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A woman and her baby walk across a Sahel landscape, which has been
saw the sun. It was blotted out by an epic dust cloud that spread hundreds of miles in every direction, borne by the harmattan, the southwesterly gale that blows down from the Sahara during the dry season.
Dust storms have always been a part of life here. They can be so thick
you cant even see your hand.
Historically, the harmattan blows from December through February. But since 1968, Mali and the rest of the Sahel (shore in Arabic, the semi-arid band below the Sahara that stretches from Senegal
to Eritrea) have experienced a devastating drought. Precipitation has
dropped 30 percentthe most dramatic decline ever recordedand
the rainy season has been truncated to two months, July and August.
At the same time, the population of the Sahel has exploded, compounding the demand for firewood, the main source of cooking
fuel. A million acres of trees a year are being cleared and burned in
Mali alone, a landlocked country nearly twice the size of Texas whose
top two-thirdsfrom Timbuktu northare in the Sahara, and
whose bottom third is in the Sahel.
The drought, amplified by the deforestation, has brought catastrophic desertification to the Sahel. Dust storms pick up two billion to three billion tons of Sahara dust a year. The finest red particles
are whipped up into the upper atmosphere, to 12,000 feet and higher,
and are transported across oceans by the trade winds. Sahara dust
lands on cars in Florida and South Texas. In February 2005 the
sun was blotted out in Austria. In May a blood rain fell in England. NASA satellite photographs have shown cloudsone larger
than Spainoff the coast of Morocco. Sahara dust travels to Toronto
and Greenland. It is snuffing coral reefs and sea urchins in the
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drought, and deforestation have caused soil erosion and degraded the land.
The Noutrole family (left) have been woodcutters for the last 35 years. On
any given day, they may down at least a dozen trees, which are later used to
produce charcoal. Here they drive carts of lumber to their farm in the village
of Koma, near Djenne. Omar Jara (below) burns a copse of eucalyptus trees
in order to clear the land for agriculture near the village of Tingoli.
and by wind. The more current school of thought, drawing on recent studies of climate data, attributes desertification primarily to
the remote influence a cyclical shift in the worlds climate, exacerbated by the accumulation of greenhouse gases warming the
earths atmosphere. In fact, most experts now agree that both factors are involved: The remote influence is the main cause, but it is aggravated by deforestation.
One morning,I went to the Institute of the Sahel,which was founded
in 1976, after the first famine took a quarter of a million lives. Its
members are eight Sahel countries (Mali, Niger, Burkina Faso, Chad,
the Gambia, Mauritania, Guinea-Bissau, and Senegal) as well as Cape
Verde, the islands in the Atlantic that are desertifying because the Saharas dust clouds are suppressing the winds that bring them rain. I
was taken down a dark, empty corridor the length of a football field
to the office of Boubacar Diallo, the institutes economist and coordinator of food security, who laid out the degradation narrative.
Malians have always had droughts to contend with, he explained in such calm, measured tones that a listener could be forgiven
for not grasping the gravity of the situation. There were droughts 6,000 years
ago and in the thirteenth century that
made the Sahel uninhabitable. But now
there is also the population problem. The
Sahels population is currently 50 million,
and it is growing by 2.7 percent a year. By
2050 it will conservatively hit 100 million.
This is because the women continue to
have seven children.Before,there was equilibrium because of infant mortality and
sickness, but now, with the availability of
modern medicine, population growth is
unchecked.
For the people in the villages, Diallo
went on, wood is the main fuel and an
important source of income, and the forest also provides traditional plant medicines, the first line of defense against
disease. So there is a lot of harvesting.And
in Bamako almost everybody cooks with
charcoal, which produces only one-third
of the energy that raw wood does [though
it has the advantage of being lighter and
more transportable]. So abandoning the
countryside doesnt alleviate deforestation. It actually accelerates it.
The institute tried to politicize the villagers: We showed them
pictures of what it was like 30 years ago and now, so they could see
the degradation, Diallo explained.But it hasnt worked. They keep
cutting and having lots of children. The same piece of land that
used to feed five people now has to feed 20, and it has deteriorated,
so farmers are venturing into more marginal, waterless land.The institute is now concentrating on raising the productivity of land already under cultivation by introducing improved strains of millet
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and other crops, fertilizers, and anti-erosion and water-retention techniques. This has slowed down the clearing for farming but hasnt
stopped the clearing for firewood.
Stopping desertification is impossible, Diallo concluded. All
we can do is try to slow it down. It isnt caused only by local deforestation. Global climate patterns are implicated. The whole world is
slowly becoming a desert. That is why everyone should be concerned
about what is happening here. This is the future.
According to the United Nations Environment Program, half of the
worlds land surface28 million of its 57 million square milesis
dryland: plains, grasslands, savannas, steppes, or pampas with a
modest water supply compared to that of the worlds forests. Four million square miles are hyperarid desert, and another 19 million are becoming desert or are threatened with desertification. Desertification
is proceeding at a faster rate than perhaps any other time in recorded
history, with disastrous implications for vegetative cover, biodiversity,
and the existence of 1.5 billion people in more than 100 countries.
Twenty-eight percent of China is desert, and the countrys deserts, including the Gobi and Taklimakan, are expanding at a rate of 3,800
square miles a year despite the most extensive tree-planting campaign
ever undertaken (42 billion trees have been planted since 1982). So
what is happening in the Sahel is a frightening model, an advanced
case of what much of the earths land surface is going to become.
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Left: Fanta Woulogem, who moved to Bamako five years ago from Dogon
country, cooks with charcoal. Above: A muezzin crosses through the courtyard of the Great Mosque of Djenne, the largest mud structure in the world.
We pass fields of cottona thirsty crop that requires the pumping of groundwater and is bleeding down the already drought-stressed
water tableand other fields with gigantic white calabashes lying
in them.We see mango groves and commercial plantations of neem,
tamarind, and kalia tea. Almost 150 miles northeast of Bamako,
cultivation gives way to rock desert. The rock strata have been eroded
into stacks of brown waferscurious artifacts known as torres, or
towers. In the crevices between them stand big baobab trees, with
bloated trunks and stubby, bristle-tipped branches. The baobab is a
very useful tree for the people here. Its inner bark can be twisted into
rope; its fruit is ground into a cereal and made into candy. Wherever
we stop, children run up to sell us plastic bags of white baobab candy,
their eyelashes and lids coated with red dust from the kungoforoko.
Goats have penetrated every corner of the landscape. Every reachable plant not protected by thorns or toxic alkaloids has been clipped
by their teeth. I wonder how many species have been chewed to extinction. The Sahel is hardly a natural landscape anymore. It belongs to the goats.
WE STOP AT ALLISONS VILLAGE, near the trading center of San, 180 miles northeast of Bamako. It is called Koroguelenbougou and is down to 300 permanent residents, less than half as
many as it once had. Most of the young adults have gone to try their
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their bottoms with cement and rocks. Any day, she is expecting a
pump from World Vision,a Christian organization based in the United
States that has an office in San, 14 miles away. Its going to be huge
for women, she continues. They spend two hours in the morning
and another two in the evening hauling up buckets from the wells.
In 2003, before the rains, the village ran out of food, as it had repeatedly since 1968. But this time the villagers had stored millet, their
main crop, from the previous years harvest in a bank that Allisons predecessor started, so they could borrow enough grain to get
through the worst of the shortage. When the new crop came in,
they restocked it.
We find several elders in the one-room school, relearning their
ABCs, which they were taught in the French colonial schools in the
late 1950s but have forgotten. The illiteracy rate in Mali is shocking:
an overwhelming majority of the men and women cant read. The
old men, sitting at tiny desks with their frizzy gray beards and skullcaps, beam the imperturbable good cheer that I often encounter in
Africa, even in the most horrible circumstances. Sacks of millet take
up half the room. The school doubles as the grain bank.
One of the elders reminisces about the drought in the early
1970s. Allison translates his Bambara (the language of the Bamana).The first year we were reduced to eating roots and leaves, but
we stayed. The next year we finally gave up and abandoned the village and went to the cities.
Why has everything been drying up? I ask.
We dont know, he says.It is the will of Allah.You can resist what
men want you to do, but you cant fight your destiny.
Overpopulation, deforestation, overgrazingdo these have anything to do with it?
No, says another man. When we were growing up in the forties and fifties, we cut a lot of wood, but still the rains came. When
the rains stopped, the trees died. The cutting of trees did not stop the
rain. Allah gives rain. He is so old. He knows better than us.
Last year we planted 1,500 Acacia senegalensis trees around the village,Allison says. Theyre good for the soil, and a French rural development organization says it will buy the wood. But a tree crop
takes longer to come in than an annual food crop, and a big drought
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Above: Cliffs loom over a road dotted by acacia trees on the outskirts of Dogon country. Right: A carved wooden head lies in the courtyard of a cliff
dwelling; the ceremonial object belonged to a shaman, who had recently died.
can wipe it out. These people dont have the luxury of waiting 10 years
to be rewarded with the fruit of their labor, of investing time and energy in something that they may get a return on in the distant future but that every year they have a chance of losing.
When the rains come, we have to plant millet and other crops
every day, from sunup to sunset, for four months.We dont have time
to plant trees, a third elder says.
This explains why none of the reforestation programs in Mali
have been catching on in the villages. And the second mans contention that desertification has more to do with the lack of rain
than the lack of trees is borne out by recent scientific findings,
which indicate that the remote influence is a more important factor than the degradation narrative. The drought in the Sahel seems
to correlate with El Nio, a cyclical warming in the Pacific Ocean
that can cause a disruption in global climate. During an El Nio
year, a complex system of atmospheric conditions interacting
over vast distances weakens the moisture-laden winds that come
up to the Sahel from the Atlantic during the summer monsoon
season and bring rain.
There is consensus among climate scientists that the current global
warming trend, the consistent rise in the worlds mean temperature since 1970, has a distinct human fingerprint. The desertification of the Sahel may therefore be doubly anthropogeniccaused
not only by the physical removal of its vegetative cover but also by
faraway emissions from smokestacks and cars.
mud structure on earth and one of the wonders of Africa. Its imam
is like the archbishop of Canterbury, and there are some 60 Koranic
schools in the city, which is little changed from the thirteenth century.
A colorful cornucopia of ethnic groups in turbans and boubous barter
in the citys numerous bazaars. Camels saunter down its dusty streets.
Djennes fortunes depend on the annual flooding of the Nigers inland delta.From here on up to Timbuktu,the northeast-flowing Niger
spills its banks during the rainy season, forming the worlds secondlargest inland delta (after the
Okavango River delta in
SAHARA D
Botswana). The river becomes
a labyrinth of lakes and one of
the most fecund freshwater fisheries in Africa,with raucous nesting colonies of waterbirds.There
are 111 waterbird species that
either breed in the Delta or depend on it as their wintering
grounds from Europe.Only five
nesting colonies remained after
the drought,from 1969 to 1973.
In the old days, flood-recession agriculture, a simple but
ingenious practice, enabled
Djenne,and later Timbuktu,to
flourish. After the delta had
flooded, as soon as the water
seeped into the ground and the
soil was gleaming with a rich new layer of sediment, the people sowed
their crops. There was enough residual moisture in the soil to produce
prodigious harvests without a drop of rain. In 1983,World Vision expanded and improved the practice on eight square miles near Gao,
and villagers grew bumper crops of sorghum. Even though this project was phased out in 2003, with the recent rains, flood-recession agriculture is returning to the delta. It may save the day for Mali, or at least
buy some time until the next drought, although parts of the country
where it hasnt rained may still be in trouble.
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most stressful weeks of April and May, when the temperature hits
110 and the villages run out of millet and money. The group is also
combating genetic erosion, the loss of traditional varieties of millet and other food plants, by planting seeds collected from the villages in experimental plots to see which do best in the drought-shortened
growing season. It is collaborating with Israeli arid-land specialists
from Ben Gurion University of the Negev on techniques for getting
the most out of each drop of water, like the use of waffle gardens. In
this strategy, each plant grows in its own little water-retaining mud
box. Another technique involves covering the sprouts with a moisture-trapping layer of straw or with a plastic sheet punctured with
holes through which the sprouts grow.
The Traditional Medicine Center in Bandiagara, which we visit on
the way back to Bamako, was started by the Italian governments international aid agency in 1984 and is now run entirely by Malians.
The center prepares and packages 20 species of native plants that
Pakay Pierre Mounkouro, its director, tells us often work better than
Western drugs for such ailments as hypertension, malaria, constipation, dysentery, and hepatitis.
These plants are in big demand all over the country and are a major cause of deforestation, Mounkouro explains. We are training
the women in 40 villages to grow them and to make cuttings of
trees in the forest without killing them: If the bark is stripped, cover
the gash with mud; if it is a root that you want, dont take the
biggest one. There were 300 species of medicinal plants in this forest, but we have already lost 20 to 25 of them because of deforestation, lack of rainfall, and la rcolte
inconsciente, heedless harvesting. And
once a plant is gone, the knowledge goes.
Cest fini. The old people die, the young
dont get it. So our botanists are in a race
against time.
The medicinal-plant initiative is a
win-win situation,Allison observes.It
protects the forest and reinforces the
people culturally, so they are not so dependent on pharmaceutical products
from the outside.
Another anti-desertification strategy
is to slow population growth. The New
Yorkbased Population Council, which
has a center in Bamako, is trying to persuade Malian women not to marry so
young.Those who stay in the villages often become by the age of 14 the last wife
of someone 30 years older, Judith Bruce,
director of the gender, family, and development program, tells me. If their
parents can be persuaded not to marry
their daughters off right away,but to send
them to work in one of the cities until
they are 18, the girls are able to build a trousseau and develop savoir
vivre and acquire some bargaining power, which will serve them well
when they become wives and mothers. This four-year delay has a staggering effect on demographic growth. It lengthens the span between
generations, and the later a woman has her first child, the fewer she
will have down the line.
Despite all their efforts, most of the organizations I talked to re-
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Above: Near Dia, farmers have slashed and burned a forest to create new
farmland. Left: Modibo Goita, who directs a local anti-desertification program,
sees more promise in the sapling of a fruit-bearing Boscia senegalensis tree.
the people of Madagascar, who are similarly devastating their rainforest, are sacrificing their future so they can survive in the present. Shek replied,Do you know why the people here are sacrificing
their future? Because their religion says the future is uncertain. It
is even uncertain that you are going to live to see it, whether it will
be good or bad. The duration of your life, who can know? So
you just have to live in the present, and the future belongs to God.
That is how they think.
After this tirade against the ignorance and fatalism of his countrymen, Shek told me how the searing second peak of the drought,
in 1983, was ended by the capture of a sirne [mermaid] by some
Bozo fishermen, who held her hostage until she unleashed a tremendous deluge that caused floods, then they let her go. I personally
saw her, he assured me. She was dark brown, the color of hippo
skin, and a meter long. She was covering her face, but I could see
that it was somewhat elongated. She was not a god but a gnie
ftiche [a luck-bringing demigoddess] of the water.
We stopped at a roadblock manned by the Service des Eaux et
Forts. Everyone who passes with wood must have a permit,
Shek explained. You go to the service and they ask, what kind of
trees are you going to cut, and how many? You say only caritea
trees, and if they find you with a tree that is not caritea, you pay
a fine. But in all this there is la corruption. So it is impossible to
stop the desertification, and the future of the Sahel is not good.
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