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.

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.

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.

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 20^th 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 15^th 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.

What struck me about Lifeline Energy was more than the mere prospect of experience in marketing. It was the uniqueness in what the organisation focused on and aimed to achieve. It is a non-profit focused on dealing with unique issue of energy poverty in Sub-Saharan Africa as well as other regions in the world. It focuses on providing solar-powered and wind-up lighting and radios and MP3s to rural communities with the aim to provide safe lighting for daily activities, information, education and access to communication with the outside world.

Few understand the importance of light and communication. Instead the general ideas regarding development relate to the big in-your-face issues such as daily income levels, famine, etc. This is not to say these issues are not important. However while a large percentage of the world’s development resources focus on these issues, the attention given to the basic concepts of light and communication within a community is just not there. As Kristine Pearson (CEO) said to me while explaining Lifeline Energy, “You need to have been in the field and out there to see and understand what radio does. When a child can suddenly hear a radio programme and learn about things that she never even thought about. You have to see for yourself to see how radio completely opens up someone’s world.”

By opening up your world, Pearson refers to how many aspects of daily life the organisation can affect. By providing safe and efficient lighting products, the use of dangerous kerosene as a lighting fuel reducing the detrimental effects on communities caused by fires and inhalation.  This is a particularly common problem in poor countries.  Clean light also helps children study, boosting attendance and exam results. Such a simple plan has found a starting point to a solution required to achieve the UN Millennium Goals. Likewise, projects using radio have helped communities in several different ways, like bringing information to remote areas in the form of news as well as educational programs for healthcare initiatives. There’s a long running primary education programme in Zambia called ‘Learning at Taonga Market’ which improves education levels in communities.

It’s one of the cardinal rules when you’re interviewing – detach yourself from the interviewee. Ask questions, take notes, but never get emotionally involved in the story. To put it simply, it isn’t professional to have a vested interest in the person’s life. I’ve always upheld this rule, that was until I met Nanjeke.

I first noticed Nanjeke at the back of the classroom at Moon City community school in Lusaka. She was well-mannered and exceptionally shy. When the teacher asked a question the other students squirmed in their seats hoping the teacher would pick on them, while Nanjeke would sheepishly raise her hand, copying the other students, but secretly hoping she wouldn’t be called upon. But there was no missing her – at just ten-years old Nanjeke was over five foot tall. In fact, she was already taller than me!

After class had finished I asked the teacher if I could speak to Nanjeke. She came over to me with her head bowed as if she had done something wrong. “So what’s your name?” I asked. Averting her eyes, she quietly responded: “Nanjeke. I’m sorry I just started school”.

Nanjeke lost both her parents when she was two to HIV/AIDS. At the time she was living in a rural area of Zambia. After her parents passed away she went to live with her grandmother. A few years ago, they moved to Lusaka to live with her uncle. It was then that she decided to take her future into her own hands.

“I told my grandmother I wanted to go to school after I saw all the other children going,” she says. With no money to afford school uniforms, supplies or the starting fee for Zambia’s “free” public school system, her family turned to the Moon City community school. The school was not far from her uncle’s house and a non-obligatory school uniform was provided along with school supplies.

It has now been a month since Nanjeke started at Moon City. She may be shy but her skills are developing.

After ten minutes of asking her questions and her timidly responding, she finallylifted here head when I asked what she wants to be when she grows up. She emphatically responded, “I want to go to university and become a lawyer. I know I can do this if I do well in school.”

Out of many children I spoke to during my time in Zambia, Nanjeke’s story stays with me. Although quiet, she chose a new path for herself at such a young age. I am confident that she has a bright future ahead of her.

Uzma was in Lusaka observing the Ministry of Education’s Learning at Taonga Market radio distance education initiative in action. Lifeline Energy has been providing solar and wind-up radios to ensure educational access to all Zambian children since the pilot project was launched in 1999. So far 900,000 children have benefited from the programme across Zambia.

Lifeline Energy’s Prime radios are being introduced to the programme.

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.

“Where does Balkiss come from?”, asks the man at the check-in counter for Ethiopian Airlines at Heathrow. He is, of course, referring to my middle name. “Oh, it’s my grandmother’s name, it’s from Yemen,” I respond. “Oh no”, he interjects, “It’s actually from Ethiopia. It was one of the names of the Queen of Sheba who ruled Ethiopia and Yemen. It’s a beautiful name.”

I was impressed. I know it is a name rich with history, but that was one of the very few times my middle name hasn’t been mangled and mispronounced. I take this as a good omen for the week ahead.

I am on my way to Lusaka, flying via Addis Ababa, to see first-hand the impact of our radios in the Learning at Taonga Market radio-distance education programme we’ve been involved with for over a decade. This is one of many firsts for me: It’s the first time I’ve visited Zambia; seen our solar and wind-up radios in action; or been to sub-Saharan Africa for that matter.

I’m looking forward to visiting Zambia. I have heard a lot about the country from friends who have visited, but nothing compares to experiencing it with your own eyes. The weather is an obvious plus, as it is rainy season so you get that mixture of sun and the cool breeze after it rains. In addition, I’m relishing being away from the London weather.

However, the most important part of my trip are the children our radios are supporting. I’ve tested our solar and wind-up Prime radios, but nothing will compare to seeing them being used for the large classroom lessons they are designed for.

The Learning at Taonga Market programme – initiated by Zambia’s Ministry of Education – benefits hundreds of thousands of children who are unable to attend formal school, as well as supporting government classrooms. We are now introducing our Prime radios into Zambia, helping to ensure that these children will have access to an education and, more importantly, a brighter future.

Hopefully my good omen in London will last for my entire stay.

Today is World Radio Day, a celebration of the role and function of radio in the lives of people on the planet. The day is endorsed by UNESCO. The South African Broadcasting Corporation (SABC) is also taking part in the celebrations:

SABC Radio will be celebrating World Radio Day with all South Africans, informing them about its history and its importance in our daily lives. The SABC Radio network reaches over 25 million people on a weekly basis with its radio platforms positioned to serve all South Africans including Channel Africa, an International Public Service Radio Station whose role is to contribute to the development agenda of Africa.”

“Radio is the pioneer of all electronic media. It is as relevant today as it was 75 years ago. Radio is still the medium of choice as it still commands the highest penetration as a medium in South Africaand the developing world.

SABC Radio, for the past 75 years, has assisted in informing, educating and entertaining South Africans from all walks of life, said Lesley Ntloko the acting Head of Radio of the SABC. On the 13th of February stay tuned to your favourite SABC radio station and join in as we reflect on special moments and memories that SABC Radio has created.” – SABC Radio

SABC Radio Archives, the archives which collects and receives material from all the SABC Public Broadcast Services (PBS) Radio Services, also reflects on the importance of this day.
SABC Radio has been broadcasting for 75 years, and we have audio material covering the history and the culture of the same period, collected, catalogued and “stored in the various archive repositories across the country.”

The SABC Radio Archives preserves material for the following reasons:

• To preserve SABC broadcasts and raw material as a corporate function;
• To be of service as a well-organised source of broadcast material to the SABC;
• To preserve permanently highlights in the history of the development and broadcast patterns of broadcasting in South Africa;
• To bequeath to future generations an audio-image of South Africa at certain periods as it was portrayed by the SABC;
• To provide researchers with information and facts on sound carriers that are not available in any other form;
• To preserve, as part of the National Broadcaster’s function and as far as possible, complete recordings of the South African culture legends and oral traditions, including a comprehensive set of nature and habitat sounds of South Africa

World Radio Day coincides with the first lecture of the year for my Radio Journalism class at the University of Canberra, so I am planning an interactive lecture about the role of radio in society and democracy, featuring audio clips from ABC broadcasters about why and how they got into radio, along with some great archival material. The students will be asked to live-tweet the lecture.

In the tutorials/workshops that follow the lecture, the students will be paired up with an audio assignment – to record each other’s experiences of growing up with radio (wherever home was). They’ll then edit those reflections into 90 second packages for webcast on an ABC website called ABC Pool – a social media/collaborative media portal. Additionally, via that site, the students will form discussion groups about radio designed to crowd source story ideas about the role of radio in contemporary society for production later in the semester. Selected stories from this collaboration will be broadcast by ABC Radio in Canberra as well as hosted on ABC Pool.