about through the unstoppable and potent force of evolution; and made me see the wildlife around me with new appreciation. In parallel, Borges’ Labyrinths postulated many arresting alternate realities, and left me even more astounded at the one we actually live in. So thank you to Yugin and Bruce, respectively, for providing a literary commentary to my safari this weekend.

My ridicously laid back guide, Gilbert

I am such a wannabe colonialist

This is a croc chilling the fuck out

The traffic on game drives was terrible

Seriously, fishing is lush

I came back to Lusaka on Sunday, deliriously relaxed and very happy. My next venture will be to Cape Town to see a girl called Kate McCay, wonder at the meeting of the oceans, and drink plenty of red wine as the sun sets over the vineyards. I’m excited about that one.

2007-03-02T11:11:00.002+02:00

This is my face

My incredibly Enlish-council-house-in-the-seventies kitchen

The living room in my flat

Barbeque at Tom's (my boss) house with my white friends

2007-02-22T14:21:00.000+02:00

As I write this I’m sitting in the Chit Chat Café, on Omelo Mumba road in Lusaka. The crowd is a mixture of shirted expats with sunglasses on their heads, and laid back locals enjoy a mellow Sunday brunch. The Gotan Project is playing on the stereo. It’s a cross between Africa, Italy and Brazil. I love it.

Eating breakfast with me are Brigida, Laura and Sue. Laura I wrote about last time; we met on the plane from London, and have been regularly chilling the fuck out in Lusaka. Sue is her friend, an Insectologist (I think it’s supposed to be Entomologist or something like that, but she basically is into insects and chemicals and farming, so insectologist will suffice). Brigida is a woman I met on a plane – this time on my way from Ethiopia to Zambia (one leg of the return journey from Bombay). She is an Italian marriage and relationship counsellor, specialising in sex therapy (I’m serious). She is genius. We got on brilliantly on the plane, and when she got to Lusaka and discovered that Ethiopian Airlines sent her baggage to Gambia by mistake (easy error, Gambia/Zambia), I invited her to stay in my spare room until they returned it. So we are now friends, and on Thursday I took her to Boys’ Night at the pub – at first they were annoyed at me for breaking the gender rules, but when they found out what she did for a living they wouldn’t let her leave…

I’ve moved into my new flat, which is, to put it simply, lush. It’s not particularly beautiful, or well furnished, but there’s something very homely about it, and it’s split over two floors with old marble stairs. More than anything, it’s indescribably calming to have a place of my own, to truly settle into this city and country, to feel like a resident more than a tourist. I’ve been shocked by how welcoming the community is here – already I have quite a few people to hang out with, to call on a Friday night or have drinks with while watching the rugby. I’m guessing that all the ex pats here are bored of each other and are happy to see a fresh face…either that or I’m fucking cool and everybody loves me the moment they meet me. Or both!!!!!!!! J

I’m trying to make more Zambian friends. I only have one or two at the moment, including a wicked guy called Jau who is a friend of Sophie’s from London. It feels weird to have mostly white friends in this country – but then that’s frequently true of foreigners here. My other African experience, in Uganda, was far more grassroots, I was travelling round the northern province of the country with a camera and a notebook and a cocky smile, and I met a lot more people who were proper locals. It’s fucking cheesy isn’t it, the desire to meet the natives, but it’s a strong craving for me right now. I meet plenty of Zambians through work (you have to differentiate here: Black Zambian / White Zambian….there are plenty of Caucasian locals) but the relationship is a professional one, I would feel weird having a beer with them and telling them absurdly dark jokes about jesus and gay men (etc), just like with most work colleagues. So if you have any black friends, do put me in touch!

My trip to Bombay last week was special. Short, sexy, even a bit spazzy. I spent as much time as possible with Shloka, who is as short, sexy and spazzy as ever, and that made me very happy. I even managed to crash her annual office party, where I made friends with the fattest cameraman I could find (he had a white ski hat on, danced for several hours straight, and told me to ‘rock on’ several times in an accent that I have been trying to imitate ever since). That plus a lot of other things I can’t write about in the public domain, and so it was a beautiful five days, well worth flying across the middle east for.

This weekend I go to Victoria falls, the biggest waterfall since babs’ last spout of diarrhoea. It is supposed to be insane. I will post pictures, and some of my flat too if you’re lucky. Next time I also promise to write a bit about how the Chinese are colonising Africa and also something on Alain de Botton’s “The Art of Travel”, which is my current (brilliant) reading material.

Right – almost time for me to go back to saving the world. Peace out.

A Week in Lusaka

2007-01-28T13:36:00.000+02:00

My first week in this country has been far from the sleepy African rising I expected. It’s been intense and interesting, and I feel like there’s a lot more to come.

I arrived to monsoon-style rains; a waterfall outside my window. The air is thick here – 98% humidity today – and it’s an effort to be outside…a mark of the superior power of nature in Africa. The city is not crowded and cramped like Kampala or Delhi, it’s more American than anything else – wide roads and thick greenery, it’s almost impossible to navigate without a car. But there (during the day, at least) an inherent friendliness in the air. Few people walk past without smiling; most say hello. The Zambian people are disarmingly friendly and forthcoming, and expect the same of you. Before engaging in conversation with anyone, even if it’s to buy a bottle of water or ask the time, it’s important to say hello and ask them how they are. It’s rude to be in a rush. As you can imagine, I have some adjusting to do.

My first day in the office was an interesting one. While visiting the main UN building, Tom (my boss) and I walked past a lean six foot one Zambian women, dressed in an alarming yellow Gucci suit, with matching six inch heels and full make up, touting an incongruously blue UN badge. I found myself thinking that my expectations of the UN bureaucrats I would be working with may have been slightly misplaced. I was later told that the woman was the reigning Miss Zambia (see right). She volunteers for the UN’s World Food Programme…

I am now the proud wearer of a UNDP badge, and have my own retro but airy office amongst several floors of development workers in the UN building. My project kicked off on Thursday and I am unashamedly and almost childishly excited about it. I am working with the Association of Microfinance Institutes Zambia (AMIZ), leading a project that aims to design a low risk way of financing small and medium businesses in Zambia. The aim is to drive fast and healthy economic growth among local suppliers, and they are very dedicated to achieving this goal. I’ve started working with them on a personal basis, and I can feel that I’m already helping, just through using the standard knowledge and discipline that I’ve gained in consulting. But I also feel like going to I’m learn so much; even in these few days I’ve started to talk to people who’ve been doing this job a while and absorbing the realities of development work in Africa. It’s been a long time since my job was this rewarding.

I’ve found a flat already, which is in the centre of town and opposite one of the favourite local pubs, the Smuggler’s Inn. It’s dark but welcoming, and a good place to hang out if you can avoid the women of the night that try and attract punters on the way out. I move in on February the sixth, and can’t wait – I’m staying in the five star Taj hotel at the moment, and its sheer luxury is burdening me with guilt. Don’t worry though – I’m not letting it get me down.

The week has been unexpectedly busy in terms of social events – I’ve been to Tom’s beautiful house for dinner, the Dutch Ambassadors even more beautiful house for his annual drinks party, and to Smuggler’s Inn for a ‘Boys Night’ with a group of ex pats. The foreign development workers here seem to be a tight crowd, but very warm and accepting. I feel like I will make plenty of friends. I even met a Canadian girl on the plane over, Laura, who works in a school just west of the city and has been the perfect companion to explore Lusaka with.

But despite my fairly active week, I can already feel myself unwinding and detoxing from the neo-mentalist peacelessness of London. I am forcing myself to spend time alone, relaxing, reading, meditating. It’s easier in this city; in this friendly, quiet town. And this stillness is making me happy. I’m sure that in about two weeks I’ll be dying to get back to the east side for some sleazy glitchcore electro. But for now, the sound of the crickets is enough.