NAIROBI,
Kenya — The line at the water tank in the Kibera slum is not as long as
it used to be. It’s not because of a sudden advent of indoor plumbing.
It’s because fewer people can afford a 10-cent jerrycan of water.
The
cost of just about everything here is going up: rice, wood, rent, gas,
minibuses. Hundreds of thousands of young men remain jobless, marooned
in the muddy slums, selling garbage or hunting for casual work. And
their ranks are growing only because a pillar of Kenya’s economy —
tourism — has been walloped by a wave of terrorist attacks, including a
brazen raid on a coastal village last week that killed more than 40
people.
Adding
to the woes are rising political tensions, with critics accusing the
government of trying to snuff out dissent and Kenya’s opposition leaders
threatening to stage nationwide protests.
“I’m not talking small protests,” Raila Odinga, an opposition leader, said, his eyes glowing. “I’m talking massive.”
On
Friday, Mr. Odinga held a rally in a stadium in the western town of
Eldoret, where thousands of young men pumped their fists and some called
for the end of the current government. Kenya’s police chief initially
banned the rally, saying violence could break out, but police officials
relented after they were accused of abusing their powers. Scores of riot
officers, in helmets and camouflage fatigues, ringed the stadium.
But
even as anxiety, fear, malaise and pessimism are spreading here, and
many speak of a dark cloud settling over Kenya, the outside world still
sees mostly clear skies.
Glass
towers are rising across the capital, Nairobi, many financed by
investors in Europe and the Middle East, and chugging bulldozers have
become nearly as commonplace as minibuses. There are new roads
everywhere, new bridges and huge malls being dug out of hillsides.
Just
this month, Kenya issued Africa’s biggest debut Eurobond for an
impressive $2 billion, and the deal was so oversubscribed — Morgan
Stanley was among the investors — that the cost of the loan was
substantially lower than expected.
But
at 51 years old, Kenya, which just celebrated its anniversary of
independence from Britain, is a bit like a classic car: beautiful on the
outside and nice to look at. But under the hood, many Kenyans say, the
wiring, and especially the steering, need serious work.
“There’s a pretty big bifurcation right now,” said Aly-Khan Satchu,
a Nairobi investment adviser who bought more than $10 million of the
recent bonds for overseas clients. “The capital markets are showing they
can look through a lot of this noise. But there’s a great divergence
between the markets and how people feel on the ground. It worries me.”
One
reason for the market’s confidence is Kenya’s diversified economy. This
is not a commodity country, like Nigeria or Ghana with their oil, or
Zambia with its mountains of metal. There are agriculture, horticulture,
tourism (usually), new discoveries of oil and gas, an expanding service
sector, a far-reaching national airline and a major African port, with a
second one under construction. Kenya’s ruling party prides itself on
its commitment to infrastructure.
While
the terrorist attacks are troubling, investors say, Kenya’s track
record of business development, and the size of its middle class,
indicate years of growth.
“Kenya is exceptional,” said Josh Ruxin, an American who has written
about entrepreneurship in Africa and is investing in a
multimillion-dollar pharmacy chain with plans to open more than a
hundred Duane Reade-like stores across Kenya.
The
biggest concern remains governance. And it is not only the recent moves
by President Uhuru Kenyatta’s administration to solidify control,
threatening to pass a punitive news media bill and to start a nationwide
neighborhood watch program that critics say is tantamount to an
internal spy network. It is Kenya’s entire system, which can best be
described as an ethnocracy; it is a democracy, but politics are
determined almost exclusively along ethnic lines and are often highly
polarizing.
People
vote for members of their own group, however sullied the politicians’
reputations are, and coalitions among the five or so major ethnic groups
are held together, somewhat tenuously, by doling out posts, often to
people grossly unqualified.
“Everybody
knows the interior minister is an embarrassment, but the government
can’t fire him because he’s Maasai and they need a Maasai,” said Boniface Mwangi, a young artist who had been leading protests until he said he received death threats — from the police.
He waved his hand dismissively.
“Tribal arithmetic.”
That tribal arithmetic can be explosive, as in 2008 when more than 1,000 Kenyans were slaughtered in ethnic clashes after a bungled election.
Not
since then have Kenyans been so worried about the direction of their
country. Public safety seems to be deteriorating rapidly. Five workers
were recently bludgeoned to death at a gas station, a schoolgirl was
decapitated this month and a recent newspaper headline blared: “Hyena unearths four bodies in secret graves.”
In
the attack last week, two truckloads of militants roared into the
coastal village with black flags, black scarves, AK-47s, bazookas,
grenades and illumination flares. They shot dozens of people, slit
throats, then burned down a good chunk of the town. It seemed more akin
to an insurgency. Though the Shabab militant group from Somalia claimed
responsibility, Mr. Kenyatta blamed “local political networks.” On
Wednesday, his police services arrested the governor of that area in
connection with murder.
All
of this raises the question of how much more a business community,
however talented, can accomplish in a place that is increasingly
insecure. African terrorist groups seem to have suddenly realized how
vulnerable many states are at their core. Nigeria is a cautionary tale.
It boasts one of the fastest-growing economies on the continent, but at
the same time, Boko Haram, a Nigerian militant group, is growing even
faster. Nearly every week it stages bold attacks, including the
kidnapping of more than 200 girls, still missing. But Nigeria produces
nearly two million barrels of crude oil per day. It does not live or die
on outside investment.
Mr.
Odinga, the opposition leader who lost in Kenya’s last presidential
election, remains the most potent shaper of the rising discontent. He
holds no official government position, he is dismissed by many as having
no clear plan, and he is 69. Still, he can instantly stir up the
passions and loyalty of millions of fellow Luos, among others.
In
a recent interview at a hotel cafe, while slurping the froth off a
cappuccino and snacking on peanuts, he said the people were fed up — so
much so that they were “willing to take the bullet.”
And you? he was asked.
Mr. Odinga tossed a few more peanuts into his mouth, paused, chewed and then grunted yes.
Kibera
slum is his base. People there barely get by. Boys wheel battered carts
up sloppy paths, and women fry sardines in a drop of oil in gummy,
tarred skillets. Not far from the water tank sat Peter Mutunga, vendor
of secondhand pipe fittings. He had carefully laid out his wares on a
plastic tarp, but nobody was buying. Nairobi’s fancy new malls seemed a
million miles away.
“There are really only two tribes in Kenya,” he said wistfully. “The poor and the rich.”
Correction: June 27, 2014
An earlier version of a picture caption with this article misidentified the person shown on a poster and its location. He is President Uhuru Kenyatta of Kenya, not Raila Odinga, an opposition leader, and the poster is in the outskirts of Nairobi, not in city’s Kibera slum.
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An earlier version of a picture caption with this article misidentified the person shown on a poster and its location. He is President Uhuru Kenyatta of Kenya, not Raila Odinga, an opposition leader, and the poster is in the outskirts of Nairobi, not in city’s Kibera slum.
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