'We have a deal'

With those words Kofi Annan announced that Kenya's leaders had agreed today to share power in a coalition government.

I watched through a phalanx of TV cameras as President Kibaki and Raila Odinga said they were committed to making the arrangement work. Each man had warm words for the other. Raila even called Kibaki "President" -- a first since the election.

Lots of details are unknown: is Kibaki going to keep his word, are he and Raila going to work together as they say, and how will this help hundreds of thousands of people get their homes back? The slim, two-page agreement the men spent several moments signing this afternoon raises more questions than it answers.

Just as the two men finished the last round of hand-shaking, some spontaneous dancing broke out in a plaza a few hundred yards from where we were standing. A few of them sang, "Raila rule Kenya!" It was a joyous moment.

But only a moment. Police on horseback immediately appeared and lobbed several cannisters of tear gas. They fired some shots in the air as smoke from the cannisters wafted over the well-dressed crowd of dignitaries still milling around the signing ceremony. The crowd dispersed. I turned to someone and asked, "They won't let people enjoy this for even five seconds?"

Don't celebrate too much, folks. The politicians have a lot more work ahead.

Man of the moment

It was nice to see former Secretary-General Kofi Annan this morning at a press conference in Nairobi. Annan (at right in a Reuters photo) looked sharp as usual, in a charcoal suit and crimson tie. Most importantly, he didn't look tired, which means that maybe he's not quite ready to leave Kenya yet. Because it's starting to seem like his presence is one of the few things keeping this place from reverting to the chaos of last month.

There are vague but ominous signs that if the peace talks led by Annan collapse, various groups around the country are going to go back to the streets. Last week a respected think tank warned that despite the veneer of calm in Kenya, "armed groups are still mobilising on both sides" of the political divide. Today the Daily Nation ran a double-truck spread on militia fundraisers that have apparently raised about $500,000 in Nairobi alone for various armed groups around the country, a clip that even Bill Clinton could admire.

It's important not to get worked up over idle threats. And the Nation story is filled with more unnamed and one-named sources than a couple of days' worth of Pentagon stories. But this line was unmistakable: "The consensus across the board is that should the Kofi Annan efforts to resolve the presidential elections dispute fail, a new round of violence will break out in many parts of the country."

Annan knows this. Last week he said he saw "light at the end of the tunnel" of these negotiations. This week he's "frustrated" by their molasses-slow pace and has stopped mediating with the negotiating teams in order to deal directly with the two leaders, Kibaki and Odinga. He's now into his sixth week in Kenya -- the longest he's spent on any peace mission anywhere, including as U.N. boss, according to my friend Barney Jopson of the FT.

All the infighting he survived in a long UN career must be serving Annan well. He's been harangued by negotiators on both sides, had his integrity called into question more times than he probably deserves and must be sick to death of the room service menu at the Serena. But he also knows that by staying this long, the peace process is now as much about him as about the two principals. It's going to have his name on it in success or failure. If he succeeds, the world may forget oil-for-food. If he fails, or if things fall apart the moment his plane leaves the jetway, fairly or not, people will wonder if the only thing gained in all these weeks was more time for idle young men to hone their killing skills.

Annan knows this. He looked more calm and relaxed this morning than I've seen him in a couple of weeks. He's not going anywhere yet.

Kenyan optimism

This morning there was uncertainty in Kenya. Today's papers reported that President Kibaki and Raila Odinga were at odds over the creation of a new prime minister position, the linchpin of delicate negotiations now in their fourth week. Odinga's party threatened more protests.

Then, this afternoon, hope. The head mediator, Kofi Annan, said the two parties had "largely agreed" on a coalition government. Someone from Kibaki's team said that a deal will happen tomorrow. Odinga's side has been uncharacteristically quiet so far this afternoon. Munene, my Kenyan colleague and the most reliable political barometer I've found in Nairobi, is deeply skeptical.

It seems we've been down this road before since the talks began, but this is by far the closest sign that there may indeed be a deal that both sides agree on. Whether or not Kibaki's side -- which a respected think tank says isn't taking the talks seriously -- will implement its terms is the big question.

Why would Kenyans be optimistic? One of the leading local political columnists, Charles Onyango-Obbo (a Ugandan but quite the authority on Kenya) sees reason to be hopeful because of -- who else? -- Barack Obama.

Obama, after all, is "a first-time senator with no experience in government or foreign policy; a black man in a country with a history of racism that is still fresh in the memory of civil rights activists, running against a Clinton. It looked like his goose was cooked."

Now, of course, Kenya's favorite son is in the driver's seat for the Democratic presidential nomination.

Meanwhile, Onyango-Obbo writes, once shining Kenya has been written off as "another African basket case." But a fair political settlement that actually works, and helps people go back to their homes and jobs, could make Kenya "the comeback African nation" by the end of the year. (I don't think this is a real award. But maybe it should be.)

"It might look unlikely today," Onyango-Obbo says. "But...one would have said the same thing of Obama a year ago."

A thousand hills

The first thing you notice about Kigali is the quiet.

The Rwandan capital is home to about 1 million people but it has the feel of a small town, with orderly, tree-lined streets that meet at intersections where drivers use their turn signals more than their horns. The guys hawking cell phone airtime run up to you and wave the scratch cards in your face, but they plead for a sale with their eyes, not their lungs.

The silence is subtle but unmistakable. It's as if everyone has a secret.

It's tempting to ascribe the feeling to the memory of the genocide 14 years ago, but I think it has more to do with the current political climate. To restore order and economic growth after the 1994 slaughter, President Paul Kagame has assumed complete control over the country, establishing laws over free speech to stop people from re-inciting ethnic hatred. He micromanages everything from the (successful) AIDS policy to something he calls "Vision 2020," a high minded if quixotic plan to turn this tiny, overwhelmingly rural nation into an IT hub.

You won't find anyone to publicly criticize government policy. There are arbitrary arrests, and human rights advocates underline the irony of an aspiring information economy where political dissent isn't tolerated.

Kagame has a ready answer for his critics. "If we are making this mistake or that mistake," he told Time magazine recently, "we are making it in the context of having overcome the most difficult situation ever witnessed."

It's a pat response, but hard for an outsider to argue with. And most Rwandans I met displayed a pride in their country and the direction it's heading in. "We have come a long way from the genocide, and we have a long way to go," said S., a writer and founder of a technology magazine. He said there were things he didn't like about Kagame, who is "controlling." But he seems to have a vision for where he wants to take the country.

Politics aside, I found a lot to like about Kigali. It's a city that works, where people walk the streets without fear of being hassled. It's situated on a series of lush hills, so around every corner is a pretty view. I met a mixture of young professionals -- writers, med students, graphic designers, ad agency types -- who suggested a city on the rise.

My favorite thing was the transport. The best way to get around -- and get a great look at Kigali -- is on one of the official motorbike taxis, which are run as efficiently as any public transit system I've seen in Africa. All the riders wear lime-green vests and helmets, with their cell phone numbers stenciled on them in bright yellow, and you can go a long way for less than $1. When you get aboard the driver insists not only that you put on a helmet but also that you fasten the chinstrap. Some of the guys even wipe off the insides of the helmets after each ride with a hand towel -- probably not the most efficient way to sanitize against sweat, but you gotta appreciate the effort.

Naturally, I visited the genocide museum, which requires no description other than to say that it's a heartbreaking but ultimately remarkable place that no visitor should miss. Far less inspiring was another memorial that people would be familiar with: Hotel Rwanda, aka the Hotel des Mille Collines ("a thousand hills"), where I spent my last night in the city. Shabby, overpriced and reeking of colonial influence, the place seems to scrape by on its reputation (I saw a couple of tourists get their pictures by the sign at the entrance) and the fact that there are few other "Western"-class hotels in Kigali. But several new places are being built, and when they're finished I think they should officially convert the Mille Collines into the museum it halfway has become -- or else tear the whole thing down, in the spirit of moving on.

It's official. Kenya's in trouble.

We've all received the scam e-mails from Madam So-and-So, the wife/distant relative/estranged lover of the late African despot/freedom fighter, who has recently come into possession of millions of dollars/tens of millions of dollars/an ungodly amount of gold and needs your bank account details to access the bounty. They're called "419 scams," after the section in the Nigerian criminal code that deals with fraud, because most of the emails tend to originate from West Africa.

Invariably the country where the grammatically challenged writer claims to be from is some war-torn land. Ivory Coast, Sierra Leone and Liberia are popular. Well, it seems Kenya has finally cracked the list of crackpots, according to this note I received from the enterprising "Susan Atinga." Apparently Susan escaped a "rebellion attack" in Kenya with the help of a missionary and has fled to, of all places, Ivory Coast.

From there the story is a familiar one, as you can see from the e-mail. (Please direct all enquiries to Susan.)

----- Original Message -----
From: atingasusan@yahoo.com
To:
Sent: Tuesday, February 12, 2008 7:51 PM
Subject: Kenya Help.

Dear One,

  I saw your email address and I need to contact you for something important I will like to share with you. My Name is Mrs Susan Atinga, from Republic of Kenya. I am the only surviving person in my family after the rebellion attack that killed my husband and my children at my presence. My late husband was into importation and exportation of wild life goods before they killed him. We had two kids, Daniel and mercy; may their happiest soul rest in perfect peace Amen.

  I managed to escape this dead through a help of a white man missionary who rescued me from the hands of the rebels by telling them that I work with him in the missionary. This is how I survive death.

  As reported by international media about the war in my country, which I know, you might have heard. You can read better on this website. http://africa.reuters.com/elections/kenya/

  I have left Mr Freddy Eden (the missionaries) immediately the rebel let me go, I come down to Ivory Coast for my life and to claim some fund my late husband deposited in one of the bank there in Ivory Coast, I will like to use this funds to start a new life over seas and for investment. I have visited the bank to claim the funds but they told me that I don't have access to the funds due to the method my late husband used when he deposited the funds, and the bank direct advise me to look for a foreign business partner of my late husband who can help me to claim the funds since my late husband deposited the funds as belong to his foreign business partner, but he did not mention any name or contact of this foreign partner.

  I need your help in this subject; to stand as my late husband foreign business partner and provide your information and bank account to the bank so that they can transfer the funds into your account while I join you in your country to have my own share invest in business in your country as foreign investor.

  Confirm your acceptance and willingness to assist me in this regard by supplying me your full data.

  Thanks and God bless you.
  Susan.

Victory lap

I've hopped over to Rwanda in advance of President Bush's swing through Africa, which starts tomorrow, spy bills permitting. The Wall Street Journal calls Bush's six-day, five-nation tour "a victory lap" to trumpet his successful AIDS and malaria programs in Africa, and the whole thing does seem to have the feel of a self-congratulatory mission. He's visiting five stable countries, avoiding any place where there's been conflict within the past five years, and the words "Somalia" and "Islamist insurgency" don't appear anywhere in the official White House text.

Still, in Rwanda, where Bush is scheduled to spend less than 12 hours next Tuesday, they're gearing up. The hotel where I'm staying has been commandeered by the U.S. Embassy, and the whole place is crawling with Secret Service. At breakfast this morning I had to navigate through a sea of guys in short haircuts and tight polos just to get to the omelet bar. Someone in an Army uniform always appears to be hanging around the lobby. There isn't a room to spare. And Bush isn't even spending the night here.

That last bit rankles Rwandans, who, like many Africans, like President Bush. Bush is spending three nights in Tanzania, they say. Why not just one night here?

One answer, according to a former U.S. official whom I met today, is that there simply aren't enough top-end hotel rooms in Kigali to accommodate the presidential entourage. (There are barely enough now, five days before his arrival.) The Embassy isn't taking any chances, even sending folks to inspect the runway at the Kigali airport to make sure it could handle Air Force One.

Bush is here just long enough to meet President Kagame, dedicate a new U.S. Embassy, visit the Genocide Museum and meet with some U.S.-trained peacekeepers. Then he's on his way to the next stop on his whirlwind tour. But I wonder - why is he in a rush to get back home? So he can listen to the presidential candidates bash his policies even more? Listen to more bad news about the economy?

Mr. President, you should stay longer. This isn't like your Middle East trip. Rwandans like you. Your AIDS program is popular and has probably saved many lives. And - get this - they like you a lot more than they like President Clinton. For all Clinton's post-presidential work on AIDS in Africa, what Rwandans remember most is his inaction during the genocide. As one doctor told me over lunch today, "People liked Clinton's sentiment. But what did he do, especially for Rwanda? We were dying. Bush has problems. But Bush did more than anybody else for Africa."

So savor the victory lap, Mr. President. There may not be many more left.

War of the Worlds

Steven Spielberg is the latest high-wattage personality to boycott the Beijing Olympics over human-rights concerns.

The director of Schindler's List announced he's resigning as artistic director of the Games because of China's support for the government of Sudan. "At this point, my time and energy must be spent not on Olympic ceremonies, but on doing all I can to help bring an end to the unspeakable crimes against humanity that continue to be committed in Darfur," Spielberg said in a statement.

A few thoughts immediately sprang to mind:

1. The Olympics need an art director?

2. None of Spielberg's Hollywood buds (not her, him or him) told him about Darfur before he took this job?

3. Is this going to embarrass Beijing or just tick them off?

It's the last question, of course, that's most important to the millions in Darfur and eastern Chad who are waiting for a solution. As South of West points out, Beijing has been winning credit lately for pressuring Sudan to soften its stance on Darfur. When Sudan agreed to allow UN troops into Darfur last year, I met several diplomats in Khartoum who told me China was working behind the scenes. At peace talks in Libya a few months ago, U.S. envoy Andrew Natsios said China deserved praise for its efforts. China has also begun to send humanitarian aid.

This is not to let Beijing off the hook. The activists at Save Darfur note, "China’s five shipments of humanitarian aid to Darfur – together totaling less than $11 million – were less than the $13 million interest-free loan China provided for a new presidential palace in Khartoum." But China has a fundamentally different view of Africa than the rest of the world does, one that prizes partnership and quiet diplomacy over sanctions and "naming and shaming."

Neither strategy has been effective so far. Beijing's Olympics will go on, and they're going to be artistically mind-blowing with or without Spielberg. But now I've got another question: what are the activists going to do about President Bush, who's accepted an invitation to the Games - the first time a President would attend an Olympics outside the United States?

Discrimination checklist

I'm in the market for a mechanic -- the last guy having turned up for work drunk one too many times -- so I asked Thomas, the office's driver, whether he knew anyone. He thought on it for a moment and replied, "There is a man. He's a Kikuyu, but he's a good man."

A few months ago, would Thomas, a Luhya (and a Raila Odinga supporter), have prefaced his endorsement with "he's a Kikuyu"? I asked him, and he laughed. Tribal distinctions, once rarely discussed in polite company, have leaped to the forefront of conversations in post-election Kenya.

For progressive-minded Nairobians, this is a cause of great consternation. So today The Nation came out with a helpful checklist to tell whether you're guilty of discriminating based on tribe.

"The past two months have become tricky for all of us Kenyans," The Nation writes, with that characteristic Kenyan understatement. "We are quick to deny that we harbour ethnic tendencies while we indeed live it on a daily basis."

According to writer Mildred Ngesa, you know you're becoming a tribalist when:

• You have suddenly changed your hairdresser, mechanic or doctor because you resent the community they come from.

• You suddenly stop calling and talking to a once close friend or acquaintance because you strongly believe their community is responsible for the chaos in the country.

• You sneer or recoil the moment the passenger seated next to you answers his or her phone in a language that you perceive as the enemy’s.

• You subconsciously try to gauge the tribe of the waiter who is serving you or the customer you are serving with the intentions of spiting them.

• You ask for the second names of those you are serving as a civil servant on the basis of favouring only those from your ethnic background.

• You stop watching a certain presenter on TV or listening to a certain broadcaster on radio just because they come from a different ethnic community.

• You strongly resent and protest the fact that your daughter or son is dating someone from the “enemy” community.

He's Kenyan. We get it.

On Super Tuesday, Barack Obama's extended family in Kenya issued this plea to journalists:

Please leave us alone.

A horde of reporters has set up camp in the tiny western village of Nyang'oma Kogello, according to today's Standard newspaper in Nairobi. They've set up satellite equipment on the family homestead so they can go live as the Super Tuesday results come in.

On the day of the Iowa caucus, a family member said, "Ten foreign media houses ambushed the homestead without an appointment and wanted quick but detailed interviews with Mama Sarah," Obama's paternal grandmother.

Figuring that as Obama's campaign fortunes rise, their privacy is going to decline, the Standard reports:

The family spokesman, Mr. Said Obama, (said) that foreign journalists had transformed the village into a "media circus."

To control the journalists visiting the home, the family will from now on allow interviews strictly on appointment.

Mama Sarah figures she's been interviewed and photographed by hundreds of journalists in the past two years. This year could bring much more attention. But I'm with Mama Sarah. Yes, Obama's father was Kenyan, and yes, it's mildly diverting that a man who has a better than reasonable shot of living in the White House has about 30 relatives living in a village of mud huts and fishermen. But haven't we sort of covered the waterfront on this story?

But first...

Never mind all the problems with Kenya's election. How closely are people here watching favorite son Barack Obama's campaign 10,000 miles away? Consider this news alert I just received via cell phone from the Nation media group:

GOVT LIFTS ban on live broadcasting. ANNAN TALKS: Govt-ODM [opposition] agree Truth Commission. CNN POLL: Obama closes on Hillary ahead of Super Tuesday.

Platitudes

Some parts of Kenya have become so balkanized by tribe that it's important to keep an eye out for potentially explosive encounters between members of rival groups.

Yesterday morning, a colleague and I were conducting interviews in a large fairgrounds in Eldoret that now serves as a camp for 15,000 displaced people. We started by interviewing one older Kikuyu gentleman who described how his home was burned down by a mob, but the crowd around us began to swell and the rhetoric grew angrier.

"It was the Luos who did this to us," I remember one Kikuyu saying, as the rest of the group nodded in agreement.

This couldn't have been comfortable for Joshua, our driver, who was a Luo and standing right there with us. We decided it was getting a little warm and moved to end the conversation.

"It's very terrible," I said, and everyone seemed to agree. My colleague Steve made some similar platitudes like, We hope there can be an end to this crisis . Emotions calmed, we shook everyone's hands and moved on.

Joshua decided to wait for us in the car.

The rest of the day, I found myself strategically trotting out empty phrases like these to end interviews that had dissolved into screeds.

When a Kalenjin pastor began spouting angrily about Kikuyus in a nearby village, I weaseled out of his vitriol with: "We are all praying for peace." To the Luhya mama complaining about those violent Kalenjin mobs, I said, "Maybe the big men meeting in Nairobi can achieve something."

In general, I found that any version of "It's terrible," repeated a few times, got people to calm down long enough for me to make an ungraceful exit.

Platitudes aren't going to bring an end to this crisis. But as it drags on and the political leaders on both sides continue to display a depressing lack of leadership, I'm finding I have nothing comforting to say to these people. And my empty words have to be less damaging than those coming from some people.