Deforestation in Africa

Worldwide, enough trees to cover France three times have been cleared in the past decade, and twice this amount in the past two decades. About 38,054,229 acres are cleared each year.

In West Africa, nearly 90% of the original moist forest has been cut down, and the remaining forest is greatly damaged. The only two forests in West Africa that have not been affected by deforestation are small patches in the Ivory Coast and on the border between Nigeria and Cameroon. In June of this year, it was reported that Africa's rate of deforestation was twice the world rate, meaning that a large percentage of deforestation occurs in Africa. 9,900,000 acres are cleared annually, accounting for less than a quarter of the amount worldwide. This means that a clearing about the size of Switzerland is stamped out of Africa every year. That's a lot of trees!

An interesting contribution to this shocking rate of deforestation is fires. According to an afrol News article, "Increasingly fragmented forests have become much more susceptible to fire than was ever thought possible: tens of millions of hectares of normally fire-resistant forest have been destroyed by catastrophic infernos in the Amazon, Central America, Indonesia, West Africa and Madagascar." In fact, the African continent leads the world in the amount of forest fires. The main reason for this is the use of fire to clear areas for agricultural use or to turn them into grasslands.

It appears that despite some efforts to regulate deforestation rates in Africa, little is improving. For every 28 trees cut down, only 1 is replanted. Africa has been making strides in creating new policies and improving programs for conserving/replacing forests, but little action is being taken to enforce these. Lack of financing and weak national institutions are among the greatest hindrances.

It is no question that forests are significant resources, but there certainly are ways people could decrease the use and waste of trees. For example, 90% of Africa's population relies on firewood for cooking, and in Sub-Saharan Africa, firewood and brush supply 52% of all energy sources.

Who Belongs to Whom?

While reading Hawa’s story in chapter four of Ancestor Stones, I became quite angered by all of the different groups wrongly claiming ownership of the people in Sierra Leone—the Muslims from the North declaring that the natives belonged to Islam and to Allah; the Christians from the South declaring that they belonged to God; both of these insisting that they belonged to sin and needed Salvation; and the Queen’s representatives from England asserting with such casual conviction that they belonged to the Empire, whose cause it was their duty to defend.

Each of these groups denies the natives’ culture, uplifting its own purpose and holding its own beliefs unquestioningly and pre-decidedly superior. Each group intrudes with no tolerance for different opinions or allowance for resistance. As Mariama's character describes, the Muslims acerbically criticize native practices and promise painful deaths for anyone who is not a true Muslim. Haidera threatens to kill false Mohammedans himself. They ransack houses for carvings of idols, and no one dares to speak up in opposition. They bring in their ceremonies and build their mosques. The Christians bring their determination to convert. The English military brings its orders that each village has to nominate at least six men to fight in war for a cause that they know nothing about.

The first thing I thought was, “That is so unfair: they just waltz right in, see something they want—whether it be souls, labor, resources, whatever—and fix their sights on acquiring it without even taking a good look around.” Unfortunately for Africa, this is a disgustingly familiar scenario. Its history is defined by invasion, manipulation, and modification. It is shameful to me to recognize the wrongdoings people have committed, belittling their own species, demeaning themselves over selfish wants at the exploit of their brothers. People are not faceless little pegs to be moved around on game boards, and their homes are more than tiny plots on maps to be erased and re-drawn with whatever pictures seem prettier and less foreign. Their ways of life develop out of an earnest desire to create a happy, understanding, productive community, and to step into the middle of it as if it were old firewood and just crush it to splinters beneath your soles is nothing if not incredibly rude. Why do people feel the need to be so forceful in their actions? Why do they feel they have to steal and rape and kill to build a good community? Why is it so often more difficult for us to work together than to work against each other?

To whom do we really belong? To each other? To our gods? To our government?...

"Art Is Long, and Time Is Fleeting..."

In Helon Habila's novel Waiting for an Angel, I came across a line in a character's speech that reminded me of one of my favorite poems, called "A Psalm of Life" by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. In the novel, James says to Lomba, "Some day you'll finish that novel. What matters right now is life. Remember, life is short, but art is very long." This highlights the greatest message I drew from the novel.

Since the poem is so fantastic, I'll post the whole thing:

TELL me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream ! —
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.

Life is real ! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal ;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way ;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle !
Be a hero in the strife !

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant !
Let the dead Past bury its dead !
Act,— act in the living Present !
Heart within, and God o'erhead !

Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time ;

Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate ;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.

The poem urges the importance of finding purpose in life, being productive, and living a fulfilling existence. When James is speaking to Lomba, he wants him to forget about trying to finish the novel that has been his primary focus (while the rest of his life disintegrated and became miserable) and instead concentrate on finding happiness and success in other ways. The novel is set in Nigeria during the 1990s, a period of chaos under the rule of despotic military dictator General Sani Abacha. Lomba is demoralized by violence, injustice, and witnessing the many perils of close friends, and at this point in the novel has dropped out of school and is living as an impoverished failed novelist who just received a job as a journalist. Lomba comes to realize that in order to be happy, in order to remain human, he has to take action.

I am fairly sure that the meaning of "art is long, and time is fleeting" in both the poem and the novel means "art is long-lasting (but life is not)." However, it also seems possible that the poem means something more along the lines of "there is a lot of art in the world, and only a short amount of time to discover it." In either case, both the poem and the novel ultimately instruct the same thing: act in the present and pursue progress to achiveve a meaningful, fulfilling, and happy life.