Failed Aid

 

Abandoned tractors. Kpachaa, Northern Region, Ghana.

 
 

Introduction

“I find that the development came to our area, the school, as a directive from the most top officials. It came as a dream. You may wake up one morning, and you may find the development at your doorsteps.”
–Charles Makusa, primary school teacher in Mfera, Malawi

“Something must be done; anything must be done, whether it works or not.”
Bob Geldof, musician and concert promoter, at the 2005 Live Aid concert

These are the objects and structures left behind when foreign aid projects are unfinished, unused, or unwanted. It is difficult to convey how commonplace this is; there is no registry of all the things sent to or built in sub saharan Africa in the name of good intentions, let alone a checklist of whether they were successful. But, in many parts of the continent, they are ubiquitous, at times literally towering overheard or tucked away in people’s homes. They are the result of a simplistic, predetermined narrative of Africa, a narrative that would have us believe that the people of an entire continent have nothing and need anything that is offered.

 
 

Part 1
Ghana—This is Where I Come In

The world is a big place, and as a recent college graduate in my early twenties, I wanted to explore. I was willing to start anywhere. When I applied to become a Peace Corps Volunteer, I was asked to rank my geographic preference, and I put sub saharan Africa first on my list. I did this for one reason: I thought they probably needed the most help.

I arrived in Wantugu, Ghana in 2006, and I lived there for almost two years. It was there that I saw for the first time the remnants of unfinished aid projects. Years later, when I began to photograph failed aid projects, I started with one of my own: a project meant to provide each household in Wantugu with their own latrine.

People often think of foreign aid as needing a checklist. If you do it right, they say, the project will work. Community buy-in is a big part of the checklist. My latrine project checked a lot of boxes on the list. To start with, it wasn’t my idea, but instead came from a community elder. And it had a critical mass of local support. As part of their effort to fight trachoma, The Carter Center was providing household latrines in this part of Ghana, but first they needed people in the community to agree that, if given the material to build a latrine, they would do it themselves. Each household in Wantugu agreed to this.

When it came time to build, only a handful of people completed their latrine. Now, every home has an unused concrete slab lying outside — meant to be the base of the latrine, they lie useless, some of them propping up firewood, most of them slowly crumbling.

I have not been able to find out whether The Carter Center counted these latrines as successfully completed, but I believe they did, as they did not follow up with me after building the concrete bases. On their website, with their description of trachoma programming, they state: “The Carter Center continues to support the construction of household latrines. Since 2002, more than 3.6 million household latrines have been built to help to reduce breeding sites for flies, a principal source of infection transmission.”

Why didn’t the people of Wantugu build their latrines, despite agreeing to? There is a short dry season during which they can build new rooms and repair old ones; the concrete bases were finished well into the dry season, so people did not prioritize building the latrines in the little time they had left before the rains started and they had to turn their attention to farming.

Why did the people of Wantugu agree to the latrine project in the first place? Because, I think, when someone asks if you want something, you say yes. While I wasn’t the person to do the asking, everyone knew that I was involved with this project, and so were other foreign entities. True community buy-in is a difficult thing, and the Peace Corps Volunteer’s role as a sort of facilitator is contradictory in its nature: We were, I felt, tasked with pretending we were not there, to do only those projects that came to us from the community organically, yet no one would have asked for those projects if we were not there to be asked.

Hover over each photograph for more information on each foreign aid project

 
 
 
 

Part 2
Malawi—These Are the Big Ones

 
 

Malawi is host to two of the most well-known failures of foreign aid in recent years: the infamous PlayPump water system and a nonexistent school promised by pop superstar Madonna. The two have much in common. They were both big ideas promoted outside of Malawi with much fanfare, they both had celebrity endorsement, they both came to a standstill as NGO workers and government officials assigned blame to each other, and they both robbed local people of their existing resources and gave nothing in return.

The Roundabout PlayPump is a merry-go-round system meant to pump water while children play on it. First developed in 1989, PlayPumps gained an enormous amount of attention in the mid 2000’s, with millions of dollars committed and a list of supporters that included Hillary Clinton, George and Laura Bush, and Jay-Z. But they were a failure at all levels. Independent researchers and journalists found that children did not often play on them, women did not like using them, and, in order to pump the amount of water that PlayPumps International claimed they could, the math worked out that the pumps would have to be used for more than 24 hours a day. (All of this is documented in detail in these stories from The Guardian and PBS Frontline.)

I photographed 16 broken, unusable PlayPumps in Malawi. Some of them broke after just a few months, while others lasted up to a couple years. At many of the locations I visited, the people who installed the PlayPump had removed and replaced an existing, functioning handpump in order to install the PlayPump over the same borehole. The handpumps were much easier to use, lasted longer, and when they broke, replacement parts were locally available. The contractors who installed the PlayPumps gave local people a card with a number on it that they could text to report maintenance issues. Everyone I spoke with who received that card tried texting the number when their PlayPump broke. None of them received a response.

Again: the communities had water from the handpumps. The people who took away their handpump and installed a PlayPump also took away their access to clean water.

When I asked Roundabout Water Solutions SA, the South African company that installs PlayPumps, about the situation in Malawi, they shifted the blame to local contractors and the Malawian government. The boreholes provided were not suitable; a change of government meant new taxes on spare parts; the Malawian contractors should have been the ones to reply to the text message reports. They acknowledged a “learning curve” when trying to cope with the logistical challenges of working in countries outside South Africa and are currently only working there, mostly on maintaining the PlayPumps already installed. Some of their pumps, they say, have been operational since 2000, but require regular maintenance visits every 18-24 months – attention that was not given to the PlayPumps in Malawi.

In Chinkhota 1, just outside of Lilongwe, Chief Binson Kalenga is still waiting for Madonna and her organization Raising Malawi to return. Madonna promised a huge, state-of-the-art school for girls. Following a ceremonial groundbreaking in 2009, excavation began, but halted by 2011 amidst stories of embezzlement from local staff, mismanagement, and staff and board changes in Raising Malawi. Madonna was advised to support smaller, existing projects instead. 

Chief Kalenga  says that the community was not properly informed, that their farmland was destroyed when excavation began, and that they have not been properly compensated. As he recounted the story to me from his perspective, it dawned on me: he didn’t know that the pop superstar wasn’t planning to return and finish the school. She had said so in numerous interviews in international media, but the news had never reached him. He looked momentarily stricken when I told him, and then he recovered and straightened. “Well, we just hope she comes back,” he said.

Attempting to make sense of these sticky situations after the fact reveals convoluted stories and a sordid cast of characters. Who is to blame? Is it the naive celebrities and do-gooders who got in over their heads? The shadowy government figures who changed the rules and disappeared with the money?

Does any of this matter to the people who lost their land and water?

Hover over each photograph for more information on each foreign aid project

 
 
 
 

Part 3
Kenya—As Reported To Us

I wanted to know: what would local people say about the aid projects in their backyards if given the opportunity?

With a team of journalists, I launched What Went Wrong?, a project through which people in Kenya could report on foreign aid through a mobile survey. To submit a report, citizens called or texted and then answered a series of questions about an aid project in their area. We investigated the reports and shared them via social media with the NGOs or foundations responsible for the projects. The survey was promoted on three community radio stations in Kenyan communities: Hero Radio in Nakuru County, Pamoja FM in the Kibera neighborhood of Nairobi, and Wajir FM in Wajir County. Each station held a weekly segment about aid for the duration of the campaign to share updates and invite callers to discuss specific projects in more detail.

We further investigated 22 projects.

In both survey submissions and in-person conversations, people reported remembering who came to their community and what was promised — whether that was clean water, a new roof for a school, or monthly cash transfers. But what remained unclear to the recipients was why the irrigation system was never finished, why the roof was left unbuilt, why cash payments stopped coming — and whom to contact to get answers.

A majority of the projects we reviewed were not failures, at least not yet — they were large, multiyear initiatives that had not yet been completed. Time and again, community members reported a lack of communication from project implementing partners as plans changed, timelines shifted, or funding was cut. The long waits often led to frustration, if not widespread demoralization. There were extensive gaps in knowledge on the ground that generated confusion, disillusionment, and resentment among the very people the projects were meant to serve and benefit.

Hover over each photograph for more information on each foreign aid project

 
 
 
 

Afterword—An FAQ of Sorts

White supremacy is reliant on media stereotypes in order to maintain its dominance. Just as Black Americans have been historically (and contemporarily) portrayed as lazy, dangerous, or untrustworthy, white supremacy relies on stereotypes of Black Africans as needy. This project dovetails with my work on Everyday Africa; my photography is an exploration of the stereotypes the West has developed of other parts of the world in order to exert its imagined superiority, and of the results of those false imaginings.

When I share this photography with people, they often do not know what to think of it. It is a disruption to accepted narratives. It is also a real downer. In our collective imagination, Africa is there to be helped, and people need to feel that they can. People try to make sense of this project by asking what I feel are the wrong questions.

“How much of each dollar sent to Africa for foreign aid do you think actually gets used?”
It is an impossible question. The typical metric here is how much of each dollar is used for programming versus overhead, a number that NGOs often use when appealing to the public for donations. But, how much of each dollar goes toward programming that fails after a year, or programming that no one wants or needs? If the money for, say, the PlayPumps I photographed in Malawi — which replaced functioning handpumps, and which broke down, and which no one local could fix and no one from the company came back to fix, and which never even pumped much water in the first place — if 100% of each dollar went to programming, and the programming was harmful, then what good was the dollar, or the percentage, or the question? 

At one artist talk I was giving, I started explaining this to the man who asked this question, but my long answer was too much for him. He wouldn’t let me off the hook. He wanted it simple. “I’m just trying to ask,” he repeated, cutting me off, “how much of each dollar to Africa is helpful. Do you think it’s less than half? “ “Sure,” I stuttered.

We are societally dedicated to a simplistic, damaging narrative. Breaking from hegemony is difficult.

"Do you hate NGOs?"
I don’t want to disparage people’s good intentions. But I cannot accept the notion that good intentions should put anyone beyond criticism.

 “Aren't there any successful projects? How do you do it right?”
There are many obvious failures in the stories I have reported, but there are also some successes within them, projects that served a community for a few years before ultimately breaking down. How do we judge success? Is it some equation of time and money and people served and for how long? There are many places where you can see stories of successful foreign aid. These stories are about the unsuccessful projects, and I am telling them so you know that they exist, and so you know that they are many.

“Do you also report on any solutions?”
It is worth stating that this is commonly from editors. I’ve found it difficult to get this work published. “It’s too negative,” they often tell me. These are the same magazines who regularly put photographs of war and suffering in their pages. When a journalist reports on war, we do not say, “yes, but you should tell us the solution in your story.” I understand what “too negative” means: it means it does not fit the narrative. It is not within the range of our palate of acceptability. Never-ending war, for example, is something we can stomach, something we have deemed societally acceptable to see in our news. The idea that our help may be unneeded, unwanted, or harmful in sub saharan Africa is not.

We cannot make people feel helpless.

Acknowledgements

Many thanks to Magnum Foundation, Brown Institute for Media Innovation, Code for Africa, Pulitzer Center, Devex, and Photo Festival en Baie de Saint-Brieuc for their support of this project. I am eternally grateful to them for their belief in this topic and this work.

Joe Wheeler worked with me over numerous years to conceptualize this project. He is the best co-conspirator anyone could ask for.

Anthony Langat, Nurdin Elmoge, Philip Muhatia, Austin Merrill, and Harriet Dedman contributed to the reporting of these stories.

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