Paul Ankomah, Wild Honey Collector, Techiman District, © Pieter HugoIn today's
NYTimes an article titled "Forest People May Lose Home in Kenyan Plan," explains that the Kenyan government is gearing up to evict tens of thousands of settlers from the Mau Forest, the Ogiek's ancestral home and a critical water source for Kenya. The Ogiek are among East Africa's last genuine hunters and gatherers, and in addition to stalking antelope with homemade bows and making medicine from leaves, they also trap bees to produce honey (which reminded me of
Hugo's photographs of honey collectors, although they are not Ogiek).
My first thought: I wish I could jump on a plane for Kenya and photograph the Ogiek people. (Besides bringing attention to their situation, I have to admit that the idea of a portrait of a man holding a cell phone in one hand and a homemade bow in the other is pretty appealing.)
But why am I so moved by the Ogiek's plight? Well, first of all, the article makes it clear that in fact they aren't threatened with eviction because of the need for water, although that's the excuse, but rather because of greed and corruption: the Mau Forest is a prime source of lumber, and powerful politicans control the timber companies.
But those in power in Kenya are just repeating what they learned from the British, who, in the 1930's, marched the Ogiek off their land, herded them into “native reserves,” felled their forests, and planted pine trees for commercial logging. The persecution continued after Kenyan independence in 1963 until the 1990s, when the Ogiek sued in Kenyan courts. (The Ford Foundation helped pay their legal bills.) The story of the Ogiek is the story of Native Americans all over again.
I've been thinking a lot lately about the way we live, looking at small trailers and dreaming of becoming a nomad with a typewriter and a camera. How big a house does anyone really need? How much stuff? And what is the real price? How many trees went into my wood floors, the wood trim on my windows, the deck, the wood siding, the picket fence, my furniture? We've increased the complexity of our lives, we've accumulated more and more possessions, but at what cost? Thoreau had it right: "What's the use of a fine house if you haven't got a tolerable planet to put it on?"
An Ogiek leader, Daniel M. Kobei, pleads for his people: “Tell Obama and his men to help us. It’s not that we’re special, but this forest is our home.” I hope somebody helps them. I wish I could. But even if the Ogiek are saved, the Mau Forest is already
haribika -- spoiled, with fewer antelope, fewer trees, eroded soil. Turning your back on complexity isn't easy; you have to live in this world, but it seems to me imperative that we (somehow) change, and that the key is to simplify our lives.