A lower-case capital

It’s not uncommon for countries to relocate their capital city: sometimes to an existing town or city, sometimes to a greenfield site. The cities thus created are as diverse as the reasons for creating them. At best, a new capital combines the vitality of any big city with a certain spacious self-confidence. Some of the world’s greatest cities (St Petersburg, Beijing) were designed as capitals, fully formed in the central planner’s (or emperor’s) mind. Washington DC may not have the lively churn of New York or Chicago, but its neoclassical grandeur sets it apart from other US cities. I have not visited Brasilia or Abuja: but whether you see these cities as bold visions of the future or a colossal waste of money, they are undoubtedly fully functioning capitals.

Other capital cities are still-born, capitals in name only. Tanzania’s parliament meets in Dodoma from time to time, but no ministries or embassies do. Burma’s junta recently relocated from chaotic, coastal Yangon (Rangoon) to a mountain village called Napyidaw, apparently at the suggestion of a fortune-teller. Strangest of all, perhaps, is Yamoussoukro, nominal capital of the Ivory Coast. 20 years after its designation, this bizarre city-village is a living monument to its creator and not much else.

Félix Houphouët-Boigny was certainly a master statesman. From the mid-1940s to his death in 1993, he was synonymous with Côte d’Ivoire, piloting his country from palm-fringed obscurity to the economic powerhouse of West Africa. The first African ever to sit in a French cabinet, Houphoët’s genius was to simultaneously convince the Ivoiriens that they were independent and the French that they were not. While Algeria, Kenya and Zimbabwe had to fight for their independence, Côte d’Ivoire was born without bloodshed. When neighbouring Ghana was convulsed by coups and economic collapse, the Ivorians took over as number one in cocoa. The national motto is hard-nosed: ‘Unité, discipline, travail.’

Houphouët ruled supreme for 33 years, buying off his opponents with cocoa farms and contracts. After he died, the falling price of cocoa and ever-growing corruption brought the Ivory Coast economic stagnation, political turmoil and eventually, tragically, civil war. But one aspect of ‘Le Vieux’s’ legacy is preserved: the largest cathedral in Africa and perhaps the world, rising out of the African bush in the middle of nowhere.


Yamoussoukro is a small village 200km north-west of Abidjan. It’s centrally located, on a main road, running through rolling hills with a pleasant climate. Houphouët was born near here in 1905 and that was why he designated this place to be capital. Nominally, it still is: the current government has no interest in the place but doesn’t want to touch his legacy. My bus from Abidjan suddenly burst onto a six-lane highway, completely empty apart from an army checkpoint, streetlights guarding both sides like silent sentinels. Outside the bus station, children and chickens played on a road as wide as the Champs-Elysées. Trucks laden with teak rumbled through on their way to the coast, lost in a vast expanse of concrete. Vast boulevards stretched in all directions, a few concrete bungalows stranded on the sides.

I saw a vast dome rising a mile away. My host, a local student and cousin of a friend in Abidjan, led me down the deserted avenue, past a mosque and a swampy lake where a teenage boy shook a single wriggling fish out of his net. As we crested the hill, the basilica loomed in front of us like a neo-Renaissance visitor from outer space. The guards were most welcoming: tour’s about to begin, they said.

The Basilique de Notre Dame de la Paix is the largest building in Africa and one of the hugest in the world. Its pews can accommodate 7,000 people, another 7,000 fit in standing. It has been full to capacity twice. The first was in 1989, when Pope John Paul II came to bless it. (At his request, the dome was made a few feet shorter than that of St Peter’s). The second was in 1993, at the funeral of its creator. On that occasion, over 200,000 people stood patiently in the grounds, which are beautifully maintained to this day. Only the Vatican and maybe Maracana stadium can compare.

The mind boggles at the megalomania that inspired this basilica in the bush and the sang-froid that permitted its financing. A simple plaque in the front pew commemorates President Houphoët ‘who gave this building to the nation’. God only knows what the nation gave him to build it. Our guide proudly recounted the details of its design (by a Lebanese) and construction (in three years, by French engineers). He did not tell us the price tag. In the past, I have marvelled at how much of Tibet’s GDP is tied up in temples or mediaeval France spent on cathedrals. But those monuments are alive: they are still at the heart of their cities, visited by the faithful as well as tourists. Save for a few weekenders from Abidjan, two young Germans (aid-workers?) and a French priest, the Basilique was empty. My friend had been a number of times; but he was Catholic. Most local people, he told me, ignored it completely.

And yet it’s staggeringly beautiful. Some dictators build mass graves or châteaux in France. This one at least gave the country something it can be proud of. Indeed, though Yamoussoukro was at the front line of Côte d’Ivoire’s ‘crise’ for 5 years, it was spared the shelling, rioting and looting. A battalion of Bangladeshi blue helmets live opposite; they didn’t look busy. Buses and trucks are running to the north again. The Hotel Président, a vast concrete pile on the edge of town, had a scattering of SUVs parked outside it. The market in the city centre was full of students eating at roadside stands. When I glanced up from my fried chicken and chips, the dome of the basilica stood in vast relief against the greying sky.

While the building may be unique, the ‘Big Man’ spirit that inspired it is not. When Houphouët died, his funeral was delayed by President Mitterrand, who reportedly had his Concorde circle above the airport for hours to make sure he was the last to arrive. Last week, President Kofuor hosted a sparkling awards ceremony for Ghana’s National Day, creating a brand-new ‘Medal of the Star of Ghana’. The first recipient: himself. As I write this in my hotel, Radio Télévision Ivoire has just devoted 30 minutes to what President Gbagbo did this weekend.

On the way back to Abidjan, my bus suddenly lurched to the side of the road. As we ground to a halt, I heard a wail of sirens and seconds later, a series of police cars flashed by at incredible speed, followed by three or four black S-Class Mercedes and a bunch of SUVs, indicators flashing. His Excellency on a visit to the North, or maybe his Prime Minister, the former rebel chief? The TV news confirmed it was the President on a 200km/h ‘peace-building’ tour. I wonder if he stopped at Yamoussoukro to pay his respects to Houphouët, who is buried in his palace, surrounded by a perimeter wall and moat. Once a day, a palace guard throws some fresh meat to the crocodiles who live in the moat. The Big Men continue eating, even after they die.

The quickest route across the Atlantic

A few months ago, I found myself trying to get from Colombia to West Africa. I had to fly around 10,000 miles, burn 5 tonnes of carbon and travel for 3 days to cover a point-to-point distance of only 3,000 miles.

Now I realize that there are, in fact, direct flights (on private jets) and even regular ships making this crossing. Cocaine dealers ship their product from Colombia to Europe via Guinea-Bissau. It seems this tiny country, wedged in between Guinea and Senegal, has become the best hub for the trade - precisely because it's a failed state. This fascinating report is from the Guardian.

Once again, we see the consequences that our 'war on drugs' has on the people and countries caught up in it.

A brief postscript: the costs of the slave trade

By coincidence Professor Dani Rodrik has been thinking about the slave trade as well, needless to say in a more rigorous, dispassionate way than I have . . . see this post on how the countries that exported the most slaves are now the poorest in Africa, even though they were probably richer before.

On a personal note, I'm back in the USA, trying to remember the taste of fried fish with cassava greens and the warm, welcome rain of Liberia, so unlike the cold, hostile showers of Massachusetts . . . I have to confess that I have been looking at travel planning websites to see if I can afford a trip to Monrovia in December to do some more work on agriculture. The answer is probably 'no' but if anyone knows of any great fare deals between the US or London and Liberia around then, please let me know!

Four stations on the slave trade

Last week I travelled from Monrovia to Dakar, Senegal and then to Brussels and Lisbon. This unusually indirect itinerary (the product of indecision and obscure ticket conditions) has made me think about something that rarely occupies a white European: slavery.

We spent two months living in the Baptist Compound, Congo Town: named after the ‘Congos’, as the freed slaves who founded Liberia were called. Monrovia was built by them, funded by their guilty ex-masters and grew rich on enslaving the locals in their turn. The Americans who settled in Liberia created plantations whose rubber still contributes half their country’s exports. Only one of Liberia’s presidents was not Liberian-American: Samuel Doe, a semi-illiterate brute whose vindictive rule so incensed the elite that they helped fund his removal. He was succeeded by Charles Taylor, a pale-skinned, white-suited Baptist preacher. Taylor’s concrete palace, freshly painted, is right opposite the Baptist Compound.

I flew to Dakar on Slok Air. Its clapped-out 737 performs the West African stopping service the Royal Mail steamers used to. We stopped at Freetown to take on passengers. Across the river, a peak shone in the late afternoon sun. You could make out scattered houses on it: this is Hill Station, where the ‘Krios’ who founded Sierra Leone built their bungalows well above the malaria-infested ‘native settlement’ down below. The Krios were freed slaves too, but after 50 years of self-government the British decided they were getting ‘uppety’ and took over on the pretext that the Krios were excluding the natives of Sierra Leone from power. You guessed the next bit: a century of resentment and rivalry, boiling over in a bloody civil war . . .

Senegal is a complete contrast. It is the model of a self-confident Africa: it celebrates its French administration and bread as much as its Islamic heritage and vibrant music. A little offshore of booming Dakar, the Ile de Goree welcomes visitors. I went on Sunday, along with thousands of Senegalese, to delight in the colonial architecture. One of the prettiest buildings is called ‘La Maison des Esclaves’. Each room has a label: ‘Hommes’, ‘Femmes’, ‘Jeunes filles’ and so on. An arched door leads straight into the Atlantic ocean. Through this door, it is estimated that some tens of thousands of slaves were packed into waiting ships. There were many such houses on Goree, which was so lucrative that it changed hands repeatedly between 1650 and 1815, captured and recaptured by Dutch, French and British navies. Just like the Portugese, Arabs, Germans and British fought over Zanzibar.


What the guide on Goree didn’t tell us was that Mauritania, 300km to the north, tolerated slavery until 1981. Indeed, while I was in Senegal, the parliament of Mauritania voted to make slave trafficking a crime, so as to be able to prosecute it (see this article in Jeune Afrique, or the BBC for background). Mauritania’s democratically elected president – its first since 1960 – had made the issue a central pillar in his campaign.

I flew to Belgium on SN Brussels, a fading relic of empire whose Airbuses are still the best link to Kinshasa and Kigali. Belgium was the last European country to get into slavery. To make up for lost time, they kept the slaves right in the Congo where they came from. The pompous palaces of Brussels were paid for with Congolese copper and diamonds. In Tervuren, near the airport, King Leopold built the ‘Royal Museum of Central Africa’. It is still open, but when I visited in 2004, the ivory tusks and photos of happy natives dancing were being replaced with maps and mementoes of slaughter: for when Mr Kurtz died, he took an estimated 5 million Congolese with him.

Finally to Lisbon, from where Europeans first set sail for Africa and the Carribbean. Portugal was the first country into Africa and the last out: Angola and Mozambique didn’t attain their independence until 1974. The picture below shows the Cap Sao Vicente, the most south-westerly point in Europe. On the cape is an old fort: a naval college built by Prince Henry the Navigator. Its style reminded me of a fort in Mombasa, on the Kenyan coast some 5,000km away: not surprisingly, since that too was built by the Portugese. When Portugal abandoned East Africa in the 16th century, the Arab traders took it over.



What, if anything, links these four stations?

First, it turns out that the slave trade was the largest mass movement of people in human history. Some 12-15 million Africans were shipped across the Atlantic between 1500 and 1900. 5 million went to Brazil and another 5 million to the Carribbean – mostly Cuba and Hispaniola. Less than half a million ended up in the USA. In countries like Jamaica, Haiti or Guyana, Africans essentially replaced the native population. Yet it is estimated that FOUR OUT OF FIVE captured slaves died before they got across the Atlantic – half of them didn’t even make it onto the ship. This puts the total captured at something closer to 25 million. To that add millions sent through Zanzibar to the Arab world or bought and sold in countries like Mauritania. (See here for details on the Atlantic slave trade or here for the Arab - though they were really part of the same phenomenon).

Second, nobody escapes from blame. All maritime powers were involved in the slave trade and many African rulers connived in it. Christian preachers like William Wilberforce and David Livingstone fought against slavery, but the slave traders of Lisbon, La Rochelle and Liverpool were Christian too. The great Arab historian Ibn Khaldun, writing in the 14th century, described Africans as “the only race who willingly accept slavery, owing to their low human state and closeness to animals”.

Third, slavery doesn’t end with being freed. The sad stories of the three republics founded by freed slaves – Haiti, Sierra Leone and Liberia – should make that clear. Haiti spent 100 years trying to pay ‘damages’ to France and the next 100 years oscillating between dictatorship and chaos. Haiti is the poorest country in the Americas and Sierra Leone the poorest country in the world. In the early 20th century, Liberia exported slaves to the Spanish colony of Fernando Po (now Equatorial Guinea) to work on the cocoa plantations. The League of Nations censured it for this in 1929 and when President William Barclay came to power in 1931 he largely ended the practice.

Growing up in Central Europe in the 1990s, my history teachers focused on the twin horrors of the 20th century: the Holocaust and the Gulag. The slave trade deserves similar attention: not just in Africa or America, but in Europe and Arabia as well.

The lighter side of Liberia

Expatriates and visitors to Liberia often become disillusioned: by the persistence of poverty and slow pace of change. Such sentiments are common, even predictable, in Africa and even more so here. As the government and UN agencies begin to count, survey and enumerate their people, the grim realities of life are crystallized from anecdotes into statistics. Like a road accident victim recently admitted to intensive care, completing the diagnosis in its full horror is an essential step to recovery.

Our small Team Liberia has had its moments of disillusion around our dinner table in the Baptist Compound, but we have tried to keep our frustrations to ourselves. Most Liberians I know have little time for them. Our friends, colleagues and casual acquaintances – not a representative sample I know – are always ready to share a joke about "this is Liberia" and display a healthy skepticism of government and other authorities; but they are also cautiously optimistic. Anyone asking "How can you live like this?" would deserve a terse reply: "You should have seen it 5 years ago."

Government posters tell us "the process is on", but actions speak louder than words. Actions like those of our driver Ernest, pictured above with his family, who is building a house complete with zinc roof (the zinc is very important). Actions like my friends from the Ministry and CARI, some of whom are pictured below, who are preparing to leave Monrovia and reclaim their old offices in Suakoko where 15 years ago Charles Taylor trained his boys. Actions like those of Sampson, a friend from Buchanan who is travelling through villages that were depopulated only a few years ago, selling anti-malarials and antibiotics that might just keep a few more children alive.

The confidence of Liberians goes beyond their deep religious faith. I have not encountered the fatalism that I found so prevalent in (peaceful, stable) Tanzania. Nor have I met anyone who wanted to emigrate like in (peaceful, stable) Cuba. Many Liberians have emigrated or fled in the past and now want to stay put. I am writing this in Senegal, along with Nigeria one of the main sources of the thousands of young Africans who die from drowning or dehydration trying to get to Europe overland. I have never heard of a Liberian taking this route.

It has been a tremendous privilege to witness the rebirth of a nation at close quarters. I hope that future visitors to Liberia will be able to see beyond the grim statistics and experience the lighter side.