The New Nation - Internet Edition

Landless and exposed to the elements

Salome Alweny

Uganda's Batwa communities have been marginalised for decades. Now they are struggling to cope with extreme weather conditions, and want better homes to protect them from storms and landslides.

Among the posh office premises of the Red Cross Society and the court of adjudicature on Muchingo hill, in Uganda's western district of Kisoro, are ramshackle houses in which a community of Batwa people live.

Their temporary houses are made of a few sticks covered by polythene bags. Some of the Batwa - dwarves who grow to an average height of four feet or less - sleep on beds of dried grass and leaves. Whenever it rains their houses leak and everything, including their fireplace and bedding, gets soaked, leaving them wet and cold.

Traditionally, they lived in caves and peacefully shared their habitat with wild animals, including mountain gorillas, in the country's lush south-western forests.

The region is endowed with a wide range of ecosystems ranging from Savannah grasslands to high altitude wetlands and alpine vegetation. In recent decades it has been the focus of conservation efforts, and in the 1970s legislation was passed to outlaw hunting. The Batwa population was seen as a threat to wild animals, and many were forcibly evicted following the opening of several conservation parks in the 1990s.

The Bwindi Impenetrable Forest, for example, became a national park and world heritage site in 1992 to protect the 350 endangered mountain gorillas within its confines. It was good news for the gorillas but bad news for the Batwa: in the process of establishing the national park, around 2,000 of those living in the area were evicted.

Today the majority of the Batwa are scattered in the mountainous west and south of the country. With no compensation and no alternative livelihoods after the forest evictions, most have taken to begging or depend on handouts from neighbouring communities, who struggle to help them cope. As a marginalised group living an unconventional life, they stand to be among those worst affected by increasingly harsh weather conditions in Uganda.

While some have become landless day labourers and small-scale cultivators, others live at the foot of unstable hillsides, prone to landslides. Whenever it rains, rocks are dislodged and roll down the slope, a threat to anyone unfortunate enough to be in their way.

According to the Ugandan principal meteorologist at the Ministry of Water and Environment Alloysius Kagoro, the Batwa "were affected by the El Niño rains of 1997 to 1998, and the most recent in 2006". Some of their makeshift houses were covered by landslides and crops (for those who have land) were washed away.

"We want land where we can settle down like other communities and plant crops like maize, beans to eat and sell, for additional incomet and land where we can stay permanently without anyone chasing us away," Safari Manday says, with a pensive look on his face. Some Batwa now have access to land of less than one acre, secured for them by the Church of Uganda, the Mgahinga Bwindi Impenetrable Forest Conservation Trust (MBIFCT), and a number of private donors and individuals. But the plots are often too small for meaningful activities like agriculture. And few have been able to obtain titles for the land in their name, leaving them insecure.

The Batwa also need stronger and bigger houses, away from landslide- and flood-prone areas, as mother-of-three Justina Rukundo explains:

"This house is too weak," she says. "When strong winds come, it gets blown away and when the rains come, we get wet. All I need is a strong house where my children and I can rest without any worry."

Other communities live beside wetlands which are liable to flood. Every time it rains, the run-off from further up the slope inundates these areas, and the resultant overflow soaks everyone living there.

Despite all the untold suffering and climate change threats, the Batwa have no insurance for their property, no wealthy relatives to turn to in times of need, and no political voice to change their situation.

They compare themselves to their counterparts in Rwanda. There, they say, the state has provided communities with permanent houses, and argue that the Ugandan government should do the same for them. They also want to have access to the forests to collect products such as medicinal plants, and to be involved in the management of the parks, taking advantage of the knowledge they have of the forests.

"We want to be free to go to the forest and get what we want without any questions liket who are you and how do you enter the forest?" says John Rwubaka, who is seen by a substantial number of the Batwa as chief. He also acts as a mediator or representative when conflicts arise with neighbouring communities.

"We want representation at both local and parliamentary level in Uganda to talk for ourselves so the president can hear us. People come to us seeking votes, we give them, but when they go to parliament they do not tell the president that we are suffering like this," Rwubaka adds.

Should El Niño rains occur in the region again, as happened in the north and eastern parts of the country late last year, it is feared that the Batwa's very means of survival, including their makeshift houses, would be demolished. Flooding could even lead to deaths.

It is now more than a decade since the establishment of Bwindi Impenetrable Forest and the eviction of the Batwa from the forest lands. During this time, there have been numerous efforts by a variety of organisations pursuing different objectives, all claiming to help the Batwa community. But very little has changed. Most are still landless, squatting on other people's land, and others are still living in pathetic dwelling places.

Batwa representatives claim the few programmes intended to distribute conservation benefits to local communities have consistently failed. They are now seeking to secure a proportion of the park visit fees that go directly to the Uganda Wildlife Authority, especially since this revenue is derived from traditional hunting and gathering areas that they are not permitted to enter.

For many people in developed countries, as well as the rich in developing countries, the threat of climate change may seem distant. But the Batwa and people like them are already feeling its effects, and have almost nothing to help them to cope.

(Salome Alweny is a reporter at The Monitor in Uganda. She wrote this article as a result of a fellowship awarded by the Climate Change Media Partnership - a collaboration of Panos, Internews and IIED which supports journalists to investigate climate change issues. Panos)

Will S Africa lead solar energy revolution?

Yolandi Groenewald

South Africa, Brazil and other emerging economies are likely to face emissions caps come 2012. Can South Africa's solar energy ventures compete with its vast supply of cheap coal?

Stretched-out plains with dust devils and unrelenting sun are the trademarks of the barren Northern Cape in South Africa. Every year the province records some of the highest numbers of sunny days worldwide. Rainy days are as rare as hen's teeth.

This is bad news if you're a farmer, but great for South Africa's electricity provider Eskom, one of the biggest power companies in the world, which is building a multi-million dollar solar plant near Upington in the Northern Cape. The potential of solar is enormous, with scientists estimating that every year a square kilometre of desert receives solar energy equivalent to 1.5 million barrels of oil.

The Upington project is the first major solar energy initiative on the continent. With South Africa's current electricity crunch, and the need for renewable power in an economy where 90 per cent of power is generated by coal, it seems this plant is long overdue.

Until now solar power has been one of the most neglected renewable technologies. Solar power provides less than one per cent of the world's energy, according to the global financial services firm UBS. However, it appears that the potential of solar is finally dawning, with UBS calculating 50 per cent year-on-year growth in the sector. And figures released in January by the Earth Policy Institute show solar electricity generation is now the fastest-growing electricity source. Germany is leading the way, followed by Japan and the United States.

The main deterrent to solar power has been its cost - estimated at about 22 Rand (US$2.80) per watt. In contrast, with such an abundance of coal, South Africa currently produces the world's cheapest electricity at about 10 Rand (US$1.30) per watt.

But Peet Du Plooy, WWF's trade and investment advisor for South Africa believes the true cost of coal-based electricity to be higher. "I think it is worth re-evaluating the view that renewables are two to three times more expensive," he says. "New coal power is no longer as cheap as we used to think. While Eskom has cited R10/watt, Medupi's [South Africa's newest coal-powered station] actual price comes in at R16.40/watt… and that's capital cost only."

Du Plooy points out that the price of coal has climbed steeply in the last three years and that the environmental cost of fossil fuels also needs to be factored in. And he is hopeful that as solar power sees increased uptake, it will become cheaper through economies of scale.

The single biggest cost for solar cell makers is the high price of raw polysilicon, which costs US$300/kg and makes up 70 per cent of the structure. But the price of raw silicon is expected to fall by two thirds over the next three years. So the race is now on to find the best solar technology, and the company which perfects it is likely to make a killing.

Nanosolar, which has manufacturing sites in the United States and Germany, claims to have developed the world's most economical solar panel, using 'thin film' technology. It hopes to be the first manufacturer to profitably sell solar panels at as little as US$0.99 per watt - comparable to the price of electricity generated from coal.

The company aims to build solar power stations up to 10MW in size, which can be up and running in six to nine months compared with 10 years or more for coal-powered stations and 15 years for nuclear plants.

South Africa has its very own contender in the 'thin film' race. Solar guru Professor Vivian Alberts, a physicist at the University of Johannesburg, has developed a design believed to be the most advanced in the world. His panels are now ready for commercial use, and are expected to cost about 14 rand (US$1.80) per watt. "It will be possible for households in South Africa to afford their own solar generation," he says.

After evaluating various solar technologies, Eskom has decided to use concentrated solar power (CSP) at its plant in Upington. This employs an array of mirrors controlled by tracking systems to focus a large area of sunlight into a small beam. The resulting heat is used to generate electricity.

"There are numerous untested solar technologies out there. However, their feasibility remains unknown until developed to a reasonable scale," says Sipho Neke, spokesperson for Eskom.

CSP also has the backing of the World Bank, which views it as the only zero-emission technology that could potentially rival coal-fired power. However, solar technology only makes up a small slice of the pie in current projections of South Africa's future energy mix.

And despite Eskom's enthusiasm for solar, the company is reluctant to estimate how much it will invest in the technology over the next decade, saying this will depend on the success of the Upington project. But with the solar revolution that appears to be gripping the world, South Africa would be foolish not to follow the sun.

(Yolandi Groenewald is an environment reporter at the Mail and Guardian in South Africa. She wrote this article as a result of a fellowship awarded by the Climate Change Media Partnership - a collaboration of Panos, Internews and IIED which supports journalists to investigate climate change issues. Panos)

Uranium waste imperils Jharkhand villages

Aparna Pallavi

Radioactive waste from three government-owned uranium mines has put about 50,000 people in Jharkhand's Jaduguda at risk. The people, mostly tribal communities, suffer from serious radiation-related health problems. But the mines in East Singhbhum district continue without adequate safety measures.

On studying more than 9,000 people (over 2,000 houses) in five villages near the mines owned by the Uranium Corporation of India Limited (UCIL), researchers found cases of congenital deformities, sterility, spontaneous abortions and cancer were alarmingly high among the villagers, mostly from the Ho, Santhal, Munda and Mahali tribes.

The mines, set up four decades ago, employ around 5,000 people. A team from the Indian Doctors for Peace and Development (IDPD) and a local NGO Jharkhandi Organisation Against Radiation (JOAR) conducted the study in May-August last year.

IDPD is an organization of medical professionals working against nuclear weapons. The team also studied 23 other villages, 30 km away from the mine sites. Their analysis shows the rate of radiation-related diseases is higher in villages close to the mines than in those away from the mines.

According to the union Ministry of Social Justice and Empowerment, three per cent people in India suffer from physical disabilities; congenital deformity being one of them. In the villages in Jaduguda, the percentage of congenital deformity itself is at 4.49 per cent, as compared to 2.49 per cent in the reference villages. This, says the study, is commensurate with the findings at Church Rock mines in New Mexico, USA. In 1979, a dam at the mining site burst, sending gallons of radioactive mill wastes and triggering an environmental crisis.

The safety situation at the mines is equally dismaying. The company dumps waste from the mines in open fields and transports uranium ore in uncovered dumpers. Just about a decade ago, say villagers, the playgrounds for children and grazing areas were near the three tailing ponds. The company even supplied mine tailings as construction material to the villagers . In December 2006, a pipe burst spilling radioactive waste. There was no warning system in place. The authorities took about nine hours to respond. People recall several similar incidents.

Ramendra Gupta, chairman and managing director of UCIL, feigns ignorance of the report. He says the findings by the "so called experts" were "not true". He says "just one NGO" is magnifying the issue. Referring to three UCIL- sponsored studies, he says the health problems in the area are due to "malnutrition, unhygienic conditions and malaria". "The residents of the villages are better off financially than people in the distant villages, since they work in UCIL. This should have shown better health conditions. That the opposite is the case is proof that the health problems are linked to radiation", says Shakeel Ur Rahman lead author.

When Down To Earth points out that all the studies he referred were by government agencies, Gupta flares up: "Are you implying they are biased?" He did not, however, quote any independent study. Ghanshyam Biruli of JOAR says UCIL has kept local people in the dark about the effects of radiation. "They have not shared the studies that they were supposed to have conducted; not even the routine records of radiation exposure levels among workers, though we filed several RTI applications." He adds: "Why tribals living 100 km from the mining site under similar living conditions do not have these health problems?" Repeated requests from Down To Earth for the studies did also not meet with any response.

JOAR has been demanding rehabilitation of the people, but to no avail. The study warns that authorities should conduct proper health studies before starting such projects. The caution gains importance considering the centre is planning such projects in Chhattisgarh, Meghalaya and Andhra Pradesh.

(CSE/Down To Earth Feature Service)

The God of ecological things

Sunita Narain

It was the mid-1980s. environmentalist Anil Agarwal was on a mission: track down the person who had conceptualized the employment guarantee scheme in Maharashtra. His search-I tagged along-led him to a dusty, file-filled office in the secretariat. There we met V S Page. I remember a diminutive, soft-spoken man who explained to us why in 1972, when the state was hit with crippling drought and mass migration, it worked on a scheme under which professionals working in cities would pay for employment in villages.

This employment was guaranteed by law, which meant it provided an entitlement and put a floor to poverty. Since work was available locally, people did not have to flee to cities. Anil was excited-by the fact of employment during acute stress, but also saw potential for ecological regeneration.

We had just visited Ralegan Siddi village where Anna Hazare was overseeing work to dig trenches along contours of hills to hold water and to recharge groundwater. On our visit, we saw the first bumper onion crop because of increased irrigation.

Page agreed to the scheme's ecological potential, but explained that since the scheme was designed for employment during acute distress, the district administration looked for the easiest way out, in most cases breaking stones, building roads or public work construction. In the next few years, the idea to use this same labour for natural asset creation gained ground in Maharashtra, emphasis changed to soil and water conservation-building check dams, bunding fields, trenching hills and even planting trees.

The Central government employment programmes-clones of the Maharashtra scheme-followed suit, mandating in some cases the minimum percentage to be spent on planting trees for ecological regeneration. This was also the time when the country was learning how to plant trees that survive; or build the tank that would not get silted next season. Bureaucrat N C Saxena worked out how many trees would there be in each Indian village if all the trees planted survived-a veritable forest, which existed only on paper.

Anil wrote on how employment programmes had perfected the creation of perpetual unproductive employment-dig a hole, plant a sapling, the sapling is eaten or dies; next season dig the same hole again and plant again. Follow this procedure each year. This lesson led to new understanding-village communities had to take ownership over fragile natural assets. People had to be involved in decisions and, most importantly, benefit directly from regenerated fodder grass, trees and water structures. Fractured bureaucracies-forest departments, agriculture departments or irrigation departments -did not lead to holistic planning at the village level.

It was a time when development experimentation blossomed - states such as Madhya Pradesh created a single agency to work at village watersheds. This was also the period when research revealed the enormous economic gains for villages that better utilised their land and water resources. Why am I recounting all this? Simple: the National Rural Employment Guarantee (NREG) programme is built on the same premise. It even improves on past schemes by incorporating the need to invest in natural asset creation (soil and water conservation); by making village level planning mandatory; and by making the elected panchayat (not just fractured departments) responsible for public works.

But two years after the scheme's launch, I must ask: do these improvements incorporate past lessons? Travelling in Rajasthan in peak summer, I found women working on the village 100-day scheme (as it is known locally) in droves. Under a blistering sun they were digging the defunct village pond. The local engineer explained the scheme, formulated by the panchayat, was to desilt the structure and then build its wall. I saw each woman was digging what looked like a square. Why? The supervisor explained this was the requirement, based on a 'scientific' estimation of how much each person could dig daily-how many cubic feet of earth could be moved. The square the women were digging was this task rate, used then to calculate the amount of work done and so the wages.

The women I spoke to explained this only meant they never knew how much they would be paid at the end of the week or fortnight, for the task done would be individually calculated. I realized that in Delhi's obsession to deal with inefficiency and corruption, the nature of the work was almost forgotten.

Nobody could explain if the squares dug each day would add to a tank that functioned. Nobody cared if the channels that brought the water to the tank were de-silted. Nobody even cared if the 100 days employment would lead to the work being completed. In another village, located close to the Sunderban tiger reserve, I saw a rainwater channel built under NREG; it had changed the village economy to the extent that people do not depend on illegal fishing any more.

The water structure provided them with irrigation for an extra crop. This was the real potential of the scheme. Excited, I asked if the panchayat had planned the water structure. No, came the answer. "If we work under a panchayat-led programme, we do not get paid because the panchayat has to clear its payment with the district officials, who in turn require detailed proof that the work has been done."

The procedures are complicated and, invariably, people are either not paid, or paid less. This development structure was implemented through the forest department, which has authority to plan and execute work. The details, not the concept, of the NREG programme need to be fixed. Urgently. For the God of ecological regeneration, too, is in the details.

(Source: CSE. The writer is the editor of the Down To Earth magazine published from New Delhi)