Archive 2001

 

Business Opinion
Monday, December 17, 2001

Trees of Peace: How Excisions 
Will Destroy Our Cultural 'Memory'

By SULTAN SOMJEE

It is sad that 10 per cent our of forests are to be destroyed. When we destroy our forests, we are in the process also destroying our social and spiritual heritage. This is the heritage of human values handed down to us by the people who live or have lived close to the earth and the trees. Neither modern school education nor the modern state has the capacity to impart or replace this heritage.

As far back as 1932, Paramount Chief Wambugu of Nyeri told the colonial government that the forests of Mt Kenya were a gift that God had given the community.

In East Africa, we did not preserve the thoughts of the forefathers in written manuscripts. Now, our visual and oral traditions are passing away, courtesy of the European legacy of literacy. Sacred, or peace trees are the last remaining symbols of the tradition that maintained peace among communities and harmony with the environment.

These trees fostered civil values in a variety of contexts. The migration paths of the three great traditions of East Africa – the Bantu conglomerate of cultures originating from West Africa, the Nilotic from the Nile corridor and the Cushitic groups from the Red Sea region – are landmarked by sacred trees. Till today, groups from each of these three streams evoke the olive tree, the fig tree and the acacia in their prayers for peace.

Specifically, the destruction of Narok and Kikuyu escarpment forests will cut the Dorobo/Ogiek off from their heritage. I once heard an Abasuba elder say that when you cut down a tree, you sever a relationship with someone in the village.

Among many ethnic communities of East Africa, peace among people is linked to peace with the earth. People pray under the trees, use the foliage of peace trees during rites of passage and inhale the smoke of the sacred wood in blessing rituals. They bless the earth with branches dipped in water, milk and honey. Today, clergy of the Catholic church in Ukambani, Embu and Pokot regions dip leaves of the sacred tree into the holy water and sprinkle it on the congregation and the earth.

Last year, the church at Othaya blessed four African peace trees planted to heal the earth at a mass graveyard in a Mau Mau concentration camp. Four thousand people came to witness the healing of the earth and the planting of the peace trees.

Some East Africans have become detached from the ancient traditions of the Bantu, Nilotic and Cushitic migrations. Others still honour their links with the ancestor-migrants. For the Okiek, Maasai, Pokot, Turkana, Rendille and Borana, trees are a part of their social life. Maasai women anoint the oseki tree (cordia monoica) with milk and honey while chanting this prayer:

Oseki tree, we pray 
Give us permission to cut you 
Surely, it is not to wound you 
Or to harm you 
Give us permission 
It is to take peace from you 
That we ask of you 
Peace for our homes

But these communities become voiceless when their groves are destroyed. And the state is deaf because it cannot hear the prayer songs such as the one to the oseki tree. In some areas of Maasailand, in both Kenya and Tanzania, the peace tree olerien (Africana olea) has become a rare sight because of the destruction of its groves. The values associated with the black tree are being eroded in Kajiado, Kilimanjaro and Arusha regions, where the African Olive tree is becoming scarce. Annexing more of the Kajiado forest will further diminish the resources available to the Maasai for their traditional spiritual practices.

New religions and education cannot repair the damage done to these nature-given values by the destruction of "cultural biodiversity." And the state is blind, for it cannot see that the Meru peace lake called Iria ria Thaai (God’s Waters) on Mt Kenya is drying up into a puddle because the forests are being cut down by loggers. But the Meru elders persist in offering prayers at the lake for the wellbeing of the land and society. The state has ignored the pleas by the Njuri Ncheke not to cut down the Imenti forest.

At Kapsoo in Baringo District, on the edge of the Forest of the Black Waters, stands a magnificent peace tree – the sacred podo, intertwined with a sacred fig tree. Here, Tugen elders offer prayers for peace and for the security of the environment and the government. All such trees are endangered species for their hardwood is coveted by those out to make a quick profit from the already fragile soil of the Kalenjin.

Recently, Pokomo women of the Tana riverine forests at Mnazini and Baomo protested against the presence of scientists on their land. One of their concerns was the fear of loss of their communal trees. They have experienced this threat before, as have other citizens of Kenya such as the Il Loita of the Forest of the Lost Child in Narok and the Mijikenda of the sacred Makaya at the coast.

The Pokomo, Munyoyaya and Wailwana depend on beehives and other products of the forests for subsistence as well as for the maintenance of their social, ethical and spiritual order. Among these groups, bride price is counted in beehives, not cattle, and there are trees in the forests that "listen to their souls," mediate disputes and bring peace and prosperity. When riverine trees are cut down, the community’s economic and spiritual security is uprooted as the waters that supply it with fish and plants for weaving boats and baskets begin to recede.

The pacifist Munyoyaya and Waboni also use the forests to shelter when enemies attack. Non-violence is the fundamental ethic of these humble people and the tortoise is the tribal totem, for the animal best expresses the community ethic and lifestyle.

"Development" in our modern society is planned in offices behind closed doors and sometimes in workshops to give it a democratic semblance, but there is not enough listening to how those citizens who live close to the African soil express their sense of well being, their sense of aesthetics and how they practise their values.

People say that where there is no beauty, there is no peace, and when there is drought, there is no peace. Therein lies the kernel of a new constitution for Africa, and the direction in which the Kenyan constitutional review should look.

Celluloid images on TV, computer screens and mobile cinemas are erasing our native imagery and the emotions and metaphors connected to the land. The Agikuyu have a deep historical connection with mukuyu (ficus sycomorus) – the tree after which the ancestor Gikuyu was named, for he was the great Mukuyu himself – as well as other trees of the mountain of God such as muiri (prunus Africana) and mutamaiyu (olea Africana). The fact that few Agikuyu today know that their community is named after the sacred mukuyu tree, testifies how rapidly we are losing our identity and values.

Like the Mau Mau, freedom fighters of Zimbabwe drew strength from sacred trees. In Zimbabwe, there is an ongoing renewal of a traditional belief system that emphasises protection of trees and afforestation. Shona environmentalists use tree names for themselves in affirmation of the bond that they proclaim between people and the trees.

Some East Africans too give tree names to themselves. The Turkana, for example, often refer to each other as trees – Ekitoe for a man and Akitoe for a woman. Like the Rendille and Maasai, the Turkana perceive trees as males and females. Sometimes, the Maasai herder calls the male tree his bull and the female tree his cow, in praise of their presence on the savanna.

Globalisation will not consider African sensitivities, for we did not invent the tools of literacy and the electronic media. Our intelligence cannot be stored electronically and our spirituality cannot be sensed by artificial intelligence. The media that can yet honour early memories comprise the environment: the mountains, the plains, the skies, the waters and the trees. These features are all protected by the forests, the cloth of God. The 40-odd cultures of Kenya have a historical right to the trees and the waters. We must save them.

  • Sultan Somjee is an ethnographer based in Nairobi

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