A lot of time and effort goes into development projects, from writing proposals and getting funds through to building partnerships, doing the work and finally evaluating it to show that you‚Äôve made a difference. Sometimes a simpler, direct approach is more effective, as my experiences with bamboo in Ethiopia have suggested.
I first learnt about the vast swathes of bamboo in Ethiopia twenty years ago. I was engaged in a pilot project to assess a largely untapped resource comprising huge natural stands and a patchwork of smaller plots dotted around peoples‚Äô homes. Existing uses of bamboo included conversion into charcoal, building fences and making small household items, such as baskets. The resource assessment was the first step in suggesting profitable enterprises on a much larger scale.
Each year the million hectares of Ethiopian bamboo produce new culms, as the woody, fast-maturing stems are known. There has been no shortage of ideas on what to do with this rapidly regenerating biomass. The most ambitious suggestion has been to burn bamboo and generate electricity. More modest proposals, though still requiring major investment, have included fashioning the bamboo into high quality flooring and decking for export to the North.
When I returned to Ethiopia ten years ago for a new bamboo project, I found little evidence of new enterprises or large scale industrial uses. The most striking discovery, though one that at first seemed commonplace, was the continuing operation of a workshop where people were trained to make handicrafts from bamboo. Some of the oldest ideas had been the most enduring.
During the second visit I went to talk with a small group of shopkeepers who sold bamboo furniture to the better-off denizens of Addis Ababa. These were, as far as I could see, the same shops that had been present when I made my first visit in 1997. The shops were well-stocked with chairs, beds, tables and all the other furniture that middle class families were keen to have in their homes.
The furniture sellers and the handicraft makers were all beneficiaries of a much earlier initiative, some time back in the 1980s, when Ethiopia was run by the Derg, a revolutionary committee drawn from the army and police. The Derg admired the socialist ideals of China and one of the outcomes was a visit by Chinese technicians, who introduced Ethiopian artisans to new designs for bamboo arts and crafts. The Chinese supported the establishment of a workshop in a government-supported, small enterprises institute, where people were still being trained thirty or so years later.
In 1997, the bamboo furniture makers and the craftsmen seemed unremarkable to me because at the time I thought that chairs and baskets would never generate huge amounts of income. But as roads improve, cities expand, and the Ethiopian middle class comes of age, there is now solid demand for sensible furniture. Bamboo industries benefit farm communities with small plots, who send regular truck loads to the bustling workshops of Addis Ababa.
What of the other more ambitious schemes for bamboo? A quick search of the web for current bamboo activity in Ethiopia shows USAID giving a grant of $1.75 million in 2014 to ‚Äėdevelop processes to make industrial and quality bamboo‚Äô. This grant will have a detailed proposal, plan of action and agreed outcomes, all requiring regular monitoring, reporting and so on. In other words, a hefty administrative overhead will eat into the available finds.
But this recent public/private enterprise may also mean that bamboo enterprises are finally going to succeed on a big scale ‚Äď though there‚Äôs no guarantee that this will happen. Meanwhile the impact of a small gesture by China forty or more years ago to show solidarity with Ethiopia continues to reap benefits, an unexpected outcome of the otherwise tragic and violent period of Derg rule. Sometimes the most effective interventions are also the simplest.
Vea la versi√≥n en espa√Īol a continuaci√≥n.
Social media can be used to help manage a natural resource, as we saw recently in Bolivia. Every year, in Cochabamba, the municipal government puts up Christmas decorations, including strings of lights wrapped around trees. But no one bothers to take the lights down. A few still flicker from time to time, almost a year after being hammered onto the tree. The iron in the nails is toxic for the trees, and the nail holes are wounds that allow disease to enter. The workers climbing up and down the trees also damage some of them.
Cochabamba has a group opposed to cutting trees (No a la Tala de √Ārboles en Cochabamba). The group plants trees, holds meetings and raises public awareness through information. Members of the group began to notice these trash ornaments, and they knew that the wires and nails were bad for tree health. The city had already lost too many trees to construction, drought and disease (especially a phytoplasma on the China berry tree‚ÄĒMelia azedarach). Some members of ‚ÄúNo a la Tala‚ÄĚ posted photos of the dangling lights and brief notes on the group‚Äôs Facebook page.
Local groups can be quite large. This one has 13,025 ‚Äúfriends‚ÄĚ, and they responded immediately. They coined a slogan, ‚Äúput more lights in your brains, and fewer in our trees.‚ÄĚ The newspaper and local bloggers began to run stories suggesting that old ornaments be cleaned up, and that new ones be more carefully done, and not placed in living trees. The city is slowly beginning to take action, removing some of the old strings of lights, and there is growing public concern that the ornaments can harm trees.
City trees are shared by many people, like any common property resource, such as the sea, or irrigation water, or grazing land. As the ecologist Garret Hardin noticed years ago in his paper ‚ÄúThe Tragedy of the Commons,‚ÄĚ (1968) a common resource is hard to manage when so many people use it. However, today social media can help communities to notice problems, and to organize themselves to create solutions.
4 de diciembre del 2016, por Jeff Bentley
Los medios sociales se pueden usar para ayudar a manejar un recurso natural, como vimos recientemente en Bolivia. Cada a√Īo, en Cochabamba, el gobierno municipal instala adornos navide√Īos, incluso cables de lucecitas amarrados a los √°rboles. Pero nadie toma la molestia de bajar las luces. Algunas todav√≠a chispean de vez en cuando, casi un a√Īo despu√©s de haber sido clavados al √°rbol. El hierro en los clavos es t√≥xico para los √°rboles, y los agujeros son heridas que dejan entrar enfermedades. Los trabajadores tambi√©n hacen da√Īo a medida que trepan y se bajan de los √°rboles.
La ciudad tiene un grupo, No a la Tala de √Ārboles en Cochabamba, que planta √°rboles, tiene reuniones y concientiza al p√ļblico a trav√©s de la informaci√≥n. Miembros del grupo empezaron a fijarse en los adornos basurales, y sab√≠an que los alambres y clavos da√Īaban la salud de los √°rboles. La ciudad ya ha perdido demasiados √°rboles a la construcci√≥n, la sequ√≠a y las enfermedades (sobre todo un fitoplasma en el para√≠so‚ÄĒMelia azedarach). Algunos miembros de ‚ÄúNo a la Tala‚ÄĚ subieron fotos de la chatarra a√©rea y breves notas en la p√°gina Facebook del grupo.
Los grupos locales pueden ser grandes. Este tiene 13,025 miembros y respondieron de inmediato. Crearon un lema, ‚Äúpongan m√°s luces en sus cerebros, y menos en nuestros √°rboles.‚ÄĚ El peri√≥dico y bloguistas locales empezaron a publicar, sugiriendo que los adornos viejos ten√≠an que ser limpiados, y que los nuevos ten√≠an que colocarse con m√°s cuidado, y no puestos en los √°rboles vivos. La ciudad lentamente empieza a tomar acci√≥n, bajando algunos de los viejos cables de luces, y hay cada vez m√°s conciencia que los adornos hacen da√Īo a los √°rboles.
Los √°rboles de la ciudad se comparten entre mucha gente, como cualquier recurso com√ļn, como el mar, el agua de riego o el terreno de pastoreo. Como el ec√≥logo Garret Hardin observ√≥ hace a√Īos en su art√≠culo ‚ÄúLa Tragedia de los Bienes Comunes,‚ÄĚ (1968) un recurso com√ļn es dif√≠cil de manejar cuando tanta gente lo usa. Sin embargo, hoy en d√≠a los medios sociales pueden ayudar a la gente a fijarse en problemas, y organizarse para crear soluciones.
In the 1980s desertification was a cause for alarm. The basic idea was that smallholders in the Sahel were grazing too many animals and cutting down too many trees. As a result, the Sahara was creeping into the Sahel, turning fields and pastures into desert. The reality turned out to be more complex than that.
By the 1990s, academics had debunked the idea that peasants caused desertification. In Gourma, Mali for example, there was no relationship between deforestation and domestic firewood consumption, because smallholders gathered deadwood as fuel, and did not down cut live trees (Benjaminsen 1993). In fact, the boundary line between the desert and the Sahel had not changed in the 16 years between 1986 and 1998. Rather, the boundary ebbed and flowed with changes in annual rainfall (Nicholson et al. 1998). The number of individual trees in West Africa did decline in the second half of the twentieth century, but this was largely because of the droughts of the 1970s and 1980s.
Remarkably, smallholder farmers in the Sahel were actually encouraging the natural regeneration of trees. In a hiking survey of 135 villages in Senegal, Patrick Gonzalez noted that when a tree sprouted, people would protect it, and when it was large enough prune it (Gonzalez 2001). This may strike some readers as wishful thinking, but William Critchley and colleagues at the University of Amsterdam have also documented farmers in the Sahel protecting small trees. Critchley et al. have made several videos on how farmers in the Sahel use various simple techniques to encourage trees. Farmers dig small pits that collect rain runoff. By applying manure in these pits the soil is improved and when a tree seedling germinates, farmers keep livestock from nibbling it away.
As an added bonus, many of the trees that seemed to have died in the 1970s and 1980s still had life left in the roots. As the branches began to grow back from these ‚Äúunderground forests‚ÄĚ farmers protected them as well.
In his video Managed regeneration, Critchley uses aerial photos of the village of Galma, Niger to show that dramatic recovery of vegetation between 1975 and 2002.
During the drought decades, international projects funded nurseries of eucalyptus and other exotic trees in the Sahel, but most of these died (Gonzalez 2001). One might be forgiven for assuming that foreign trees are simply inferior to native species, but it‚Äôs not quite that simple. Eric Boa points out that in the Sahel the single most important tree across the transition zone from arid to semi-arid is not actually a native species, but the leafy neem, a native of South Asia which was introduced to Africa about 100 years ago.
Neem now grows from Mali to Sudan. Neem trees are fairly drought-tolerant, but even they declined in the early 1990s, probably because of the long dry spell. Some activists prefer indigenous species, such as Balanites aegyptiaca, but neem grows much faster, which is why people like it (E. Boa, email). In the past few years I have been impressed by the sight of great neem trees around farmsteads in Mali.
Rural people know as well as anyone that trees provide fuel, timber, shade for livestock, fruit and other services. No doubt future generations in the Sahel will encourage native trees, and continue to plant naturalized foreigners like neem, adapting to the slow rhythms of moister and dryer decades.
Benjaminsen, Tor A. 1993 Fuelwood and Desertification: Sahel Orthodoxies‚Äô Discussed on the Basis of Field Data from the Gourma Region in Mali. Geoforum 24(4): 397-409.
Gonzalez, Patrick 2001 Desertification and a Shift of Forest Species in the West African Sahel. Climate Research 17:217‚Äď228.