In a place where there is no electricity to run a pump, where llamas instead of trucks transport many of the goods, and where most people rely on a local spiky grass for their cooking fuel, gravity is the free and super-abundant energy source that is now powering Simon Ccalachua's sprinkler. And beneath the arc of water it sprays, a new growth of hardy rye grass is now sprouting—the guarantee that Ccalachua's alpacas will have the nourishment they need.
Here in Jachaña, a small hamlet in the district of Caylloma, Oxfam America and its local partner, Asociación Proyección, have launched a pilot project aimed at helping poor herders find ways to improve their resources so they can better withstand the hardships of mountain living—the cold, the snow, the remoteness. The sprinkler systems—there are now three scattered around the district—are part of a larger program that has helped 355 families in the area with everything from veterinary services to the production of high-altitude barley for their animals. The effort is part of Oxfam America's strategy to help Andean communities adapt to climate change, some signs of which are already apparent.
"They used to rely on nature and now they know how to work on channels and sprinkling," said a translator, summarizing the benefits for Ccalachua. "Before this project, the mortality of the animals (was very high). Now the mortality is 3 to 10 percent".
Using the resources at hand—a mountain spring and the pull of gravity—the agencies worked with Ccalachu to irrigate about two-and-a-half acres of his sloped, rocky land. Well-watered and well-fertilized (naturally, with alpaca droppings), a pasture that size is big enough to keep 20 alpacas happily nourished, said Arturo Rivera Vigil, the field coordinator for Proyección. The trick is to fence off portions of the pasture after the animals have grazed, allowing the grasses to recover. By the time the herd completes a full rotation, the grass where they started will be ready to eat again.
The system has a number of benefits, said Rivera. The robust diet the animals get encourages them to produce more wool. Instead of one or two pounds of wool, each alpaca can produce between two and four pounds—which in turn means more income for herding families. Keeping watch over the animals in a fenced pasture is a great deal easier for a herder than following them high and low as they roam freely looking for natural grasses, added Rivera. And the mechanism is easy fairly easy to construct: A small reservoir above the field, lined with plastic, is connected it to a pipe running down the hill. With the twist of a valve, the reservoir opens and the water gushes down through a pipe, shooting through slow-spinning sprinklers set in a line across the field.
The only stumbling block is cost. The price tag on each of these sprinkler systems is $1,625, and that doesn't include the cost of the machinery used to help dig the small reservoir.
"That's why (Caylloma) City Hall has to get involved," said Angel Chavez, an Oxfam America humanitarian officer who has worked on the project. Using tax dollars, local government needs to help support these kinds of projects, he added.
That's what the people of Jachaña want too—more sprinklers like the one Ccalachua has. A few pipes hooked to a few small reservoirs could go a long way toward improving the resilience of these mountain families. And though life at nearly 16,000 feet above sea level can be hard, there is no other place some herders can imagine living.
"There is no pollution. The water is nicer. And we have open fields," said Timoteo Ccalahua Quispe.
This activity is part of Oxfam America's adaptation strategy on climate change in Andean communities where already there are some signals of the climate change effects.
]]>It’s the kind of place Oxfam America and its partner, Asociación Proyección, are working in now—at nearly 16,000 feet above sea level in air so thin that newcomers lose their breath and no other aid agencies have the fortitude to venture.
The place is the district of Caylloma, and the people who live here are alpaca herders. Oxfam’s mission is to make sure that when trouble does come—as it has in the past and surely will again because of the changing weather patterns families in these Andean hamlets are already grappling with—they will be prepared to cope.
Three years ago, after a severe cold snap wiped out tens of thousands of llamas and alpacas across Peru’s southern highlands, Oxfam and Proyección joined forces to find a way to prevent a repeat of the suffering people experienced then. Their proposal—a form of disaster risk reduction—included a range of self-help ideas, a smattering of technology, and the most important tool of all: planning.
Today, acres of barley now grow on the slopes—a buffer against food shortages for livestock. New adobe sheds with metal roofs stand in some of the coldest mountain pockets, offering critical shelter for alpacas that had none before. Gravity-fed sprinklers irrigate enclosed pastures of rye grass, guaranteeing a steady source of nourishment for animals. And a handful of radio towers dot the district, connecting far-flung hamlets with the world at large.
Simon Ccalachua, who lives in the little village of Jachaña, put it this way. Without this project, nothing would have changed for him and his family. They had no choice but to accept what nature brought, good or bad. If the cold came, their animals died. But now, armed with new ways of growing the grasses their alpacas need and a way to shelter them, families like Ccalachua’s can overcome the troubles nature brings—on their own.
For Arturo Rivera Vigil, a field coordinator for Proyección, the importance of equipping people with tools to solve their own problems was a lesson he learned the hard way, and one he vowed to share with Caylloma.
Working in another region of Peru during a different emergency, Proyección decided that the best approach would be to provide direct aid to the families in need. So the agency purchased vast quantities of dried alfalfa to help feed the livestock on which those families depended. But that commodity was in short supply because of the emergency, and instantly, its price nearly tripled. Nevertheless, Proyección moved ahead with its plan, delivering tons of alfalfa to the troubled communities. But when the supplies arrived, Proyección learned there was no place in which to store it all.
“We realized we weren’t teaching anything to the communities,” Rivera said. When the cold snap paralyzed Caylloma, Proyección and Oxfam decided to take a longer-term approach—and find sustainable solutions to the problems rather than offer a temporary fix.
But that decision required a new way of looking at the situation: Could there possibly be things communities could do to prepare for disasters at such high altitudes?
“The typical thinking was people living up so high were so remote and had their own culture and own system of raising animals,” said Rivera. “No one thought they could help them, and no one thought anything could grow up that high.”
Proyección and Oxfam proved them wrong.
“We came here because the local government asked us to come, and when we suggested planting barley, everyone said we were crazy,” Rivera told a crowd during a recent ceremony at the Caylloma town hall honoring the project’s high-altitude accomplishments for 355 families. “Three years later, here we are.”
Oxfam and Proyección have helped Caylloma take solid first steps towards addressing a problem that is all too familiar to poor people living in precarious places around the world: When something goes wrong in their environment, they suffer the most.
Cataclysmic events—deep freezes, drought, floods, earthquakes, volcanic eruptions—only turn into disasters when people get caught in them and have few means for managing the consequences. That has been the case in the Caylloma district.
From the hamlet of Chinosiri, for instance, it’s an all-day walk down to the town of Caylloma for help. When the storm hit, assistance didn’t arrive for a week. In sturdy, four-wheel trucks, it’s a three-hour drive from Caylloma to Chinosiri along a rutted track that snakes in hairpin turns up the sides of ridges and back down through streams.
Even at the end of the summer the weather at this height is harsh. Thunder rolls over the mountain plains as hail ricochets off the stony ground. At higher elevations, snow blankets the thin pastures.
Far from one another stand tiny dwellings, made of stone or adobe with thatched roofs. Inside, small fires burn. There is not a tree or bush in sight for fuel, so families make do with dung and Ichu, a spiky grass that livestock will only eat when it’s young and tender.
Widespread poverty across the region means that beyond elementary school, there are few opportunities for learning. Students determined enough to attend one of only two high schools in the province wrestle with a good deal of hardship in pursuit of that dream. The son of Jose Gonzalez Condo, now in his second year of high school, walks four hours to get there in the morning, and another four to return home at the end of the day.
For Gonzalez, the effort his son is making is worth every step: An education will give the boy the tools he needs to live a better life—not necessarily far away in a city, but right here in Chinosiri, perhaps.
With the uncertainty that lies ahead for herding families in Caylloma, education is an important asset and it has been a component of Oxfam’s and Proyección’s disaster risk reduction program. For example, the agencies have produced a series of colorful guides on storm alert systems, the construction of livestock sheds, and improving the use of water resources.
Lately, families have begun to worry about shifting patterns of rain that are affecting the growth rate of the grasses on which their animals feed. The rains are supposed to fall in November, but for the past two or three years, they haven’t come until January, stunting the progress of the grasses. That in turn prevents them from dropping their seeds to start a new round of growth before the May ice season arrives.
Having the means to cope with the consequences of those changes—stores of barley, irrigated pastures—will go a long way toward easing the hardships people would otherwise face. And that explains the enthusiasm with which the mayor of Caylloma has embraced this disaster risk reduction project.
“A project like this can be applied to the whole province,” said Simón Quispe Chipa, the mayor. “This project has been a real motivation for the whole town.”
]]>"Caylloma. Caylloma. Caylloma," he says into the mic, and over the airwaves, not slowed for a moment by mud or steep ridges or gushing streams, comes the scratchy answer—accompanied by a big mayoral smile.
This is Chinosiri's new radio, one of four Oxfam America and its partner, Asociación Proyección, have installed in remote mountain hamlets around Caylloma following a devastating cold snap and heavy snow three years ago. The storm lasted five days, dumping nearly three feet of snow in the highlands, paralyzing families of alpaca herders who make their living there, and killing the grasses on which their precious animals feed. In some of the remotest communities, help didn't arrive for 10 days.
Now, for the 70 families living close to 16,000 feet above sea level in Chinosiri, calls for emergency aid can be broadcast instantly. And on the receiving end, storm alerts, picked up via the new radio, may soon give residents of the hamlet and their far-flung neighbors a chance to get ready.
"We can keep communications with authorities both ways," says Jaime Condori Inca, Chinosiri's 27-year-old radio operator whose job it is to establish contact twice a day—at 7 a.m. and again at 7 p.m.—with the world far below his hamlet.
The radio network is part of an early warning system that is helping 355 families scattered throughout the Caylloma district prepare for future emergencies.
Training has included the compilation of a list of natural signs—much like a farmer's almanac—that could indicate a pending change in weather. What can you expect when the sky is pink in the afternoon? Frost. If you should hear a sheep bleating at night, snow is surely on its way. And about that black lizard: its color announces plentiful rain. But if the lizard is white, the rain may be in short supply.
Gleaned from generations of herders' experiences with the harsh conditions in the Andes, the list now appears in a colorful training guide published by Oxfam and Proyección and distributed widely among Caylloma residents. But as weather patterns begin to shift—during the last three years, for instance, November rains didn't come until January—mountain families need new ways of understanding their environment. And that's where the radio comes in.
With it, Condori can send details about daily changes in the local weather to a national repository that collects meteorological data as part of a long-term tracking initiative. Caylloma is working with the Meteorologist National Services and the ministry of Agriculture on the project. Environmental details are gathered with the help of a small weather station—a sturdy white box with a thermometer mounted inside—that stands just behind the radio hut. It's checked daily and the temperature, along with noticeable precipitation, is carefully recorded on a chart next to the radio.
Across the highland plains, in the hamlet of Jachaña, sits a second radio, which in turn connects with another in Chinosiri and with a fourth one in the Caylloma town hall. It's here that Proyección has a small emergency operations center equipped with a computer, a printer, first-aid supplies, and a list of all the relevant radio frequencies.
Small though the radio network may be, it represents a major step forward for Caylloma—and is testament to the commitment of the entire district. Families arranged, for instance, to carry parts of the Chinosiri weather station up the mountainsides on the backs of llamas.
"The people from every community got involved," said Danny Gibbons, Oxfam America's communications officer in Lima. "They shared the burden."
Additionally, the radio network has helped people communicate about other emergencies such as health crises and alpaca rustling as well as improved coordination among different levels of government.
]]>"We are disappointed that the IFC has decided to fund the second phase of the Camisea project. We believe the board of directors should have requested a delay of the vote in order to more fully assess the environmental and social impact this project will have on local communities," said Ian Gary, Oxfam America's Senior Policy Advisor for Extractive Industries and a member of the World Bank’s Extractive Industries Advisory Group.
The region surrounding the Camisea project is home to indigenous communities, notable biodiversity, national parks, and reserves. Communities in the Lower Urubamba area were particularly neglected by the first phase of the project, with serious compensation agreement problems and little spending of royalties by local governments for increased social services. And these communities have not been fully consulted on the second phase.
"The IFC declined to participate in the first phase of the Camisea gas project, and, with support for Camisea II, runs the risk of being further tarnished for its financing of oil, gas and mining projects, such as the Chad-Cameroon oil project, with dubious development impacts," said Gary.
In April 2006, the IFC instituted new "Performance Standards" to manage social and environmental impacts and enhance development opportunities for all financed countries. The standards require that the company sponsor obtain "broad community support" for high-risk projects within affected communities.
"The IFC has greatly undermined its new environmental and social policies by not fully applying these standards to the gas fields in the Peruvian Amazon, which will supply the export facilities financed by the IFC and other lenders," said Gary. "The narrow parsing of this project, done in order to avoid addressing serious problems, sets a disturbing precedent and will do significant harm to the credibility of the IFC's social and environmental risk management."
"We have yet to see, for example, how the IFC demonstrates compliance with its 'Broad Community Support' requirement, within the narrowly-defined transportation/export portion of the project, let alone for the upstream gas fields that supply the project. 'Broad Community Support' is an important new feature of the 'Performance Standards,' but it is unclear how, or whether, the IFC ensures compliance," said Gary.
Now that the World Bank Group has decided to support the project, it must address serious failures, risks, and concerns still pending from the first phase of the project and from new gas development in the Amazon. These include:
According to an Associated Press story, President Correa publicly pledged government support for the case, which began nearly 10 years ago in the United States and was thrown out on appeal in 2003. Since then the court in Ecuador has been conducting judicial inspections of polluted areas, gathering evidence a judge will use to make a decision, possibly in the next year.
During the same week, indigenous leaders representing the people affected by the pollution in the Orellana and Succumbios region of Ecuador attended the annual meeting for shareholders of ChevronTexaco in California. Humberto Piaguaje, a leader of the Secoya indigenous people, called for the company to resolve the case and help clean up the environment. "We want you to give us back our lives," Piaguaje said. "We want you to let us live in peace and harmony with nature. We want you to repair the damage so that our children do not have to continue suffering."
Oxfam America has supported the Amazon Defense Front's legal case for nine years, and assisted in the creation of the Assembly of Delegates of Communities Affected by Texaco, a community-based organization that has ensured those most directly affected by the pollution have a voice in the legal strategy.
"We think it is positive that President Correa has declared his support of those affected by pollution in the Lago Agrio region," said Javier Aroca, who coordinates programs related to indigenous rights for Oxfam America in South America. "We consider this is a signal that the government is interested in investigating and sanctioning those who are responsible."
"It is important to remember that the people affected are demanding compensation for almost 10 years now," Aroca said. "The pollution has affected the health of indigenous peoples and peasants... there have been cases of skin diseases and cancer. Furthermore, the lands are not as productive as they used to be, which has affected the agricultural economy. From our point of view, the government of Ecuador should support the affected population to complete the legal procedures, which are very expensive."
A win for the Amazon Defense Front in this precedent-setting case could change the landscape of the oil industry, and further establish the rights of communities to be compensated for negative social and environmental effects of oil operations.
]]>Recovering the coffee crop is not a quick endeavor. In the majority of cases it will be three or four years until the harvest is at its normal level. And cleaning up the destroyed plots of land also takes time. It is an additional task that the coffee growers had to undertake in the moments when they weren't tending to the crops spared by the storm.
The first cooperative we visited was ASUVIM, in the province of Quetzaltenango, where we spoke with the president of the cooperative, Daniel Balux. The principle problem this cooperative faced was that nearly 30 percent of its harvest was affected by black bean, a deformation of the coffee bean that cannot be seen when the coffee is harvested, but only once it is dried. It changes the color and the taste of the coffee, disqualifying it from the gourmet and fair trade markets.
Can you tell us about the black bean problem?
Actually, we detected it here at the mill. We saw that we had black beans, but we didn't think it was so extensive, we thought it was just the first beans. But as we continued with the harvest it was the same. It was the whole harvest. The coffee looked good as parchment coffee but if we look at them all—the ones with a different color, they are black beans. We can't say that our members brought in bad coffee, because the cherries looked good, they didn't even look a little rotten or anything like that. The coffee was good. You can't say to the people, look, bring us better coffee or chose it better—[but] of course when they cup this coffee the cuppers will say it is green coffee, coffee that didn't reach its full maturity. So the aid for the black bean was something necessary [to compensate for the low price]. So, what did we do after all this? Well, thanks to the help that came from you, at least the members got their normal price. At least we could say to them, 'Look, the coffee was shipped at this price, but we are going to help you a little bit and we are going to pay you this much.' The people saw that at least there was an effort behind all this."
In addition to this monetary compensation that was given to the members, what other actions did ASUVIM take to overcome the crisis?
Here 60 percent of what people earn comes from coffee. If there are problems with the coffee, there are problems in the families. Either there is little schooling, or people are unable to complete projects they had planned or there isn't much food. Here in ASUVIM we also helped out with corn. We gave each member 800 pounds of corn. Part of it we donated, the other part the members had to buy. Each family of six consumes about 1,600 pounds of corn per year. [They lost 80 percent of the harvest.] What happened with the 20 percent that they were left with? They ate it in January, maybe into February, but by March they had to buy corn. Then the problem is that when there is high demand for corn, the price rises. So we helped them with this, with 800 pounds. We think it's 50 percent of the corn they eat, we could now say that at least they had corn to eat.
The other damage we suffered as an organization is related to the landslide here next to the patio where we sun dry the coffee. With the rain, little by little, we were losing more of it. So we were faced with an emergency. Either we did something or our patio would collapse. And the more time that passed, the worse it was. So we received aid from Oxfam America because the construction is big. But it was necessary because if we lose the patio, it'd be an additional expense.. We are still constructing, but we are making the wall. We aren't doing something that is simply going to fall apart next year and then we would have to invest in it all over again. We want to invest, to spend and if that means chipping in ourselves, we do it.
]]>We were there, together with Angel Chavez, one of Oxfam America’s humanitarian officers, to gather stories about Oxfam’s work with alpaca herders. They had suffered serious losses in 2004 when a severe winter storm killed many of the wooly creatures that are the backbone of the local economy. So vital are these camel cousins to the well-being of the families scattered across the mountains that many of the shelters they have built for the animals are superior to their own mud-brick and stone homes.
The income from alpaca wool—softer than cashmere when it’s cleaned, spun, and woven—feeds and clothes families, buys them medicine, and helps cover the occasional extraordinary expense. Without the few hundred dollars herders earn each year from the sale of the wool, life in these barren, thin-aired mountains would not be possible for them. And for many, it’s the only life they have ever known, helping to account for Peru’s position as the world’s top producer—by far—of alpaca wool.
About 80 percent of the wool now on the market comes from this South American country; Bolivia produces another 15 percent; and the rest comes from a smattering of countries including Australia, Switzerland, and England. So you would think, given Peru’s dominance in the industry, that the work of these Caylloma herders would guarantee their families a measure of security. Not so.
There, at nearly 16,000 feet above sea level, nothing is certain: The cold kills, and changing weather patterns are robbing the region of the rain it needs for mountain pastures to grow. Life is hard, and people are very poor.
Oxfam’s work with Proyección has been to help Caylloma herders find ways to buffer themselves against future disasters by improving pastureland; planting barley to serve as an emergency reserve for their animals; and developing an early alert system, including the installation of a simple radio network—all at an altitude that has scared off just about every other aid group.
“Nobody has worked at this height,” said Rivera. “No one wants to come up here. Only us.”
There’s a reason: To reach Caylloma’s remote communities requires a degree of energy that would exhaust a lesser field coordinator and his team. But for Rivera, that challenge—and the need that is so evident among the families of this rugged terrain—is the inspiration that repeatedly draws him up the steep slopes to Chinosiri, Jachaña, and a handful of other hamlets.
From Arequipa, a city in southern Peru where Proyección has its offices, the drive in a pair of heavy-duty pickup trucks to the town of Caylloma took us about seven hours through rain, hail, and snow on a rutted mountain road—and that was just the first half of the journey. Following a night’s rest, we left at 6 a.m. for the three-hour climb to Chinosiri, the belly of our truck scraping the ruts as we inched around hairpin turns and splashed through streams carving gullies in the dirt track.
The snow was falling in fat, wet flakes, blanketing the mountains in white, when Rivera, in the truck ahead, pulled over and jumped out, signaling that this—of all high and remote spots—was just the place for a group picture.
“Beautiful!” he said, surveying the vast emptiness around us: no trees, no bushes, no dwellings—only mountains and more mountains with sharp rocks underfoot.
It wasn’t until I scrambled up the slippery bank to where Rivera and Chavez were already standing in the snow that I realized just how hard the work in Caylloma could be: Without the sea-level amounts of oxygen I was used to, a few quick steps at 15,748 feet high left me breathless and exhausted. Puffing hard, I slipped back down the embankment and into the truck, grateful to be sitting once again, and marveling at the stamina of my colleagues. Could I do this, like them, on a regular basis? Could anybody?
Rivera had already answered that question: No.
The air at the end of this Andean summer was cold and damp, and all of us in the pair of trucks were bundled in just about every stitch of clothing we had brought. I had on two shirts, a sweater, a fleece vest, a fleece jacket, a down vest, a windbreaker, thick wool socks, and a wool cap—just enough to keep the chill at bay.
So I was surprised to see, beyond the steamed windows of the warm truck, two boys hiking hard and fast through the mud on a slope of pasture: They had only sandals on their feet—no shoes, no socks to keep the cold away. They’re boys, I thought, and that’s what boys do: tough things.
But as we bounced along, there were others—men, women, children—all wearing sandals in the frigid air. And as the clouds swept across the sky, occasionally unleashing a shower of cold rain, some of the mountain dwellers hardly seemed to notice, and simply wrapped themselves tight in their woolen blankets and ponchos.
Jose Gonzalez Condo, who has lived all of his 39 years in the tiny community of Chinosiri, explained that he and his fellow villagers are used to the mountain weather and its variable conditions. Chinosiri is home, he said, and he likes it.
But as weather patterns have begun to change—the rains are coming late, which in turn delays the growth of pasture grasses and threatens the health of herds—raising alpacas at this altitude has become increasingly difficult, said Gonzalez. And in the recent past, there was no way to get the word out about challenging weather conditions—be they drought or cold waves—unless someone made the 30-mile trek down to Caylloma to ask for help. The only way to get there is on foot, and the walk takes a day.
Chinosiri’s new two-way radio, installed by Proyección in February, has connected this remotest of villages to the outside world. And with that connection has come the sliver of hope that a way of life for the 70 families there—and for more than 3,400 rural residents scattered across the Caylloma district—is now more secure.
]]>A woman in her 30s looked up from the floor, directed her gaze at me, and spoke. "Señorita," she began respectfully, yet ready to speak her part. "These projects you have helped us with are good. We are growing fish, and our gardens are healthy. But, a real concern to me is education. After completing the 6th grade here in the community, where will my children go to study?" She explained that she does not want to send them away to boarding school, but that she wants them to be educated "so that they know who they are, and what they can do." She proceeded to ask us to help them build a school.
This is a big request. I had to explain that Oxfam is not in a position to build schools in every rural Amazonian village. And once built, they need to be staffed with properly paid teachers. Schools also need books, desks, chalkboards, qualified teachers and to be maintained—every year. Funding a school from outside the community can be risky. A well-meaning donor could cover some construction and other costs. But as the years go by, if there is no viable local structure to foster education, who will be responsible for the school?
However, I continued, the people of Sensa have a basic right to quality education for their children, and we would consider supporting their efforts to claim that right in collaboration with the communities farther down the river. This would involve organizing these communities, and forming allies with others outside the Urubamba river valley. In this way they could reach out to the local and national government, who are responsible for education, and advocate for decent schools that will endure.
The contrast between the poorest indigenous people in Peru and the fantastic wealth in timber, gas, and minerals coming from their lands is stark. While the local government builds fancy offices for itself down the river in Echarate with oil and gas money, villages like Sensa, where the resources are extracted, have no electricity, telephones, or health clinic.
The indigenous people in these villages do not always understand their rights to a fair portion of these revenues in the form of basic services like health care and education. And if they do, they may not have the means to verify that they are getting their fair share. They usually lack the skills and political connections to hold accountable a government that has never shown it is open to the concerns of its native peoples.
"You do not want to be beggars, saying 'We are poor, give us money. Take care of us,'" said my colleague Igidio Naveda, himself an indigenous person from the Andes of Peru and a passionate, highly experienced program officer.
"No—you are indigenous people," he continued. "You have your culture, your traditions; you love your land. You have rights and need to demand them and ensure that they are met. And your lands: these are your home. Would you walk into someone else's home and take their things, leave a mess, disrespect the place? You should demand that the loggers in the area, the gas companies, the government workers respect your rights, and knock at the door before coming in. You need to lay out the rules and make them follow them."
Heads were nodding and people began to speak to one another in their Yine language. The group became animated, some laughing, others speaking intensely, gesturing as they sat at the wooden tables.
We concluded the meeting soon thereafter, inviting a new and more ambitious funding proposal from them, developed together with the chiefs of the other three nearby communities that had participated in the current project. A proposal like this would show that the community is moving to the next level of organization: The villagers will need to coordinate the project with other communities, and create effective ways to encourage the local government to meet its obligations. They will also have to address the illegal logging and other threats to the environment coming from outside the community.
From my perspective, last year's project was a success. It helped indigenous communities manage their local biodiversity and begin to increase their food supply. That, in turn, served as a catalyst for them to become organized and collectively determine their priorities. This greatly strengthens their control over local development efforts, and increases the likelihood that new projects they pursue will succeed.
Although they may lack the advocacy skills needed to get the government to meet its obligations to educate their children immediately, we know the right organizations that can train them. Once people know their rights and are educated, they are better able to hold their leaders accountable. This knowledge and sense of empowerment can never be taken away. It is one of the best investments you can make, because it helps people learn to solve their own problems—they create a vision for the type of future they want for their village, set their own priorities, and make sure that they are met.
Hoping to reach the next community before dark, we excused ourselves from the welcoming community of Sensa, slipping down the muddy river banks to our canoe, with children trailing us on all sides, teasing each other and, laughing, no doubt at the spectacle of the four outsiders that had come to visit. The sun had moved sideways along the river and the tree tops were shining with a golden light. As the first mosquitoes of the evening reached us in our boat, we pushed off and continued downstream, eager to see what the next community had to say.
]]>So, three times a week, and sometimes more, women from the Abu Shouk and Al Salaam camps head out on four-hour treks to scavenge for fuel. If they don't come upon any trees, the women resort to clawing through the hard-packed earth to reach bits of root that they can burn instead.
But hard work is only part of their problem. Looming larger for these women is the constant threat to their safety: By venturing even a short distance outside of the camps they could face harassment, sexual assault, or even death. Since early 2003, conflict has wracked this region, forcing more than 2 million people from their homes. Many of them have sought shelter in camps like Abu Shouk and Al Salaam. But the demands of daily living—the need for wood, for jobs, for food—often require them to leave the safety of those camps.
Now, Oxfam America, together with the Sudanese Agency for Environment and Development Service (SAEDS), has launched a $132,000 program that will help thousands of displaced women stay safer in this volatile place. The agency is providing 4, 200 households with fuel-efficient stoves that, in many cases, will completely remove the need for women to hunt for wood. Two thousand of the stoves are kerosene-fueled; another 2,000 are efficient wood-burning stoves; and 200 of them use gas. The project will benefit about 25,200 people.
Women were excited about getting the stoves, said Sahar Ali, an Oxfam America program officer, who paid a monitoring visit to Abu Shouk in late January.
"Traditionally, the provision of firewood and fuel for cooking has been the responsibility of women," said Ali, in a report she filed after the visit. "There are few other sources of cooking fuel available to them."
But with the introduction of kerosene and gas, they now have other options. And the small round stoves that burn wood efficiently—as opposed to open fires—means women will need to make fewer of the dangerous scavenging trips.
Still, convincing women that gas is a smart way to cook has taken some doing, said Ali. They worried about its hazards.
"This is the first time for them using gas, and most of the houses are made from wood," said Ali. "If it burns, it burns all the camp. They said we prefer kerosene—not the gas."
The hesitancy about gas notwithstanding, the new stoves are bringing another important benefit to the region, too: some relief for the environment.
"North Darfur is mostly desert, and the few trees that provided a nearby source of cooking fuel when the camps were first created more than two years ago are all gone," said Ali in her report.
It's a trend that Ibrahim Suliman, a program coordinator for SAEDS, has watched for the past four decades as it's crept across the region.
"When I was a child, most of Darfur was covered in forest—even North Darfur," said Suliman, a native of Dar el Salaam, a small village about 30 miles south of El Fasher. But in the last 30 years, those trees and grasses have given way to desert. Why?
"Because of overgrazing," said Suliman. "Because there is no planning for animal breeding. And the firewood for cooking. And for houses—people build their houses from wood. And charcoal traders."
But with the introduction of the stoves, some of that degradation can be slowed since less wood will be needed for cooking. Suliman has even convinced his mother to switch to kerosene.
"She's very happy. It's clean," he said.
SAEDS is taking its concern for the environment a step further: It has launched a replanting project in Dar es Salaam and plans to begin a similar effort around the camps.
"Our philosophy is to restock the forest and all these things will be improved," said Suliman. "If we try to stop cutting trees and every year we try to plant many new trees, within four to five years we will be able to restock a big amount of trees. And we'll be able to at least make the environment more attractive than before and people can find grasses for their animals and be able to cultivate again. It might take a long time, but we have to start."
In Dar el Salaam, thanks to SAEDS, about 4,500 new saplings are now growing.
"In five to 10 years, I'm sure it will be green," said Suliman.
Near El Fasher, trees might also grow again. Oxfam's project with SAEDS calls for the planting of 10,000 seedlings around the camps. Families who have recently received the fuel-efficient stoves will be mobilized to do the planting.
]]>On December 15th, a delegation of Chiquitano people engaged in a protest on a main road in the area was attacked by an unknown number of people traveling to a meeting in buses. When the bus passengers encountered a road block created by the protestors they attacked them with sticks, stones and some small arms. Fifty people were injured as the indigenous people attempted to defend themselves.
That same day, the offices of indigenous organizations in the towns of Concepcion and San Javier were attacked, and several of their leaders received death threats, causing them to flee their homes. The Indigenous Central Committee of Concepcion said in a press release that 100 people attacked and destroyed the office shared by several indigenous groups there, destroying computers, cameras and other electronics, office furniture, and two motorcycles before burning the office and all files. No one from the indigenous organizations was injured in this attack.
Details of these attacks were released by the Indigenous Central Committee and the Coordinator of Ethnic People of Santa Cruz (CPESC), the Organization of Chiquitano Indigenous People (OICH), and three other organizations. The indigenous groups denounced the organizers of the attacks, mostly political and business leaders from the area objecting to the work of indigenous people's organizations to gain legal title to their ancestral lands.
Oxfam America funds the work of the OICH and CPESC groups, which are organizing the legal titling of indigenous lands in the Monte Verde region of eastern Bolivia and promoting the human rights of the indigenous peoples there.
This recent wave of well coordinated attacks on indigenous people in eastern Bolivia is just one in a series over the last several years. Bolivia has seen immense disparities between the indigenous majority (close to 80 percent of the population) and tiny elite that controls most of the natural and other resources of the country. The status quo seems likely to change under the current presidency of Evo Morales, who has demonstrated sympathies with the indigenous majority. In the first few months of his administration, he has nationalized the oil and gas industry, removed several obstacles that had slowed down indigenous land claims for decades, and agreed to re-examine fundamental clauses in the national constitution with a particular eye to the way that resources are shared across the population.
"These actions show a complete lack of respect for the human rights of indigenous people," said Gonzalo Delgado, director of Oxfam America's program in South America. "We express our solidarity with our partners in Bolivia, and hope that those responsible for these attacks will be brought to justice."
]]>Tato Boru, 48 and the mother of five children, is a peacemaker. She leads the Moyale area women's peace council which Oxfam's local partner, the Research Center for Civic and Human Rights Education (RCCHE), helped to found.
Here, near the Kenyan border, many people make their living as herders. Droughts plague the region, and their consequences—shriveled pasture and water sources sucked dry—are particularly severe for families of herders and their animals who depend on those resources for survival. Tension over shortages can trigger disputes, as can concern about land demarcation lines drawn by the government. Add guns to the mix, and conflicts quickly turn lethal. Over the years, fighting in the area around Moyale has taken many lives.
One of several similar committees, the council Boru heads advocates for peaceful coexistence among the different ethnic groups in the region and helps mediate between them when conflicts start to simmer. There are also councils for young adults and village elders.
Giving an example of how her group works, Boru told about a recent dispute that erupted when a group of Somalis settled in a nearby village predominantly occupied by Gabra.
"There was a stone attack and there were a few gun shots, but no one was hurt. We felt it was time for our intervention," she said. "We went...and told them that land is the gift of God and we all can share it."
Accompanied by members from the other two councils, the women urged the sparring groups not to resort to violence, but to engage in discussions first, and if that didn't work, to take the matter to court. In the heat of disputes like this, council members try to visit the troubled village at least once a week. As things cool down, they cut back their visits to once a month.
Raising awareness is one of the key objectives of the peace council, and something its members take on regularly in both formal and informal settings. Occasionally, the women will ask community officials to organize a gathering of local people at which the council will then make a presentation. Other times, community events, such as weddings, can serve as an opportunity for peace teachings.
Peace initiatives like these are helping women reclaim a degree of authority that was once theirs—an authority that gun-fueled violence has severely eroded. With RCCHE's help, women are now speaking out about the suffering armed conflicts shower on their families. They are finding a voice and sharing their burdens of loss and sadness.
"Before this, we weren't in a position to disclose our feeling about conflict. We simply suffered with it. But now, we've got a chance to speak on peace and work on it. Our awareness and participation bring change," said Boru.
"In the late '90s, there was an awakening to the value of traditional conflict resolution methods," said Muthoni Muriu, Oxfam America's director of regional programs. "That's when the role of women in peace building really came on stage."
It's a role that is rightfully theirs: Women bear the brunt of hardship when violence rips through a community, leaving husbands dead, homes in ashes, livestock looted.
"They lose fathers, brothers, and sons," said Boru, seated on a low stool in the cocoon-like quiet of her tukul. "They take care of the wounded, the children, the animals. Even if they don't die, they have to shoulder so many of the burdens...the horror."
There is acknowledgement among men in this patriarchal culture that women bring something unique to peace work.
"They are better than men," said Boru Roba, a man and the leader of a peace committee for elders.
"Women can play both a fueling role and a cooling role in conflict," added another man, Galma Roba, a representative for traditional leaders. "If men get initiated for conflict and women interject, the men might change their minds."
Highlighting the awful consequences of conflict—the death, the destruction—against the broad benefits of peace is at the core of the women's strategy. It's an argument few can refute.
"When we try to sensitize them on the importance of peace, there is no man who opposes us," said Mako Dalecha, a mother of five children and a member of the peace council. "Peace—and rain—are the basis for life in our area."
]]>The 25th anniversary of the AIDS epidemic has come and gone, and after all the UN meetings, the hand wringing, and the finger pointing, there remains one key element that has received little press: In the epicenter of the AIDS epidemic—in southern Africa, home to one of every three people in the world living with HIV—it is women like Leona, in Mozambique, who are shouldering a disproportionate burden of the disease.
The problem here is lack of respect for women's rights. In some places in southern Africa women are prohibited by law from owning or inheriting property, and so have few financial assets. This limits their independence, putting them at risk financially, emotionally, and sexually. It is not surprising that more than half of the world's HIV-infected women, more than nine million of them, live in southern Africa, according to the UNAIDS report released in November 2006. With little power to negotiate their sexual activity, females in some areas of southern Africa now represent three quarters of HIV and AIDS infected people aged 15 to 24. When people say AIDS has become a "feminized" epidemic, this is what they mean. In 2004, UN Secretary General Kofi Annan appointed a task force to study the problem. The experts urgently recommended the development of non-discriminatory laws and policies designed to help women protect their rights and reduce their vulnerability.
The countries of southern Africa lack adequate resources (not to mention a vaccine and access to drugs) to care for the millions with HIV and AIDS. Yet unlike the scientific barriers to ending the epidemic, it is well within our power to support women's rights—an essential means to cutting down the number of women infected and affected by HIV and AIDS.
Creating equal rights for women in Africa, like everywhere else, is a challenge. Last May, I saw it for myself. Within an hour of my arrival in South Africa, I heard on the radio that the African National Congress's Deputy President Jacob Zuma was acquitted of charges that he had raped an HIV-positive woman, the daughter of an ANC comrade.
Violence against women is endemic in South Africa, where a woman is raped every 26 seconds. But women's rights experts I met said that the Zuma trial itself said a lot about the country's attitude toward women. There was intense scrutiny of the victim's sexual past, while Zuma's was not considered. Zuma, a potential presidential candidate, arrived at the courthouse in a motorcade with body guards and enjoyed vocal supporters in the streets as he proudly invoked his Zulu culture to explain why he'd had unprotected sex with the woman. By contrast, attempting to ensure her safety and preserve her privacy, the accuser crept into the court through the back door. The discrepancy in power and access to justice was remarkable, especially since the country was just celebrating the 10th anniversary of its progressive constitution, which has very clear provisions guaranteeing equality for men and women before the law.
But for every Zuma trial, there is progress too. The day I encountered Leona in Mozambique, she met with a legal advisor at a women's rights organization in Maputo to learn how to defend her right to stay in her house. Accustomed to claiming a dead relative's assets, her in-laws did not realize that Mozambique had a new Family Law that protects the right of widows to inherit property. "He never had another wife," Leona said, "so no matter what his relatives say, I have the right to inherit the house and things."
In addition to changing laws, proponents of women's right also need to work with cultural leaders to help encourage long-term changes in customs and traditions that discriminate against women. Women themselves are taking this on, sometimes at great personal risk. Cecilia Reis, an elderly traditional healer and guardian of culture and tradition in her community, told me that she is committed to teaching women about their rights under Mozambique's new Family Law to counter the exploitative customs that put them in danger of poverty and abuse. "You have to stand up, face men eye to eye," she told me. "This is the only way for them to see the power of women."
In one of the most notable successes of legal reform in the region, a coalition of five women rights and development organizations in Mozambique, funded by Oxfam America, researched and advocated forthe new Family Law. They showed what strong organizations and committed women can do with the right kind of assistance.
Governments, the UN, international NGOs, and other donors need to expand their horizons in the fight against HIV and AIDS, and address the gender dimension of the crisis. We all have a responsibility to ensure that women like Cecilia have the support they need to create solutions to their own problems. For the most heavily infected and affected part of the world, it is an essential component in the fight against AIDS and the fight for our future.
]]>"Our ancestors can become angry because we don't respect them," said Hilario Muthembe, a local activist working with Oxfam America's partner MULEIDE in the bustling suburb of Jorge Dimitrov outside Maputo, Mozambique. The solution? Consult a traditional healer, who can help. "A small ceremony can show we respect them," Muthembe said, "and can cure the problem."
"Traditional healers play a number of very important roles in traditional society," said anthropoligist Gordon Chavanduka, president of the Zimbabwe Traditional Healer Association. "Firstly, they are the medical experts. Secondly, they are the cultural experts, and regard themselves as the guardians of their culture.
"They are also counselors, in all issues. Even the chiefs and headmen, who are the political leaders, almost all of them have a traditional healer as an advisor, to assist them in their governing."
Susan LeClerb Madlala, an anthropologist at the University of KwaZulu Natal, says that people find a certain satisfaction in consulting a traditional healer, who can not only treat the immediate illness or problem, but provide an explanation of the ultimate source of the problem itself, something a medical doctor can't do.
"Let's say you are hanging your wash on the line behind your house, and a snake bites you. Well, a medical doctor will treat the snake bite, but he can't answer a lot of important questions: Why did the snake bite you? Why was it at your house? Who sent that snake?"
Given the prominence of the spirit world in many areas, it is essential for rights organizations like MULEIDE to acknowledge the role of traditional healers in communities where they seek to intervene. Showing them respect and working with them, instead of dismissing them as "witch doctors," will help make the gradual changes in society that can lead to better respect for women, and recognition of their rights as full citizens, protected in Mozambique's Family Law.
]]>But first, they sing and dance, accompanied by whistles and drums. The entire neighborhood arrives to see what is happening. They sing songs of solidarity, and the power of women to overcome poverty and illiteracy, and about a new law in Mozambique they are using to redefine their entire society, one family at a time.
The Mozambique Family Law, promulgated in 2004 is designed to bring women's rights under law in line with international standards. Thanks to this new law, women now have a chance to inherit and own financial assets such as cash and property, and have a job that earns wages—without the permission of a husband or male family member.
And the Family Law recognizes customary marriages registered with local government—an important distinction in places like Jorge Dimitrov where couples can't always afford formal marriage ceremonies. Now, women living with a husband for more than a year have the right to a share of family assets if the marriage breaks up.
However, some people in Hulene and the greater Jorge Dimitrov area are basically unaware of the new law, and live by customs and traditions that are at odds with it. The problems this creates are most obvious in cases of domestic violence and other family conflicts.
"We see a lot of problems with couples," said Hilario Muthembe, an activist in Hulene. "Maybe the husband has an illness, and says his wife is a witch and wishes him to be dead."
And when families consult local traditional leaders or healers, the matter can be resolved based on traditions and local customs that favor those with the most power: men. The activists in Hulene said this opens up the possibility of domestic violence, and an abrupt "divorce" leaving a woman and her children on the street with no means of support.
Encouraging local leaders to respect women's rights under the Family Law is the mission of MULEIDE, Oxfam America's partner in Mozambique. The organization has trained more than 400 legal advisors in three provinces who work with traditional healers, the main custodians of local culture in neighborhoods like Bario Hulene.
Their mission is to make sure that women understand their new rights, and that traditional healers help protect them. "We want the illiterate grassroots women of Mozambique to know that there is a legal instrument that can help overcome decades of suffering," said Rafa Machava, executive director of MULEIDE. "So we need to engage everyone to balance their customs with the new law."
Traditional healers are the key to the strategy, as they advise local elites and families, and can be the ones to help create the long-term shift in culture that will promote respect for women's rights. Noemia Fernando, one of MULEIDE's trained legal advisors in Bario Hulene, said it is essential for her and the other activists in the community to enlist traditional healers to help women. "Traditional healers have the power to treat them, get the problem resolved, and unify the family," she said. "That is why we need them with us, they can help us do our work." Fernando and her MULEIDE colleagues explained the new law to the traditional healers in Hulene, and some healers are now helping them explain the new law to their clients, and develop non-violent solutions to conflicts.
Fatima Coelho, a traditional healer for three years, got her training on the new Family Law in 2005. And she is using her training to help ensure that women's rights are respected in her work. Coelho said it is a real challenge to help couples avoid violence. "I'm trying to teach that it is better to sit down and talk instead of beating each other—this is not the way to build up a family. This is the strongest value I gained from my training with MULEIDE in 2005, it is the best way to address these family issues."
Cecilia Reis, an elderly woman active as a healer since 1962, has been an ardent promoter of women's rights and has been working with MULEIDE since 1994. She is at the leading edge of creating a new culture of respect for women in Mozambique. Her comments show her commitment, her realistic outlook, and her aspirations. And at the root of her dedication are her own personal commitment and the training she got from MULEIDE, which is critical to her work as a spiritual advisor.
"Women and men should be equal. Women have to open their eyes and claim their rights. These issues will not change overnight—we have to fight, and get our men to [understand], because they are very difficult and don't want to change. But we still have to stand up, look them in the eye and say to them, "we have to share, because the Family Law says we have equal rights."
"There is no one who will chase me away from my house, not even my husband, he knows that I have my own rights. This is what we are trying to teach our women. But some are not open minded, and they are dependent on their husbands, sometimes they accept being beaten all the time, and sometimes they die of domestic violence, because they have nowhere to go.
"And they don't even know that there are lawyers at MULEIDE, and at the courts, who can defend them. We have lost many members of our community to domestic violence.
"But what can we do? We are a poor country, so we have to work hard. The few of us who are able to do this work, we have to stand up and work strongly."
]]>Oxfam has allowed us to do a lot of research. And Oxfam has been instrumental in helping us come to the US to say, "We really don't want CAFTA," face-to-face.
We believe that public opinion has been manipulated. The business sector, which is pushing CAFTA, has said that people in Central America want CAFTA. The reality is totally different
For example, in El Salvador, this agreement was approved late at night and behind closed doors. In Honduras, when they approved it, the legislature had to leave through the back door because there were protestors out front. In Guatemala, the people are asking for a national referendum even though the president says they can't afford it.
We believe that this is an important decision for the future of our countries. There has to be a national referendum so people can say what they think.
I believe that the negotiations and ratification process is totally undemocratic—because the negotiations have been carried out, and still are being carried out, by a very small group of people. We have asked the Congressional representatives in Guatemala if they understand the agreement. And they say they don't even have a copy to look at. But they have been pressured to vote in favor of CAFTA. That's not democratic and says a lot about the process.
If CAFTA really is a good thing, why do they have to hide negotiations and do it behind the people's back?
I got news of the police repressing local people who were protesting against CAFTA. I don't think CAFTA has been approved yet, but it can happen at any moment. (Guatamala's congress ratified CAFTA on March 10, 2005. The agreement is awaiting ratification by the US congress).
We lobby the Guatemalan congress. At the national level, we are part of Mesa Global, which has been leading the protests this week. We also present proposals and research on issues related to the negotiation process and the potential impact of the trade agreement. We have been working with people involved in the negotiations and ratification of CAFTA, as well as with local organizations.
I'm very sad because I feel that the future, whatever it is, will be decided here in the US. They don't have the right to make decisions about our lives.
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