Showing posts with label garabout. Show all posts
Showing posts with label garabout. Show all posts

Monday, June 28, 2010

Where the Dark Ages Never Ended


According to the Trafficking Victims Protection Act of 2000, each year the U.S. State Department releases an updated Trafficking in Persons Report which investigates the prevalence of slavery and human trafficking in each country as well as that government’s relevant policies. This informative publication classifies each country according to a three-tiered system according to their compliance with the Act’s standards; whether they 1) have enacted laws prohibiting trafficking in persons; 2) implement these anti-trafficking laws with vigorous prosecution of offenders; 3) punish those found to be guilty of anti-trafficking laws; 4) provide protection and social services to victims of human trafficking; 5) ensure safe and humane repatriation of trafficking victims and reintegration into their home society; 6) prevent practices identified as contributing factors to forced labor and human trafficking.

The State Department grades each country on a scale of 1 to 3 depending upon their compliance with the standards of the Trafficking Victims Protection Act. A grade of 1 means that the government of that country is in full compliance with the law’s standards in combating human trafficking and is actually making appreciable progress in implementing those policies; a 2 means that that country does not meet the law’s standards but it is at least making some sort of progress; a 3 means that that country does not meet even the law’s minimum standards and is not making any serious effort to improve. For example, Denmark is graded Tier 1 in this year’s TIP Report, Brazil is on Tier 2, and North Korea is classified on Tier 3. Foreign governments have an incentive to comply with the Protection Act because if they are classified on Tier 3 in two consecutive publications of the TIP Report, they can be liable to trade sanctions and prohibitions on military and economic aid.

The 2010 TIP Report is fairly critical of the anti-trafficking efforts in Mali, placing this country on the Tier 2 Watch List:

The Government of Mali does not fully comply with the minimum standards for the elimination of trafficking; however, it is making significant efforts to do so. Despite these efforts, such as assisting with the identification and rescue of 80 child trafficking victim and drafting new anti-trafficking legislation, the government failed to show evidence of progress in prosecuting and convicting trafficking offenders, and did not take action on five pending cases of traditional slavery. Therefore, Mali is placed on Tier 2 Watch List for the second consecutive year.
Furthermore, Mali receives this precarious designation because of a “very significant” absolute number of victims of human trafficking within her jurisdiction. The Malian government is now under great pressure to act, because if a country is placed on the Tier 2 Watch List for two consecutive years without any written plan to improve its anti-trafficking policy it should be demoted to Tier 3 and subject to foreign aid restrictions. The one factor keeping it from an ignominious Tier 3 designation is that Bamako has committed “to take additional steps over the next year” to come within full compliance with the minimum standards of the Trafficking Victims Protection Act.

When nudged by the international community, the Republic of Mali has demonstrated its willingness to at least sign onto the global anti-slavery consensus. Among other accords, the Malian National Assembly has ratified the United Nations Supplementary Convention on Abolishing Slavery, the Protocol to Prevent, Suppress & Punish Trafficking in Persons, the ILO Convention 29 on Forced Labor, the ILO Convention 105 on the Abolition of Forced Labor, the ILO Convention 182 on the Elimination of the Worst Forms of Child Labour. A cynical observer of international law would point out that a self-interested government should always sign such non-binding agreements so long as doing so carries no political or economic costs, only benefits in that government can more easily do business with human rights-minded governments and businesses. Even if a government ratifies a treaty, to sign onto a multilateral agreement without any potent enforcement mechanisms of investigation, prosecution and penalization of violators is more or less an empty gesture. If you take a look at those sections of the Malian criminal code pertaining to slavery and human trafficking, the law’s inconsistencies with these treaties and protocols and simple logic should be so obvious that they jump off the page.

To begin, Mali’s anti-slavery credentials rest almost entirely upon Article 242 of the Malian criminal code which prohibits individuals from “entering into agreements or contracts that deprive third parties of their liberty”. This law only applies in cases where two people have made an agreement to enslave someone who is not a slave already; it essentially only bars the signing of illegitimate contracts. Article 242 does not restrict the ownership of a slave. It does not restrict the commerce of someone who is already a slave, someone who was born to a mother who is a slave, or someone who has inherited the debt of a deceased father and can then be forced into indentured servitude. Furthermore, the cornerstone of the code’s anti-slavery law does not stand in the way of two people signing a contract which deprives one of the signers of their liberty; i.e. debt slavery or indentured servitude. Thus Malian law only prohibits the expansion of chattel slavery and grandfathers those forms of slavery which already exist, especially the traditional form of slavery prevalent in Tamashek societies.

Mali’s legal tool against sexual slavery consists of Article 229 of the criminal code which prohibits “the sexual exploitation of children and forced prostitution of adult women”. Nevertheless, there is no law which prohibits the forced prostitution of female children, adult males or male children – categories which constitute substantial portions of the sexual workforce. The code also fails to curb the sexual exploitation of adults so long as it does not include a financial payment and therefore does not fall under the definition of “forced prostitution”; e.g. holding someone captive as a concubine or sex slave . In other words, Article 299 prohibits only the most conventional forms of sexual oppression and fails to encompass the broad range of services which perverts and pedophiles will pay for.

Mali should also receive credit where it is due for banning “all forms of child trafficking” in Article 244 of the criminal code. And when I say “credit”, I mean the sound of one hand clapping. The gist of Article 244 is that it is illegal to transport un-related children across international borders – but if a pimp were to take a girl from her family in village and rent her out as a domestic servant in Bamako, wait until she turns 18, and then transport her across the Senegalese border to sell to a prostitution ring in Dakar, there aren’t any legal avenues to convict that pimp on trafficking charges. While child trafficking might be the most sensational form of the crime, for Malian human trafficking law to not even recognize commerce in adult men and women is a disgraceful omission.

Taken together, the aggregate of extremely limited anti-slavery and anti-trafficking laws establish a legal code so porous and so weak that some of the most reprehensible forms of human bondage – the traditional slavery of the black Bella by white Tamasheks, the forced prostitution of female children, the forced prostitution of boys and men, the holding of unpaid concubines, trafficking in adult men and women – can be practiced without fear of legal repercussion. And this is just the range of horrors that can be committed in the open with technical legality – all forms of human bondage can be practiced freely so long as law enforcement agencies never make any arrests and the courts never actually prosecute offenders. Over the past year Malian gendarmes have made a grand total of two arrests for human trafficking charges (both suspects were released without trial), and the Malian criminal court system has not prosecuted a single case of slavery or human trafficking.

It should come as no surprise then that slavery still exists in Mali as plain as day. It is common for a relatively well-to-do Malian family to have one or two servants who do all of the work around the house, in the garden and in the fields and never get paid. The Bambara term for such a person is jon – “slave”, and there is no euphemism in this literal language like “indentured servant”, “maid” or “butler” for a non-chattel unpaid laborer. Of course, if you ask the waritigi if their unpaid workers are in fact slaves, they will laugh and tell you “Yes, but they can leave whenever they want!” And if you ask a servant what he or she thinks about his condition, he or she will probably tell you something along the lines of “I have a place to live, I have food to eat, there are no problems!”

Don’t think that unpaid servants just accept their place in life because of a deep-seated inferiority complex; without understanding the absolute insecurity of the food supply and the utter lack of opportunity in the Malian economy it is rather difficult to sympathize with the father who sells his sons and daughters to a slave dealer. In the year 2010 the vast majority of Malian subsistence farmers are tilling their sandy, rocky soils with the same iron hoes and picks that their ancestors have used since the advent of the Iron Age circa 500 B.C. Without mechanized farm tools agriculture is an extremely labor-intensive vocation, and in such a barren environment work in agriculture holds out only meager rewards. Especially in the Northernmost reaches of human settlement in the desert provinces a man can toil in the fields all year and see only two or three rains, maybe he will harvest enough millet to feed himself, his two wives and 10 of his 14 children. This farmer could feed all of his children this year – but then he would starve himself. He could buy more millet at the nearest market – but he doesn’t have anything to sell or barter. He could take out a loan to pay the food bills this year – but without any form of monetary income there is no way that he could ever pay off a debt with monthly accumulating interest. So you have to understand that the people who sell their children into slavery are not necessarily moral cretins, the fact is that sometimes they truly have no other choice. To the most desperate, entering into indentured servitude is actually a step up; a typical slave working for even a moderately wealthy patron is guaranteed two square meals a day.

Moreover, before you recoil in philosophical disgust at the notion of owning a slave, the Western reader should try to understand the appeal to a moderately wealthy Malian. Let’s say that Agalay the Tamashek Salt Merchant makes 1,000,000 CFA (~$2,000) a year driving his camel caravan from the salt mines in Taoudenni to the market in Timbuktu and back with food supplies and dry goods for the salt miners. Agalay spends most of his life on the road, and though he inherited his family’s longstanding land claims in the village where his wives and children live he rarely has any time to work in the fields himself. Planting season is coming soon, and Agalay’s wives tell him that the soil is so hard that the young children cannot break it up themselves. So one day at market he sells a load of rock salt, takes his profits and goes to the slave auctioneer to buy a boy strong enough to pound his caked fields into submission. A boy slave costs around 10,000 CFA ($20), maintenance amounts to little more than the costs of millet and water, and this addition to the family labor force can easily increase the productivity of Agalay’s farm to a point that their millet yields are significantly greater and his own family members have more time to sit and drink tea. In an economy where labor is one of the prime determinants of food security, buying a slave is widely accepted as a sound investment.

Historians contend that the institutionalization of slavery began in earnest in West Africa around 500 B.C. as people began to mine and smelt iron ore and fashion it into blades for hoes and picks. The advent of this technology marked a profound turning point in the means of production, for the amount of food harvested by iron-wielding societies was able to support a much larger, more stable population than that harvested by those who tilled the earth with only stone, bone and wood. Iron Age societies were so relatively productive that they could develop job specialization, a distinct warrior class armed with lethal blades and arrow heads, and both the time and the resources to raid their primitive Neolithic neighbors. As much as iron tools made agriculture so much more efficient for the yeoman farmer, iron weapons made agriculture even more efficient for those who could command slaves to do that labor in their stead.

Though slavery was prevalent in Mali before the advent of Islam, the trade in human chattel expanded greatly with the expansion of the Caliphate across North Africa in the 7th and 8th centuries A.D. The Arab merchants of the rapidly expanding Caliphate recognized their empire’s reach into Africa as an unparalleled business opportunity. Though Quranic law condemns the enslavement of Muslims by other Muslims, and since the Arabs were actively converting the Berbers and Tamashek nomads living in their African territories to their new monotheist faith, the most immediate non-Arab subjects were off-limits to slave traders. However, the Quran has little bad to say about the enslavement of pagans and idolaters, so the Tamasheks turned on the animist black African tribes with whom they had longstanding trade contacts. From at least the 8th through the 19th century, Tamasheks made a living conducting raids on the Songraï, Dogon, Bobo, Bambara and Fulani tribes – among others – and transported their human chattel across the Sahara Desert for sale to Arab slave merchants in Marrakesh, Fez, Tunis and Tripoli. Over the course of twelve centuries up to 9 million slaves were trafficked across the Trans-Sahara Slave Trade, with a fair portion of those human goods originating from the territories which now comprise the Republic of Mali.

The Trans-Sahara Slave Trade benefited not only the white Tamasheks, but also the ruling and commercial elite of West Africa’s black-skinned tribes. Perhaps one of the best examples of Africans who profited from the slave trade would be Mansa Musa I, the Mandinka ruler who developed the desert trade routes and made the Mali Empire into one of the world's wealthiest kingdoms in the 14th century. During the reign of Musa I, the wealth of slaves in the royal palace was lauded by contemporaries as a display of imperial majesty.

The Arab traveler Ibn Battuta writes of the Malian Emperor’s grandeur :
“(the sultan) has a lofty pavilion where he sits most of the time… There came forth from the gate of the palace about 300 slaves, some carrying in their hands bows and others having in their hands short lances and shields…”
Mansa Musa’s harem of female slaves was only slightly smaller but even more opulent:

“The Interpreter brings in his four wives and his concubines, who are about a hundred in number. On them are fine clothes and on their heads they have bands of silver and gold with silver and gold apples as pendants. ... A chair is there for the Interpreter and he beats on an instrument which is made of reeds with tiny calabashes below it praising the sultan, recalling in his song his expeditions and deeds. The wives and the concubines sing with him...”

As we all know, the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade instigated by the Portuguese in the 15th century eventually penetrated inland and played a major role in exacerbating warfare and enslavement among the various tribes of the Niger basin. Yes, the enhanced demand for slaves at the Gorée and the Cape Coast castles certainly exacerbated tribal warfare and slave raids far inland. But especially for the tribes of what is now Mali who bore the brunt of the Trans-Sahara slave routes, the advent of Westerners into the slave trade only worsened a longstanding practice. Even as the European slave ships continued their human commerce over the next four centuries, the Tamashek still rode their camel trains across the Sahara to sell the bulk of their slaves to Marrakesh, Fez, Tunis and Tripoli.

Though the Islamic Caliphate, the Mali Empire, the Portuguese, Spanish, Dutch, French and British slave traders have come and gone, slavery is still a major institution in the Tamashek culture of Northern Mali. The open air slave markets are no longer, the Trans-Saharan Slave Trade has slowed to a relative trickle. Nowadays, the Tamasheks’ human property is largely maintained by hereditary master-slave relationships between established Tamashek families and the Bella or Black Tamashek. The Bella are an ethnically mixed group with genetic origins in all of the black tribes which the Tamashek raided to gather their primary goods for export. Over the centuries the slaves of various tribes married and had children with each other and the white Tamasheks, but they now speak the Tamashek language and have largely assimilated into their masters’ culture as a distinct and easily-distinguishable underclass. Some Bella stay with their masters simply because they have no land of their own, there are absolutely no other job prospects in the dying settlements abutting the rapidly-growing Sahara Desert.

The Malian human rights group Temedt estimates that there are thousands of Bella living as slaves in Tamashek Country. Since the Census obviously does not count a population of slaves that the government does not recognize to exist, exact figures on the number of slaves cannot be found. But across the border in Mauritania – where the rigid caste system of light-skinned Moors and black-skinned Haratani is roughly equivalent to the traditional set up of Northern Mali – slaves and former slaves number about 500,000, or approximately 20 percent of the national population.

"The Bella people are free to leave their masters if they wish," said an anonymous official in Mali's Territorial Administration department. "If people came out to declare openly that they are slaves then of course the state would do something."

Indeed, under a regime in which the State does not enforce slavery contracts the Bella slaves are technically free to move as they wish. But in a remote Tamashek village 100 kilometers from the nearest major road, if a Bella slave does not have money to pay for transport, or access to his own camel or a Land Rover (and he most certainly does not) then he is effectively tied to his master’s land. Despite the daunting logistics of escape, some Bella slaves still take the initiative – it’s not like they have anything to lose. A few years ago BBC covered the story of runaway slave Iddar Ag Ogazide:

“Today I am a free man, I am no longer a slave. I am among men who are the same color as me who consider me as a man. I earn 1,000 CFA (~$2) a day, and that covers my needs,” he says.

The idea of a salary is something Iddar is just getting used to, having dramatically escaped from his life in the hamlet of Intakabarte, outside Gao, in February this year. According to Iddar, his grandmother was brought as a slave by the Tuareg Ag Baye family, and from then on she was listed as taxable property on the Ag Baye’s religious tax form. Iddar says he was inherited by his master, beaten several times, and never received pay or an education.

The final straw for Iddar came when his three-year-old son Ahmed was taken away to work for a niece of the Ag Baye family. “I decided I would have to go and get him so I hatched a plan. I told my master that I needed to take Ahmed to his grandparents,” he says. “I said we would both return the next day, but we never went back.”
The Northern provinces where the Bella slaves live are full of rugged terrain with just enough precipitation in a good year to grow a little bit of millet – the most drought-resistant cereal crop known to mankind; there are no commercial cotton or sugar farms where a freed Black Tamashek can find jobs in agriculture. And due to the rigid caste system, a Bella can’t just waltz into a Tamashek village and lay claim to untamed land. The only real viable option is to head farther North into the uninhabitable sands of the Sahara to the salt mines of Taoudenni.

Like the Bella living under Tamashek patrons, the Bella toiling in the salt mines are not technically living under legal slavery; outside of the traditional Tameshek setup the species of slavery in this country more resembles the indentured servitude once practiced in the British colonies. Rare is the Bella who can afford a camel train journey to the northernmost reaches of Mali Inutile, so prospective salt miners have to find a patron in Timbuktu to front their travel costs. The miners need a place to sleep, they need to eat and drink while they’re up there, so the Timbuktu creditors who are financing the entire salt mine operation front the costs of room and board as well – since all the provisions have to be transported from the Timbuktu markets, the cost of living in the uninhabitable desert is remarkably expensive. So the salt miners have to work until they can pay off their transport, room and board fees – plus crushing interest; they are told by their creditors that they can pay off their debts after a few months of hard labor, and after that they can start keeping a share of the rock salt they mine as their own.

So the salt miners are technically getting paid – in salt. But they can only sell their salt to the same Timbuktu credit/transport/salt syndicate which sent them to Taoudenni in the first place, and the only things they can spend their money on are millet porridge, Nescafé, tea and sugar which the syndicate sells at gouging prices. It is perfectly common for the syndicate to arbitrarily lower the prices at which they buy the rock salt and to jack up the prices at which they sell goods at the company store. And of course, the Timbuktu creditors routinely raise their interest rates and saddle the miners with additional debts. The end result is that the salt miners find themselves working entire lifetimes as debt peons mathematically incapable of paying off their arrears, unable to pay for transport out of Taoudenni, forever stuck in the middle of a sea of lifeless sand.

A Bella miner details his plight, “We have nothing. We are constantly dependent upon the wealthy. I have to borrow money and work it off through the month. My family also has to live. Every time I go back to Timbuktu I have nothing left over. We work like slaves.”

Not all forms of Malian servitude are flagrant violations of human rights. In this culture there exists a traditional relationship between a teacher and a student in which the student works in the fields and performs domestic labor for his teacher in exchange for room, board and an education – from personal observation, I don’t think that this arrangement is all that bad. My jatigi Karitie Sanogo, for example, is the principal of the Sanadougou elementary school, and every year his family takes in one or two girls from neighboring villages where there are no schools. These girls work as domestic servants who are expected to sweep the house, wash the dishes and laundry, draw water, chop firewood, pound millet and all of the more strenuous household chores, and in exchange they get to go to school – which they certainly would not have had they stayed in village. It’s not like they wouldn’t be doing all this work otherwise; if they lived at home, their fathers would probably assign them even more labor. And by living with a salaried functionary these traditional servants also get to have a little protein and calcium in their diets. This traditional servile relationship between a student and a teacher need not be abusive or unfair, and in many circumstances it can serve to benefit all relevant parties.

The problem with the traditional Malian teacher/student relationship is that it can be all-too-easily perverted by shyster self-described “Quranic teachers” who round up boys in rural villages to bring to their madrasahs for an “Islamic education”. In days of yore, the madrasah school system would employ this traditional set-up; in exchange for an education, Muslim students known as garabouts would work the fields belonging to their marabout in order to provide themselves and their patron with sustenance. In urban settings with no fields to till, the garabouts would go door-to-door begging for their meals – a practice thought to instill a deep sense of humility and ensure future adherence to the religious obligation of giving alms to the poor. However, as Malian society has become more urban and commercial people have become more likely to give beggars small coins rather than food, and it was only a matter of time before marabouts realized the lucrative potential of running a madrasah. Now in the 21st century marabouts instruct their students to beg only for currency – they give each garabout a tomato paste can and a daily “tuition fee” to bring back to their master, usually beating each child who does not meet his quota.

At this point, in many places the Quranic school system has become so twisted into an institution of child slavery that there is only a façade of “Islam” and “education” left in the “Islamic education” which they provide; maybe at nightfall the marabout teaches his “class” a new prayer or two, but from dawn to dusk the garabouts hit the streets with their tomato paste cans begging from the productive classes of society. It should be fairly axiomatic that kids left unfed to panhandle all day do not spend very much time studying the Quran. “Teachers” who send their “students” to beg on the street are not teaching these kids how to read Arabic, they’re only hardly teaching anything about theology. The only lessons which garabouts take away from their “Islamic education” are that they are small, that they are weak, that they are incapable of fending for themselves, and that they must submit to the authority of their social superiors if they are to make it in this world and the next.

Madrasahs which provide this species of “education” are really less institutions of religious scholarship than they are amazingly profitable businesses. Any huckster who knows a few prayers can pass himself off as a “Quranic teacher” and convince gullible families from the villages to entrust him with their children. He has to build some sort of mud hut for all the children to sleep in. But the this madrasah doesn’t provide any food, it doesn’t provide any clothing, it doesn’t provide any school supplies – there are hardly any expenses involved in this operation except the cost of tomato paste cans and the livestock-class transport of the “student body” to a lucrative environment for begging. The marabout has to do no more labor than to train his garabouts to parrot some songs and how to target people on the street with the most money. All the marabout then has to do is sit around all day and wait for his “students” to come back at night with their day’s revenues. If a marabout is driving a flock of 20 garabouts and commands them to bring back a quota of 400 CFA a day, even if they come up short he can be taking in 5,000 CFA a day – 5 to 10 times a typical daily wage in this country.

Most of the time a garabout’s servitude is limited to a year or two of begging before his “Quranic teacher” sends his back to his village, but in many cases the madrasah system exploits these poor children in ways that are more unambiguously forms of human trafficking. On the most basic level, marabouts recognize the laws of supply and demand and ship their cash cows to those cities where the competition is less fierce and begging is more profitable. One time I was riding my bike to Koutiala and saw a cargo truck parked next to a madrasah, and feeling exhausted I asked the truck driver to let me hitch a ride; when I climbed into the cargo hold I realized that this truck was already filled to twice its capacity – the cargo was a hundred little garabouts with a hundred tomato paste cans!

The practice of transporting garabouts from one region to another and even across countries obviously has no foundation in the Mohammedan tradition – it’s a matter of discipline and labor force retention. If you recruit a Bambara “student” to a madrasah within walking distance of his village and he grows tired of begging strangers for his meals, he can always run home to the comfort of his mother’s food bowl; even if the garabout is brought to beg amongst another Bambara-speaking population, he can probably ask for directions and hitch a ride home. But if you take an eight-year-old boy who only speaks the dialect of Dogon used in one remote valley and truck him across the border to Juula-speaking Côte d’Ivoire, that kid will be absolutely dependent upon his marabout and will have no choice but to follow him wherever he goes.

Now that the madrasah system has become well-entrenched in the slimy business of human trafficking, it’s only fitting that they send their boy slaves into even seedier lines of work than begging. Some marabouts have run into trouble with the gendarmes because scores of their garabouts were nabbed by the police for pick-pocketing, and when the tomato can-toting boys were brought in to the gendarmerie they broke down and squealed that their marabouts commanded them to do it, training flocks of children to become petty criminals like Fagin and his gang.

Other unscrupulous marabouts exploit their human commodities in manners more closely resembling what Americans would imagine slavery to look like. A lot of marabouts have found that the most profitable way to take advantage of their captive “students” is to rent them out to large-scale commercial farmers who put them to work in their cotton fields. Some garabouts might sign contracts to make money for their master cultivating cotton or peanuts. Other garabouts are trafficked south to Côte d’Ivoire to pick cocoa beans.

The two most important figures to keep in mind in regards to labor conditions in the cocoa industry of Côte d’Ivoire are 40 percent and 90 percent; 40 percent is the share of the world’s cocoa beans which is produced in Côte d’Ivoire, 90 percent is the share of Ivorian cocoa farms which employ their work force under some form of slavery. The best article I’ve found on slavery in the Ivorian cocoa bean industry remains A Taste of Slavery, a 2001 piece by Sudarsan Raghavan and Sumana Chatterjee.

SIKASSO, Mali - Businessmen called "locateurs" wait in the little bus station in this large border town, where crammed mini-buses leave for Ivory Coast every 30 minutes. They search the crowds for children traveling alone, looking lost or begging for food. "Would you like a great job in Côte d'Ivoire?" they ask, using the official name of the former French colony. "I can find you one.”

…Most of the slave traders are Malian men, but women and Ivorians also work in the trade. Malians don't need passports or visas to enter Ivory Coast. In theory, children younger than 18 cannot cross the border unless they are accompanied by an adult, who must show identification. If the adult is a relative, no questions are asked about children traveling with him. If not, the children must have permission from their parents to cross the border. That's why the traffickers often order the children to call them "uncle" or "aunt." And a few bucks often can convince the authorities, as well. "The police sometimes check the IDs, and sometimes they are the ones taking bribes," said Felix Ackebo of UNICEF.

… Traffickers bring as many as 10 boys a month to Siaka Cisse's small, ramshackle house in Daloa, which doubles as his son's furniture shop. From there the 60-year-old former bus driver distributes smuggled children to local farmers. Disoriented and scared, the boys trust Cisse because like many of them he speaks Bambara, a Malian tribal language. Neither Cisse nor the farmers ask where or how the traffickers got the children.

Virtually all the boys are illiterate, but Cisse gets them to sign - more like a scratchy squiggle - a contract scrawled in French on notebook paper. It says they agree to work for about $180 a year. But they eventually discover they may not be paid that year, and that many will never be paid at all.

Cisse (pronounced SEE-say), who has 20 children of his own, said he receives only a small "gift" from each farmer - $1 or $2 per child. But a boy named Mombi Bakayoko said his master paid Cisse about $13 for him, and another $20 "transport fee" to the trafficker who brought him to Ivory Coast. Other boys said Cisse gets an average of about $12 per child.
And many more boys are sold as house slaves – though, of course, having a boy to work as a domestic servant in this culture is nowhere near as desirable as having a girl. Female slaves are less valued than males slaves for their laboring skills as they generally have less upper-body-strength and they are often pregnant with their master’s children; hence it should come as no surprise that trafficking in women is almost always related to some combination of domestic work and prostitution.

Mali is not only a source of but also a destination for trafficked women – particularly women from Nigeria. This phenomenon is quite puzzling, for transactional sex exists in every community, there is no shortage of native prostitutes in any Malian city, but for some reason foreign women are still being lured into the poorest of poor countries to serve as sex workers. The most compelling explanation for all of these Nigerian prostitutes involves that country's crushing income inequality, the massive exodus from the Nigerian countryside to the Nigerian cities, the obscene overpopulation and unemployment in the Lagos slums, a vast population of Nigerian urbanites desperate to find work abroad and a human smuggling ring with some ties to the Malian gold industry.

What happens is that a recruiter in Nigeria – usually female – searches out attractive women between 16 and 24 and tells them that she can help them find work abroad. The recruiter promises what sounds like a solid job with decent wages; e.g. waiting tables at a restaurant in Senegal, sewing dresses at a sweatshop in France. The recruiter convinces a critical mass of women to pack their bag and get on a bus – “Before the final destination we will have to stop for a little while in Bamako”, she tells them. The Nigerian women find themselves stuck in this strange Malian capital for weeks or months, and then they’re told that they owe their recruiter some unfathomable sum of money – maybe around 500,000 CFA (~$1,000) to pay for their transportation fee. Without any friends or relatives who can help them out, without any relevant language skills to even seek help, the Nigerians are a captive audience prime for exploitation.

Sometimes the Nigerians stay put and are forced into a local Bamako prostitution ring, but more often they find themselves on another car on their way to the towns which spring up next to the gold mines in rural Kayes or Sikasso provinces. These boom towns are full of other ambitious youth; men in their teens, twenties and thirties looking for fortune mining gold. In a town like Tabakoto there are about ten men who come seeking employment as a day worker for every one man that the mine will hire, but those men who do get hired hammering and picking and carting out slurry can come back to their boarding house with 2,000 francs a day. And for every 2,000 francs a miner earns, he will send maybe 500 to his family via Western Union and blow the rest on cigarettes, beer, whiskey and women.

“If you walk into a bar at a mining town, any place that sells beer at any mining town in Mali, you can find a Nigerian sex worker”, says a scholar studying the gold mines who wishes to remain anonymous, “There are Malian sex workers too, of course, but they are negligible compared to the Nigerians who are all systematically brought there under false pretenses, saddled with debt, and given no choice but to pay it off through prostitution. Every woman I’ve talked to tells the same story. At most of the bars in mining towns the women are sold a set rate: 1,000 CFA for a quick lay in her concrete room behind the bar, 2,000 CFA to rent a woman out for the whole day. The sex workers have to pay for their own food, they have to pay rent to the bar owner, they have to pay back their debt to the trafficking syndicate plus interest, and they have no means of saving for transport back home. There’s no way that this is just a coincidence – all evidence points to the existence of a targeted human-trafficking operation which is specifically ferrying women from Nigeria to work as prostitutes in the gold rush towns of Mali.”

“But is it slavery?” I ask.

“There is no legally-enforceable chattel slavery. But the sex workers in the mining towns didn’t come here by free will, they didn’t willingly sign up to become sex workers, and they certainly don’t have the freedom to stop being sex workers. That sounds like slavery to me.”

Human trafficking for the prostitution business happens at the local level too. Even in the sleepy rural town of Sanadougou where I’ve been living for the past two years, there has been a commotion about a half dozen young girls aged 4 to 10 who suddenly went missing the day after Eid al-Adha. I’m told that these girls disappeared the same day as a certain wayward son of Sanadougou who has grown up and moved to the big city where he runs a prostitution ring – the man came back for a week to visit his father for the Tabaski feast, and no one has seen the girls since he left for the city in his Mercedes. Everyone in Sanadougou knows who this man is, it’s pretty much common knowledge that he abducted six local girls to rent as child prostitutes, but no one is pressing any charges through the formal mechanisms of justice. Instead, the fathers of the six girls met with the dugutigi and the father of the pimp to relay the message that the pimp can either bring back the girls and pay each father 10,000 francs in indemnities – or the fathers are going to come to the city and murder him.

The Malian government’s inaction in the face of slavery is by no means representative of popular opinion; with the notable exception of the Tamasheks and those persons personally profiting from slave labor, the Malian public is unequivocally opposed to the ownership of people as property. When I engage Malians about slavery they condemn it as the epitome of human evil – but interestingly enough, as a rule they go through logical somersaults in order to avoid casting blame on their fellow countrymen. Popular opinion tends to apologize for the slave-trafficking of Malians by Malians along the lines of “Life is hard” or “Here we are poor”. When I ask who is to blame for slavery, they almost unanimously agree “It is the fault of the French!” The closest to soul-searching I’ve ever heard is when people blame the Tamasheks – who from the perspective of the Southern black tribes might as well be a foreign nation.

Even so, these popularly-held myths on slavery are light years closer to reality than the views promulgated by many high-ranking government officials – in particular those officials whose job it is to enforce the relevant human rights laws. The official position of the Republic of Mali is that slavery simply does not exist within its borders.

As they say in Alcoholics Anonymous meetings, “The first step to recovery is admitting that you have a problem.” Likewise, if the Malian government is to ever comply with the human rights standards of the Trafficking Victims Protection Act, it can start by acknowledging the fact that slavery and human trafficking exist in Mali, and that it is not the French but Malians – black Malians from their own clans and tribes – who are working as the recruiters, smugglers, pimps and patrons in the market for human property. If Malian officials continue to dig their heads in the sand and deny what is plain as day to everyone in this country, the U.S. State Department is going to eventually run out of patience and brand Mali with a Tier 3 designation.

Step two on Mali’s path to abolition would be for the National Assembly to plug up the loopholes in the criminal code which prohibit trafficking in children but not trafficking in Nigerian women, the forced prostitution of adult women but not the forced prostitution of young boys, etc. This would require only minor amendments to existing law which should not provoke much outcry from cultural conservatives – it is hard to imagine any fundamentalist cleric standing up and defending the prostitution of little boys.

The next thing the National Assembly has to do - perhaps the absolutely most critical step in abolishing slavery - is to write new laws criminalizing the practice of slavery. The relevant Malian law now reads like what the United States Constitution would do if the Thirteenth Amendment were repealed; it explicitly enshrines the equality of all persons under the law, it requires due process regardless of race, ethnicity, religion or gender, but it does not actually have any legal mechanisms to prosecute the quintessence of inequality and dehumanization. Malian anti-slavery law has to go above and beyond Article 242’s lame proscription of “entering into agreements or contracts that deprive third parties of their liberty” – if any anti-slavery law is to have any deterrent effect it has to entail severe legal punishments, it has to at least allow the courts to sentence slave-owners to lengthy prison sentences and to forfeit their assets.

However, even if Mali acknowledges the existence of slavery and bans it outright, the anti-slavery laws will remain little more than freedom on paper unless the State actively investigates and prosecutes violations. This should not be a daunting task. All a detective would have to do to make a case that could hold up in court is walk into a bar and talk to the prostitutes, drive to Taoudenni and have a conversation with the salt miners, find any single Bella servant living among the Tamasheks or the ubiquitous tomato can-toting garabouts begging on the street. Slavery is so widespread and so painfully obvious in this country that if just one gendarmerie made even the slightest attempt to enforce human trafficking laws, in a single day they would be able to make hundreds of arrests which could eventually result in convictions. From June 2009 to June 2010, the total number of human trafficking arrests in Mali was 2, and both were released without going to trial. This inactivity cannot be excused by a lack of solid leads or financial resources – the only possible explanations are either that the gendarmes are either completely uninterested in doing their jobs or that they themselves are complicit in the trafficking trade.

Consequently, the effectiveness of any further anti-slavery or anti-trafficking laws – in fact, every single law in the Malian criminal code – would be made a thousand times more effective if the Ministère de la Justice were to conduct a thorough, genuine campaign to root out corruption in the gendarmerie. After all, even a code of perfect laws is not worth the paper it’s printed on so long as offenders can walk away free by simply waving bills in front of the investigating police. The Malian government has to start conducting sting operations in which undercover agents drive across border checkpoints posing as human traffickers with vans full of undocumented Nigerian women, and once the border guards have their bribe in hand the undercover agents should show their badges, take out their handcuffs and arrest the corrupt police who profit from the smuggling of black market slaves. Until the State eradicates lawlessness and gangsterism amongst the agents of law enforcement, no citizen will ever be safe from the peril of illegal enslavement.

And let’s say that one day the Republic of Mali actually acknowledges the existence of slavery, reforms its inadequate anti-trafficking laws, explicitly prohibits slavery as a felony offense, begins to actively investigate and make arrests and secure convictions of slave owners, slave traders and human traffickers. Even then, the government would have a generation of work set before it in transitioning this very significant slave labor force into legitimate forms of free labor; this would entail providing shelters for emancipated slaves, providing some modicum of social services until they can help the new freedmen line up employment. For the legions of sex workers imported from abroad, the government would have to cooperate with the relevant embassies in order to repatriate them back to their home countries; the government would have to assist the children intentionally trafficked beyond the limit of their language skills back to their home villages. For the garabouts and all of the other child slaves who were denied schooling, the State would have to provide them an education. And mind you, Mali is a country in which the government has only just begun to pave the roads in some neighborhoods of the capital – the services which this country needs to provide to its underclass in order to transition from slavery to free labor are beyond those which it provides for anyone at all.

At the moment, the international community is waiting for the Malian government to publicly recognize that slavery exists in their country. I’m not going to hold my breath.

Abolishing slavery will inevitably bear the wrath of the Tamashek slave owners, the Timbuktu slave traders, the salt creditors, Ivorian cocoa farmers, the crooked “Quranic teachers”, corrupt border guardsmen, brothel managers and pimps with vested interests in the trade of persons. In a part of the world where governments regularly fall by coup d’état and elements of the slave-owning tribes are waging open rebellion, it is difficult to not understand why statesmen would be inclined to play it safe in order to preserve the fragile Republic.

But it really is in the interests of Mali – not only the victims of human trafficking but every single man, woman and child in this country – to do away with this wicked institution. Bamako’s official stance of “hear no evil, see no evil” is a policy of untenable cowardice which if it continues on this track for much longer could result in Mali being grouped with Zimbabwe, North Korea and the laughing stocks of the world as a Tier 3 human rights offender – an ill-fated mark which would lead to Mali being cut off from American aid. The people of Mali are floundering in the world’s most devastating poverty, they desperately need economic development. What they cannot afford is to preserve this vestige of medieval feudalism in order to keep a handful of petty despots at bay.

Saturday, April 10, 2010

Frambara

I believe that it is impossible for any reality to exist so miraculous that it can authoritatively prove the existence of God. However, the fact that the United States government assigned me to live and work in Mali because of my background in French is so absurd, in fact, that it ipse facto proves that if there is a God, He must have a sadistic sense of humor.

You see, the general rule among Peace Corps Assignment Officers is that if an applicant has any knowledge of the French language, they get sent to Africa, anyone who can speak Spanish goes to Latin America, and that one linguistics major who wrote her thesis on Kyrgyz poetry gets sent to Kyrgyzstan. This rule generally makes a lot of sense, for it efficiently utilizes Volunteers pre-existing skills and places them in communities where they can most readily integrate. And when PC Washington was going through my application way back when, they were apparently very impressed by the fact that I took 6 years of French back in junior high and high school – so much, in fact, that they decided that I should be assigned to a country in Francophone Africa.

The fact that I do know French has been more of a liability than an asset here in Mali. When people like me arrive with a solid background in French in this officially Francophone country, we wrongly assume that we can communicate with the locals and that they will understand what we are saying. I am one of those pretentious assholes who spends his free time reading Camus and Baudrillard in the original, so when I first came here and bank tellers told me that they too spoke French and I reflexively told them what to do with my money in the conditional pluperfect subjunctive tense, time and time again I would become enervated when they mangled my instructions. Presuming that people here actually speak French only leads to situations in which the Francophones get frustrated, the locals feel lorded over, and everyone loses.

Even in Africa where each and every tribe has developed their own language which they have been speaking for thousands of years, there are some African countries which have wholeheartedly embraced the language of their former colonial masters. In Ghana where there are 47 traditional tongues, the government is promoting English as the single national language in order to mitigate tribal identification and shore up national identity. Some former French colonies like Senegal and Benin have also forged such a post-tribal national culture that parents raise their children to converse exclusively in the official, formerly colonial language. And such profound cultural shifts don’t just happen with a presidential proclamation; the reason why English is the common vernacular in Ghana and French is so prevalent in Senegal and Benin is that the governments of these countries have spent the past half century investing in the education of their citizens, particularly in literacy and language instruction.

Senegal and Benin are exceptions in that they truly are Francophone countries. In the bulk of the former French colonies like Guinea, Côte d’Ivoire and Mali, there is an elite class of government officials, soldiers, gendarmes and teachers who use French for the workplace. And there is an even smaller minority of persons who do not work in government but can command the French language because they were born to such immense wealth to have attended private lycées. Though after decades of gross government neglect of the public welfare, the vast majority of adults have never received even a cursory elementary education, more than 70 percent of the population is absolutely illiterate, and they definitely do not speak more than a few token words outside of their local tribal tongue.

… But if asked, they will tell you that they do in fact speak Tubabukan ¬– the “language of the white people”. Of course, there is no such thing – the Tubabukan spoken here is a patois hybrid of French and Bambara we call “Frambara”; the nonsense that Malians who have never interacted with foreigners mislead each other into thinking is truly the “language of the white people”; usually, it is only Bambara laced with a few French nouns, maybe "est-ce que", "le voila", or - my favorite - "peut-etty". And likewise, most Malians are taught that if you see a Tubab, the proper thing to do is to address them in “their own language”:

“Bozu le Blanc!”

Here, the colloquial “Ça va?” – “how goes it?” – has transformed into functional equivalent of “Bozu”. People will shout “Sava! Sava!” and they think that they are greeting me. It is also common for Malians to greet Tubabs “Sava! Sava sava byen!” – which must have originated in the dialogue of an introductory French textbook “Ça va?”/ “Ça va bien!” and has now regressed into a greeting uttered by one single person. Thus it is thought that "Bozu sava sava biyen" is how we white people say hello.

The most entertaining phenomenon is how Frambara has taken certain phrases and so warped their meaning that they induce cringes in anyone with a rudimentary understanding of their etymological origins. For example, in Mali it is perfectly customary for people to come up to me at 8:00 in the morning and greet “Bo swa, Monsieur!”

Soir means ‘evening’. You cannot greet anyone ‘Bon soir!’ until the sun is setting.”

“No, when you see a white person you are supposed to greet them ‘Bo swa’.”

“That… doesn’t make any sense.”

“That’s what we do in our country.”

“… As I said…”

Other times I am greeted “Bo swa, Madame!” When this happens I like to think that these kids must have learned this phrase in the context of a female teacher, which must mean that at one point in their short lives they have in fact sat in a classroom. But there are other Tubabukan bastardizations that suggest more nefarious settings.

Children in the cities greet me with a bastardization of French with a mission: “Bozu cadeau? Sava sava cadeau?” When I am confronted with such obscenity, it is apparent that some asshole taught this kid that if they see a white person, all they have to do is say these magic words and the white person will smile and give them a lollipop. But when you’ve been living here for an extended amount of time and have been petitioned for a cadeau every single day by kids and adults alike who think of white people as arcade machines which will give you a toy if only you toggle the joystick and push their buttons the right way, these childlike Frambara-isms quickly become downright dehumanizing.

The absolute worst bastardization of French is when I’m in the city and I’m approached by one of the barefoot, tomato can-toting beggar children and they blurt out, “Tubabu! Do mwa cinq mille francs!” Initially, such an utterance impresses me in that it is in fact a complete sentence – a lot more than can be said of 95 percent of the "French" spoken here. However, in every such situation it is fairly obvious that if I were to reply “Préferez-vous un billet de cinq mille francs ou cinq billets d’une mille francs?” or even “Tu t’appelles comment?” the kid would have no idea what I’m saying. These kids are never going to be taught proper French greetings, introductions, how to ask for directions or the weather. “Do mwa cinq mille francs!” constitutes the entirety of that garabout’s French, because their “Quranic teacher” only instructs their cash cows in that one saying to finance their sedentary lifestyles. Accordingly, the marabouts instill the despicable misunderstanding that the language of Senghor, Césaire and Fanon is the language of humble supplication to white people.

The logic of a Malian greeting white people in Tubabukan is inherently racist – not necessarily a vicious ideology of racial supremacy, but at least the belief that all persons of a similar skin tone are indifferentiable. Of course, if a given Malian is walking down the street and they see person with pale skin, to the Malian it makes sense to greet this stranger in Tubabukan when 70 percent of all of the melanin-deficient they will ever interact with are in fact French, Belgian, Quebeçois or Luxembourgian. But there are also a lot of Americans, Germans, Spaniards and Italians who come here speaking no French at all, and according to Malian logic they too are greeted “Bozu! Sava sava byen!” because Tubabukan is “the language of the white people” – all of them. The term Tubabu refers to Aryans, Slavs, Arabs, Persians, Latinos, and all non-African persons alike. Even when Japanese or Korean tourists trek through Dogon Country with their brand new video cameras, they too are greeted by the locals “Bozu! Sava bonbon!” When Malians address each and every white person with what they think is “our own language”, it only demonstrates how profoundly unaware they are of the outside world and the crudeness of their racialism.

Even when the adult population addresses made in grammatically correct, polite French along the lines of “Excusez-moi, monsieur, est-ce que tu es perdu?” or “Je vends du pain du qualité superieur!” it strikes me as patronizing and just as innocently racist. When people speak to me in French, it means they assume that I am a lazy NGO worker or gold miner who is only here to interact with government ministers and rarely leaves the hermetically-sealed, self-contained expatriate biodome – or even worse: a tourist.

So when anyone in this country ever speaks to me in French, I instinctively reply in Bambara – and after a few lines of dialogue in which the Bambara is speaking broken Tubabukan and the Tubabu is speaking fluent Bamanankan the former eventually realizes the folly of their efforts and switches gears into their own language. Now that I’m starting to pick up Miniankakan – the really, really local language which only has any use in the tiny homeland of the Minianka subgroup of the Bambara tribe, around my home base I can show off how dedicated I am to integration with an even greater effect. The response is universally effusive, for these people have spent their entire lives thinking that they have to learn the language of their former colonial masters if they ever want to do business with the West – with much detriment to their collective self-esteem. Thus when an Occidental comes to live amongst an isolated culture and takes the time to learn to speak to them in their own obscure tongues, the symbolism is lost on no one.

When people ask me why I do not speak to them in French like all the other Tubabs do, I point out the ideological chasm between my country and the Old World powers:

Americainw Mali la kono be Mali kanw kalan tiyenna barisa folofolo Angleterre tun be an mara i na fo jonw ye, ni an ye keleke fo an ye an yere ka jamana mine. I be se ka fo ka an te fe ka jamanw were mara.

“Americans in Mali take the time to learn Malian tongues largely because of our own history of exploitation by the British and our War for Independence… You could say that our own experience has left a particular distaste for colonialism.”



Friday, August 7, 2009

Development with a Healthy Dose of Conservatism

I would probably sound like too much of a cliché of myself if I were to tell you that this guy who spent his days until recently stomping his sandal-clad feet around campus, spouting incendiary rhetoric about Democracy and Socialism and rousing the masses to the barricades, has spent a year in the Peace Corps and has since been so violently mugged by the cruel realities of human nature that he has transformed into a Conservative.

So I’m not going to tell you that. It is very difficult for those of us who have come of age during the intellectual leadership of George W. Bush, Tom DeLay and Sarah Palin to respect Conservatism with a capitol “C” as a coherent ideology. To me and so many members of my generation, the history of the past decade has utterly discredited the movement which seeks to build a double-layered fence across the Mexican border, to amend the Constitution to ban same-sex marriage, to defend "real Americans" and Western civilization itself from illegal immigrants, homosexuals, atheists, French people and the United Nations. Especially in the midst of this prolonged recession, with their hostility to any sort of government intervention in anything to do with the economy asides from more tax cuts and more bailouts to the banks, the dogmatic amalgam of supply-side economics and right-wing Christian fundamentalism that is the American Conservative Movement is rapidly atrophying into an obscure cabal as completely divorced from matters of this world as is the Church of Scientology or Zoroastrianism.

But nevertheless, I must sheepishly admit that my after one year in the Peace Corps, my experience so far has made me substantially tempered my faith in our power to “remake the world anew”. Living in a real-life African village and seeing first-hand the innumerable failures of past governments and foreign NGOs to revolutionize Malian society, I have unintentionally come to terms with the fact that one can only do so much. If after two years I can walk from my house to the center of town without having to tiptoe around puddles of human waste, I will consider my service a roaring success. Not only have I come to appreciate the values of prudence and restraint, but experience has taught me that private property, capitalism and individual responsibility are remarkably more effective in achieving long-lasting institutional change than any socialist principles of collective ownership. It would be fair to say that I have become significantly more conservative with a lower-case “c”; as defined by Merriam-Webster:
“con•serv’a•tive, adj. 1. skeptical of change. 2. avoiding excesses. 3. of or relating to a political philosophy based on tradition and social stability, stressing established institutions, and preferring gradual development to abrupt change.”

To be a Peace Corps Volunteer in Mali is in many ways like being bashed over the head with a hardbound copy of Atlas Shrugged all day, every day after day after day. Part of it is for the first time in my life having my own house and plot of land which I can call my own, and being completely and utterly responsible for its upkeep (technically I don’t own the property, but we’ll get to that in a minute). Part of it is the realization which comes with biking way out into the bush where its just me, sand, trees and scrub as far as the eye can see and realizing that if I were to fall and crack my head open on a rock, no one is ever coming to get me. Technically there is the Peace Corps Medical Unit in Bamako – but that’s two provinces and 400 kilometers away. If I get a nasty cut, if my latrine is dirty, if my house is full of termites, no one else is going to do anything about it out of the generosity of their heart – I have no choice but to be completely responsible for maintaining my own health, my home and garden. In this neck of the world, it’s really every man for himself.

By no means can my sharp veer towards rugged individualism be attributed to my having adopted the values of my host culture. The Bambara society amongst which I currently reside is tremendously more communalistic than anything I have known in America – even the semester I lived in the Vegan cooperative house. Here in the village of Sanadougou, every man and every woman share almost every daily activity with their family; they plow their fields together, they plant their seeds together, they reap their harvest together and then the women cook it together, it is unthinkable that anyone would ever eat a single meal alone. Though the dugutigi assigns each plot to certain families as determined by their historical usage, the fields are officially held amongst the whole village. There are even a handful of fields which are explicitly shared, and every couple of weeks during rainy season a man marches through the streets beating a drum to hail all the men to till the commons. There is a significant degree of familial autonomy – the head of each household has their own indivisible property and is responsible for feeding his own progeny, but no Bambara man would ever his relatives go hungry while stores remain in his own granary. And since 90 percent of all the families in this town share the last name Sogoba, the traditional family safety net for all intents and purposes extends throughout this entire society.

That is not to say that Bambara society is a Socialist Utopia for the whole world to emulate. The sharing of food is a practice born out of evolutionary necessity in this culture where death by malnutrition if not outright starvation is fairly ordinary. If Boubacar sees that Amadou’s millet granary has gone empty, he is probably going to invite his neighbor to na duminike until the next harvest – not just because Boubacar is such a nice guy, but because he would like Amadou to reciprocate the next time that he suffers the same fate. If there were a few more months of precipitation, if agricultural production was more efficient and food were not so scarce to begin with, food-sharing might not be such an indispensable bedrock of Bambara culture.

There is a fair argument to be made that Mali is so poor, that the output of its primarily agrarian economy is so diminutive precisely because of the traditional practices of communal land ownership. There’s plenty of land, and there’s certainly no shortage of labor – but there is not enough capital to spur significant economic growth. Almost all planting and harvesting is conducted with simple manual plows, hoes and scythes made out of wood and iron; no matter how hard and how long a family works with such limited tools, it will always remain a challenge to eke out a subsistence diet – let alone see enough windfall profits to invest in new physical capital and expand agricultural output. In the history of American and European economic development, farmers were able to escape this poverty trap by using their real estate deeds as collateral to take out loans and invest in tractors, irrigation pumps and other machine tools which expanded yields many times over. But such innovation will forever remain elusive to Bambara farmers who have only the dugutigi’s word to their parcels of the communal fields, who technically have no landed property to their name, and will continue to be shut out from the credit which they need for investment and growth.

During the heady days after independence in 1960, the nationalist revolutionary President Modibo Keíta tried to take Mali’s communalistic ethos even further and institute a People’s Republic modeled after the Soviet Union and China. Keíta aimed to establish Malian Communism on the organic village level; every man was ordered to harvest a pre-assigned quota of millet which was to be stored in village-wide granaries – which were in turn distributed back to central granaries in the capitol city of Bamako, and then redistributed back to each village and to each individual in order to ensure a perfectly egalitarian division of wealth. It goes without saying that the government kept the lion’s share of each harvest for in Bamako for its own purposes, Communism eviscerated the private incentive for industry, millet production plummeted and famine was the order of the day. Since it was widely accepted that the only way for many individual subsistence farmers to survive Malian Communism was to shirk their national obligations and fend for themselves, the People’s Republic soon became a parody of itself. By 1968 it was clear to all that the centrally-planned economy was so mismanaged and public opinion had so turned against the Communist regime that Modibo Keíta was overthrown in a coup d’état led by General Moussa Traoré – who would dismantle the state-run agricultural economy and institute one of the World Bank’s first structural adjustment programs.

And yet the most jarring aspect of Malian culture to my Western bourgeois sensibilities is not this country’s land ownership practices or its short-lived membership in the Communist bloc, but something which I encounter at least every day I take public transport or walk down city streets. Here – as in all of Muslim West Africa – there exists a class of religious beggar-children known as "garabouts". Picture a 12-year-old boy, barefoot and gaunt, rushing to shove a plastic bucket in your face while mumbling some fusion of Bambara and Arabic “prayer”: Allah ka dumini di n ma/Allah ka I deme ka n kongo dogoya... There are blind men and widows begging for coins in every country without a welfare safety net. But the garabouts are different in that they are fully capable, able-bodied boys who should be in school learning how to be a productive member of society, or rather, in the fields with their fathers learning how to farm. Ostensibly, these garabouts are instead begging on the street in order to learn humility and submissiveness to their Lord as a part of their “Islamic education”.

I often find myself duly offended by these garabouts – and not just the ones who yank on my arm and scream Tubabu! Donne-moi un cadeau! It has less to do with religion than it has to do with child labor, slavery and exploitation. These pre-pubescents are not begging for money because they have chosen a life of poverty in order to be closer to Allah – they are begging because their “Quranic teacher” commands them to bring in a certain amount of cash each day with the threat of a stiff beating if they fail to deliver. The garabouts are assigned this Dickensian fate by their parents, some of whom sincerely believe the marabout who comes to their village and promises to teach their boys the way to enter Paradise. But a good portion of all garabouts are praying for coins because dad did the math and realized that this year’s harvest was too paltry to feed the mouths of his 17 children, and so he decided the time is right to send his sons to the closest city’s Quranic teacher. And thus a not-so-insignificant number of Malians use the institution of the garabout as a fig-leaf for their own lack of responsibility as parents, and to pass the buck for feeding their children onto society as a large – all under the respectable and even admirable pretense of “Islamic education”.

A problem of scarcity occurs not just when these garabouts are on the streets praying for subsistence farmers to part with the fruits of their labor – eventually, these beggar children grow up to be adults with wives and children of their own. And a lot of them seem to have taken home some valuable lessons from their “Islamic education”; namely, you don’t have to work to eat, you can just count on other people, and in the end Allah will figure it all out. Talking to so many farmers in my Malian village who spend eight months every year sitting, drinking tea and complaining about how poor they are, these guys know very well that they can plant a vegetable garden, but don’t bother because of such deep-seated fatalism and renunciation of control over their own destiny that has crippled their sense of personal initiative. “If Allah wants me to be poor, then that is his command.” “If Allah wants me to find money, then Allah will provide.”

The sense of fatalism and helplessness perpetuated in this society is downright jarring. There was one Peace Corps Volunteer who recently watched as her host father more or less let his daughter die of what was probably simple pneumonia. As the Volunteer noticed that this 5-year-old girl was having trouble breathing and her wheezing was becoming worse and worse, she suggested that the man give his daughter some medicine. “No, there is no medicine for this illness.” The Volunteer insisted that there was, and offered to pay for it. “No, Allah will heal her.” A few days later the girl was dead, drowned in her own mucous. The father concluded: “She is gone. Allah has taken her.”

What it all comes down to is that a good share of people in Mali are poor – not just because the government doesn’t provide enough social services or because they are being oppressed by Global Capitalism – but because they and/or their parents have made some really irresponsible decisions. In the past I have written about how overwhelmed I became after seeing my neighbors’ gaunt kids with their black rotten teeth and their bellies protruding with protein deficiency and realizing they looked so sickly that they probably wouldn’t make it through the year. I was so beset that at one point I considered buying a sack of beans and condensed milk and giving it to their poor parents. But my attitude changed after I saw that these kids’ dad had a brand new Yamaha motorcycle. And you can only imagine the sound system at the party a month later when this guy married his second wife. And they’re almost certainly going to have many, many more offspring. As callous as it sounds, for me to intervene and provide these children with protein and calcium would only further enable their father to blow his money on toys and parties.

The bleeding liberal in the left ventricle of my heart is inclined to giving money, write a check as a knee-jerk reaction. This attitude is nothing new; to my recollection, there was this Judean rabbi back in the day who healed the sick and gave eyesight to the blind, who gave a big sermon about giving alms to the poor, clothing the naked and feeding the hungry, and how this moral obligation of selflessness is so absolute that it is easier for a camel to go through a needle’s eye than for a rich man to enter Heaven and so anyone with surplus wealth must give it all to charity. Judging by the African development scene today, apparently a lot of people still believe that this is an effective means of conducting economic development.

It is difficult to drive down any major road in Mali for any considerable distance without passing by a school built by Christian NGO X, a water pump built by Muslim NGO Y, or a clinic built by International Relief Organization Z – the road itself was probably financed by the Belgian Embassy. When missionaries and secular-minded do-gooders parachute in for Spring Break, distribute medicine and shoes and soccer balls and candy, take the mandatory photo-op of themselves hugging skinny black children, and within a week or two hop on the next plane home, they can then brag about their superior worldliness to the Save the World Club and put another chit on their résumé to help with grad school applications. Due to the sense of satisfaction derived from building schools and handing out goodies to poor malnourished Africans, there is no shortage of humanitarian relief programs on the ground here.

There is a shortage, however, in any sort of humanitarian relief programs that do anything more than perpetuating the sense of helplessness and instilling a mindset of inferiority among the Malian people. Imagine how a typical Bambara millet farmer might feel when he has been breaking his back in the fields for months just trying to eke out enough grain to feed his family for the coming year – maybe if this year’s harvest was particularly bountiful he can buy them all a new pair of cheap plastic sandals – and he sees a bunch of white people drive up in an SUV, distribute brand-new Nike high-tops to all the kids in the village, and leave. He’s probably going to think “Hamd’allah! And to think that I was almost going to buy my kids shoes! How foolish of me! Now I can blow that money on tea and sugar!”

And a few years down the line when that Bambara millet farmer sees that his kids’ Nike high-tops have all fallen apart and they’re walking around in the mud barefoot again, do you think he’s going to buy his kids new pairs of shoes? “Of course not! I can just wait for the next SUV full of white people to come!” No one in this village is ever going to by their children shoes again.

The fact is that African subsistence farmers might be poor – but they sure aren’t stupid. They are rational beings who respond to economic incentives just as much as anyone in the developed West; rather, since they have so little, and the simple act of receiving a free pair of shoes is so relatively generous, they respond to these incentives much more dramatically than the bureaucrat sitting in an air-conditioned office on the Upper East Side might ever imagine. Oftentimes these perfectly benign donations can lead to the most sinister repercussions.

This is not a phenomenon unique to Western donors. There is a village by the name of Yelemani located way up in the desert near the Mauritanian border; the economics of this village are drastically different from that of most communities in Mali, because a few years back a number of local men went off to France to find jobs and by some stroke of luck they succeeded. The men of Yelemani all live together in a one-room apartment and they are doing menial labor and custodial work that no Frenchmen would ever want, but compared to the mud hovels and hand-to-mouth existence they knew before the blue collar life in Europe seems to good to be true. They can afford to eat meat and drink Coca-Colas and watch TV every day, and what’s more, they are making such a surplus that each year they can send a big wad of cash back to their families in Yelemani.

During the first few years that these Yelemani families were receiving remittances, the problem was not that their expatriate sons were insufficiently generous; in fact, it was that they were too generous. When their subsistence farming fathers who made monetary incomes of less than $400 a year went to the bank and received checks worth ten times what they could ever make cultivating millet and peanuts, they had so much money that they didn’t know what to do with it. So they splurged on motorcycles, TV sets, cell phones, iPods, and fancy new clothes for themselves and for their wives. Yelemanikaw felt so rich that they didn’t even bother going to the fields during rainy season. Of course, they burned through their fortunes quicker than you can say “MC Hammer”. By the time they realized this, their granaries were empty and it would be months until they could even start planting again. And their children, the little brothers and sisters of the men of Yelemani who had made it, they ended up far worse off than the children of those who were not receiving remittances – while the latter were merely malnourished, the intended beneficiaries of such a liberal cash infusion were literally starving to death.

The best/worst example of this half-baked liberalism is a building which I see almost every day, Le Jardin d’Enfants (kindergarten) built by a perfectly well-intentioned Christian NGO named WorldVision. In addition to two classrooms for three- and four-year-olds, they also built two latrines, a well and a playground complete with three swing sets and a merry-go-round. The benefit of this Jardin d’Enfants to the education of Sanadougou’s youth, acclimating these children to sitting in a structured environment classroom environment is beyond doubt. However, their inept attempts at construction and ensuring simple maintenance practically negate any social benefits which might accrue from the existence of a Jardin d’Enfants in the first place.

To begin, WorldVision told Sanadougoukaw quite explicitly that after a given period of time they would be gone and the people of this village would be wholly responsible for conducting and financing any maintenance themselves. Within a year, the hinges on the metal doors to each of the latrines and also the large double-doors to the entrance rusted to the point that they could hardly open. This problem could have easily been fixed if someone in town had been willing to pitch in some simple axel grease – but that costs money, and few people feel like donating above and beyond their taxes to pay for public education. So they just took all of the rusted doors off the hinges entirely.


The latrines happen to be placed in an end of the schoolyard where the kids like to play. Without doors to these latrines, any child who wants to urinate or defecate there during the school day has to do so in plain sight of his or her classmates.


WorldVision also failed to build a storm drain in the walls enclosing the schoolyard. We’re not talking about anything complicated here; all they had to do was put a little piece of plastic piping into the wall at the lowest point where rainwater flows - like in every single family's concession in Mali. This slight omission was a humongous mistake, because without a storm drain the torrential rainy season downpours would flood the schoolyard and turned it into a giant pen of mud. So a teacher at Le Jardin d’Enfants had to take a pickax and pound a makeshift storm drain into the wall. Of course, he overcompensated and knocked out a whole much too big to only let out water runoff. Now even when one teacher might be watching the front gate, the children can easily crawl out the storm drain.


Controlling the children’s free movement in and out of Le Jardin d’Enfants’ schoolyard is so very important for reasons of public health, because now that the kids are too scared to pull down their pants in the latrines without doors, they either scurry out the front gate or crawl through the storm drain and urinate and defecate behind the perimeter wall. When school is in session, this area is covered with the children’s feces.


As for the playground, since no one could lock the proper entrance with its doors off the hinges, adults were able to enter and exit at their own leisure and cut the chains which once composed the swing sets. And they lifted the merry-go-round off its rotor and sold it as scrap metal.



No one has ever asked me to help them buy a new playground. The people of Sanadougou never asked for a playground in the first place – kids here are content to play with sticks and rocks. The idea that children need thousands of dollars worth of playground equipment which then needs to be shipped from France for at least another thousand dollars certainly never originated in the mind of a Malian who provides for his family's livelihood with simple hoes, picks and plows which cost no more than a few dollars.

Every day when I walk out my garden in Sanadougou, I am greeted by the enormous 2,000 square meter dongeyuro - “dance hall” – which was also built by WorldVision. I can only surmise that they had a conversation with a couple of teenagers who complained that there was not a lot to do here on weekends – et le voila, local demand! So WorldVision shelled out about $20,000 and bought enough cement and rebar to build sustainable, sanitary latrines and conduct top-well repairs for perhaps 40 or 50 families, and instead the hired masons from out of town to build a dongeyuro. Over the course of the year that I have lived here, there has been exactly one single event held there. I really don’t know where to begin on this monstrosity of a cadeau...

One would like to think that maybe giving out presents could serve some societal benefit if they came with strings attached. I am told that WorldVision wanted to do something about female genital mutilation, so they organized a meeting with the bolokomuso – the lady who makes an income on the side as this village’s go-to gal for circumcising little girls’ clitorises with a shard of glass and thus rendering them “marriageable”. WorldVision asked the bolokomuso, “What tools do you want us to give you so that you can have a new source of revenue? If you promise to stop this horrid practice, we’ll give them to you.” She wanted a donkey cart, two donkeys and a big wad of cash. WorldVision gave them all to her. And do you think she stopped bringing girls out to the fields and hacking away at their vaginas? Of course not – it’s the only job she’s ever had.

Other development agents are more liberal than I. In the town of Tominian, an NGO – let’s call them Basketball Court-Builders without Borders – swooped in and realized that this town was severely lacking in its basketball-playing infrastructure. Everyone knows that black people love basketball! So they gave the people of Tominian – whose wells all go dry for a good quarter of each year – what they most certainly needed more than anything else: a basketball court. Within a few years, the blacktop weathered under the extreme elements into a hardly-recognizable remnant of itself. In time the rim and the backboard were unscrewed and sold as scrap.

By then, another NGO rolled into town and realized that the public basketball court was in shambles. Instead of conducting repairs, they decided to start from scratch and build a brand-new basketball court next to the vestiges of the old one. And it was only a matter of time until it too decayed and the men of Tominian – it was probably the same ones as before – unscrewed this new basketball rim and backboard to sell as scrap.

When the new Peace Corps Volunteer rolled into town and started looking for projects to organize, you can probably guess what the young men asked him, “Hey, can you help us build a new basketball court?”

I suppose that the most cursory rule of sustainable development which one can surmise from these anecdotes is that 1) Giving people toys is not development. Even without foreign NGO and development agency intervention, people in Mali are perfectly capable of entertaining themselves. It is already somewhat obscene to see how men who live in mud huts – who cannot provide their families with adequate water, food or medicine, whose children might wear the barest of rags on their backs if anything at all – can somehow manage to scrounge enough money to treat themselves to iPhones and televisions. Philanthropic-minded Westerners swooping into Africa and building playgrounds, soccer fields, basketball courts and dance halls only makes things worse by teaching people that they can get something for nothing, that white people are bottomless sources of money, and that if Tubabs are spending all their cash on big, expensive toys then we should just continue to do more of the same.

2) No one should ever be in the business of simply giving people money – with or without strings attached. Money is perfectly fungible, and even if an NGO distributes cash to be spent on basic necessities, it is just as much if not more likely to be blown on tea, sugar, cigarettes or an iPhone (and thus violating Rule #1). This might sound quite paternalistic – it is – but for all their shortcomings professionally-run charities tend to be much better at spending their money in a constructive manner than individuals who have no sense of budgeting or even the basics of a monetary economy. If you are for some reason adamant about giving directly to a particular individual, it is best to give in the form of an in-kind transfer such as tuition at a private school or credit at a cereal bank; i.e. something which cannot be traded for booze and cigarettes.

Malians and Africans in general need to spend less of their own money on toys and luxuries and spend more on basic necessities like nutritious food, mosquito nets and medicine. Though except in the direst of humanitarian crises - e.g. catastrophic droughts or refugee situations - 3. No one should be in the business of giving to people what they can provide for themselves. Once this precedent has been set, it is nearly impossible to undo. Direct handouts of basic goods completely distort incentives to such a degree that they undermine the natural market forces which need to play out on their own if there are ever to be functioning economies of these necessary commodities. What development agencies and NGOs need to be doing is not giving away the basic necessities of life, but establishing the durable infrastructure needed for Africans to be able to provide these things without any foreign assistance.

Since handing out free rice and mosquito nets distorts markets, you might think that the durable infrastructure which I describe as “sustainable” must be composed of permanent edifices made out of concrete which will last for decades. To a degree, yes, the work of an NGO which parachutes into Africa and builds a schoolhouse will probably benefit the people of Africa longer than a care package of calcium supplements. But even then such development must be taken with a grain of salt. With the erratic climate which shifts between scorching heat and dryness to torrential downpours, termite colonies so ferocious that they will eat through any organic material, unemployed youth ready to steal any materials that can be removed and sold at market, and of course the mobs of children who tend to manhandle the most important tools of public infrastructure as their playthings, here in Mali things really need to be made out of steel and concrete if they are ever going to last more than a few years. And even then, they would require constantly vigilant maintenance and upkeep.

Moreover, once the schoolhouse has been built, who is going to hold classes there? How is a village of 200 subsistence farmers supposed to pay for teacher? Who is going to pay for chalk and paper and pencils? And after a few years when the schoolhouse itself starts to wear and tear – even steel and concrete degrade over time – who is going to conduct the maintenance and repairs? Unless the schoolhouse-building NGO can adequately answer these questions, and if the answer to all of the above is not “the villagers themselves”, then that wonderful school they just built is going to remain empty, unused, and it will eventually be dismantled and sold for scrap or disintegrate into rubble on its own terms. Unless the local population is willing and able to manage this school themselves, it might as well have never been built.

So a year into my Peace Corps service, what do I think is the single best thing that foreigners can do to implement sustainable development in struggling countries like Mali? Waking up in the morning at the call to prayer and spending the rest of the day hoeing dirt and pulling weeds in my garden like every farmer in my village. Sanadougou has been downright spoiled by NGOs who pull up in SUVs, build schools, hand out cadeaux and leave. If I do anything in my two years here, I have made it my personal mission to fight tooth and nail that Tubabs are just a bunch of playboys so rich that we never work, that the only thing we should do is buy more presents. I see to it that when my neighbors walk by and see this hairy Tubab, 9 times out of 10 they see me caked in mud, toiling with a pick in hand.

If entanglement in foreign quagmires is inherently suspect, the most effective development work that Peace Corps Volunteers like me can possibly do is to simply do what the Malians are doing, just tweak their methods a little bit and demonstrate that there might be a new way of doing things a little bit better. Me tending my own banana trees doesn’t directly put any more bananas into the mouths of potassium-deprived children, but by doing so I have introduced this society to the wonders of Nafosoro pumps, drip irrigation and mulching. If I tend the banana trees so well that my Malian neighbors can see that I am producing more and better fruit, if my neighbors are so impressed that they take to these methods in their own garden, then insh’allah next season Sanadougou’s banana farmers might just see that their own banana trees produce greater yields. To date no one has yet to emulate my conservationist irrigation technologies, but I have seen that a couple of my friends have already adopted my compost rotation and urine fertilizer practices. And thus in a perfectly Jeffersonian fashion, the private gardens of Xanadu serve as a shining patch of sustainable water/waste management upon a hill.

And every once in a while when my orange or lemon trees bear fruit, after I have enjoyed consuming the fruits of my labor and composted the peels, there are some remnants which are even more useful still: the seeds. Though I am loath to give away cadeaux, I can see no possible harm in handing out seeds because they come into my possession for free, they can’t really be traded for anything else; in fact seeds have pretty much no economic value at all unless someone invests the time and energy into planting, irrigating and fertilizing them. The seeds borne by my orange and lemon trees are purely positive externalities of my own selfish labor.

I acknowledge that tilling my garden and occasionally handing out seeds might not live up to the incendiary rhetoric of which I am so fond. You might be thinking “Damn, Zac – you have just become the bourgeois reactionary which you used to despise.” Not quite – I never was too keen on smashing the capitalist superstructure to begin with, I've always been critical of left-wing extremism and making pains to accomodate with rational, lower-case "c" conservatism. I still have those same dreams of remaking the world anew, just now I have let go of my more socialist sentimentalisms and want to achieve those same ends employing the power of human nature, market principles and that all-American philosophy of pragmatism.

Sometimes sustainable development can only be achieved by narrow protection of private property. For instance, there is a solar pump-fed robinet used almost exclusively by myself, the two houses of doctors and teachers who live in its immediate vicinity – though occasionally a mob of kids will walk by and stop for a drink. And over time a group of kids manhandled the robinet so badly that they broke the handles right off the faucet heads – all three of them. The doctors, teachers and I pitched in to buy brand new faucet heads. And within a month kids somehow managed to destroy the new faucet heads as well. We could have bought a third, a fourth, a fifth faucet head and provided the kids with potable drinking water and expensive steel toys indefinitely. But instead we decided to cut our losses and buy just a third faucet head – one with locks on the handles which can only be opened by either myself, a doctor or a teacher.


It’s a pity that this privatization scheme must deprive a substantial chunk of the population from using this water source at their leisure – but then again, having a limited scheme in which only 3 key-holders can access the robinet derives a greater good to a greater number of people than the communal scheme under which no one could use it at all.

And every once in a while someone like Etienne Dembele rides their motorcycle up to my concession gate and asks if I know where he can find a man named “Madu Sogoba”. Dembele rode all the way from the neighboring village of N’tonto, 12 km away. He is one of those rare birds who was distraught by the fact that if children in his village wanted to continue their studies past elementary school, they had to walk those 12 km all the way to Sanadougou Secondaire Cycle. He organized the families of his village to try to petition the Communal government, the Cercle government, the Regional and even the National government to build a Secondaire Cycle in N’tonto - to no avail. So Etienne Dembele organized the families of N’tonto to pitch in and build the school themselves. And they did. I was taken aback by his story of Malian gumption.

“So what do you need me for?” I asked.

“We built the school, but we haven’t any nyegens. The children have no choice but to relieve themselves in the bushes. This is intolerable! We must change!”

“Monsieur Dembele, I think you’re the kind of guy with whom I can do business…”

… to be continued!!!