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DRIED OUT

Aregu Balleh* describes how desertification is devastating lives in Ethiopia.

The Boran people in Ethiopia are thought of as a wealthy community of pastoralists and cattle herders. But their lives are changing drastically, and not through choice.  Guyate Burka needed some convincing that there was any point in sending children to school. The 65-year-old admits that none of her older children, all now married, ever attended school. Like other Boran pastoral women from Siminto Kebele in southern Ethiopia's Oromiya state, Guyate's world revolved around cattle. It seemed obvious that her youngest son, Dida, would follow in the footsteps of his older siblings and spend his life herding the cattle.

But years of campaigning by the Ethiopian Government and other organisations on the importance of education persuaded Guyate  to send Dida to school. Once he started his education it felt like a new dawn. 'It was as if we had lived in the middle of darkness before he went to school,' says Guyate, adding that she now regrets having denied this chance to her older children.

Covering Dida's school fees was not an issue. The family of six owned more than 60 head of cattle. This was sufficient to feed the family and pay for his school fees. Guyate's hopes were high: 'I wanted my son to gain a good education and advance himself, so that he could eventually help the family to do even better.'

These hopes were short-lived. In an ironic twist of fate, once Guyate had 'seen the light' disaster began to strike. When Dida reached year seven, a succession of droughts and severe lack of rain led to a steady decline in Guyate's livestock. One particularly bad year of drought reduced her cattle to a single cow. Dida's education hung in the balance.

Like many of her neighbours, Guyate found herself in a position where her traditional lifestyle had to change dramatically if the family was to survive. She was forced to shift from rearing cattle to growing crops. Even this was possible only because her brother could lend her a plough ox. The future that had once looked bright now looks bleak.

How did this happen?

The succession of droughts and lack of rainfall have had a severe impact on the Boran community. Quite what triggered these changes is hard for people to understand. For many, this was 'the work of God'. Others draw a connection between the lack of trees and the lack of water.

Dido Qanchora, 67, spent his whole life in Siminto. He remembers what the environment looked like when he was young. 'There was a dense forest in the surrounding areas,' he says, pointing to a place which has turned into barren land with hardly any vegetation at all. 'In those days we had enough rain and water sources were close by. Now we don't have those trees and we don't get enough rain.'

The nearby water sources have dried up. Every morning women set out on a five-hour walk to fetch water for their families. Thirst has become a constant companion for people in the district.

Some of the damage to the forest was man-made. Dido Qanchora blames residents, including himself, for contributing to the decline in trees. People started chopping down trees in order to produce charcoal, he says. But, he stresses, this practice was only taken up recently in Siminto, and was born of necessity. With the sharp decline in animal productivity, selling charcoal was a source of income where nothing else was available. But the chopping down of trees has led to even fewer resources for the pastoralist community.

Dido Doyo is a government development worker in Siminto, trying to preserve natural resources. 'Deforestation is the major problem in this area,' he says. 'The places which were covered by forest are now becoming deserts. There are no more juniper trees, which used to cover the land in the past. There is a strong wind most of the time and a shortage of rainfall. This place is being transformed into a desert.'

For him, there is still a lack-of-awareness of how gravely the practice of chopping down trees for charcoal contributes to overall environmental damage. Overgrazing, he says, exacerbated the problem.

A deadly toll

During severe drought, large numbers of Boran cattle have died due to lack of pasture. Research conducted by Panos Ethiopia in 2002 shows that animal mortality rates reached up to 80 percent in the worst years of drought.

According to one study there was a 37 percent drop, from an average of 92 cattle per household in the Boran areas in 1980-81 to 58 head of cattle per household in 1996. Since then many more cattle have perished. Some pastoralists watched helplessly as nearly all their cattle died.
 
Dido Qanchora managed to prevent most of his cattle from dying by taking the animals further and further away from traditional grazing grounds, but he could not prevent the decline in their productivity. He is concerned that environmental degradation has done far more than damage the Boran's traditional lifestyle of cattle herding - he feels it has challenged all their cultural and social values.

One of the main strengths of the community, explains Dido, was the way people looked after each other. 'Our society had a long tradition of contributing cattle and animal products to the poor in the community who were unable to sustain a living. We helped them until they became self-supporting,' he explains. 'We used to assist the children and wives of poor families. These days, however, people find it hard to feed their own children, let alone help others.'

The Boran had a reputation for being very welcoming and generous. It is customary for a Boran to offer a glass of milk to any visitor whoever he or she may be. When approached for the interview, Dido Qanchora's first reaction was embarrassment: 'I do not have enough milk to offer you.'

Recognition

In Ethiopia, pastoralist communities such as the Boran account for 12 percent of the country's population. Their communities cover over 60 percent of the country's land area. Until quite recently, pastoral life in Ethiopia was not considered a lifestyle but a problem. There were (and at times still are) disputes and clashes over grazing land. Pastoralists remained a marginalised group, given little recognition and attention by successive governments and often seen as 'second class' citizens.

Nowadays this attitude is changing. Development programmes for pastoralists are supported by the government in various areas of the country. There is even a national 'Pastoralist Day'. The last one, in January 2007, emphasised that much remains to be done to bring the pastoralist community on to an equal footing with other beneficiaries of development projects in the country. But many pastoralists find that now that they have found recognition, their very lifestyle is endangered due to environmental degradation. In Siminto, government development worker Dido Doyo says he is hopeful that some of the depleted resources could be restored if raised awareness of these issues in the community led to certain changes in behaviour. But, he says, the restoration of resources might take a very long time.

* Aregu Balleh is an international journalist.

This article is courtesy of Panos.