Tom Hanks and Kristine Pearson holding a Freeplay windup radio
Kristine Pearson with Tom Hanks, who knows the power of radio

Tackling Energy Poverty

Kristine Pearson’s blog

What About Including Women in Africa’s Transformation?

May 17, 2012

By Kristine Pearson in Addis Ababa

I left the closing plenary of the World Economic Forum on Africa in Addis Ababa last Friday with a profound sense of optimism. Josette Sheeran, the Forum’s new vice-chairman, moderated a wonderfully inspirational panel with African Young Global Leaders and Global Shapers. She asked: “What if, what about and if you could…”

For three days on limited sleep, we conversed about Africa — what needs to be done, what we’re doing well, where we’re going and the speed at which we’re traveling. South Africa’s minister of finance, Pravin Gordhan, delivered his heartfelt remarks, reminding us that there are a billion lives on this continent that need to benefit from Africa’s transformation.
Little did I realize how swiftly and significantly Minister Gordhan’s words would touch me.

For more than 13 years I’ve had the privilege of making friends with exceptional African women. As the head of Lifeline Energy, my work takes me into all sorts of different environments, from crowded urban settlements and refugee camps to isolated rural areas. Here, our solar and wind-up MP3s and radios provide access to information and education specifically for these underserved populations. And, whenever I travel in Africa, I make a particular point of speaking with women who struggle to make ends meet and who use fossil fuels for their basic energy needs. I’m convinced that as long as women are dependent on non-renewable energy sources, the odds are highly unlikely they will rise out of poverty.

On Saturday, I asked my Ethiopian friend, social entrepreneur and children’s TV presenter Brukty Tigabu, who runs Whiz Kids Workshop, if she could arrange for me to meet local women. Brukty took me by taxi to Fresh and Green Academy, a colourfully painted primary school located off a two-lane paved road in one of Addis’s newer neighbourhoods (when I visited Addis 10 years ago this area was little more than a eucalyptus grove).

Fresh and Green, although accredited, doesn’t receive government support. Its founder, 36-year-old Muday Mitiku, relies on sponsorship and income-generating projects to fund the education of 125 local at-risk children from preschool to grade 4. She also helps support their destitute mothers medically and financially. Although she lives in a modest two-room house, Muday has adopted eight children whose mothers have died of HIV/AIDS and would otherwise have been forced to live on the streets. Some of the children are HIV positive themselves.

Muday told me the tragic story of a woman who was lying on a floor in a shop room nearby waiting to die. Although anti-retroviral drugs are free in Ethiopia, people still have to find the funds for transport, often wait for hours to be seen at a hospital, and then require regular meals to ensure that they don’t become ill from the medication.

During my trip, I visited women in their one-room, rough-hewn mud, straw and aluminium shacks they rented in back gardens and behind a bar. I also spoke with three women, all part of the Fresh and Green cooperative, who were weaving brightly coloured scarves on traditional wooden looms on the school grounds. As I was a textile major at university, I recognized the looms — the historical design hasn’t changed for more than 2,000 years (weaving of cloth is considered a highly skilled occupation, and as such, is usually performed by men).

All the women that I spoke with confirmed what I’ve heard hundreds of women say, that they spend far too much money on kerosene, charcoal and firewood. Their rent includes an unreliable electricity supply, usually a light bulb dangling from the ceiling; they can’t afford batteries for a flashlight or radio. One woman had a clock radio, but it didn’t work because a rat had eaten the cord.

As Brukty and I were saying our good-byes, a wafer-thin girl named Sara ran past us with ripped-up paper in her hands, crying. Her mother had torn up her homework and told her that there was no point in her going to school as she was just a girl. We went to look in on the mother. Lying on the ground under a threadbare blue blanket, her silhouette appeared as if she was a 10-year-old girl herself as she was so emaciated. She had lapsed into a coma and could die at any moment. It was devastating to witness this.

Imagine that Sara’s last memories of her mother are those of unspeakable cruelty. Her mother is like many other poor and rural women who migrate to cities across Africa and around the world. Many are often forced to turn to risky sex work to feed themselves and their children just to stay alive.

It is precisely girls like Sara and other children at the school, the mothers of the cooperative and even Muday, who so far Africa’s transformation has passed by.

As I think back to Minister Gordhan’s reference to the transformation of a billion African lives, I truly believe that until we in Africa change our attitudes to the treatment of poor women and girls and encourage the Sara’s of this continent to be all that they can be, we cannot yet congratulate ourselves on Africa’s transition.

The World Economic Forum can be a powerful force in achieving this transformation if we all build on the strong intentions expressed in Addis last week.

Whirlwinds Of Change

May 11, 2012

By Kristine Pearson in Addis Ababa

When the London cabbie driving me to Paddington on Sunday asked where I was going and I replied that I was headed to Ethiopia, he said ‘What’s it like there now, is everyone still starving? Perceptions, it seems, aren’t easy to erase.

It’s my third visit to Ethiopia. I flew on British Airways from London to Nairobi and on to Addis Addis on Ethiopian Airways – voted Africa’s top airline in 2011.  My work takes me across Africa and I would agree.  This was a far easier than my previous trip here in late 2002, an exhausting 48 hours to reach Addis from West Africa with stops in Paris, Frankfurt and Cairo. That journey today would be a direct five-hour flight.

As a social entrepreneur and a fellow of the Schwab Foundation of the World Economic Forum, I’m here to attend the first Africa Regional Forum to be held in Ethiopia. This year’s theme is suitably Shaping Africa’s Transformation. And transforming it is.   Whirlwinds of change are gusting across the continent and will be reflected in our conversations – trade, growth, political stability, economic policies, the green revolution, business models, and investment, amongst others.  Africa continues to face seemingly insurmountable challenges, yet words like optimism, opportunity and innovation are more likely to be heard than poverty, famine and aid. Africans are discovering African solutions.

A decade ago I couldn’t buy a local sim card and had to use my South African GSM cellphone to make a call. There were only 17,000 mobile phone owners; now there are an estimated 6.5 million subscribers.  Today, instead of paying roaming charges, I bought a sim card from MTN Ethiopia In 2002 I paid $1 per minute for a dial-up Internet connection.  In my hotel now, it’s free and fast. Although still less than 6% of Ethiopians have Internet access, an hour online averages 18-30 birr (the local currency), or roughly between $1-2 at an Addis cyber cafe.

I’m excited to be here not only to see the immense changes that have taken place, but also to catch up with my Schwab Foundation network. There are 17 social entrepreneurs attending the Forum. What they achieve is always a source of inspiration.  It’s my ninth Africa World Economic Forum and I’m eager to see how this one compares to the others I’ve attended in Maputo, Dar es Salaam and Cape Town.

With any luck, events like this and new images from Ethiopia will help to reshape my taxi driver’s perception of this complex, historic, diverse and culturally rich nation.

Shining a light on Rose

April 30, 2012

By Kristine Pearson

Rose sits down to study on a worn out sofa in the corner of a tin shack at 7:00 pm each school night. After she’s helped with washing up and ensuring that the other 20 orphaned children she lives with have been fed, Rose begins her homework. Science, her favourite subject, gets an hour’s attention and she usually ends at midnight with English. At one time she hoped to become a teacher, but now, Rose imagines herself as a journalist. She wants to write stories about other people’s lives.  Her newfound confidence to some extent comes with age, she’s 14 now.  Yet it’s also the result of the marked increase in her grades.  A year ago when I gave her a solar light her scores totaled around 300.  They’re now 450. Disciplined for her age, with the light she’s increased her nighttime study time from 15 minutes to five hours.

In my long blog about kerosene last year, I told the story of Rose, who lost her parents and brother to a kerosene fire. Lucy Odipo, the founder and headmistress of Little Bees School in Nairobi’s Mathare Valley slum, became her guardian. The only possibility to study was to the inefficient and toxic flames of a tin can kerosene lamp that made her feel ill.  A Grade 7 learner, Rose understands the importance of education and good marks – it’s the path out of poverty and to one day securing a job.

I first met Rose four years ago and now she’s as tall as me (5’6”).  Well spoken,  yet still shy, she was recovering from typhoid.  It’s heartbreaking as there are far too many health, safety, security and educational issues that a child living in poverty has to contend with.

In addition to improved grades, Rose says that the solar light ‘doesn’t pain her eyes’ like the koroboi (kerosene lamp) did. Her light aids her in seeing to go to the toilet after dark instead of using a plastic packet. In this regard, the light helps preserve her dignity.

Situated next to a tributary of the heavily polluted Nairobi River, Little Bees is one of an estimated 1,600 community-supported informal schools in Kenya. A dumpsite that bordered the school has now been replaced by more shacks.  There’s an urban market garden on a small patch of ground that provides onions, potatoes, squash and other vegetables to the learners.

The school relies on donations from the impoverished community and support from well-wishers and NGOs, which have provided books, uniforms, toilets, a water faucet, a rainwater harvesting drum, and an over-sized cooking pot to serve a daily meal to the children.  It’s overcrowded; some classrooms are dark with mud floors. All leak when it rains. There are three classrooms on a second story divided by white plastic sheeting. Children shimmy up and down a rickety ladder.  Most of the teachers volunteer.  Every donation is appreciated and little is taken for granted.

Every time that I have visited Little Bees, there’s been a consistency that’s palpable. The children love attending the school.

When Tuaregs Exchanged Guns for Radios

April 11, 2012

By Kristine Pearson

Extremist Tuareg rebels took advantage of the chaos in Mali and declared statehood in the northern part of the country.  Traditionally Tuaregs have lived a nomadic pastoral lifestyle across West and North Africa. Ten years ago I had a series of extraordinary experiences with the Tuareg. I wanted to share them, not because of the headlines, but because of a Tuareg sultan in Niger, who was kind and welcoming to me, recently died. He had ruled for 52 years.

In 1998 the final remaining armed Tuareg group signed an uneasy peace agreement, ending the third Tuareg rebellion in Niger in the 20th century. One of the poorest in the world, twice the size of France and mostly desert, Niger was also awash with guns.

In late 2001, in collaboration with the UNDP and the government, we co-launched Radios for the Consolidation of Peace – a guns-for-radios project.  We donated a significant number of what would now be considered old model wind-up and solar-powered radios.  The UNDP worked with the government in the recovery and destruction of illicit small arms. Through the Rural Radio Network (RURANET) and the rapid expansion of community radio stations, communities would be informed about the initiative to collect and destroy illegal weapons. Our radios would provide much needed information access in local languages which would, in turn, accelerate development. Given that batteries are hard to come by for nomads and in far-flung villages and electricity non-existent, it was believed access to information would be more valuable in peacetime than guns.

One such radio station was in Agadez, a once bustling crossroads where Saharan camel caravans converged. In the centre of Niger, Agadez was also the farthermost point of the vast Ottoman Empire. Ibrahim Oumarou, the Sultan of Aïr and an important political and spiritual Tuareg leader, was a frequent guest at the station, which broadcast in Tamasheq, the Tuareg language.  I wanted to meet him, but protocol required that I be interviewed by and granted approval from the caliph (an advisor) first.  The caliph and his colleagues agreed on the meeting for my subsequent visit in several months time.

On my next trip to Agadez in 2002, I had an audience with the sultan at his 15th century palace – made of mud. He proudly showed me the computer that he was learning to use, but didn’t yet have an email address.  Palace electricity came from a diesel generator. The sultan further proclaimed that both Tuareg men and women had to know all the modern technologies. He told me that he’d visited America two years previously and had loved it.   We sat in white plastic chairs while the brightly dressed palace guards served syrupy drinks in the domed reception room cluttered with mementoes. Pictures and sand covered the fading blue walls.

We talked for some time about his people, their struggles and their disappearing way of life. We spoke of the peace process and of the importance of ensuring that everyone could get information from the radio when they needed to. The sultan resolutely supported the guns-for-radios project saying that armed conflicts leave too many scars and often lead to further conflict.  I recall him being warm, wise and moderate in his views. Before our two-hour meeting ended, I innocently asked the sultan if I could meet his wives, assuming that there were four. He didn’t give me an answer, but later a note was delivered to my hotel saying that the meeting would be the next day.

This proved to be one of the most memorable experiences of my life. Instead of meeting four co-wives, I met the six – the Sultanas of Aïr.  What was unknown to me initially is that I was the first outsider that they had ever met, let alone the first white person.  From the time that they were selected by the sultan to marry, they had been cloistered in the compact one-story mud palace in Agadez with their children, attendants and guards. We had two two-hour open and revealing discussions.  At the risk of sounding trite, they were truly an honour and privilege. I wrote about my experiences with the sultanas in more detail in 2002.

With the sultan’s blessing, that trip to Agadez ended with my attending ceremonies whereby mainly Tuareg men (although there were some women) exchanged their working small arms for radios. The guns were then burned in ‘flames of peace’ ceremonies.  However, there was one minor hiccup – the army had neglected to empty a few bullets from the rifles.  When the fire was lit, the guns started going off; hundreds of petrified onlookers dove headfirst into the sand and several ran off, but no one was hurt. It was only amusing afterwards.

I have thought often about those trips to Agadez.  They were made by a road – a hard and dusty 15-hour drive from the capital city, Niamey. I have thought a lot about the sultan as I have read of the continuing food shortages that have affected them and the on-going conflicts in the Sahara involving the Tuareg and what they believe to be their traditional lands and rights taken from them. Most of all, I have thought about the sultanas and wonder now that the sultan has passed away, what will happen to them.  A friend in Niger has told me that one of his sons was groomed to take over.  I hope that the son will rule as wisely as his father.  I am optimistic that the sultanas will be able to make their way in a world that they know from radio, from television, and from the rooftop of the palace.

Much more than mentor to Zambian children

February 27, 2012

By Kristine Pearson in Lusaka

Tall, well-spoken and smartly dressed in a grey blazer, Christopher Banda, 21, proudly tells me that he’s studying at a technical institute to become a procurement specialist.  He credits his academic devotion to his ‘teacher’, Mwenya Mvula and the solid primary school education that he received from the Learning at Taonga Market interactive radio instruction (IRI) programme.  The youngest of four children, he was raised in a Lusaka township by his mother, a domestic worker, who could not afford to send him to a government school. Despite primary education being free in Zambia, buying a uniform, books and other items were beyond her means.

Radio schools don’t require uniforms or books. Entering Taonga Market in Grade 3, Christopher said that learning for him was enjoyable and he still remembers the Taonga Market songs.  A field trip to the international airport that Mr Mvula organised made a lasting impression because he met a pilot who had seen the world. Christopher added that Mr Mvula inspired him to study hard and to reach for his dreams.

Mr Mvula is not a qualified teacher. He’s a volunteer ‘mentor’ who has been trained in IRI methodology which actively guides teachers and learners through lessons on the radio. As one of the first Taonga Market mentors who started in the programme more than a decade ago, he estimates that nearly 90% of his students have gone on to secondary school. This is an exceptional achievement as a significant number of children were orphaned.  Pupils in radio school, who at time learn under a tree, take the same exams as children in wealthier government schools.

I first met Mr Mvula in early 2007 when I visited community learning centres that used our radios.  Despite it being just a 20-minute drive from central Lusaka, the ongoing cost of batteries to power a radio was too expensive for this impoverished township. The electrical poles were visible in the background, but they didn’t light up this part of town. At that time one of his classes met in a one-room house; another assembled on the grass in front of a maize field. Now they have small, dedicated classrooms. His enthusiasm for the programme, his pride in his work, and his love for the children were as palpable then as they are today.

The 46-year old Mr Mvula grew up in Katete, a farming village near the Mozambique border. In 1991 he headed to Lusaka to seek a better life and where he married Monica.  They have six children and one grandchild.  Mrs Mvula makes and sells chipati bread and sweets along the side of the road. Although he tutors students in the afternoon to earn income, sometimes parents can only afford to pay with vegetables or a chicken.

Mr Mvula has encouraged hundreds of young learners over years to strive for their dreams.  He’s not giving up on his own dream either, to qualify as a teacher.

Please consider supporting a Taonga Market classroom by donating a Prime or a Lifeplayer MP3.

I’ve never looked back – my 24 years in Africa

January 2, 2012

By Kristine Pearson

When I immigrated to South Africa from America in January 1989, South African President PW Botha hadn’t yet suffered the stroke that catapulted FW de Klerk to power. George Bush Sr was sworn in as America’s 41st president and President Michael Gorbachov led what was called the USSR.  Civil wars ripped apart Angola, Sudan, Liberia, Ethiopia and Mozambique – all had linkages to Cold War – a crippling experience for Africa with long-term consequences.  The US, USSR and China supported various regimes and guerrilla movements across the continent.

South Africa's first legal protest

Now in its last days, the Cold War gave rise to social movements like Solidarity’s legalisation in Poland, the Berlin Wall falling and killings in Tiananmen Square.  Anti-apartheid campaigns were gaining momentum, but South Africans were living in a nationwide State of Emergency. Most of the world still glanced the other way at the brutality of the apartheid government and the crimes against humanity committed elsewhere in Africa.  Yet profound changes were underway.

Images of women with flies in their eyes nursing emaciated infants, mass starvation, children wielding AK-47s, dictators in military uniforms, potholed dirt roads and burned out buildings dominated the world media about Africa.  These weren’t the images I knew.  To me, despite the obvious problems, Africa was a continent of immense possibilities, of stunning beauty, with extraordinary people.  Drawn to Africa like a magnet and despite the protestations from family and friends, I knew in my heart that it was the only place I wanted to make my future.

The day Nelson Mandela was released from prison after 27 years

I was privileged to walk in South Africa’s first legal protest march in January 1990 in Cape Town. The following month I sat on the ground 50 yards from Nelson Mandela as he made his historic first speech as a free man. Every month history happened at breakneck speed as apartheid was structurally dismantled.  In April 1994 I stood for hours to vote in South Africa’s first democratic election alongside thousands – office workers, business owners, domestics, gardeners and others dressed in their Sunday best – never allowed to vote before only because they weren’t white.  At the same time that I was casting my ballot, hundreds of thousands were being massacred in the most efficient genocide the world had ever seen in Rwanda.  Both countries could have gone so differently, but each are regarded now as African success stories.

Waiting in line to vote in 1994

During nearly 24 years I’ve travelled to half of Africa’s 54 countries, to modern cities; unserviced slums; overcrowded refugee camps; and remote areas off the map.  When Mozambique received its annual rainfall in four days in 2000 and while stranded in Maputo, I saw first hand the vital importance of  radio information during an emergency.  While driving through the Sahara in 2002, the sky went dark as a swarm of locusts descended. Days later the creepy insects were still popping out.  Four years ago I trained hundreds of Somali women refugees living in the Dadaab camps how to use our wind-up and solar radios.  Not one woman had ever turned on a radio in her life.  Just last year I was gifted with a Maasai name, Naramatt (the one who milks cows efficiently, I think), by Maasai women that I work with in Kenya. I’ve met with people who had never seen a white person and those who think whites are the cause of their problems.

I’ve witnessed dramatic changes everywhere like the explosive growth of cell phones. I recall cellular service giants Vodacom & MTN in 1994 saying that by 2004 they expected the market to be 500,000 subscribers.  They were wrong by 21 million.  Africa’s cellular network has always been superior to America’s.  The Internet is widely available in every city and large town, but has yet to reach outside metro areas in any scale.

When I first arrived, vehicles in rural areas belonged to the UN, NGOs or governments. People walked long distances to do anything and there were a few bicycles.  A mini-bus taxi wasn’t yet on the roads. Today mini-buses are to me more dangerous than malarial mosquitoes. Traffic and air pollution, by-products and symbols of the middle class, have taken over once sleepy cities like Bamako, Kampala and Dar es Salaam. Stores stocked their shelves with items mainly from South Africa or Europe.  Made in China wasn’t seen much.

China’s interest in Africa started decades ago and it’s now a critical supplier of oil, minerals and other raw materials to fuel its still-booming economy. Its economic muscle and influence have increased to the point where now China is Africa’s biggest trading partner worth an estimated $150 billion in 2011, a whopping 30% increase over 2010. China’s influence is evident in South Africa’s refusal to grant the Dalai Lama a tourist visa to attend Desmond Tutu’s 80th birthday party.

Unlike the Western approach of insisting on an agenda of democracy, human rights and ‘structural adjustment’ by the IMF, the Chinese seem to have no moral imperative to change Africa.  They don’t seem to tell Africans how to run their countries, to want to convert them to their religious beliefs or turn them into black Chinese as the French did with their ‘colonies’.  Given the economic mess in Europe right now, having diversified investors and business partners is essential for Africa’s increasingly brighter future. Sub-Saharan Africa is the third-fastest growing region in the world, behind China and India.

A market stall in rural Rwanda

Ubiquitous and cheap Chinese products – pots, pans, plastic items, solar lights, batteries, hair accessories, cell phones, soy sauce and rice noodles – line shelves from kiosks to hypermarkets.  You might even think that this is somewhere in Hong Kong; it’s a market stall in rural Rwanda.  Affordability is key for Africans as they move up the economic ladder, which they are doing in record numbers.

Bright orange Chinese construction vehicles can be seen across the continent building much-needed infrastructure. Nairobi roads have been jammed for so long that I would have supported the Taliban building them. Recently elected President Sata of Zambia ran on an anti-Chinese platform, regularly making anti-Chinese remarks and promising to negotiate better terms for Zambians with Chinese employers. Many Africans tell me that the Chinese are racist and refuse to mix with them.

From my perspective, the Chinese are just another type of colonialists.   Who knows how many have settled in Africa, but it may be millions and they’re not likely to go home.   Western companies employ Africans at all levels including top positions and boards. In Chinese companies bosses and workers alike are Chinese; Africans work in the lowest level of positions, if at all. Animosity towards the Chinese by Africans is palpable.

I laughed when I read that Richard Dowden, executive director of the Royal African Society is offering a prize for the first person to find an African bossing Chinese workers. Unsurprisingly, it remains unclaimed.

I have seen many significant and positive changes across Africa. Change needs to accelerate in real partnership with the continents largest trading partners (China particularly), themselves being responsible corporate citizens and creating well-paid skilled jobs, supporting entrepreneurial business by utilising local products in their supply chains and helping to expand sustainable economies across this amazing continent.

When I write about my next two decades in Africa, I hope that the next revolution will be a green one where Africa produces an abundance of food to feed its people.  I can only hope that the new wealth will be responsibly used to stimulate employment, foster eco-tourism and ensure meaningful educational opportunities for girls instead of buying guns, fighter jets and presidential planes.  Combatting climate change instead of each other I hope will be a dominant story. I count on social entrepreneurs, especially women, to lead the way to create pivotal social change. It is my hope that I’ll be able to tell about how I’ve seen that the cures for HIV/AIDS, malaria, TB and other diseases save lives. Large-scale electrification from renewable energy sources I hope will bring African homes and enterprises reliable electricity and that women and children will finally be liberated from the horrors of dangerous kerosene.  This electrification will, in turn, ensure that technology cascades far and wide. And finally, I sure hope that free and fair elections break out in every country and responsible leaders are elected who graciously step down when their terms end.

I enthusiastically look forward to the next 24 years in Africa. I’ll keep this blog handy in 2036.  Chopsticks anyone?

Kerosene, a burning issue in women’s rights, human rights

October 2, 2011

By Kristine Pearson
CEO, Lifeline Energy                                                                                                 This is a “blong” – a long blog.

Like many girls I’ve met in Africa, Rose’s dream is to become a teacher.  The shy grade six student revises her homework at a rickety table in a tin shack in a Nairobi slum. A kerosene lamp fashioned from a can of bug spray called a koroboi in Swahili, allows Rose to study for a mere 15 minutes a night.  The light is inefficient and dim.  The fumes are noxious; the smoke ‘scratches’ her eyes.

She says that in the morning she ‘spits up black’.  She hates kerosene not only because it stinks and makes her feel tired and ill, but because six years ago her younger brother tipped over a koroboi, catching the house on fire killing her mother, father and brother.  To 13-year-old Rose, kerosene is the smell of death.

Unfortunately, stories like this are all too common in Africa.  Exposure to kerosene retards economic progress,  poisons children, causes deadly fires, horrific burns and injuries, and death.  This fuel is silently destroying the lives and livelihoods of countless women and children across Africa.

With an estimated 870 million people in sub-Saharan Africa, 85% have no access to electricity.  Much of the population straddles the equator where it gets dark at night and light in the morning around 6:30 each day.  In addition, many African houses are rough hewn from mud or aluminium and poorly ventilated. Seeing inside is difficult even in daytime.  Pit latrines are built away from houses and people don’t use them at night for fear of the dark, snakes, or being attacked.  Of the options available for lighting – kerosene, candles, firewood and batteries – kerosene is the most common.  And because it’s for household use, it’s a woman’s fuel – and woman and children bear the brunt of energy poverty

Nyeri, a 32 year-old former teacher from Kenya’s Great Rift Valley.  Nyeri barely survived the fire that started when a koroboi’s flame caught her skirt. She was eight months pregnant.  Living in a rural area, it took hours for her to be transported to a hospital, which was ill-equipped to deal with life-threatening burns.  In agonizing pain, Nyeri prematurely gave birth to a boy. Having no way to bond with or nurse the baby because burns covered half of her body, the baby died.  Badly disfigured, when she was well enough to return home her husband divorced her, kept her children and banished her to her parent’s faraway homestead.  When Nyeri’s parents passed away she was plunged into destitution and now depends on handouts to survive.

Masquerading as a benign fuel

There are an estimated 1.4 billion people globally who live without reliable access to electricity, and an additional 1.2 billion who live with intermittent electricity.  Yet the problem remains largely unknown in developed and electrified areas of the world.  The average Westerner can likely describe water and food issues that the poor struggle with.  We worry ourselves if the water we drink and the food we eat is safe. The same can’t be said for energy. Electricity for us is a flip of a switch.  The life threatening and profoundly challenging energy issues that the poor deal with every day are largely consigned to the periphery.

Wikipedia portrays kerosene as a diverse and relatively harmless fuel, used mostly to power jet-engine aircraft and rockets.  Although it briefly glosses over the fact that ‘at one time’ it was widely used in lamps and lanterns, it woefully fails to illustrate the scale of its use in developing countries, as well the devastating impact the use of kerosene has already had. It is sold to you and me in a sealed bottle with ‘caution’ and ‘highly flammable liquid’ on the label.  Oil companies and African governments do little to help educate consumers on how to use it safely or warn of its perils.

To Africans, kerosene, or paraffin as it is also called, is a necessary evil.  It’s sold informally in market stalls and is bought and stored in disused Coke, water or liquor bottles.  Women even buy it in flimsy plastic bags. 

In South Africa, based on national surveys and hospital records, between 1996 and 2001, it was estimated that 80,000 children ingested kerosene per year and 40,000 children developed chemical pneumonia from drinking it.  It is unknown how many children actually died, but in 2001, it was estimated to be 4,000.  I would imagine this number has been reduced given South Africa’s aggressive electricity drive over the past 10 years.  That said, what about the rest of sub-Saharan Africa that has nowhere near South Africa’s current 70% electrification, the highest rate on the continent.  The numbers could truly be staggering, but no one knows.  No one is counting.

Celestine, a 12-year-old girl in Rwanda told me that she swallowed kerosene a few years ago believing it to be clean water, something she’d never before seen.  Further, she said that she worries what internal harm was caused by the incident.

What I didn’t know at the time was that the accident may leave her with lifelong heart problems and respiratory ailments. She is lucky to be alive. Kerosene is a low-viscosity hydrocarbon and it is an aspiration hazard – which means that Celestine could have choked to death on the fluid itself or suffocated from the fumes emanating from her belly.  According to the American Association of Poison Control Centers, drinking kerosene can cause chemical pneumonitis, which requires several days or weeks on a respirator in a hospital and can become a lifelong, debilitating condition.  African mothers have told me that they give their children milk to drink, if they have some.

Spilling it on the skin can be equally as hazardous.  Women have proudly told me that they rub kerosene on their children’s heads rid them of lice.

Controlled kerosene fires recently undertaken by South Africa’s Paraffin Association revealed that it takes just two minutes for temperatures to reach 1000 degrees C and eight minutes for a corrugated tin shack to burn completely.  For shacks close together, it’s easy to understand why a fire spreads quickly. What chance do emergency services have, even if they are available?

With all the horrific outcomes caused by kerosene perhaps the most heart-breaking are burn injuries.  In South Africa alone, an estimated 15,000 children survive serious burn injuries every year.  This figure does not include the many fatalities or anyone over the age of 12.  Such statistics, however, are hard to come by even in South Africa.  If data were collected over the whole of Africa, this number would surely be staggering.

Burns are the worst type of injuries in terms of trauma because they are both excruciatingly painful and deforming.  Severe burns cause major harm to motor skills and development.  At present South Africa is the only African country that can deal with large numbers of burn injuries. Chris Hani Baragwaneth Hospital in Soweto, with its 2,964 beds, is the largest acute hospital in the world. With a specialised burn treatment centre, it also houses Africa’s most comprehensive burn unit. It has just 26-beds.  According to the hospital, most children admitted to the burn unit are under the age of nine.

With 46,000 kerosene-related fires and 50,000 paraffin-related burns sustained in South Africa in 2001 alone (the most recent data I could find), the availability of treatment is depressing.  According to Johannesburg’s Institute for Social and Health Sciences, burn injuries cost an estimated $US1 million in that city alone. Burn victims usually require multiple surgeries.  With the sheer number of kerosene related injuries coupled with medical costs these figures are almost certainly grossly underestimated. Add medical care to the cost of emergency services, loss of time, loss of assets and loss of a house by people who have no insurance, the true loss of using kerosene can never be justified and the true cost can never be calculated.

Hundreds of thousands of families have stories to tell like those of Rose and Nyeri who have suffered heartbreaking loss due to kerosene. They suffer in silence under the radar screen and no one is tracking them.  These stories should no longer be ignored or just accepted as unfortunate.  They should be seen as an outrage to the dignity of the human person.

Energy Access – a matter of human rights

Despite the enormity of the problem – and the existence of reliable, cost effective solutions – access to energy is a missing Millennium Development Goal.  Access to energy underpins all eight goals yet astonishingly there is no mention of the word ‘energy’ in the entire document.

In contrast, the International Energy Agency calls for “urgent action” on the matter, and estimates that alleviating energy poverty would cost $36 billion per year.  Kerosene sales, by comparison, create a $38 billion per year industry globally, an estimated $11 billion in sub-Saharan Africa alone.  In essence, the world is already spending the money it needs to address the energy poverty problem.

Energy access is a prerequisite to achieving the socioeconomic rights set out in international human rights law including health standards and access to clean water.  The right to breathe clean air, work and study in relative safety – all of these rights are violated by the need for fuel lanterns and cook stoves.

Given the overwhelming body of evidence, I believe kerosene is a blatant violation of international human rights standards.

Energy poverty and the gender bias

Since 1999 I’ve headed a non-profit social enterprise called Lifeline Energy.  Over the past four years while in the field in various African countries, I have spoken with hundreds of poor and vulnerable women and children about their household energy use and expenditure.  What was reinforced with every group I spoke with is that all technologies and the energies used to power them have a gender bias.  There are exceptions, but largely men are in charge of household security and buy batteries for their flashlights.  I knew from years of distributing Lifeline’s solar and wind-up radios that men also buy batteries for radios and control listening access.

In sub-Saharan Africa, kerosene is mostly a ‘woman’s fuel’. In rural areas a woman walks many miles to buy kerosene at the market. In urban settlements or slums, she buys it in as little as 10c increments or by the tablespoon. It may be all that she may be able to afford.  Because of women’s work inside the home, they are constantly exposed to kerosene and its toxic fumes.

The result is that more than 1.6 million of the world’s poor die each year from the effects of indoor air pollution, according to the World Health Organization (WHO).  This is caused from both cooking and lighting. This photo I took in Rwanda illustrates that if kerosene from a tin can lamp can blacken a wall, it is doing the same to lungs.

All forms of non-renewable energy – kerosene, batteries, candles, charcoal and firewood – constrain economic development.  When added to cell phone charging, fuels for lighting and cooking, energy can consume up to 60% of household incomes in sub-Saharan Africa.  Women are subjected to a grinding cycle of abject poverty, one that impossible to escape from it you’re spending big amounts on non-renewables.

Last year I went into a rural household and saw a mother happily nursing a two month old baby less than six inches from an open flame lamp at midday.  In her culture it is not acceptable to breastfeed where men might see you.  She had no idea what harm she could be causing her child.

She didn’t realise that breathing kerosene is the equivalent of smoking two packs of cigarettes, or that two-thirds of all lung cancer victims in developing countries are non-smoking women according to WHO.  One would think with its devastating consequences, kerosene related illnesses, burns and deaths would be tracked and monitored similar to HIV/AIDS, malaria and TB; however, this is not the case.  Well-known illnesses receive donor funding in poor countries whereas energy related illnesses are relegated to a footnote and fall into the non-communicable disease (NCD) category.

Safe kerosene education receives woefully inadequate attention from governments or the oil companies that sell it.  Comprehensive multi-media campaigns in local languages are urgently needed to encourage women to take advantage of alternatives where they do exist and to teach users ways to limit the health risks and exposure where possible.  This is especially important for children living on their own as heads of households.  They may lack trusted adults to guide them and adults themselves may not understand the range and scope of dangers.  School programmes should feature energy safety as a mandatory part of the curriculum.

Education advances are severely hampered by the way students must do their homework at night.  Kerosene burns the eyes and throat, making it impossible to study for more than a few minutes.  A record number of children are entering or returning to school in sub-Saharan Africa, yet an unintended consequence is that children are potentially harming their eyes and lungs, and even risking fires and burns, in an effort to earn good grades.

Thrusting clean energy to the top of the international agenda

The health and economic consequences of prolonged exposure to kerosene are so grave that they infringe upon the basic human rights of women and children who have no other viable energy alternatives. It is recognized in Article 25 (1) of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights that “Everyone has a right to a standard of living adequate for the health and well-being of himself and his family.”  Access to clean water has been singled out as a key factor that will determine the success of the Millennium Development Goals, but not access to clean energy

The United Nations General Assembly has passed a resolution declaring water and sanitation a basic human right, but not access to clean energy.

To propel access to clean energy to the forefront of the international agenda it must be declared a basic human right.  Declaring access to energy a human right reorganizes the lens through which the issue is viewed.  It becomes not merely a goal or agenda item, but a substantial imperative to which every individual is entitled.

The UN has declared 2012 as the International Year of Sustainable Energy for All. By launching UN–Energy, the UN states it is committed to ensuring universal access to modern energy services by 2030. It also aims to bring energy access innovation together with the correct policy to reach a global scale, developing and deploying new and appropriate solutions. These are important steps in the right direction and many ground-breaking initiatives are underway.  Progress on grid and mini-grid electrification projects has commenced, but they often take years to become operational with huge financial investments required.

Solutions already exist. Barriers to the effective delivery of modern energy services must be eliminated. Off-grid portable renewable energy solar LED lights and lanterns, as well as energy-efficient cook stoves have already been developed for these markets. However, often steep duties, as much as 40%, and taxes or VAT varying between 12% in Botswana to 19.35% in Cameroon, making them unaffordable to the poorest – those who need them most. With appropriate government oversight and financial support, reform of subsidies and duties and equal gender participation in entrepreneurial initiatives transitioning from kerosene to renewable energy would be the start to create safer environments and economic opportunities. Children, women, families and communities would be able to safely convert unproductive night-time hours into productive ones.

Kerosene and energy access are pressing human rights issues that governments and the international community are obligated to act upon with expediency to end the on-going struggle of women and children forced to use kerosene in their daily lives. There are many problems in the world that are extremely complex and difficult to solve. This is not one of them. With the right approach, the use of kerosene and the energy poverty that it perpetuates and intensifies can become a thing of the past.

Keeping Stock For Disasters

March 21, 2011

By Kristine Pearson

Access to information, light and basic energy in a humanitarian crisis can be just as essential as food, water, medical supplies and shelter.

Aerial shot of the 2000 Mozambique floods

For the past 12 years, Lifeline Energy has been involved in several major humanitarian emergencies – the Mozambique floods of 2000, the 2005 Indian Ocean tsunami, the Haiti earthquake, the Pakistan floods and now the earthquake and tsunami in Japan. Natural disasters don’t discriminate between rich or poor, although the poor tend to suffer more since they own fewer assets and don’t have insurance. These five catastrophes alone have killed hundreds of thousands and displaced more than a hundred million people. In each instance we’ve provided either solar and wind-up radios or self-powering radios with lights to displaced populations working with local aid organisations – but only several weeks to months after the disaster.

Temporary Shelters in Haiti

When a humanitarian disaster has occurred, we’ve been contacted by other aid organisations, the UN, corporates wanting to help and even national governments all asking for our products right away.  Lifeline Energy being a charity, can afford to  hold only a small number of products as we procure them from our new product development and trading arm, Lifeline Technologies Trading, on as needed basis.

For years we’ve tried to persuade donors to fund a stockpile that would allow radios and lights to arrive as soon as possible and not weeks later when lives may have been lost.  There are aid depots in Dubai, Panama, Italy, Hong Kong and other locations around the world, which make dispatching goods a fairly straightforward process.

In an emergency, I believe that dependable radios or lights that wind-up are essential.  The sun may shine, but in a crisis, a robust winding system has proven time and again to be the most reliable power source. Offering displaced populations devices dependent on costly disposable batteries or solar power only is unsustainable.  People want and need information on-demand in a disaster – from where and when aid will be distributed, to how to find/locate missing loved ones and weather reports.  One also cannot underestimate the psychosocial support that music provides. In Japan, people also want trusted updates on the status of the damaged Fukushima nuclear power plant and radiation levels on a regular basis.

Having dependable light is similarly important for safety and security at night, especially for women, children and the elderly.  If cellular networks are operating, then a way to power cell phones is just as important.

For the Japan earthquake and tsunami, between the generosity of GlobalGiving’s donors and Oxfam Japan, we have 15,000 wind-up and solar Polaris radio-light-cell phone chargers due for delivery in Japan in early April. These are destined for mainly the elderly in the Tohuku Kanto region.  Japan utilises unique frequencies and radios need to be manufactured for this market specifically.

One of the reasons that we created our new MP3 enabled Lifeplayer is for emergencies. It can provide displaced populations with up to 64GB of educational and informational access anytime, anywhere to anyone.  Children can be organised immediately around lessons in their own language. Given its excellent sound quality, the Lifeplayer easily accommodates 60 listeners. Radio broadcasts can be recorded for listening later and people can record their own stories of their survival for generations to come.

As a small agency, we cannot afford to create or hold stockpiles, yet it’s crucial that our products are immediately ready to respond to the next humanitarian catastrophe. Let us never be accused of missing an opportunity to help.

Lifeline Energy stands ready to work with others around the world to share our conviction to increase our disaster preparedness for the next humanitarian emergency wherever that may be.

A Tribute to Victor – a Hero of the Starehe Slum

February 17, 2011

By Kristine Pearson

Women and men who devote their lives to making a difference for others are publicly honored as ‘heroes’ by CNN, Time magazine, Skoll Foundation and others.  I believe that the real heroes are those unsung, unrecognized people living in the communities they serve and who are often live in poverty themselves.

One such hero was 31-year old Victor Ochieng. Victor had worked his way up from security guard to headmaster of Little Bees, a school built beside a refuse dump in Nairobi’s sprawling Mathare Valley slum.

In 2008 I was introduced to the much loved, irrepressible, larger than life, 60-year old Mama Lucy Odipo,  a community organizer and founder of the Little Bees School.  The school is situated in Starehe, a seven-hectare maze of rusty iron roofed shacks and shops, muddy alleyways and rocky streets. Mama Lucy received one of our radios through a women’s group and she invited me to visit the school.

A colleague and I arrived to the parking area next to the sign (land) ‘grabbers will face necessary action’.  We walked down a slope criss-crossing the muddy, smelly stream of sudsy wash water mixed with raw sewage, which flowed into a narrow tributary of the brown Nairobi River that was choked with garbage.  We turned right into an unmarked dark passage just wide enough for two people and heard the sound of children laughing.  It was recess.

“Welcome to Little Bees, my name is Victor.”  A tall, thin man wearing khaki trousers and tennis shoes extended his hand to me with a smile. He told me that he was the head of security and proudly showed me around. Victor escorted me to the small playground, packed with children playing on equipment that included a rickety jungle gym, an upside down wheelbarrow and a seesaw.

On one side of the playground were sheet metal, dirt floored, sand flea infested, makeshift classrooms filled with second-hand desks.  Each classroom only had one small window. On the other side were two unpainted brick classrooms. I could see that they were building a second floor with plastic tarp walls. The children shimmied up and down a rough-hewn ladder as if it were stairs with a railing. It made me nervous, but no one else seemed to be. The toilets were overflowed, as evidently the municipality had not emptied them. Little Bees would be condemned in America or Europe.

Nonetheless, the 20 orphans taken in by Mama Lucy, some of whom are disabled, and the more than 180 day students, were as playful and full of life as any child in an upmarket school. They crowded around me and welcomed me with a song.  Their red and blue uniforms with white shirts were patched and mended hand-me-downs, most of which did not fit. Every day the children ate a hot meal prepared by volunteer mothers from the neighborhood cooked in a big iron cauldron over a wood fire. Although hugely under-resourced, the children were loved, fed and thriving. Victor adored the children and they clearly loved him.

Primary education is free in Kenya.  There is an acute shortage of schools in slums. Non-formal schools like Little Bees spring up to provide an education offered by volunteer teachers, who may not have a teaching qualification.  Victor told me how much they appreciated listening to the school lessons broadcast by the Kenya Institute of Education on our radio, especially for subjects like science and maths.

A few months later, I returned to Little Bees and Victor greeted me like a long lost friend, telling me that he’s ‘moved up’ to librarian and head of procurement. I had a Tom Hanks Day t-shirt with me given to Lifeline Energy by Kevin Turk, an American who raises funds for us each year through his International Tom Hanks Day fundraising event. It was too big for the children, so I gave it to Victor.

As I was taking some video, Victor reappeared in his new t-shirt and I casually asked him if he knew whom Tom Hanks was? He thought for a minute and said the he did not.  I asked him to guess.  Here’s the sweet video.

VictorandTomHanks

Over the next few visits, ‘Tommy Honks’ as Victor called him became an inside joke between us and we always laughed about it.

Last year in May, before the World Cup, I gave Victor a Vuvuzela in the colors of the South African flag. It was the first one that anyone had seen (other than in a newspaper) and Victor swiftly became the Pied Piper of Starehe. As he blew it and the children followed him around the school and into the street.  He was so proud of his new ‘trumpet’ and he loved entertaining the community.

Every time I’ve been in Nairobi, probably nine times in the past three years, I have visited Little Bees.  Each time Victor had been promoted – from security, to procurement, to librarian to social studies teacher, to deputy headmaster. Victor’s life was the school.  With each visit Victor proudly showed off his latest renovation. On my last visit he was being groomed to take over as headmaster, enabling Mama Lucy to slow down.

I emailed Mama Lucy in January to tell her I was coming to visit. She wrote me back and told me that Victor had been murdered.  He went out at night to buy medicine for his young son, Meso, when three thugs stabbed him in the stomach and snatched his cell phone.  He died later that night in Kenyatta Hospital.

When I visited Little Bees twice in early February, sadness filled the air.  I learned that Victor, who was survived by a young wife and two young children, was Mama Lucy’s fourth born son, out of 15 children. She had never mentioned that Victor was her child. She didn’t want me to think that he had been promoted out of nepotism, but instead because of his abilities, devotion and dedication to the children – the ‘little bees’.

Victor was buried on 12 February at his birthplace in Kisumu, in Kenya’s Western province at a funeral attended by hundreds of mourners.

How this slum school survives on so little is a miracle, but how it will survive without Victor I don’t know.

Living in a Nairobi slum where the conditions of life are unspeakable in 2011 – overcrowding, inadequate housing, the paucity of basic services, the lack of quality health care, combined with high levels of violence and insecurity  – where a life is reduced to a cell phone – is nothing short of a human rights abuse.

Victor was robbed of his phone and paid for it with his life.  And Mama Lucy was robbed of a son, the school was robbed of devoted role model and leader, and humanity was robbed of a hero.

Please let us know if you would like to make a contribution to the Little Bees School, which can either be done through Lifeline Energy or sent directly to Mama Lucy.


Radios for the referendum in Southern Sudan

January 11, 2011

By Kristine Pearson

Radio remains the most important communications medium in sub-Saharan Africa, especially so in Southern Sudan.  With electricity, cellular coverage and Internet restricted to a handful of cities in an area the size of Texas, radio remains the only technology that can reach isolated groups. That said, batteries outside towns and trading posts are hard to come by and expensive, making rural communities even harder to reach.

Picture courtesy T Thielen

From late 2006 to 2008, Lifeline Energy shipped 265,000 of our solar and wind-up radios to Southern Sudan in support of a broad-based civic education initiative spearheaded by the National Democratic Institute (NDI). The radios were deployed to support Let’s Talk, a 30-minute weekly programme covering a host of issues – political transition, rights and responsibilities in a democracy, the new constitutional framework and political processes. Providing listening access through our power-independent radios not only helped ensure access for women and youth, but also enabled people to listen to topics of interest like the weather, news and educational broadcasts. Let’s Talk was broadcast on Sudan Radio Service and Miraya FM, the south’s most popular station.

In a country with less than 50 miles of paved roads, delivering these huge consignments was no easy task, as evidenced by the trucks transporting radios stuck in the mud on the Juba-Yei road. The responsibility of distributing the radios fell to NDI’s partner NGOs working in the southern states for use by listening groups.

Juba-Yei road

Our project manager, Chhavi Sharma, and I travelled to Juba in February 2008 to work with NDI’s on-the-ground partners to help create a training programme. Although I had been to Khartoum, it was my first trip to the south. The training, attended by about 40 local and international NGO staff of the partner NGOs, took place in a community centre overlooking the Nile. Literacy levels in Southern Sudan are some of the lowest in the world and for women, literacy is an appalling 8%. Therefore, the training had to be highly visual and pictorial. Teachers and community leaders were identified as radio guardians, but we understood that many might never have operated a radio before.

Radio training programme in Juba

The lack of infrastructure makes feedback difficult to obtain.  However, I am confident that our blue radios have made a positive difference to people’s engagement in this week’s referendum to decide whether or not Southern Sudan should become Africa’s 53rd state.

I have watched with immense interest the television images of the long and patient queues of high spirited women and men wearing their best clothes and baking for hours in the sun waiting to stamp their thumbprints on the ballot paper.  It brought back fond memories of 1994, when I waited for several hours myself to vote in South Africa’s first democratic elections on the second of three election days. The role that radio played in informing around those elections cannot be underestimated either.

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