Johanna Maula was only eight years old when her family-mother, father, and four small girls-moved from the snow-covered Finnish countryside to middle of the tropical heat of Nigeria. The Biafran war was raging, and the young girl saw many historical events unfolding that impacted her deeply and set the course for her life. Dr Maula later worked for the United Nations, the International Labour Organisation, and the African Development Bank. She travelled the length and breadth of Africa and saw tragedy and misery, but also the beginnings of growth and hope. In this memoir, she presents unique insights into the life of people in the rapidly changing Africa, from the street children in Lagos to Vodou priests in Benin; from destitute women of Ethiopia to presidents, ministers, and business leaders in these countries. Her story combines a seasoned social scientist's viewpoint with pertinent and pointed observations covering more than four decades of socio-cultural and economic developments in Africa. Dr Maula candidly recalls her work, her friends and neighbours, starting a family, and the ups and downs of raising an infant in Ethiopia and a moody teenager in the pre-revolutionary Tunisia. Through her experiences in Africa, Dr Maula also learned to look at her own native country with new eyes. Hilarious and tragic by turns, her story throughout bears great compassion and love for Africa and her beautiful and talented people.
THE JASMINE YEARS
FROM MY AFRICAN NOTEBOOKSBy JOHANNA MAULAiUniverse, Inc.
Copyright © 2012 Dr. Johanna Maula
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4759-6008-2Contents
Prologue.....................................................................................ixI Africa Revisited...........................................................................1II From Finland to Africa....................................................................9III The Hibiscus Years: Growing up in Lagos, Nigeria, 1969-1970..............................19IV Ugali na Pombe: Travels in Tanzania, in 1985-1993.........................................52V Vodou, Mangoes and Coconuts: living in Porto-Novo, Benin, in 1988-1989.....................78VI A Cool Celestial Island: Living in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, 2001-2002.......................137VII The Jasmine Years: living in Tunis, Tunisia 2007-2010....................................206Epilogue.....................................................................................315Acknowledgements.............................................................................325End Notes....................................................................................327Literature...................................................................................339
Chapter One
Africa Revisited
The Jasmine Revolution, Year Zero-Tunis, December 2011
In Tunisia, the Jasmine Revolution has toppled the old regime and the first democratic elections have brought Al-Nahda ("Renaissance") into power, a moderate Islamist party that received almost 40% of votes. I am travelling there in December 2011 for the first time since the revolution. I used to live there in 2007-8 and again briefly in 2010 and am now very keen to see myself what has changed and how.
Some fear for the worst. My North African friends talk in suspicious tones about "les barbus", ("the bearded ones") now being in power, and using it to erode democracy from the beginning. "They want men to marry four wives and women to veil themselves," wails my friend Rabab. "I want to be free! No one should tell me how to dress or what to believe in!" Others are more optimistic; after all the Al-Nahda leader lived for 25 years in exile in the UK. Surely he is already westernized enough to respect those rights that the Tunisian women have learnt to take for granted during the country's 60 years of independence?
However, the country faces huge challenges: unemployment especially among the young is estimated to be 25 % and even many educated people cannot find jobs. In some places dissatisfied workers have demolished factories, mixing vandalism with democracy, leading to scores of foreign investors leaving the country. While secular and Islamist forces still are battling it out, the government is not able to accomplish much to redress the economic situation that has been growing worse since the revolution.
With tourism revenues still low after the revolution it is even more difficult now for many to make the ends meet. Sadly, many of the young men and women who started the revolution are now fleeing the country to find a new life in Europe. A large part of the illegal immigrants that arrive in Lampedusa in South Italy are from Tunisia. "There is not enough money in the foreign currency deposits of the country to pay what we owe," claims a friend who works with foreign transactions.
Yet the Tunisian sky in December is as clear as always. The sun is shining although slightly paler than during the summer months. I feel that could go and embrace each one of the palm trees which I remember so well from the time when I lived here. Street sellers are offering my favourites, les figues de barbarie, the cactus fruits, and soft sweet dates. Hot mint tea, and on wood fire grilled dorado that is served in restaurants are as delicious as always.
My friend Nadia who has recently remarried has moved to a new apartment block in La Marsa with her husband and they proudly show me around their comfortable home: a living room with large cupboards with glass shelves and selected objects on display, a painted mirror prepared by a handy father-in-law, a luxurious bedroom where the huge marital bed offers morally acceptable and even expected sensuality with its pink cushions and satin bedcovers.
During the revolution they saw how their neighbours arrived home carrying brand new TV sets, CD-players, even refrigerators and washing machines—all looted from department stores that belonged to the former president's family members. Now Nadia and Fakri would like to start a family, but the political and economic situation being so unstable, Nadia, who has a business degree, has started to look for jobs in Dubai.
I spend an evening with a North African colleague and friend who has a small bachelor apartment with white walls and white marble floors. "Why don't you stay here the night? I have a guest room," he inquires. "My mother was really upset to hear that you are going to stay in a hotel instead of at my place," he adds. I am left to wonder what I really know about the Arabic or Islamic morals which seem to deem it appropriate for a married woman to spend a night in the apartment of a single male friend. Demands of friendship and hospitality here exceed those of morality and presumed chastity.
My friend Samia is nowhere to be found. A mutual friend tells me that Samia has gone through a difficult divorce from her husband, whom she liked to call Gollum after the greedy troll in the Lord of the Rings, and moved from her big house to a flat with her two daughters. I get worried messages from our friend who has not been able to contact her. It finally emerges that as soon as her divorce was clear, Samia had packed her daughters and the necessities and flown straight to North America, where her mother lives and where she wants to start a new life, far from her exceedingly cold husband and his nosy relatives, and far from the country where she did not feel safe anymore. She was afraid that her husband would somehow manage to prevent her leaving with their daughters and has not dared to tell anyone about her escape.
Beautiful Samia! I hope she and her daughters will succeed in their new life and not feel too home sick for Tunisia. She used to criticize the country and her in-laws in biting, ironic words. Nevertheless I suspect that forgetting the blue skies and the sea breeze over Tunis, the friendly sun and the buildings in tens of shades of white, pink, pale yellow, peach and beige will not be easy. In a country like Finland or the northern parts of the American continent where winter lasts so many months, in the harsh whiteness of snow and during the long nights your eye will seek in vain for the lush greenness, your skin will miss the memory of the caressing sun, your palate the soft crispy juice of oranges and the mellow sweetness of dates.
The Cool Celestial Island on Rise—Ethiopia in 2012
In Ethiopia the economy has continued to grow at an amazing pace for almost a decade now, sometimes reaching double-digit figures as the government is proud to point out. Construction takes place everywhere: new houses, hotels, banks and shops are built, roads are improved, restaurants and cafeterias are opened. I used to live here in 2001-2 and can now hardly recognize parts of Addis Ababa. From being the third poorest country in the world ten years ago, Ethiopia now can boast the third fastest growing economy in the world.
My friend Adam, who in 2002 predicted that the country would be transformed in ten years, got it right in that sense. His own professional progress bears witness to these changes: ten years ago he was a small-scale real estate agent, and now he is involved in import and export business of agricultural products and machinery and sits on the management boards of several large new companies and banks.
I am invited to a German beer hall where young Ethiopians display their multiple mobile phones and check their Facebook accounts on their fancy tiny laptops and iPads, and as an old timer, I experience something of a cultural shock.
Even outside the capital, Addis Ababa, the rapid growth is evident. I take part in the opening ceremony of a new beer factory deep in the Gurage land, which used to be totally dependent on water-fed agriculture and small business ventures. In Kurafu, two hours' drive from Addis Ababa, and where ten years ago I saw pristine crater lakes with only some cows and goats herding nearby, there are now multiple four or five-star spa resorts, quite in the same quality as in far more established tourist countries.
The Chinese involvement is exceedingly strong in the economy and they are carefully eyeing presumed oil reserves in Ogaden, the contested Somali region of Ethiopia. Turks are even more forcefully present here. Turkish Airlines has daily flights to Addis Ababa (and as the only Eurasian airline even to the neighbouring Somalia) and in the countryside surrounding the capital there are several large construction sites with Turkish names.
Sadly, economic developments have not brought more political freedom in Ethiopia. The press is nominally free but controlled, the opposition is tightly curtailed, many leading figures have been imprisoned on treason charges, and even the last one of the editors for the free press has fled the country. It appears that the Prime Minister Meles Zenawi, who was once hailed as one of the leaders of the African renaissance, has not been able to find the balance between economic and political freedom and the Chinese model with an authoritarian state combined with economic growth seems to have been more appealing to him than Western democracy. When Meles suddenly died in August 2012, much lamented especially by the business community and his northern supporters, hopes arise for a new opening for democracy.
Corruption has increased and—rightfully or not—Tigrayans are made scapegoats for this, as the ruling party mostly consists of them. Still, there are also divisions in Tigray, the Northern Province with its magnificent mountains and gorges and proud, dignified people, and political opponents are brutally silenced. Even some friends of mine who are very loyal to the government admit that they do not "necessarily agree" with everything that is done. Most avoid discussing politics in any detail and choose their words with care. However, those who have benefited from the current economic boom keep silent and buy bonds of the controversial Millennium Dam, as expected from the business community.
In Ethiopian business circles there is widespread satisfaction with the fact that this is the boom period, reminiscent of the Klondike during the Gold Rush, when fortunes are made swiftly and with small investments. Everything seems possible and there are so many opportunities opening up that with little capital but some skills and fruitful connections one can build new enterprises and make unsurpassed profits.
A clear sign of this economic success is the increasing flow of the members of the Ethiopian diaspora that have now returned to the country and started enterprises here. Those who as children with their families fled the famines and bloody "Derg" dictatorship of the 1970's and 1980's return now to this country that they have only heard nostalgic stories about from their homesick parents, fully intending to build their lives here. I get to know a San Diego-born man who is investing in a mining business, an Ethiopian Jew, a falesha, who has returned from Israel and is involved in the flower business, and many others.
Addis Ababa that once seemed full of beggar children, big hungry dogs, goats and sheep, is now flush with service businesses like beauty parlours, restaurants, cafeterias and gyms that bear names like Boston Spa or Nordic Bakery, bearing witness to the diaspora background of their owner-managers. An Italian-Ethiopian architect, who drives his flashy Porsche along Addis Ababa's potholed streets, maintains that for a professional person the city is now a paradise. There are even art galleries with modern art that cater for both domestic and foreign clientele with money to spend. Some of my friends have grown fabulously rich and live in unforeseen luxury with multiple servants to attend to their every need, a fleet of cars at their disposal and foreign investors queuing at their offices.
However, for the lower classes the situation is still dire. Inflation hovers around 28 % and for the food prices the figure is even higher. Around the main post office, hoards of street hawkers and beggars surround the few cars and ply their meagre goods or simply plead their case. Some NGO's have now provided the beggar children with neon-coloured vests and small items to sell, which provide them some safety and visibility, but it is unclear how much this has contributed to their living standards yet.
Will the population accept this uneven development in the long run? As long as tens of millions live on the margins, as they still do in Ethiopia, it is easy to suppress any opposition simply by denying them food aid, as the government has on occasions done. Yet with the growth of economy, improved education (which the government has invested heavily in) and awareness of one's rights, it is likely that the proud Ethiopians will also someday rise to demand more political freedom in the same way as the Arabs have already done. So far the circumstances are not ripe for that. But with wide spread dissatisfaction with inflation and rising prices, corruption and favouritism, and also due to the increasingly fast access to news from other parts of the world, these social transformations can be expected to take place even in Ethiopia.
I meet new Ethiopian multi-millionaires, many of them belonging to the industrious and enterprising Gurage ethnic group, and other business leaders. Most of them are very satisfied with China's and other Asian foreign investors' increasing role in their economy. "Cooperation with China has only brought us benefits," states one of them. "There is a shift in the balance of powers taking place globally," notes another one, implying that the West has now come to the end of its rope. "We, the poor in Asia and Africa, are finally getting some of the global surplus," he adds with satisfaction.
Others note that all is not song and dance with the Chinese either. "They are such tough negotiators, one has to press them 100%," complains an influential businesswoman. Only some intellectuals without any business interests note with dissatisfaction how Indians and Chinese have been able to rent enormous land areas at obviously very low prices.
Once again I meet my friends Yeshi, Shewamullu and Emabet, and the closeness and affection that have connected us for more ten years already, are just as sweet and intense as before. Yeshi and I drive through Addis and we laugh and joke just as ten years ago, we play aloud a CD with Haileroot's melodic Ethiopian reggae and sing along the words. We keep the windows open and let the dusty Addis air with its tang of berbere, fruits and frangipani flowers tousle our hair.
However, now my friend also has beautiful young daughters, who sit in the back seat and join in the fun and song. Their mother was the first woman in her family to get an education and travel in Europe and the US for her work. Now a new generation of Ethiopian women is growing, sure of their competence and worth, getting the best education that money can buy in this country, multi-lingual and well-travelled already from their early years. There is nothing that they will not master and it will be this kind of young women and men, I feel, that with time bring Ethiopia to the greatness and prosperity that it so much desires and needs.
Chapter Two
From Finland to Africa
A Finnish Girl
In Finland February is the coldest month of the year. The arctic wind howls, it often snows hard chunks of ice that hurt your eyeballs, and icy air stings your face and lungs. The sky is grey and covered with heavy clouds. I was born in Helsinki on a cold February morning, but in addition to some very vague memories of the waves breaking on the beach and gulls shrieking, I do not remember anything of my first two years there. As a baby, I would have all my naps in a pram outdoors, even in -15 Celsius which the medical experts in Finland maintain to be the limit for letting practically new-born babies sleep safely outdoors. (I have always managed to shock my friends from warmer countries with this, but in Finland it is considered very healthy for infants' lungs).
During my childhood we lived in the cities of Helsinki, Turku and Kuopio, as well as in the rural municipality of Hauho in Southern Finland, and all this before I turned seven. Some years in the early 1960's both my parents were teachers in a community college, Viittakivi, run by a mildly religious `Settlement' movement, in Hauho. It was a boarding school and probably one of the most international places in Finland in those years as there were also some African students among the students.
Once my two younger sisters and I, together with our small friends, sneaked into the bedroom of one of the Kenyan students, and to our amazement found in a drawer something that we had until then thought was her real red hair. Our bafflement was genuine, but did not prevent us from grabbing the wig and running around wearing it in turns, with the poor Kenyan lady in hot pursuit behind us. Much later on, I understood that she must have felt awkward about her short African hair in a country where hardly anyone had seen black people other than on TV news or some crude black-and-white Tarzan movies, and tried to seem more Western with the cheap wig.
My parents were both young and with degrees in arts and humanities, and my father wanted to pursue an academic career in philosophy, the only one that he deemed satisfying for his intellect. My parents had met each other at the University of Helsinki, where they both attended lectures given by my grandfather, the much venerated and loved Professor Sven Krohn. With the increasing family (we were in the end four girls and two boys) a second income was needed too so my mother, who had studied economics and philosophy, worked as a teacher for upper grades until she qualified later on as a librarian and pursued that profession until her retirement.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from THE JASMINE YEARSby JOHANNA MAULA Copyright © 2012 by Dr. Johanna Maula. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse, Inc.. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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