Learning from Lagos...?

Lagos is one of those cities that has somehow transcended its physical determinants by inadvertently adopting symbolic status. It is no New York, icon of modern progress and sophisticated urbanity, nor is it Paris, the self-appointed culture capital of the Western world. No, Lagos is a multi-layered imaginative entity that captures the cataclysmic extremes of urban dysfunction in many minds. On the other hand, thanks to the cinematic (and repetitive) eye of Rem Koolhaas and his students, and crew of the the BBC's 'Welcome to Lagos' series, it has now become a source of many examples of grassroots innovation and adaptation.

Lagos seems to be a fitting departure point for continuing this blog. My last series of entries were centered around the essential act of network building: visiting member schools, facilitating discussion on AAPS, exploring common themes and gaining insights into the variation in approaches to planning education in Africa. This account bore testimony to the almost quaint, old-fashioned activity of face-to-face meetings in this world of social networking, tweeting and flash mobs. The AAPS project concluded end 2010, and the Rockefeller Foundation has kindly agreed to fund a second phase. We have a post-graduate curriculum to pilot; an MoU with Slum/Shack Dwellers International to implement; our number of schools has doubled to 43 members and our mailing list and web site are digital hubs of activity. So what does Lagos have to do with any of this...?

At the AAPS we realise that in order for the network to continue without outside funding, we need to nurture relationships from within. So, using a number of substantive themes under-represented in planning education and literature, we plan to convene a number of meetings over the next two years that bring together colleagues with shared research interests. Two of these themes are 'informality' and the relationship between 'spatial planning and infrastructure'. What better place to explore them than Lagos! Not only does the majority of economic activity in this city engage in some way with the informal economy, but its many circuits and connections span international networks. Yet, the city faces a political regime that is intent on marginalising the informal. Closely linked to the focus on 'urban renewal' is an emphasis on infrastructure upgrade. Where does spatial planning fit into all of this? What should the collective role of our future planners be? These are some of the issues that we hope will engage us in exploring informality, infrastructure and planning through the lens of Lagos...

A moment

By now the readers of this blog know that I am an impenitent urbanist. I have a friend who has known me since I was 17 (alas a loooong time ago) who refuses to believe that my African escapades provide me with joyous adventure instead of filling me with utter terror. This is the majority middle class South African view I am afraid; what is north of the Limpopo is best to be avoided unless it involves a khaki clad guide and/or a houseboat filled with Zambezi (the beer, not the shark.... on the river, not in it). Depending on what time of the day it is, how tired and I am and the quality of the hotel coffee (and content of the wine list), I am bound to find messiness interesting, chaos innovative and grubbiness....well actually no...grubby stays grubby....at a push maybe grungy if I am listening to Pearl Jam on my iPod.

At a recent workshop on case research one of my AAPS colleagues reflected on a teaching initiative with students where they were tasked with interviewing informal waste collectors. Students were interviewed on DVD reflecting on their initial prejudice and representing their insights into the conditions that cause some to collect, sorts and sell waste. Many waste collectors sleep on the streets. The research was done in Johannesburg. When probed on how exactly this prepares students for finding practical solutions my gut response was duh! My more eloquent friend drew attention to the fact that solutions are best informed by an engagement with the invisible, the marginal... Yes. I think however, that something else happened as part of this exercise; there was a sensibility shift for some of these students. This is not just something that will influence future dealings with the informal sector; it informs a worldview that permeates how we look at the world and how we choose to experience it. Funny how it escapes 20+ years of friendship.

Ritual

After 5 weeks on the road, visiting 8 planning schools in 6 countries (I would rather not calculate my carbon footprint....) I found myself in Addis Ababa in Ethiopia. My travel companions are mainly inanimate but nevertheless provide me with the comforts that reassure and reconnect. In addition to the yoga DVDs on my laptop, the small speakers that drown out disruptive hotel noises, the iPod that makes waiting in airports bearable and the odd cigarette (only when I am on the road!), I carry a small coffee filter. The morning routine of yoga followed by a cup of strong African coffee not only gives me that much-needed caffienne boost but also provides a consistency to what can often turn out to be a non-stop day; it somehow defines that moment when I connect...and collect.

In Ethiopia, 80% of the coffee produced is consumed locally. The consumption of this wonderful beverage punctuated my exchanges with my colleagues, where several times throughout my short visit, coffee was brewed on a small stove, surrounded by greenery and flowers upon which rested fruit, honeyed seeds and sweet popcorn while the aroma of coffee mingled with the smell of burning insense. This is a ceremony, not a quick trip to Starbucks. Participants sit in a collective, reflect on the day, speeches are made when the occasion calls whilst small cups are circulated. Apparently this ritual is considered a barometer of household relations in the home; a rushed process signifies all is not well; badly brewed coffee served to a visitor is a social disaster.

I am not a fan of dogma (and saw much evidence of it on my travels) but I respect these structured moments when people take time out from sitting in somnolent traffic, battling disabling bureacracies, making a living with limited resources and finding a way in the day-to-day clustered exchanges of the metropolis, and just stop... This pause is a necessary sensory respite; the aromas, the sounds of gentle conversation, the taste of Arabica coffee, the tactile exchanges collectively contribute to what is integral to African urbanity: small spaces of order and routine in a seemingly chaotic environment.

Gacaca

The Kigali Genocide Memorial Centre is located on a hill, and feels remote, aloof almost. The unassuming but elegant building is fronted by grassy terraces that cascade down towards a wetland. Beyond this open space the bustle of Kigali continues unhindered. The unassuming exterior is deceptive.

Careful and intelligent design takes one on an emotional journey that ranges from absolute outrage to deep and profound sadness. Exhibit one contains a generous treatment of colonialism; the beginnings of the exploitation of clan difference in the service of Empire. I use the word 'generous' since throughout the Centre, the material is displayed with wisdom and compassion. After this introduction one is drawn into a depiction of evil and terror. Video footage bears testimony to survivor experiences, newspaper clippings portray the mad propaganda that incited mass murder of Tutsis and moderate Hutus and many photographs. Exhibits include the remains of victims, clothing and the elementary but highly effective weapons used in this 3-month mass slaughter.

The building allows for moments of composure; after each exhibit one is given the opportunity to exit the room to a secluded space outside. Floor one concludes with current measures intended to serve justice. This includes the Gacaca village justice system where communities are given opportunity to try perpetrators. There has been a lot of criticism leveled at this system, not least the subsequent victimization of witnesses. The humanity displayed in enabling such closure I considered laudable as I viewed the second floor exhibition. The display on genocides elsewhere - Namibia, Nazi Germany, Cambodia, Bosnia - is rendered remote by time and geography. One is brought back to the present with a sharp blow: a memorial to children containing photographs posted by family members, personalized with detail on their favorite foods, ambitions, activities and aspirations. Tearful and upset, I rushed outside to find solace in the gardens outside, facing the grassy terraces outside punctuated by concrete slabs, nondescript rectangular blocks that contain mass graves, crypts containing the remains of friends, wives, husbands, lovers, children... a dignified burial for the many lost.

Boda Boda

The drive from Kampala to Entebbe airport can take 2 hours, despite a distance of about 40 km's. I have found that time spent in traffic is best invested in taking photographs of the textured human activity along these busy corridors and chatting to taxi drivers. After the mandatory exchanges on the FIFA World Cup and our President's colorful personal life (a source of amusement and not insubstantial derision from most people that I have encountered on my travels), I am almost always presented with colorful tales and opinions that give some wonderful insights into local life. One such story is the origin of the name 'boda boda' assigned to motorcycle taxis (and the excellent bar I went to the previous night....). Apparently these vehicles provide transport to passengers and goods between the Kenyan and Ugandan borders. These mobilities also accommodate smuggling apparently; cheaper Kenyan sugar being the most popular product that finds its way boda to boda.

The notion of borders in the African context is infused with history and battles. The Great Lakes region is particularly prone to conflicts arising from colonial legacies infused with tribal resentments and old battles. A different kind of battle is discernible in the media; that of the sexes. In the run-up to Valentines Day, a radio phone-in program revealed an interesting dilemma; a listener was earnestly seeking advice on which of her four boyfriends she should go out with on this auspicious day. Apparently this is not an unique problem. My Ugandan friends tell me that the increase in the HIV infection rate recently is due to these peculiar sexual networks that proliferate. Intimacies transgress boundaries of marital status and commitment on both sides of the gender divide. Billboards graphically depict the extent of these networks and their implications. There is tacit public agreement and I would venture to say, acceptance of this sexual behavior. I harbor no moral judgement in this respect (in fact I am amazed that people have time for such complications in their lives!), what I do find contentious however, is that such openness co-exists with the homophobia that has been institutionalized in Uganda, effectively criminalizing homosexual relationships. Clearly some borders are more porous than others.

The element of surprise

The flight from Nairobi to Kisumu is short; the entire 35 minutes could be spent with one's nose pressed against the aircraft window like an enchanted child coveting an expensive toy. Kenya is incredibly beautiful, I thought when my reverie was interrupted by the sudden ascent of the plane as we were about to land. An abrupt change in wind direction necessitated this anxiety inducing change of plan; the butterflies in my stomach were pacified by the view of Lake Victoria as we circled and prepared for a second attempt at landing. I was relieved to find myself on terra firma outside the tiny airport building boasting ‘Kisumu International Airport’ with the glossy rendition of future extensions featuring in the background. Kisumu is a pretty town, art deco architecture frames a thriving commercial centre. Driving through it I was charmed by its laid back energy, a feature, it seems, of African cities located close to large expanses of water.

Many languid cyclists contribute to this laid-back atmosphere. They transport large rolled up sisal mats, plants and grasses, large quantities of goods and of course passengers. Apparently Kisumu is the regional pioneer of the bicycle taxi (although I sense my Malawian colleagues would disagree), but much like other innovations that run contrary to regulation, they are viewed with suspicion and irritation by local urban managers. Owners are required to register their bicycles but little has been done to accommodate or facilitate their movement. They are parked on street corners, fixed and serviced in small shady spots in between parking areas and buildings. Like a sudden take-off upon landing, a glitch in a flight path, I think city managers tend to treat such innovations as unanticipated deviations to be controlled in order to avert any unanticipated phenomena. By doing so they deprive themselves of an extraordinary view, I think.

Kumasi Kente

Upon the conclusion of meetings with colleagues at Kwame Nkrumah University in Kumasi, I was asked what I may need in addition to the many notes, recordings, business cards and photos taken during my two-day visit. Kente, I replied, without hesitation, I want some Kente. The regular patterns that criss-cross in small autonomous blocks, the amalgamation of colours and textures that somehow unify into a visual feast represent a tourist export that one cannot leave Ghana without. It manages to retain its allure despite such overexposure. In many ways I think Kente is symbolic of planners’ perfect cities: small controlled, regular entities; visually beautiful with diverse components contriving to create a harmonious visual impact. The product celebrates and protects. Kente is a ceremonial product of the Ashanti. Kumasi is the current Ashanti capital and contains many reminders of this once powerful kingdom.

At the height of its powers the Ashanti Kingdom spanned across much of Central Ghana, Togo and Cote d'Ivoire. Architectural remains can be seen in close proximity to the Ashanti Palace in central Kumasi. The kingdom essentially comprised an amalgamation of city states representing a powerful collective of urban traders. The popular tendency is to think of cities as Northern constructs; ancient cities of Greece and Italy provide us with clues to Western civilisation whilst the industrialisation of London and others confirmed Modern epoch. Odd then that we tend to overlook urban African histories, with Africans being particularly guilty of this. Policy makers tend to view urbanisation on this continent as an aberration, a deviation. When looking at Kejetia Market in Kisumu, the largest in West Africa, I can see how overwhelming African cities could be. The size, the bustle, the densities represent a messy urbanity. Entering it you fear being swept along in a tide of human activity, perhaps mistakenly finding yourself on a bus to Tamale or a train to Accra amongst chickens, goats and cheap Chinese imports. Yet, these spaces contain threads of gold similar to that found in good Kente cloth. Ordinary people trading, buying, negotiating and transporting goods may not shine as bright as the gold in the Ashanti throne; this propensity to trade is as traditional and legendary as its ceremonial cloth.