On the road with AAPS

Learning from Lagos...?

2011-08-25T06:56:00.000-07:00

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

2010-05-04T09:09:00.000-07:00

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

2010-03-11T03:11:00.000-08:00

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

2010-02-14T23:21:00.000-08:00

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

2010-02-13T08:43:00.000-08:00

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

2010-02-10T05:37:00.000-08:00

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

2010-02-09T10:22:00.000-08:00

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.

Public Affairs

2010-02-09T10:09:00.000-08:00

The taxi driver was surprised when I suggested he drop me in Osu so that I could walk the remaining 3 kilometres to the Accra city centre. It was hot and his fee had effectively been reduced by 30%. Walking down Cantonments Road, continuing to Independence Square should be one of those wonderful processes of anticipation as one gets closer to the visual celebration of Africa’s first independent state. Instead of keeping my eye on the unfolding of this spectacle however, my eyes were on the sidewalk. Dodging potholes, scrambling over piles of bricks and competing with oncoming traffic and traders on narrow strips, I felt my rights as a pedestrian severely infringed upon.

When I was able to raise my eyes from this continuous obstacle course, I was distracted by the ubiquitous mobile phone advertisements; MTN, Zain and Vodafone dominate. The cacophony of colours and typefaces is discernable on small hotel walls, shops fronts (sides, backs and tops sometimes), bus terminals and benches. And of course the billboards; Vodafone flashes its glamour while Zain’s colour palette is a strange but attractive blend of mint green and light magenta. MTN is most poignant in its portrayal of children physically illustrating how wide, fast and well connected its network is. Mobile telephony has enabled the leapfrogging that makes landline telephony seem almost quant. It connects friends and family, enables social and economic networks and is a constant reminder of the importance of communication. I find it ironic however, that whilst we are constantly reminded in the public realm that connection is only a phone call away, moving 500m by foot is beset with difficulties.

My experience of Accra city centre is that its users walk, trade and network on the streets. Air-conditioned offices and underground parking may provide a middle-class reprieve from the outside bustle but I would argue that the majority of Accra folk (as in other African cities) find their way around the city centre on foot. We celebrate connection and transcendence of space yet the normal and most celebrated way of movement is constrained by a lack of very simple infrastructure. Perhaps the yellow MTN sponsored bus shelter provides us with a clue here. Why not assign a levy on mobile phone company advertisements and use this funding to upgrade the physical environment? Somehow I think it is not the mobile phone companies that would object. The problem is public.

Hot Air

2010-01-28T09:58:00.000-08:00

While I was standing in the queue waiting to check in for my Enugu-Lagos flight, I was informed of a delay of 2 hours by a suave 6.2 foot gentleman and his bemused American companion. The lightness of the moment was interrupted by a fracas at the Air Arik counter. Deep voices resonated across the small departures hall. When the reasonable request was made that we be checked in, in order to escape the debilitating heat, the refusal was countered with a shouting match that ranged from accusations (‘you treat us like animals’), incredulity (‘who is the man, what is his position? what is his authority?!’) and threats (‘my fare pays your job; you can lose your job’). We were checked in but when I commended my compatriots on their intervention, my tall neighbour informed me that the check-in clerk was on his way anyway. The scene was unnecessary.

Enugu is an attractive city; hilly and green currently undergoing mass road infrastructure upgrades. The layout is conventional with many squares punctuating its gridiron monotony with large heroic figures celebrating independence and less reassuringly…military rule. The military is very present in Enugu; their base is one of the first things you see on the way from the airport. They are present at the entrance to the University, the airport and at strategic points around the city. Their guns and uniforms echo the unease one feels when observing the statues of steel featuring guns, knives and soldiers. My Igbo colleagues shudder at the associations; the dread experienced under military rule was not that long ago.

In the shadow of showy public sculptural displays, the real Enugu reveals itself. I am told the East is known for its traders and this is evident. Streets are lined with small business at a relentless density, some with shop fronts not more that two meters wide. Computer dealers, business centres, artists, artisans play their wares and trade with a busy intensity that defies the hot sun. Tailors and dressmakers are in abundance. Their products are modelled on the street where brightly clad ladies delicately balancing baskets on their heads pass men wearing intricately lace detailed West African suits. I was presented with a beautiful suit tailored in a day, immaculately made, a gift that bears testimony to an inherent creativity, craftsmanship and propensity for hard work. This is what builds the city, this quiet tenacity and focus. No need to shout.

Fragments

2010-01-26T11:40:00.000-08:00

In the 48 hours spent hosted by my gracious colleagues from University of Lagos, I saw men carrying sewing machines on their heads, others patiently pushing large metal trolleys containing water containers, with vendors selling fuel in an oil rich country at double the commercial rate while vehicles patiently line up at service stations in this twisted irony of global economics. Highways are mobile shopping malls, vendors criss-cross the somnolent traffic with agile elegance, balancing newspapers/ airtime vouchers/plastic placemats/sewing kits etc while negotiating terms of trade.

Whilst crossing a number of bridges between the mainland and the islands that form the Southern part of this city. I snapped billboards celebrating the pending FIFA World Cup only to find upon my return, debilitating poverty displayed in makeshift stilt structures on the Lagoon in between floating logs in administered rows. Slums contrast with affluent gated estates, access to which is curtailed by potholes and traffic. Negotiating 10 kms in Lagos can take you two hours despite the Bus Rapid Transit (BRT) system that criss-crosses this megolopolis. Additional public transport is provided by motorised rickshaws, motorbikes and motor vehicles of varying sizes and functions. I am not unfamiliar with urban poverty, nor with the phenomenon of the mega-city, but Lagos is something else entirely.

As planners we are trained to think holistically. What distinguishes us is the ability to see the bigger picture, makes sense of the synergies that allow a city to function effectively. A modestly arrogant expectation is the anticipation of a total understanding of the city: what makes it tick, what are the forces that lead to ongoing change, the spatial configurations and logic, the underlying energies? Lagos defies all of that. It denies one the satisfaction of prediction and overall urban insight. It allows only fragments. This extends to living in the city I believe. It is quite possible to live in Lagos with the detachment that separates one from public life in the city. A driver takes you to work while you negotiate business deals on your mobile phone. Your office is cooled and powered by a generator to avoid the constant power cuts (Nigeria produces one eight of the electricity South Africa produces....for a population of 150 million, almost four times the size of South Africa's population) which also powers the laptop, digitally connected by a 3G modem. You return to your home behind the high walls that shields you from the chaotic surroundings. The 8 pm flight takes you to London/Johannesburg/Accra/Frankfurt/New York.... your check-in procedure smoothed by the self-employed tout that accelerates your boarding and customs clearance for as little as US $10.

My own experience is not dissimilar as my astronomical hotel bill and reduced stash of US dollars attest. As an urbanist, I find this strangely tragic however. Did I miss out on the Lagos experience, or do these fragments merely comprise a different kind of urban condition, distinctive and pervasive?

Faith

2010-01-24T06:12:00.000-08:00

Traffic engineers will tell you that the Lagos to Ibadan Express Way is not particularly fast. An urban planner will inform you that it is not just a road. This 130km long corridor is host to a large conglomoration of charismatic churches concentrated at the two nodes; evangelical bookends intended to keep the populace within the bounds of their prescriptive codes. Names range from the prozaic to the ridiculous on signboards, walls, buses and the back of motor vehicles. With characteristics agnostic bemusement I made a note of the more colourful names and their associations with the city:

Moving from Ibadan, 'Access to Christ' will no doubt provide you with the 'Salt of Life' that enables you to enter the 'Church of Christ' (...along the way you may be required to pass through 'Breakthrough House') to meet 'Christ the Good Shepherd'. The 'Power of the Old' provides you with the 'Unlimited Harvest' which you celebrate at the 'Triumph Church Mission' where, upon entering the outer reaches of Lagos, you exclaim: 'Hurray! God is Here' in time to join the flock at the 'Redeemers' University'.

Nigerians apparently constitute a very religious nation; extremes discernable in the fundmentalist tendencies of the North and fervour identifiable in the flamboyant dimensions of many of its Christian places of worship. Why such devout tendencies I wonder? Living in Ibadan or Lagos cannot be easy, especially if you are poor. Service provision has simply not come close to matching urbanisation rates and living conditions are marginal for many, a situation perpetuated by the partitioned economy. My middle class background and training in the social sciences inclines me towards the 'opium of the masses' argument. No doubt the Church provides a expedient distraction from the failures of the State and the unequivocal plunder of the country's rich resources. (While oil fields proliferate, traders sell this locally scarce commodity at a %150 mark-up on sidewalk to match demand.)

On the other hand, my Nigerian friends tell me, it provides an institutional base for the intricate networks that include business contacts and training, marital counselling amongst many other social and economic functions. The Church contributes to a sense of belonging and membership is intricate to the management of perceptions. Should you not belong to a church, I am told, you are viewed with suspicion and tainted with that familiar stereotypical brush: criminal activity. In the absence of an effective state, where business deals are negotiated in US dollars or Euros and city hotels charge exorbitant rates even by Manhattan standards, the Church deals in that elusive resource: hope. As I reflect on the other stereotypical qualities discernable on the streets of Lagos and Ibadan - tenacity, creativity and invention - I cannot help but conclude that this may be the most valuable currency of all.

India for Beginners

2009-12-01T08:46:00.000-08:00

I am mindful of the fact that this collective account is about my travels through Africa. This project, however, has grown tentacles as these initiatives often do. Hence I found myself in India for a week: attendance at the Asian Planning Schools Association conference in Ahmedabad and a visit to the Indian Institute for Human Settlements in Delhi. A week is hardly enough to inform a balanced view - a year would probably just be enough!

India is unlike any place I had been to. It is completely overwhelming: the colour, the crowds and the constant traffic noise. Hooting has replaced traffic signals and conventions as a means of communication. I tried to deconstruct the code. A short friendly little playful honk: 'be careful I am about to change two lanes at once and you are in the way'; a longer insistent but not terribly agressive hoot: 'don't veer into my lane because the vehicle on your other side is about to do so by changes two lanes...'; a loud and aggressive hoot is reserved for slow drivers, non-motorised transport users and those paying attention to traffic signals....

I was able to make this (probably flawed) analysis from the back of a three-wheeler, ubiquitous little vehicles that dodge traffic with enormous skill, are cheap and appear to be available anywhere at any time. Apparently these little gems of mobility run on two-stroke engines and provided a much needed source of employment with Ahmedabad's textile industry restructured in the 1990s. Travelling in them is an adventure as they dodge buses and cross 3-lane traffic circles with ease. I could touch some of the vehicles we overtook and intercepted!

Besides its textiles, the city of Ahmedabad is famous for its 400-year heritage and intends to have its walled area declared a World Heritage site. Quite what that means for the city and its inhabitants remains unclear to me. The symbols of its Jain, Hindu and Islamic heritage are stunning. Colourful and intricately carved temple exteriors provides community focal points for the various pols (enclosed neighbourhoods) and elegant chabutras (bird feeders) emphasise small public squares where narrow lanes converge. Juxtaposed with these elements of ancient urban design are buildings designed by Le Corbusier, Doshi, Louis Khan and Charles Correa. Paradoxically, the former plunges one into the chaos of the city whilst these latter monuments to the machine age and the proud era of post-colonial India provide solace from the din of street traffic. Khan's Institute of Management is impressive in an intimadating and inaccessible way. Correa's work I love. I spent a whole afternoon inGhandi's ashram as a testiment to the great man but also to revel in the beautifully articulated spaces that so effortlessly interface with the lush natural surroundings.

In an article entitled 'How to be a Cultural Superpower' the Times of India outlines 3 easy steps: export Indian items such as yoga, cinema and ayurveda; open Indian cultural centres in major capitals and offer subsidised courses teaching appreciation of Indian culture. It strikes me that all this is unnecessary. India does not need to try so hard.

the eye of the beholder

2009-11-24T09:29:00.001-08:00

Having been to London a number of times, I am always surpised by the inverse relationship between my initial anticipation and excitement and the aftermath of such a journey. I hardly ever return from London with photographs; this trip: not once did I open my camera bag. It is not that I think it an ugly city. To me the beauty of it is in its unfolding local scale where high streets provide the arteries between neighbourhoods that seem to provide endless textures and shades of brown and green. Somehow I cannot capture its energy through a lens.

I came to London to engage in a workshop on training urban practitioners; it was held at the DPU (UCL). My involvement is due to synergies with the Association of African Planning Schools (AAPS) project but there is a larger mutual agenda. Both initiatives seek to inform contextually rich understandings that contribute to Southern perspectives on cities and notions of the urban. Inclusivity is a quality attributed to London by an English colleague. As I negotiated the London Underground, observing the clothing textures and colours, the head dresses, the scarves, the business suits all amassed into a tide of dense human activity, I recall another friend saying: "the average Londoner has a level of familiarity and comfort with seeing people from many different cultural forms of dress and skin shades". I cannot help but wonder if the infrastructure, the enforced public interaction enabled through good public transport and celebration of open spaces through maintenance and upkeep is perhaps to some extent responsible for this.

In an excellent piece in the Guardian Simon Jenkins reflects on his relationship with London thus: "A true city is a mirror, in which the blemishes are our own." I would expand by saying that a true city confronts us with the difference that is within all of us. How comfortable we are with those internal contradictions best defines how inclusive we find a city to be. As planners and urban practitioners the task then is to create the physical opportunities for such interaction.

Appearances

2009-10-28T01:57:00.000-07:00

'Your look is your personality; allow us to serve you' encouraged the hand-painted sign advertising dry-cleaning services in Dar es Salaam. I suspected my one and only suit would be in good hands here but ditched this garment when I arrived in Dar. It is hot, humid and reminds me of February in Durban; my next visit to Dar will be in February...

I wondered how this strapline could apply to a urban management/town planning department of a city. How exactly do the appearances of cities match their personalities and how can we best serve them? Do cities have personalities?

Dar's turquoise ocean and palm trees convey a laid-back atmosphere; a city at ease with itself. Neglected colonial buildings are juxtaposed by clusters of construction that defy the current global economic crisis. These contrasts are discernable in the two informal settlements I visited. Manzese and Hana Nassif are small compared to Kibera in Nairobi. These are neighbourhoods where quirky (often unfinished) permanent structures interrupt rows of shacks; collector roads are flanked with economic enterprises that range from home-based sewing services to panel beaters and furniture vendors...and of course bars. The diversity of economic activity amazed me. Here people are serving themselves, despite the neglected infrastructure.

Global Barrio

2009-10-26T07:27:00.000-07:00

As the plane circled Maputo, the Catedral da Nossa Senhora da Conceição (RC Cathedral of Our Lady of the Immaculate Conception) stark white exterior visible from the sky, I contained my annoyance with the 1 hour delay. The delay was due to the arrival of the President Armando Emílio Guebuza in Beira. (I noticed his plane was bigger than ours.) A couple of days later whilst making my way from Maputo to Dar es Salaam, I encountered him again in Pemba, our second stop on this 'matatu' of air travel experiences. Red Frelimo flags invigorated what appeared to be rather small but enthusiastic shows of support at these two locations. Apparently the true challenge for Frelimo in this week's election is not winning (not an issue since the opposition is split) but public confidence reflected in voter turnout.

Populist figures and images are ubiquitous reminders of the country's turbulent past. Modernist and sometimes brutalist buildings with Soviet-era lettering and imagery are located on roads with names that includes every revolutionary active in the 20thC: Lenin, Machel, Nyerere, Mao... Early colonial buildings fade into the background with the exception of the Cathedral and Eiffel's iron building and station. In front of the station I bumped into an old friend from Namibia - our serendipitous encounter is a welcome reminder of the resilience of joint interests and passions (architecture, cities, art) . Among the T-shirts sporting images of Bob Marley and Che Guevara, I engaged in conversation with a eloquent woman selling stylish handbags (of course I bought one!); she tells me of her journey to Mozambique from her native Uganda, through Zimbabwe... It is clear to me that these were not journeys of choice. Movement across borders are not necessarily the result of shared interests but the divisive forces of war and discord. Yet it speaks of a innate ability to adapt and be mobile which I find strangely intriguing.

Floating

2009-10-24T09:41:00.000-07:00

“Maputo is ‘n stad; Beira is ‘n gat” (Maputo is a city, Beira is a hole), said the khaki clad tour operator. I was on the airport bus, and had just assured my mother (in Afrikaans) that her youngest would travel safely. Language changes sensibilities; it can be barrier or bridge. This person whom I know not from Adam thought it appropriate to share such a biased opinion with me, a total stranger. I immediately felt the need to defend Beira, even though I had never been there and count Maputo as one of my favourite places. Having grown up in Durban, I have always been vaguely defensive about those ‘second’ or ‘third’ cities, the ones that do are not always in the limelight, do not have the glamour or are just not the size that justifies to be noticed. Perhaps it is just language.

Beira is situated below sea level, a city surrounded by water; swamps inland, the ocean and rivers to the east, south and north. One of our themes for the AAPS project, Climate Change and Cities has special significance here, my colleagues at Catholic University of Mozambique agreed. It would be easy to dismiss the city in a derisive comparison to other east coast centres; it is small, it lacks a core, road maintenance is lacking, waste management is limited and it appears to pay little attention to its beautiful coastline. However, in between the glossy advertisements for mobile phones (Vodacom is heading north…) and littered squares are little linear gems: tree-lined roads with faded Art Deco buildings paying allegiance to its past. A moment of colonial guilt passes as I enjoy the elegant facades and mourn the neglect and lack of maintenance of many of these structures. I then smiled when I realised I was in Eduardo Mondlane Avenue…a reminder of where I was.

How does one reconcile the architectural splendours of a colonial past with more urgent current imperatives? I pondered this as I swam laps in the 50m Municipal pool, yet another relic from the city’s past. Pausing to breathe every three strokes I noticed a number of young children warming up for their swimming lesson by jogging around the pool. My turns at the pool edge were punctuated by delightful giggles and the occasional ‘ola!’ (I was the only swimmer in the pool). Perhaps my colonial angst was unfounded; beauty in spaces and architecture is universal, much like the water that surrounds Beira and connected me experientially to those energetic little swimmers.

Commitment Issues

2009-10-19T03:35:00.000-07:00

Standing in the line waiting to board the Johannesburg-Ndola flight on SA Airlink I closed my eyes listening to the accents around me and figured I could be boarding a Quantas flight given the predominance of Australian slang. Subtle eavesdropping reveals that many of these antipodeans are on their way to the DRC, site of many international mining interests; others were on their way to Kitwe, the erstwhile core of the Zambian Copper belt and home to the Copper Belt University’s School of the Built Environment and the Department of Urban and Regional Planning, my hosts.

Kitwe is a city of about 0.5 million people. It is attractive with many flamboyant trees and a lush landscape. In the distance one sees the mine shafts, the ‘hard hats’ that gain access to the depths below. This is the view from afar. My guest house is located in a comfortable suburb with the Bar playing host to a range of Nationalities: English, Australian, Chinese and South African. My fake wedding ring gives me some protection from continuous harassment since a single woman visiting on business is clearly a very foreign feature. The copper price has been steadily increasing so business is improving in this part of the world but I cannot help but wonder: where’s the money? It is certainly not present in the city infrastructure. Closer inspection reveals streets in dire need of repair and a city in much demand for a waste management strategy. A tour of informal settlements on the outskirts reveals minimal servicing and neglect. A curious feature is the predominance of home-based spaza shops, constructed as little kiosks embedded in fencing or as extensions of people’s homes; ‘welcome shoppers’ boasts one.

Kiosks range from hair dressing services, complete with painted signage, the ubiquitous phone shops offering ‘top-up’ and spaza shops selling basic groceries with some selling fresh produce. The market down the road is one of the biggest I have seen (I have yet to travel to West Africa…) with hardware, clothing and other goods and services arranged in self-appointed districts. I am told by my Zambian colleague that the site is to be redeveloped into a shopping centre, seen by the local authority as a healthy dose of foreign investment. I would hate to calculate the many livelihoods that would be affected by this intervention. It strikes me that the promise of FDI in this instance, and perhaps in many other examples in this mining region, is not dissimilar to my fake wedding ring: an outwards sign of commitment, but inherently false and intentionally deceptive.

Interesting tides

2009-10-13T07:03:00.001-07:00

There is much to enjoy in Mombassa: the coast is beautiful, the food is excellent and the architecture is fascinating (especially if you fancy ornate, wooden balconies…who doesn’t?!). It is a 24-hour city: small cafes are open day and night (but closed for prayer of course) selling chapattis and Kenyan pizza (a square and compact omelette sandwich with mince) and balmy nights invite whole families outside as they sit in colourful robes discussing the matters of the day watching children play in the narrow streets. The old town of Mombassa is charming but in need of intervention. The few buildings that have official heritage status are well preserved but there are not many of them. The lack of services is discernable and I was pleased that I did not walk through some of the narrow alleys on my own. It is a dense urban environment, sometimes claustrophobic, knowing that one can escape to the seafront on the edges of the island is somehow reassuring.

If you catch the tide at the right time you can swim in the beautiful warm ocean.

While sitting next to the old harbour drinking flagrant black coffee infused with ginger and cardamom, my local friend (and self-appointed tour guide extraordinaire) informed me that this was a ritual to many: sitting on the sea front, staring at the ocean, talking about politics and chewing mari, a local plant, also known as Kenyan Lettuce, that ‘helps you see things clearly’. His description of this experience sounded vaguely hallucinogenic, my suspicions were confirmed by the look of serenity and peaceful oblivion on the lined face of the elderly gentleman sitting behind me. He was chewing with dignity, my friend said, sitting upright, shoes off, impeccable white muslim dress, perfectly perched; unlike the others around us, he continued, chewing open-mouthed, spitting in an undignified way and clearly too young to handle the stuff. I was too distracted by the activity in the water to pay much attention: crossing the bay to the South were two swimmers doing a beautiful butterfly stroke across the bay. I was impressed with the deft confidence with which one crossed back, jumped out of the water and bounded up the steps behind us. Another daily ritual for some, I am told, and one only for men. Being a swimmer myself I found this aspect of the custom strangely ancient and annoying; what the ocean is off limits to women?!

Perhaps the tide has to change in more ways than one for some.

The postmodern and the subaltern

2009-10-08T22:57:00.000-07:00

On the bus traveling back from Kibera on Tuesday I giggled at the two notices: 'No Hawking', and 'No Preaching' plastered in front of the TV that plays UNICEF advertorials. Preaching is something I encountered on my first day in Nairobi; my hotel hosts a charismatic church on Sunday mornings, right next to the restaurant. Downstairs, off the lobby is a Casino that is always open. I wonder if the two are associated? Perhaps just in my subversive mind...

Across from the hotel is 'Simmers' a bar that has been keeping me up most nights. This morning when I woke at 3.30 it was discharging the last of its customers. So it was with a slight hint of resentment that I went to Simmers last night... I needed a beer though! A friend from KU had been showing me 'the other Nairobi' - an area beyond the great divide posed by Moi Avenue that is considerably less ordered than the city I have become accustomed to this week. This could be a city in Asia. Colonial office buildings have been subdivided into small units arranged into spontaneous districts of small shops selling electronic goods, clothes, hardware etc. A neglect of town planning controls has allowed for the creation of a dense, noisy, busy and strangely exhilirating series of spaces. In a meeting with a colleague from U. Nairobi we talked about the element of surprise in African cities. Many surprises await one beyond Moi Avenue.

So back at Simmers we discussed these contrasts as the Congolese musicians started gyrating on the stage. The music was strangely hypnotic; I like it a lot. The musicians were particularly interesting. Six of them made intermittent appearances and their dancing and interactions on stage were mesmerising. There was something confrontational about their presence, due largely to their atire. One particular singer commanded attention wearing a long black coat (initially flung over one shoulder) sporting white scale-like inscriptions, tight black pants with a bold Dolce and Gabbana belt buckle and a black hat, perched to the side. My friend tells me his intention is to appear as an undertaker symbolic of the plight of the DRC. This man was not a victim however. He was delivering commentary; I still have not really come to grips with what that was....

Youthful Reflections

2009-10-07T12:45:00.000-07:00

Following a series of meetings with my AAPS colleagues at Kenyatta University on Day 1, I spent my second day in the company of some very special people…accumulating an interesting array of experiences. A walk through Uhuru Park took me to a meeting at the Serena Hotel. The walk through Uhuru Park was uneventful, despite the Lonely Planet’s assertions to be careful; the entrance to the elegant Serena was not! Kofi Annan is in town and he is staying, no doubt with many other VIPs, at the Serena… I strolled in backpack on back with not so much as a second look in my direction. I am not sure if this says more about my sombre suit or the security at the Serena…

I know about Annan’s visit because I read the Kenyan newspapers; they are fantastic! What may be lacking in investigative journalism is more than compensated by editorial opinion and good quality reporting. My favourite thus far is Mutayi Ngunyi’s recommendation in the Sunday Nation: “Mr President, what you need is ‘reverse mentoring’ from my generation” (fortunately I JUST make it into Mr Ngunyi’s generation of 30 and 40 year olds) Tolstoy and Naomi Klein inform this ‘Last Word on Sunday’ that argues that attention to contemporary views and the energy of the X and Y generations will inform a more connected Presidency… “Your generation owns this country, my generation runs it.”

I was reminded of these words when I visited Kibera with a student from KU later in the day. The bus ride took only 15 minutes; I expected the South African township experience where a one-way trip can take you up to 2 hours in traffic. Kibera is known to be the biggest informal settlement in Africa, perhaps rivalled by Soweto. Interestingly there is a Soweto IN Kibera, site of recent removals to controversial high density accommodation constructed recently (picture). The densities are staggering! Popping out of the finely woven fabric of tin and corrugated iron are small circular structures with cheerful blue roofs. These are bio-centres, ablution blocks and community spaces, constructed by the Umande Trust, an NGO that hosted me for the afternoon. These small buildings make a big impact. They are multi-functional. In addition to providing ablution facilities with hot water facilitated through bio-fuels, community groups raise funding by cooking meals using generated gas; the roof hosts community group meetings. Many of these are youth groups. One of these is in the process of being constructed another one of these structures. I chatted to one young man whilst he was busy shovelling soil in the hot sun. As far as he was concerned he was learning on the job and making a difference while doing it. On our way back to downtown Nairobi, my young friend from KY was careful to point out that these buildings are maintained and sustained because of the young people’s involvement and support. As I watched the UNICEF advertorial on the bus’s TV screen, I wondered:

Are you listening Mr President?

You are welcome

2009-10-05T23:32:00.000-07:00

Sitting in the cab on the way from Jomo Kenyatta airport I listened to two radio personalities expressing their frustration with Facebook culture and that fine art involving Twitter (I refuse to use the word tweet before my second cup of coffee). The view was derisive; who on earth is interested in what you do at a moment-to-moment basis?! This opinion is shared by many (and some may even extend that opinion to bloggers....). So my curiousity about technology in East Africa's business hub was provoked... our project relies on a certain measure of connectivity and my research focuses on ICT and cities. I take technophobia very personally!

So, I was curious about the relevance of digital technologies as the taxi driver offered to buy me fresh roasted peanuts from the kids on the side of the road while we stalled in the Saturday night traffic jam ('you are welcome'). The nuts are wrapped in paper cones: a basic technology that is cheap and effective enough to provide livelihoods on that global shopping strip: the road verge. Informality is a theme that resonates in a number of ways here. Currently the Nairobi City Council is intent on preserving the cleanliness of the city centre by enforcing by-laws that prohibit spitting, blowing your nose without a hankie and 'behaving like touts and street traders' according to one letter to the editor of the Daily Nation. In the same paper UNHabitat Day is celebrated under the timely theme: 'Planning our Urban Future' where one of the challenges, noted by the agency, in cities in the Global South is dealing with increasing informality... One of the interesting features of unregulated development in Kenya rests in the upper income areas on the edges of Nairobi where whole neighbourhoods are developed outside city regulations. So who exactly is welcome here?

Whilst prowling Nairobi streets, taking care to blow my frequently congested nose in a hankie, I stumble across M-Pesa....everywhere...on billboards, on shop fronts and embedded in cute little kiosks scattered across the city. My waiter (who insists on loading my Kenyan sim card and airtime and ensuring that I now have a Kenyan cell number; 'you are welcome') tells me this is a way of managing your money on a cell phone, bypassing banks. Users are able to buy credits at retailers and then use this credit to transfer funds, buy airtime, shop and buy beer (said waiter's emphasis). Digital technology is alive and well in Nairobi but apparently on Kenyan terms. Now that is my kind of informality!

Under surveillance: the gated urban experience

2009-09-09T03:06:00.001-07:00

My visit to Wits on Tuesday was preceded by the usual laptop lurking in coffee shops justified by the need to buy Fair Trade coffee beans from Bean There at 44 Stanley and meet a friend at Melrose Arch for lunch.

44 Stanley is located on 'Braamfontein Werf', a redevelopment that is small enough in scale to feel intimate, close enough to the city to feel urban. It works, despite the chaotic parking arrangements (or lack thereof), the seemingly neverending construction work and the messiness of its edges.

In order to reach the 'new urbanist' Melrose Arch I found myself on that notorious M1 again. Access is controlled and job creation is to a large extent enabled through security employment. My friend Jane's mosaics look beautiful in the 'square', whilst the 'High Street' bears little resemblance to the active corridors it seeks to emanate. Despite the conscious attempts to protect and enclose I find myself on edge (more than I would in a township for example). The CCTV cameras on the empty squares seem to follow my movements and as I take photos I find that I am watched by at least 2 casually clad security personnel. The shops are empty and the public spaces feel sad and lonely. I can't help but think that in order to experience the urban one is required to experience the less predictable and more volatile aspects of city life...

Skylines and views from beyond

2009-09-08T00:17:00.000-07:00

My visit to University of Johannesburg yesterday began with two traffic jams on the M1. How very Jozi I thought as I looked east towards the skyline that I absolutely love. I come to Joburg often, in many ways this is my second home and without fail, I get a thrill every time I approach the city on the M2 coming from the airport. There is something about this city that excites me. Despite its reputation as an unsafe, noisy, aggresive and congested metropolis I often find myself defending it. Its energy, its very urban history and its diversity appeal to many of my sensibilities.

UJ's Town and Regional Planning Department is situated on its Doornfontein campus. The John Orr building is an imposing edifice that could easily feel oppresive and depressing. Yet, standing in its rooms, I have a moment... there it is again; that skyline. The meeting was informative and productive. UJ trains a large number of students with a small staff complement. I wonder how these students translate what they learn as they negotiate traffic, minibus taxis and street vendors in the shadow of the imposing Ponte, that round highrise that has become a landmark in many films that portray life in Egoli. I think that training planners in the midst of the inner city has its advantages. The laboratory surrounds the classroom.

As I drive back to Melville in my insulated, rented, air-conditioned vehicle past the messy edges of Yeoville I wonder if these urban experiences should not extend to academics....I inadvertendly find myself back on the M1, heading north this time...

From the outside in; from the inside out....

2009-09-06T12:13:00.000-07:00

It is 9pm in Johannesburg as I reflect on two weeks of travel, discussions, interrogations and intellectual rigour. (Soundtrack: Schumann) The latter is not necessarily of my own making; allow me to explain...

My job is to coordinate a project on educating urban planners in Africa with the Association of African Planning Schools. (Soundtrack now: could be Keita, Toure or Kidjo or but my urban sensibilities lead me to the South African duo Goldfish) The 3-year project, funded by the Rockefeller Foundation, aims to revisit and interrogate planning education given the urban challenges facing the continent. Ambitious, yes; bold, yes; invigorating, most definitely; I would venture that this is the best job in the world since I'll be traveling across this vast and diverse continent talking about 2 of my passions: planning and cities.

Strange then that my travels should start in Bellagio, Italy.

I was invited by the DPU at University College London to attend a meeting on the Indian Institute for Human Settlements (IIHS) ... an institution that does not yet exist... MIT and DPU have been invited to hammer out curricula guidelines at the Rockefeller Centre in Bellagio last week. I was asked to participate and share the AAPS experience. A number of issues struck me as common to both the IIHS and AAPS objectives: the need to train planners in a context of multiple modernities, changing sensibilities and the need for reflexive practitioners. From the outside in....clearly a new agenda for planning resonates across many quarters of the Global South.

So I started my African visits in my comfort zone with South African planning schools. I taught at the University of KwaZulu-Natal in Durban for 8 years, these are my colleagues and peers. Thus far I have visited the University of the Free State in Bloemfontein, the University of the North-West in Potchefstroom and the University of Pretoria. Colleagues and students are excited, curious to see where this will lead us, and in the case of the latter, concerned about sustainability, inclusivity, transparency and all the other qualities so often spelt with a 'y' at the end. 'Why?' was a question often asked as I outlined ways in which we can prepare for a conference in 201o intended to assist us in addressing curricula issues. Some interesting questions have been: why the urban bias? why only urban planners? why Africa? The many 'why's' are indicative of a need to engage, to question and to revitalise. The overarching sense is that rising to the challenge of uneven urbanisation in the South, and in this case Africa, needs to emerge in the South...in Africa.

From the inside out...