|
April 22, 2005
When Yiaaku people gather, or a father blesses his family, the prayers
uttered are full of symbolism and poetic beauty.
 |
Entropilo*
May the land of our fathers and
mothers embrace you
May you grow as huge as a
Loimugo tree
May
you smell as sweet as the
Songoyo tree
Be as straight as the Itarokwa
tree
Be as studious as Ol Donyo
Keri mountain
And as cool as the
forests of Mukogodo |
When a Yiaaku person has been scorched by the hot sun beating on the plains,
he faces the direction of Mukogodo forest and cries, “How I long for the forest
of my father and mother!”
Since time immemorial the Yiaaku have been a part of the Mukogodo forest in
the central Kenya highlands, living as cave dwellers and practicing a
hunter-gatherer lifestyle. Today, however, they are settled in six villages
located in a wide area around the forest where they supplement their traditional
beekeeping with the raising of cattle and goats. Still, it is the Mukogodo that
gives meaning to their concept of life and spirituality, and they continue to
hold a deep attachment to the trees, hills, animals, and caves that comprise
their natural environment and their cultural heritage.
A dwindling ethnic minority, fewer than a thousand people identify themselves
as Yiaaku. They speak the Maa language, which they adopted from their populous
Maasai neighbors through many years of assimilation. Maasai are of Nilotic
origin while Yiaaku are Cushitic. According to UNESCO’s Red Book of Endangered Languages, Yiaaku is officially
extinct. Fewer than ten speakers remain of their original mother tongue.
Because they were initially cave dwellers and without livestock, the Maasai
branded the Yiaaku as “ontorobo,” meaning “poor people”—a name that stuck for
centuries, deeply affecting the psyche and pride of the Yiaaku. “We were never a
poor people,” counters Jennifer Koinante, a Yiaaku by birth and the Director of
Yiaaku Peoples Association, a recently formed organization championing Yiaaku
rights. “The resources of our forest have always been abundant.”
Colonialism in the nineteenth century brought unprecedented tribulations to
the Yiaaku. Game hunting was banned and the colonial government attempted to
settle the Yiaaku outside their forest in order to “civilize” them. Coupled with
a high rate of assimilation into Maasai culture, such external onslaughts left
the Yiaaku weakened and disoriented, both culturally and socially. But perhaps
the worst that befell them was when in 1937 the government designated the
Mukogodo a protected forest, which in turn led to their eventual relocation into
villages and their transition toward a more pastoral lifestyle similar to the
Maasai. Since that time the Yiaaku community has been undergoing an identity
crisis amounting to a slow death. It has only been in recent years, following
education and the passing of a generation, that the Yiaaku have rediscovered a
deep pride in their unique ethnic and cultural identity.
Although the Mukogodo is now protected by official forest guards, the small
number of remaining Yiaaku continue to have direct and unrestricted access to
the forest and its resources—for the moment. However, it is known that several
years ago forest guards spoke to locals about government plans of eviction. Such
threats have resulted in forced evictions for other forest dwellers, such as the
Ogiek group of the neighboring Nakuru District, and the warning has left the
Yiaaku alarmed and unsure of their future.
“We have been the silent guardians and keepers of Mukogodo forest for
centuries,” explains Koinante. “When other forests across Kenya are being
destroyed, ours is still intact. We protect it because it is our only heritage
on this planet. How can a law passed in a far-away city decide that our forest
is now public property? Does the law consider us as part of the wildlife?”
Whereas the government views the Mukogodo as a strategic national resource
worthy of protection, the Yiaaku view the Mukogodo as a cultural heritage and as
inseparable from Yiaaku life. Yiaaku refer to the forest as loip (the
shade) and as gorgola (the armpit): The shade protects them from severe
droughts, the armpit shields them from enemies and other potential harm. In the
traditional Yiaaku land tenure system, different clans own the various hills of
Mukogodo forest. It is within these hills that clan members hang their beehives.
As Koinante explains, “When children of pastoralists inherit cattle, the sons of
Yiaaku inherit trees with beehives…We know every type of tree and the flowers
that yield nectar.” Yiaaku also invoke their ancestral attachments to the
Mukogodo forest. “Our ancestors sleep in this forest,” asserts Koinante. “This
is where all umbilical cords of our community lie. Our attachment to this forest
is maternal. To ask us to leave is to sever all our links with the past
generations. We will be without history.”
Indeed, Yiaaku guardianship and occupation of the forest ensures their unity
and the continuity of their ancestral domains. The vital connection between the
people and the forest is reflected in their language, folklore, traditions, and
indigenous knowledge in such areas as beekeeping, ethno ecology, and herbal
medicine. As Koinante explains:
Our language is one of the forest. It
describes our flora and fauna heritage in ways only we can understand. It’s a
language of trees, wild animals, bees, and caves. Without the forest, our
language becomes obsolete and ceases to exist. To remove us from the forest is
to ask us to develop a new language. It’s unimaginable.
In short, to deny the
Yiaaku their ancestral right to the forest is a form of ethnocide.
What the Yiaaku want is for the status of the Mukogodo forest to be changed
from a protected forest to a Trust Forest in their name. That change of status
should come with the relevant legal documentation, demarcation of boundaries,
and a Title Deed. A Title Deed would legally allow the Yiaaku and Forest
Department joint management of Mukogodo. The Yiaaku consider these measures the
only way to herald a new beginning for their threatened ethnic and cultural
identity. It would also set a precedent for other forest-dwelling ethnic
minorities of Kenya. At this time when Kenya is drawing up a new constitution
and a comprehensive land policy, Yiaaku people hope that the demands of forest
dwellers will be taken into account and given legitimacy. To them, the new
concepts of nation-state and globalization should embrace, respect, and preserve
cultural diversity and not suffocate it in the quest for a homogenous society.
Koinante clearly sees the claim to the forest as a struggle for human rights.
She asserts:
"Cultural rights are human rights. That is why we are articulating our claims
from a human rights perspective. The Kenyan constitution guarantees the right to
culture, and so does the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. We are entitled
to Mukogodo forest as our cultural abode and to a full recognition as a complete
and living ethnic group. We are ready to defend our claims in Kenyan and
international courts of law."
Lobbying for support of their cause is in high gear. The Yiaaku Peoples
Association is an active member of local and national human rights networks, and
the Yiaaku are a member of the Indigenous Peoples of Africa Coordinating Committee (IPACC).
Over the past year the Association has held awareness forums for elders, women,
and youth aimed at mobilizing community resources and strengthening the struggle
through collective decisions. To promote community management of forest
resources, the Association has set up a community honey refinery and marketing
center in Dol Dol Township, on the fringes of the forest. The proceeds go to
joint community development activities spearheaded by the Association. The
Association also intends to build a cultural center in Mukogodo forest, which
will serve as a documentation and education facility; among its activities it
will teach the Yiaaku dialect to young children and compile a Yiaaku-Maasai
dictionary.
“We know we are going to win in the end,” says Koinante. “To take the Yiaaku
out of their forest is like asking fish to live out of water. Mukogodo forest is
our culture and identity. We are not bargaining with anyone. This forest is
ours.”
*Entropilo, meaning “fragrant breath,” is the opening word for all
prayers in Maa. It is a form of blessing and a wish for ceremonial cleanness
uttered by the elder saying the prayers.
| For more on the conflict between government conservation policies and
indigenous rights in Kenya see “When
Parks and People Collide,” by Peter G. Veit and Catherine Benson in the
environmental rights issue of Human Rights
Dialogue. |
|
