10 MARCH 2007 Le Monde diplomatique

ETHNIC CLEANSING AND A STRUGGLE OVER OIL

Sudan: genocide in Darfur

Continued from page 1

Faced with a deadlock, the UN has come up with a new concept: hybridisation. Since the

Sudanese government will accept an African force but not a UN one, why not have an Afro

UN force? This would mean the UN sending 103 police offi cers and 20 administrative staff .

Serious discussions are being held in the UN and the AU about the exact proportions

of this hybrid force. The Sudanese government accepted this proposal on 28 December,

knowing full well that it is just another futile gesture. They intend to keep it that way. Why is the international response so weak? The US position is ambiguous. Beneath the

fi rm entreaties is a mixture of tricks, double talk and impotence. Since 11 September 2001 Washington has considered that Khartoum has earned a good behaviour ticket in the

fi ght against terrorism. The Sudanese secret services have a good cop, bad cop routine in

which Nafi Ali Nafi , former interior minister and adviser to Bashir, plays the bad cop, while

his deputy, Salah Abdallah “Gosh”, plays the good guy. Ali Nafi is denounced as an extrem

ist while Gosh (one of the main authors of repression in Darfur) is invited to discussions

with the CIA and considered an ally in the war against terror.

The practical results of this compromising collaboration have yet to be seen. Washing

ton’s offi cial declarations remain fi rm but are not followed up by concrete measures even

when encouraged by President George Bush’s own political allies. California’s Republican

governor, Arnold Schwarzenegger, passed a law obliging California public bodies to

sell any shares in US or foreign companies working in Sudan. This disinvestment policy,

which enabled human rights activists to force the Canadian oil company Talisman Energy to

withdraw from Sudan in 2003, was not supported by the White House. The fi rst victim

of US double-dealing was Bush’s own special envoy, Andrew Natsios, former director of the

US Agency for International Development. When he ran out of resources he threatened

Bush with a mysterious plan B if plan A, which was UN deployment, failed. When pressed by

journalists, Natsios was unable to provide any details about plan B.

China is an unknown, though important, factor in Sudanese geopolitics, and a reason

for international inertia about Darfur. Sudan is China’s second-largest trading partner in

Africa and bilateral trade was $2.9bn in 2006. China buys 65% of Sudan’s oil and is the lead

ing supplier of arms to Bashir’s regime, the guns that are killing people in Darfur. When Chinese president Hu Jintao went to Sudan in February he spoke only about busi

ness and visited the new hydroelectric plant in Meroe, fi nanced by the Chinese to the cost

of $1.8bn. Although he recommended the deployment of UN forces to Bashir, his lack

of conviction was such that Bashir was able to say he felt under no pressure. In the UN, China

demands that Sudan’s national sovereignty be respected, despite resolution 1706.

France is working behind the scenes to help its own proteges under threat from

Sudan. Although it has long defended Sudan against the hostility of Anglo-Saxons, it has

not received any benefi ts in exchange. Total’s oil permits in southern Sudan are blocked by

legal squabbles and the regime’s militia uses Darfur, whenever possible, to destabilise

France’s allies: Chad’s president, Idriss Deby, and Central African Republic (CAR) President

François Bozizé. Indeed, despite Deby’s protests to the con

trary, he supports the guerrillas in Darfur. These include many fi ghters from his own

ethnic group, the Zaghawa (see box). French forces provide logistical support to the Chad

army fi ghting Sudan-backed rebels, and in December 2006 they were involved in bomb

ing and ground skirmishes in the north of the

Gérard Prunier is a researcher at the CNRS in Paris and director of the French Centre for Ethiopian Studies in Addis Ababa

Central African Republic, to chase out other rebels, also supported by Sudan. But beyond

these frontier skirmishes, the oil stakes are real. The relationship between Chad and the

US oil companies working there is tense and they have been threatened with expulsion. In

April 2006 rebels who got as far as the streets of the capital N’Djamena were carrying Chi

nese weapons. One might wonder if China is trying to topple some of the central African

regimes (6). The UN has raised the issue of ethnic cleans

ing in Darfur but, like the EU, will not use the term genocide. Among the arguments it uses

to justify this is the myth of tribal warfare as a result of the desertifi cation of the Sahel,

with nomadic Arab herdsmen contending for pastureland with sedentary African peasants.

Like all clichés, this one contains a modicum of truth, but no more than that.

Nomadic shepherds are unlikely to conduct aerial bombardments. The Janjaweed are

armed, fed and equipped by the regular army, which often fi ghts alongside them. Since

December the main Arab ethnic group in Darfur, the Baggara Rizaygat, has set up its own

militia, claiming that it was needed because of its poverty and the government’s negligence

(even though it is an Arab government) (7). There is another reason. The regular attacks

by the militia on black African tribes do not resemble attacks by armed groups of nomadic

Arab shepherds. The militia include criminals of various ethnic origins who have been

freed from prison on condition they join, as well as deserters from the government forces

stationed in the south of the country who have had nothing to do since the 2005 Nairobi

agreement (8). There are also members of the small tribes of camel herdsmen from the far

Viewpoint . . . SLA-MM soldier at UN-African Union meeting in Um Rai, Darfur

The factions

The rebellion The Darfur peace agreement signed on 5 May 2006 in Abuja, Nigeria, led to a series of splits in the rebel movements.

Sudan Liberation Movement-Abdel Wahid Muhammad Nur Faction (SLM-AWN : headed by Nur, founder of the original SLM, which split into three factions of which this is the largest. Mostly indigenous Fur people, based in the mountainous region of Jebel Marra in the centre of Darfur. Also known as the Sudanese Liberation Army (SLA). Sudan Liberation Movement – Minni Minnawi Faction (SLM-MM): headed by Minni; broke away from the original SLM at the Haskanita conference in November 2005. The SLM-MM is almost entirely from the Zaghawa ethnic group, to which Minni belongs, and is the only faction to have signed the Abuja peace accord in May 2006. Following the peace agreement Minni became a presidential adviser on Darfur and allied his faction to the Sudanese government in Khartoum. Many combatants deserted after this. Also known as the Sudanese Liberation Army (SLA-MM). Sudan Liberation Movement — alIkhtyar al-Hur (SLM-Free choice). Made up of representatives of the smaller African tribes of Darfur, such as the Tunjur and the Dajju, and led by Abderrahman Moussa, former spokesman for the SLMAWN at the Abuja peace negotiations. This tiny faction accepted the June 2006 peace agreement not because it believed in the deal, but because the smaller ethnic groups, who have been greatly affected by the war, did not have access to camps for displaced persons. Tunjur leaders hoped to be able to use the protected humanitarian supply routes stipulated in the agreement. Although Moussa was appointed minister, the tribes have not benefi ted from aid as they hoped. Group of 19 (G19): formed by 19 commanders and their men who chose to stay out of joining all the other factions, although the G19 has decided to give support to the NRF. Popular Combat Forces: the fi rst all

Arab movement emerged in November 2006 —members of the Rizaygat Arab tribe who operate in southern Darfur, between Kutum and Nyala. Justice for Equality Movement: an ambiguous movement of Zaghawa, with close ties with Hassan al-Turabi’s branch of the Muslim Brotherhood. It is lead by Khalil Ibrahim and is playing a complex game with Idriss Deby’s government in Chad, having fought for and against him, depending on the circumstances. It receives generous funding from the Muslim Brotherhood, and its infl uence on the guerrilla movement is disproportionate to its military strength. It now funds the NRF. National Redemption Front (NRF): led by former governor Ahmed Ibrahim Diraig, a Fur, and an intellectual leader, Sharif Harir, a Zaghawa. The NRF is an umbrella organisation for combatants from various factions that reject the Abuja peace accord, including many SLM-AWN combatants impatient with their leader’s procrastinations. In July 2006 the NRF attacked government positions in northern Kurdufan (bordering Darfur), giving the Sudanese government a pretext to send several thousand reinforcements.

The Janjaweed Arab militias, whose name means “devil’s horsemen with Kalashnikovs”; they have no movement or structured units in themselves. They are bands of men or auxiliaries attached to regular Sudanese army units.

Chad President Idriss Deby Itno Chad borders Sudan to the west of Darfur and more than 200,000 refugees have fl ed there since the beginning of the confl ict. Chad accuses Sudan of supporting the armed rebellion within its borders over the past year; Sudan counter-accuses Chad of supporting the opposition in Sudan. This is a new twist because in 2003 Chad’s president, Idriss Deby, a Zaghawa, served as a mediator to Sudan’s President Bashir and attempted to obtain a short-lived ceasefi re agreement with the SLM. In 1990 the military chief of the SLM, Abdallah Abakkar, had helped bring Idriss Deby to power.

north of Darfur, such as the Jalloul, who are the real victims of climate change, and even

members of small African groups, such as the Gimr, who hope that by allying themselves to

this genocidal cause they may be co-opted into the larger Arab family and benefi t from its

social standing and economic advantages. Why does the Sudanese government want to

exterminate, or at least subjugate, the African population in its western province? The rea

son cannot be religious since everyone in Darfur, killer and victim alike, is a Sunni Mus

lim. The true reasons are racial and cultural. Arabs are a minority in Sudan. The Islamists

are the latest historical incarnation of Arab dominance in the region.

Peace between north and south is disintegrating. On 9 January, the second anniversary

of the Nairobi agreement, Salva Kiir Mayardit, deputy leader of the Sudan People’s Liberation Movement in the south, warned Bashir that if the situation did not improve, secession would

be inevitable within four years. The Khartoum government needs to act

urgently. It has to adjust the north-south frontier to place most of the oil in the south (this

is under way). It has to buy arms in preparation for renewed hostilities and forge solid

international alliances (China is a given, Iran is being negotiated). The government also

has to maintain its territorial dominance by setting up an ethnic cordon sanitaire that

would extend from the Nouba mountains to Kordofan and include Darfur (9). The Nouba

tribes were crushed in fi ghting between 1992 and 2002, but Darfur represents far more of

a threat. The Arab leaders in Khartoum will do anything to avoid a breach through which

African tribes from the west could ally themselves with an independent, oil-rich, black

Africa in the south. It has become a strategic necessity to sub

due revolt in Darfur by any means. The regular army, which includes representatives from

many of the region’s African ethnic groups in its ranks, cannot be relied on for this task.

Hence the recruitment of the Arab Janjaweed militias, largely made up of minority groups

or social misfi ts. They must prevent the real Arabs in Darfur from revolution — meaning

the Baggara tribes that make up 22%-30% of the population in the region. They, as much as

their black African fellow-citizens, are the victims of discrimination in the region. The only

reason the Baggara support the murdering elite in Khartoum is for reasons of misplaced

Arabism, which is more imagined than real. The protection of oil revenues comes at

a deadly price, currently being paid. Unlike Rwanda, where 800,000 people were killed in

100 days, ethnic cleansing in Darfur has gone on for four years. Those who still dare to say

never again are either totally ignorant or hypocritical. Once again the dead are being valued

according to the colour of their skins. TRANSLATED BY KRYSTYNA HORKO

(1) See Jean-Louis Peninou, “Sudan: war in Darfur ”, Le Monde diplomatique , English language edition, May 2004. (2) Minni Minnawi’s faction was the only one of six guerrilla factions to sign the Abuja agreement. Since then its members have been absorbed into the government or dissolved. (3) The places where UN and AU envoys meet with guerrilla fi ghters are regularly bombed. (4) At present there is no proof that there is oil in Darfur, for the simple reason that no oil company has been able to carry out systematic surveys. (5) Recent justifi ed accusations of paedophilic acts by Asian soldiers from the United Nations Mission to Sudan were used by the Sudanese government to justify its position. (6) It is not known whether there is oil in the Central African Republic, but it is geographically feasible since the Chad basin is close to the frontier. (7) The awlad al-balad , sedentary Arabs from the Nile valley, despise their nomad Arab cousins in Darfur, whom they regard as backward savages. (8) The Nairobi peace agreement signed on 9 January 2005 between Khartoum and the Sudan People’s Liberation Army/ Movement provides for the sharing of power and oil revenue. See Gérard Prunier, “Sudan: peace accords won’t end war”, Le Monde diplomatique , English language edition, February 2005. (9) Khartoum protects its slaves, the term used for the black Africans of Sudan. The destruction of black shanty towns in Khartoum, the deportation of squatters to the desert and the confi scation of their land for Arab luxury property development all represent the acceptable urban aspect which the World Bank views as development projects.
THE CONTINENT OF ORGANISED PILLAGE

Le Monde diplomatique MARCH 2007 11

Continued from page 9

engineers imported many labourers from

Burkina-Faso who were reduced to slavery. The second purpose of the railway was eco

nomic. As it penetrated deep into Africa it made it possible to transport raw materials

back to the port of Dakar. One branch of the railway to Kaolack was entirely devoted to the

groundnut trade. But from the outset the train had a third

purpose: to consolidate the territories that it crossed. Because the railway attracted all

kinds of commerce to its stations, the regions that it crossed enjoyed immediate social and

economic benefi ts. In 1940 the Dakar-Niger railway was a fl ourishing enterprise and a

driving force for the cotton and mineral trades of French West Africa. In 1946 the railway

itself employed 8,000 workers. The company was managed in typically

colonial and racist manner. White and black workers were treated diff erently, with whites

earning twice the wages of their black counterparts. Most blacks were day labourers and

their dreadful living conditions were in stark contrast to the grand villas of the toubabs

(whites in Wolof), who lived in housing provided by the government in Cité Ballabey in

Thiès, the network’s main depot and the working heart of Senegal.

The African workers established their fi rst trade union, the Syndicat des Travailleurs

Indigènes du Dakar-Niger (STDIN) in Thiès in the 1930s. They held a series of demon

strations in 1938 and again in 1946. A strike in October 1947 paralysed the entire rail

way network. The strikers’ sole demand was “equal pay for equal work”. Although unions

had been recognised in French West Africa from 1937, political parties were forbidden

until 1946 and the railway workers’ demand became a rallying call for the independence

movement. There was massive support for the railway

workers led by Ibrahima Sarr. The French

management capitulated six months later (2). From that moment, the train ceased to be

a French colonial dream and became the cornerstone of the fi ght for independence. Since

the people reclaimed the lines that crossed their respective territories, the railway ulti

mately became Senegalese or Malian, at the service of the population and national pros

perity. In 1960 Senegal’s president, Leopold Senghor, considered the railway a public serv

ice and his government contributed effi ciently to its upkeep.

But by the 1980s the railway had began to age as equipment grew obsolete and invest

ment dwindled. With the growing use of trucks the train was no longer competitive.

Under pressure from the World Bank, the Malian and Senegalese governments agreed to

privatise the network in 2003. An invitation to tender was issued and Canac-Getma, a Franco

Canadian consortium, won a 25-year concession in exchange for an operating agreement

to ensure passenger services (3). The new owners formed Transrail, which

promptly fi red or pensioned off 632 railwaymen and closed a dozen stations, indirectly

leading to the economic decline of many people who earned their living from the railway.

Because Transrail achieved an increase in productivity it saw no need for any short-term

investment. So despite its promises before privatisation, it proved tight with capital expend

iture for renewing rolling stock or repairing track in upper Senegal.

These days train drivers consider an incident-free trip as lucky or even a miracle. Just

one train make the daily journey: the freight train that carries 1,000 tonnes per trip and

ensures the line’s annual capacity of 360,000 tonnes, almost Transrail’s 380,000 tonnes

yearly objective. The company’s profi tability is the result of

a simple equation: monopoly + modest objectives + minimum investment + “modern”

labour policy = a slight profi t (4). For the time

being Transrail is satisfi ed. One reason for satisfaction is that it ena

bles Canac-Getma to be a player among other privatised African railway companies: Sitarail

in Ivory Coast and Burkina-Faso (owned by the French group Bolloré); Camrail in Cam

eroon (owned by Bolloré); Setrag in Gabon (owned by Eramet, another French group);

and Togorail in Togo (owned by West African Cement). This puts Transrail in a strategic po

sition should the networks be connected in the projected trans-African railway programme,

Africarail (5). Who is to say if there will not be another

mineral Eldorado around the corner, perhaps in Niger? If so, transporting ore to the coast

would be highly lucrative, well worth CanacGetma’s investment. From that perspective

the women peddling their wares by the train, the workers in the station buff et, the railway

men or passengers do not count for much. Nobody can see a way out other than wrest

ing the railway back from Transrail and returning it to the state. Cocidirail and the West African militants raised the issue of nationalisation at the World Social Forum in

Bamako last year. Passengers and railwaymen of the Dakar-Niger line are trying to trans

form their struggle into a symbolic one for the whole continent. The meeting in Dakar in

December helped consolidate links between the unions in the countries concerned. If noth

ing is done, it is likely that the express will die a slow death, working conditions in the com

pany will deteriorate and the population that earns a living from the railway will decline.

Transrail has a free hand, protected from western criticism by the invisible veil that

hides Africa from the rest of the world. This is not an issue peculiar to Africa.

Tiecoura Traoré, leader of Cocidirail (who was fi red by Transrail in October 2004) says

the demands made by Malian and Senegalese unionists “are not so diff erent from

those heard in Europe. They have a number

of points in common on the issue of public services”. There is one diff erence: Africa

remains the continent of organised pillage. An international organisation could scarcely

demand the privatisation of, say, the NantesToulouse line in France and get carte blanche

to do whatever it liked if it went against the interests of the local population or the nation.

A Canadian fund obtained a 25-year investment in Transrail and with the help of the World Bank, the collusion of President Wade in Senegal and the passivity of President Ama

dou Toumani Touré in Mali robbed both countries of a railway network that is economically

vital and a source of national pride. Both the Senegalese and the Malians have understood

that the new owner does not care about passenger transport because the line’s tempo

rary profi tability can come only from freight. So there’s no point counting on Transrail for

the investment needed to restore any normal passenger service.

The survival of the express depends on a decision to put the train back in the domain

of public service and beyond the laws of profi t. But up to now neither of the governments has

been in any hurry to remind Transrail of its commitments, and over the past three years

no one has helped the unions in their lone, bitter struggle.

TRANSLATED BY KRYSTYNA HORKO

(1) Lat Dior Diop, the Damal (king) of Cayor in Senegal, opposed the colonists and the construction of the railway, and was defeated by the French in 1889 after 30 years of resistance. (2) For a fi ctional account of the strike, see Sembene Ousmane, God’s Bits of Wood , Heinemann, Oxford, 1995. (3) Canac is now owned by the US group Savage Companies; Getma is a subsidiary of the French company Jean Lefebvre. (4) Cocidirail estimates its monthly profi ts at $1.9m. (5) A programme to open up landlocked regions of West Africa (Benin, Niger, Burkina-Faso and Togo). Among sponsors are the UN, the Economic Commission for Africa, the African Union, the Organisation for African Unity and the African Railroad Union.

‘IT’S ALSO AN AFRICAN DREAM’

Continued from page 9

the administrative offi ce for the local school.

The classrooms are a collection of huts outside, with walls made from the branches of co

conut trees, roofs made from braided coconut tree fronds and supporting beams made from

the coconut tree trunks. School materials are stored at the end of the

warehouse that has a roof: a pile of dog-eared schoolbooks, some new blackboards, a collec

tion of ceramics made by children in a pottery class, tables and chairs, a stapler, calculator

and clock, a poster of the circulatory system, grass mats.

The council members sit on a long bench. As the position of the sun changes overhead dur

ing the meeting, they stand up and move their bench into the shade. Sr Mwinga, the senior

member of the council, makes a speech, long, grave and gracious. “Before, the parents didn’t

have any say in the running of the school. The teachers were those who had the most say.

Now, it’s the reverse. The council orients, directs and manages the school. Concern comes

to educate, not just to give.” Then he addresses the facilities around

him: this is the “mother school”, founded by the Italian Capuchin friars who came here in

the 1940s and spread out from here into the neighbouring districts. Yet, this meeting is in

a building with just a third of a roof, the classrooms in huts. Why not build a new school?

An older member of the council speaks: “In other districts, there are new schools fi nanced

by Concern, but here, from where it started, we don’t have one. It looks like we haven’t

reached independence yet.”

In a neighbouring district, a new school building is nearing completion. Suraya’s house

overlooks it. She thinks it is a good thing; she left school in eighth grade, aged 16, because

she got married and had a child, but now her husband is a drunk and she wants to go back

and fi nish high school. Her house is built from rough adobe, with

no windows, and a roof of woven reeds. It has

a front room leading into a small corridor with

two bedrooms off it. These are the contents: a table; a battery radio; a fl ask; some buckets; a

pot with water in it; a mat; two live chickens; a History of Mozambique poster; a box with

clothes in it; two beds, made, with torn mosquito nets; a hoe. Water comes from a nearby

well, though Suraya complains it is diffi cult to get it because it’s so busy.

She laughs when I ask about electricity. I ask her about the state of the country.

“Mozambique is going well,” she says. “Many things are appearing that we’ve never seen

before in our lives. I don’t know — in the past, the older people, who’ve since died [may have

seen these things], but me, I never saw them. Nice things. Schools, hospitals, district offi ces

are appearing — and before, nothing.” What does she hope for her children’s

future? “We’ll see. God knows. These days, people

are dying a lot. I don’t know if they’re going to grow up or not. If they grow up, I want a good

future for them.”

Binda has his accountant’s hat on: he works in one of the embassies. Under the hat is a mass

of dreadlocks; as his alter ego, Jah Bee, he is a respected musician.

“Development, for me, is peace and bread on the table for everybody. Bread doesn’t

necessarily mean bread itself, but whatever brings a spiritual feeling of peace among

human beings . . . Peace and chances for harvesting, for work in the fi elds, to produce

things, so that they can provide food, and the basic human needs. These are all the factors

that help the man walk with honour and know his own culture and integrity, to be proud to

be himself, not to be dependent on aid from anybody else.”

At 2am, the narrow street in Maputo’s Baixa

(“low”) district is packed. The fi rst, packed, bar is a pole-dancing club. The second is almost

empty: some guys playing pool, a few bored hookers and a Pierce Brosnan movie on the

big screen. The third, the Central, is where it’s

at: no pole dancing, no whoring expats, just

local young people having a good time. I get dancing with a girl, friendly and shy. After a

dance, she excuses herself apologetically. John is busier in a corner.

“They’re all on the game, man,” he says later, as we leave. “It’s a con. She’s playing the

good girl con.” Outside, the bouncer explains the system: there’s a door in the back where

you bring the girl, and the man behind the door lets you go upstairs to a room for $20.

“Any of the women in there?” asks John. “Any of them,” says the bouncer.

The women in Maputo call it “our nightly bread”. It’s a pun on the words of the Our

Father, the Christian prayer: “Give us, this day, our daily bread.”

A Strategic Confl ict Assessment of Mozam

bique, commissioned by the British government aid agency, Dfi d, last April:

“Despite the appearance of a multi-party state, in practice Mozambique is controlled

by an oligarchy within the ruling party which purchases support through patronage, much

of which derives from aid . . . The dilemma is that a sudden withdrawal or reduction of do

nor aid is itself one of the potential shocks that could trigger confl ict but maintaining the fl ow

of aid uncritically will compound the underlying problems of governance . . .

“One of the problems is that Mozambique has been categorised by donors as a success. With so many disappointments in Africa, and aid budgets rising, Mozambique will be

expected to absorb yet more funds and there is a danger that funding will increase regard

less of capacity. Aid may fuel greater demands for patronage on a wider and more lavish

scale, exacerbating competition among greed elements and increasing the grievances of

poorer people. In many ways Mozambique is still a fragile state.”

“It’s not fragile, it’s strong, it’s getting better.”

Tom Wright regards the report as having a glass half empty perspective. “Of course, you

can pick holes in what government are do

ing here — remember that you don’t have the

capacity here that you would have even in a lot of other African countries. It is a relatively

new country, it’s only really 14 years out of a vicious civil war. The size of Mozambique,

from north to south, is the equivalent of from Dublin to Moscow. Mozambique is not going

to make it out of poverty overnight. “Sometimes it’s very diffi cult to measure

[our work] because it’s diffi cult or impossible to see. It’s not just that we’re transferring

knowledge, we’re trying to instil confi dence in local groups of people and individuals, we’re

trying to empower people, and it’s diffi cult to measure that.

“The longer I’ve spent in Mozambique, the more conscious I am of having grown up in the

west of Ireland, where we had real poverty 35, 40 years ago. We had no running water, there

were very few houses with electricity. As a kid going to primary school, you had to do your

work on the farm before you went to school. Even those who have never experienced fam

ine — it is somehow in our culture, that we’re never really sure where the next meal is going

to come from. We still have that attitude in Ireland, we understand, it’s in our roots, this

poverty, this famine. We understand it better than other cultures.”

The Gil Vicente is an airy, modern bar in Maputo with a reputation for live music. The band takes a break as we arrive and a projec

tor screen whirrs down from the ceiling. Then Bono is there, above the bar. He says: “This is

not just an American dream. Or a European dream. Or an Asian dream. It’s also an Afri

can dream.” Behind him, an image of the continent of Africa, and then the Red Cross, and

then the fl ags of Africa, beam up a curtain of lights, and he sings: “I want to run, I want to

hide, I want to tear down the walls that hold me inside.” A woman in a bandana and white

hot pants, purple in the fl uorescent lighting, lifts her arm and swings it around.

“I think I prefer Asia,” says one of my colleagues. ORIGINAL TEXT IN ENGLISH