Category: The Conversation – Global Perspectives

Source: The Conversation – USA – By Richard Calland, Emeritus Associate Professor in Public Law, UCT. Visiting Adjunct Professor, WITS School of Governance; Director, Africa Programme, University of Cambridge Institute for Sustainability Leadership, University of Cambridge

With the Trump administration slashing US Agency for International Development budgets and European nations shifting overseas development aid budgets to bolster defence spending, the world has entered a “post-aid era”.

But there is an opportunity to recast development finance as strategic investment: “country platforms”.

Country platforms are government-led, nationally owned mechanisms that bring together a country’s climate priorities, investment needs and reform agenda, and align them with the interests of development partners, private investors and implementing agencies. They function as a strategic hub: convening actors, coordinating funding, and curating pipelines of projects for investment.

Think of them as the opposite of donor-driven fragmentation. Instead of dozens of disconnected projects driven by external priorities, a country platform enables governments to set the agenda and direct finance to where it is needed most. That could be renewable energy, climate-smart agriculture, resilient infrastructure, or nature-based solutions.

Country platforms are a current fad. They were the talk of the town at the 2025 Spring meetings of multilateral development banks in Washington DC. Will they quickly fade as the next big new idea comes into view? Or can they escape the limitations and failings of the finance and development aid ecosystem?

The Independent High Level Expert Group on Climate Finance, on which I serve, is striving to find new ways to ramp up finance – both public and private – in quality and quantity. I agree with those who argue that country platforms could be the innovation that unlocks the capital urgently needed to tackle climate overshoot and buttress economic development.

The model is already being tested. More than ten countries have launched their platforms, and more are in the pipeline.

For African countries, the opportunity could not be more timely. African governments are racing to deliver their Nationally Determined Contributions. These are the commitments they’ve made to reduce their greenhouse gas emissions as part of climate change mitigation targets set out in the Paris Agreement. Implementing these plans is often being done under severe fiscal constraints.

At the same time global capital is looking for investment opportunities. But it needs to be convinced that the rewards will outweigh the risks.

Where it’s being tested

In Africa, South Africa’s Just Energy Transition Partnership has demonstrated both the potential and the complexity of a country platform. Egypt and Senegal also have country platforms at different stages of implementation. Kenya and Nigeria are exploring similar mechanisms. The African Union’s Climate Change and Resilient Development Strategy calls for country platforms across the continent.

New entrants can learn from countries that started first.

But country platforms come in different shapes and sizes according to the context.

Another promising example is emerging through Mission 300, an initiative of the World Bank and African Development Bank, working with partners like The Rockefeller Foundation, Global Energy Alliance for People and Planet, and Sustainable Energy for All. It aims to connect 300 million people to clean electricity by 2030.

Central to this initiative are Compact Delivery and Monitoring Units. These are essentially country platforms anchored in electrification. They reflect how a well-structured country platform can make an impact. Twelve African countries are already moving in this direction. All announced their Mission 300 compacts at the Africa Heads of State Summit in Tanzania.

This growing cohort reflects a continental commitment to putting energy-driven country platforms at the heart of Africa’s development architecture.

Why now – and why Africa?

A well-functioning country platform can help in a number of ways.

Firstly, it can give the political and economic leadership a clear goal. The platform can survive elections and show stability, certainty and transparency to the investment world.

Secondly, national ownership and strategic alignment can reduce risk and build confidence. That would encourage investment.

Thirdly, it builds trust among development partners and investors through clear priorities, transparency, and national ownership.

Fourthly, it moves beyond isolated pilot projects to system-level transformation – meaning structural change. The transition in one sector, energy for example, creates new value chains that create more, better and safer jobs. Country platforms put African governments in charge of their own economic development, not as passive recipients of climate finance.

The country sets its investment priorities and then the match-making with international climate finance can begin.

Making it work: what’s needed

Developing the data on which a country bases its investment and development plans, and blending those with the fiscal, climate and nature data, is complex. For this reason country platforms require investment in institutional capacity, cross-ministerial collaboration, and strong coordination between finance ministries, environment agencies and economic planners. And especially, in leadership capability.

African countries must take charge of this capacity and capability acceleration.

Second, development partners can respond by providing money as well as supporting African leadership, aligning with national strategies, and being willing to co-design mechanisms that meet both investor expectations and local realities.

Capacity is especially crucial given the scale of Africa’s needs. According to the African Development Bank, Africa will require over US$200 billion annually by 2030 to meet its climate goals. Donor aid will provide only a fraction of this. It will require smart, coordinated investment and careful debt management. Country platforms provide the structure to govern the process.

Seizing the opportunity

Country platforms represent one of the most promising innovations in climate and development finance architecture. Properly designed and led, they offer African countries the opportunity to take ownership of their climate and development futures – on their own terms.

Country platforms could be the “buckle” that finally enables the supply and demand sides of climate finance to come together. It will require commitment, strategic and technical capability, and, above all, smart leadership.

Richard Calland works for the University of Cambridge Institute for Sustainability Leadership. He is also an Emeritus Associate Professor at the University of Cape Town and an Adjunct Visiting Professor at the University of Witwatersrand School of Governance. He serves on the Advisory Council of the Council for the Advancement of the South African Constitution, Chairs of the Board of Sustainability Education and is a member of the Board of Chapter Zero Southern Africa.

– ref. Development finance in a post-aid world: the case for country platforms – https://theconversation.com/development-finance-in-a-post-aid-world-the-case-for-country-platforms-257994

Source: The Conversation – USA – By Julie Zollmann, Digital Planet Fellow, The Fletcher School, Tufts University

Many argue that gig work involves exploitation, as research and media coverage have highlighted. But that doesn’t seem to deter ride hailing drivers on platforms like Uber and Bolt.

In Kenya, in fact, many new drivers continued to join platforms even as fares were slashed starting in 2016.

As a PhD student studying the role of digitalisation in development, I spent several years trying to understand how digital drivers experienced the quality of their work. My research found that in 2019, a typical digital driver in Nairobi worked about 58 hours a week and earned well below the minimum wage on an hourly basis. What made this work attractive? Why did drivers stay?

In a new paper, I draw on a 2019 survey of 450 drivers in Nairobi and 38 subsequent qualitative interviews in Nairobi and Kenya’s second largest ride hailing market, Mombasa, in 2021 that explored drivers’ experiences in detail.

In addition to measuring working hours and incomes, my survey team asked drivers if they considered their work “dignified”. Nearly eight in ten (78%) of our survey participants said yes. While that specific share of drivers may have changed since then, the underlying reasons drivers found the work dignified remain unchanged.

In the global north, scholars have rung alarm bells about what “gig work” means for the erosion of standard jobs with legal protections around working hours, minimum wage and other benefits. But the drivers my team and I spoke with in Kenya felt that digital driving was a step towards formalisation rather than a drift away from an ideal formal job. Driving had diginity in contrast to the indignities of low-wage work and the vast informal sector, which was their realistic alternative for making a living.

My findings highlight that workers’ experiences on global platforms like Uber are not universal and that digitisation may deliver some improvements in work quality relative to informal work in African contexts.

How did digital work deliver dignity?

Drivers explained that app companies imposed rules and structure that provided “discipline” in a transport sector more broadly associated with rudeness, unruliness, and disrespect towards passengers. Requirements for things like driving licences, proof of insurance, and ratings seemed to make drivers feel more professional and make passengers see them as such.

Drivers felt proud to be part of a driver community that behaved professionally under these conditions. A 38-year-old male driver in Nairobi who had been working on the platforms for three years told us:

We are very respected … Everyone trusts you to carry them. It’s not like the old days, when the taxi driver might rob you and dump you or even kill you. We are getting attraction from the society, even in the slums. They know you are an app driver, and they trust you because app drivers are good people. They know you can deliver, that you will be honest.

Read more:
Zimbabwe’s economy crashed — so how do citizens still cling to myths of urban and economic success?

On platforms, drivers were matched digitally with riders. Respondents said this brought dignity by ensuring drivers would receive a fairly steady stream of clients. This meant that a driver could rest assured he would earn money every day.

The alternative was to “hustle” in the informal economy to shake loose opportunities and constantly solicit those who might use their labour and beg for payment after a job was done. Constant solicitation and bargaining were exhausting and degrading.

One driver explained:

Most of us are poor. I have never walked out every morning sure that I would do a job. But now I know that if my car has been serviced and my phone is charged and working, I am going to work and not to some charity job. I used to wait at the base all day without getting a customer. Now, ….. at least two, three days are going to be good for you.

Digital matchmaking also meant that drivers were not limited to serving the few clients they already knew or who happened to pass them at a fixed base. They found themselves serving new parts of the city and carrying important people, including business people, celebrities and local politicians. Serving these high-end customers made them feel proud and important. Wealthy neighbourhoods, luxury hotels and high-end restaurants felt more open to them in otherwise exclusionary and segregated cities.

Some drivers felt that digitalisation had removed barriers to entry for taxi driving, like paying to join a parking base and building a client list.

The app did away with parking bases, and about half of drivers joined the system through a “partner”, paying a fixed weekly fee to rent their car instead of buying it themselves.

In efforts to make rides cheaper, in 2018 app companies in Kenya allowed smaller, less expensive cars on their platforms, lowering costs of ownership. Drivers in our survey showed that both formal and informal financiers were willing to offer loans to digital drivers, knowing they would have regular revenue to service their debt.

Buying a car was seen as a huge, dignifying accomplishment. One driver in the survey told us:

Growing up, I thought vehicles were owned only by the rich, but now digital driving has provided a means for me to own one and earn the respect of society.

David Muteru, then chairman of the Digital Taxi Association of Kenya, echoed this sentiment: “Owning a vehicle, that’s an asset”.

Dignity not always guaranteed

The dignifying value of order was only possible when app companies enforced their own rules and did so fairly. Drivers preferred the stringent rule enforcement of one major app over the lax enforcement of another, which made for more stressful and undignified interactions with riders.

When the rules were enforced, drivers could be sure that the app company would help if a rider refused to pay or if there was a dispute with the client. Drivers felt the stricter environment kept bad actors out.

Over time, though, app companies slashed prices, competing for market share. Drivers felt less respected by riders who saw them as desperate for money. Low fares pressed drivers to negotiate with riders for offline trips and higher rates, reintroducing the indignity of haggling.

Lessons for the future

Digitally mediated work raises many questions about labour standards.

This research shows how important it is to keep local context in mind. Digital driving is not the same experience for drivers in every context. Where people suffer indignities and deprivations in the informal sector, digitalisation may offer gains. But this potential depends on rule enforcement and pay. Material and subjective dignity are intertwined.

Julie Zollmann received funding from Mastercard Foundation.

– ref. Kenya’s ride-hailing drivers say their jobs offer dignity despite the challenges – https://theconversation.com/kenyas-ride-hailing-drivers-say-their-jobs-offer-dignity-despite-the-challenges-257845

Source: The Conversation – USA – By Misheck Mutize, Post Doctoral Researcher, Graduate School of Business (GSB), University of Cape Town

Over the past two decades, African countries have increasingly turned to international capital markets to meet their development financing needs. For example, Kenya and Benin raised a combined US$2.5 billion through bond issuances during the first half of 2025. Proceeds were used to repay maturing bonds. This means new bonds, with unfavourable terms, are being issued to pay previous lenders.

Yet African bonds are substantially mispriced, resulting in excessively high yields that are not justified by fundamentals – based on economic, fiscal and institutional strengths. Mispricing occurs when a country has high economic growth, stable institutions that support government policy implementation, rule of law and accountability, yet its bonds trade at higher yields than those of its peers. In other words, there will be every reason for investors to trust that the country will repay what it owes, but they still expect a higher return. This is happening because of lack of information and biases perpetuated by global entities that are facilitating bond sells in Africa.

Côte d’Ivoire and Senegal have strong growth (5% to 6.5%), yet they face high yields on their bonds (7.8% to 8.2%) compared to Namibia and Morocco with approximately 3% growth and bond interest of 6%.

This mispricing imposes a heavy debt servicing burden on already constrained public budgets.

At the same time African countries face a puzzling paradox: while they’re paying more for the debt they’re raising, the demand for these bonds is much higher (oversubscribed). All bond issuances in Africa are subscribed by as much as over five times. This has only been common in Africa. It is puzzling why governments are not leveraging on the high demand to bargain for lower interest rates.

In my view, based on my bond pricing modelling expertise, I believe that mispricing of Eurobonds in Africa – debt instruments issued by a country in a currency different from its own – is not a market anomaly. It shows internal capacity failures in African countries, structural market biases and insufficient understanding of the complex mechanics of global debt markets.

Oversubscription of Eurobonds should be a source of power for African governments, not a missed opportunity. African countries can move from being price takers to price negotiators. They should be able to reduce debt costs, freeing up resources for development.

But to get there African countries need to address the power imbalance in the markets.

Governments need to invest in bond pricing expertise to increase their negotiating power.

The false success signal of oversubscription

There are several reasons why African bonds remain mispriced at a higher interest despite the oversubscriptions.

Firstly, a lack of technical expertise in primary bond issuance in the debt management offices of the majority of African governments. Very few on the continent have intelligence systems for gathering information on financial markets and formal investor relations programmes. Neither do they have in-house quantitative analysts or pricing specialists capable of engaging investment banks on an equal footing during roadshows and negotiations.

The debt management offices are unable to engage confidently and critically with financial intermediaries to challenge assumptions, simulate pricing scenarios and conduct their own comparative market analysis.

After initial public offers, most governments don’t engage with holders of their bonds on the secondary market. Nor do they monitor bond post-issuance performance. The lack of interest in the secondary market has created a feedback loop where poor market intelligence has contributed to high coupons on new issuances.

Secondly, advanced economies engage investors regularly through briefings, roadshows and timely reports. Communication by African governments is often ad hoc and usually limited to the period around a new bond issuance.

This prevents investors from forming informed, long-term views. It leads to a default risk premium in pricing.

Thirdly, debt issuance by African governments is often politically driven rather than strategically timed. Often this leads to rushed or ill-prepared entries.

Sometimes it’s done when the cost of debt is rising globally, close to election cycles, or because governments are facing a financial crunch caused by falling reserves.

Read more:
African governments have developed a taste for Eurobonds: why it’s dangerous

Fourth, African sovereigns often approach the Eurobond market with weak negotiating power. They are heavily reliant on a small pool of western investment banks as technical advisors to manage the bond issuance. These banks tend to be more inclined towards their own global investment client networks. Their incentives are not aligned with achieving the lowest possible yield for the issuers.

African issuers often accept the initial price guidance from advisors and agree to high yields even in oversubscribed situations. Even when demand could support a lower yield, African issuers fail to negotiate pricing downwards. Issuing syndicates have no incentive to push for optimal pricing for the issuer as they receive transaction-based fees.

Read more:
African countries aren’t borrowing too much: they’re paying too much for debt

The role of bond issuing syndicates is a major factor in the mispricing. In bond issuance, a syndicate is a group of financial institutions that structures the bond, price and market (also known bookbuilding), underwrite the unsold portion of the bond, sell the bond to their investors, and ensure compliance and documentation. These syndicates set coupon rates higher than necessary as a conservative hedge against perceived investor scepticism.

African governments have become passive participants rather than active price-setters. African-based bond syndicates are systematically bypassed despite growing regional capacity and distribution networks. Bond issues are also allocated to offshore buyers, sidelining local institutional investors.

Breaking the cycle of mispricing

To correct the systemic Eurobond mispricing and reduce debt servicing costs, African countries must undertake reforms.

First, governments should invest in debt management capacity.

Second, they must actively monitor secondary market trading to identify opportunities such as bond buybacks and exchanges that could improve the debt profile. Real-time analytics on bond trading performance should inform future issuance terms and investor communication strategies.

Third, governments must build institutional routines for submitting data, and proactively engage investors and rating agencies. This will challenge and influence risk assumptions. Investors need consistent assurances, especially on the ability to easily exit positions.

Fourth, African countries need to maintain and monitor up-to-date benchmarks from peers with comparable pricing data. Without accurate comparisons, it is difficult to know whether the proposed bond pricing by syndicates is fair and accurate. They must stop solely relying on what investment banks recommends.

Lastly, African governments should involve at least one African-based syndicate member, prioritise allocation to African institutional investors and promote regional arrangements with international banks to ensure knowledge transfer and equitable participation.

Misheck Mutize is affiliated with the African Union as a Lead Expert on Credit Ratings

– ref. African countries are bad at issuing bonds, so debt costs more than it should: what needs to change – https://theconversation.com/african-countries-are-bad-at-issuing-bonds-so-debt-costs-more-than-it-should-what-needs-to-change-257128

Source: The Conversation – USA – By Philip Harrison, Professor School of Architecture and Planning, University of the Witwatersrand

South African president Cyril Ramaphosa met senior leaders of Johannesburg and Gauteng, the province it’s located in, in March 2025 to discuss ways to arrest the steep decline in South Africa’s largest city.

Ramaphosa announced a two-year-long presidential intervention to tackle some of the city’s most pressing issues. It is to be led by the Presidential Johannesburg Working Group with eight cross-governmental and multi-stakeholder workstreams.

Johannesburg was established 130 years ago, where the world’s largest-ever gold deposits were discovered. It grew rapidly in the early 20th century and became the country’s economic heartland and largest population centre. Like all South African cities, it was deeply scarred by apartheid policies. People were divided by racially defined groups. Good services and a strong economy benefited a minority, and a black majority were pushed into impoverished ghettos.

But, for about the first two decades of post-apartheid rule from 1994, Johannesburg led the country with innovation and progressive change. It pioneered the new local government system, institutional reforms, new practice on city strategy and planning, pro-poor service delivery, and modern transport infrastructure.

Today, however, the city is in a dire state. Over the past decade, roughly coinciding with the arrival of messy coalition governance in 2016, sound political leadership, administrative stability and financial management have crumbled. Underinvestment in infrastructure maintenance has led to collapsing services. Public trust is deteriorating among increasingly frustrated communities. This was evident in local election results. It also shows up in recent data released by the Gauteng City-Region Observatory on public trust in local government.

The local economy has stagnated. The city’s official unemployment rate of 34.3% is higher than the national average of 32.9%. Mounting joblessness and dwindling incomes have intertwined with depleted trust to knock levels of payment for property rates and service charges. In turn this has deepened the financial and service maintenance crisis.

Corruption in many parts of the city is an endemic complicating factor.

The presidential intervention is designed to address this complex interplay between embedded legacies and failings post-apartheid. The workstreams involving city officials and concerned stakeholders are generating ideas for priority actions. There is also a new energy in the city government, with the executive mayor and members of his mayoral committee making turnaround promises.

This long overdue attention is heartening. But some caution is called for. While some “quick wins” are needed, there will be no easy turnaround. The best prospect is likely to be a process of recovery that will require patience and methodical attention over the long term. A city cannot be repaired in the way an automobile can. A city has a trillion moving parts and is in a constant state of makeover, as dynamics of economy, technology, demography, environment, society, politics, and more, interact and produce change.

The question is not whether a city is fixed – it can never finally be – but rather what trajectory it is on. For Johannesburg, the question is how to exit the downward spiral and begin the process of reconstruction.

We are a group who previously worked in the City of Johannesburg as officials, who are now academics with decades of experience observing local governance trends and dynamics, or scholars engaged in civil society coalitions or communities mobilising around the crisis. Some of us have been involved in the Presidential Johannesburg Working Group over the last few months.

Our view is that there are four areas needing urgent but sustained attention.

Focus areas

The first is the need for a joint effort across national, provincial and municipal government to resolve the crisis. We are pleased that this has begun. The political leadership in the city (and of the province) failed to grasp the opportunity provided by the post-2024 election national compromises to put together a broad-based government of local unity to lead reconstruction. There is no option now but to pursue an inter-governmental initiative led by national government with the committed involvement of the other spheres.

Only genuine collaboration will succeed.

In this respect, the Presidential Johannesburg Working Group holds promise. But what will be needed is careful, concerted work focused first on short-term priorities. Then, over years, on key structural challenges facing the city.

Second, the city needs civil society in all its forms to hold a careful balance between keeping up the pressure on municipal government, constantly holding it accountable to its residents, and working with government to help it solve problems. The Joburg Crisis Alliance, Jozi-my-Jozi, WaterCAN and similar initiatives are claiming well-recognised and respected voice in the affairs of the municipality.

Johannesburg needs a city government that is open to this scrutiny, accepting the need for transparency, and open to the help that civil society can offer.

To raise the level of accountability and collaboration, a clear programme of restoration has to be communicated openly to the public. Milestones and expenditure requirements need to be set that allow for constant monitoring. There must be open council meetings, and regular online and in-person briefings.

Also required are new mechanisms for citizen-based monitoring. These may include trained citizen monitors reporting on service delivery. Alternatively, the establishment of a sort of “Citizen’s Council” which meets regularly to receive reports from these monitors and the city administration.

International examples include the Bürgerrat model. This is now fully institutionalised in parts of Germany and Austria to strengthen local democracy and accountability. In this model, citizens are randomly selected to sit on a council which monitors performance of local government and provides new ideas.

Another approach could be for civil society organisations to be invited to a Citizen’s Council that would act in support of the oversight processes of the elected Municipal Council.

Third, there has to be a solution to unstable coalition governments. These seem to be structured to facilitate separate political fiefdoms where spoils can be divided in the allocation of portfolios. At minimum, the presidential intervention must provide for a check and balance on processes where bureaucratic appointments and budgetary allocations may serve the interests of cronyism. For example, there should be transparency and rigour in appointments to the boards of Johannesburg’s municipally owned companies.

Regulatory reforms are required in the political arena. This should include rules for the distribution of seats on the municipal executive and the election of mayors. Between January 2023 and August 2024 a tiny minority party held the mayoralty because the larger parties could not agree on a mayoral selection or, more cynically, to ensure that the executive mayor could not call large parties to account.

More importantly, though, there has to be a change in political culture. This is a longer-term process.

Fourth, the problems run far deeper than what bureaucratic reorganisation can achieve.

The longer-term project is to build a capable administration with clear political direction and oversight but insulated from personal agendas and factional battles. The administration became confused and demoralised because of the political instability over an extended period. There are, however, still many capable and committed public servants in the city bureaucracy. The focus should be on working with them to rebuild the administration, making it a place where talent and initiative are recognised and rewarded.

Restored political leadership and a rejuvenated administration is needed for a long term process, extending far beyond the quick wins. This process will involve refurbishing the decaying network infrastructure, restoring financial stability, reestablishing social trust and returning confidence to the city’s economy.

2025 marks 30 years since the first democratic local elections. National government is looking seriously at sweeping municipal reforms. And the next municipal election – likely to be held at the end of 2026 – is an opportunity to make a deep transformation effort. Citizens can ensure that parties contesting the election place Johannesburg’s recovery at the heart of their agenda.

Philip Harrison has received funding from South Africa’s National Research Foundation in support of the South African Research Chair in Spatial Analysis and City Planning.

The Gauteng City-Region Observatory receives core grant funding from the Gauteng Provincial Government.

Lorena Nunez Carrasco received funding from the National Research Foundation in support of research on the South African response on COVID-19

Rashid Seedat receives funding from Gauteng Provincial Government for the Gauteng City-Region Observatory. He is affiliated with the Ahmed Kathrada Foundation as a member of the Board of Trustees.

– ref. Johannesburg’s problems can be solved – but it’s a long journey to fix South Africa’s economic powerhouse – https://theconversation.com/johannesburgs-problems-can-be-solved-but-its-a-long-journey-to-fix-south-africas-economic-powerhouse-256013

Source: The Conversation – USA – By Andreana Prichard, Associate Professor of Honors and African History, University of Oklahoma

In the world of international child development and orphan care, it’s not uncommon for children with families to declare themselves orphans. In fact, this practice can be traced back to precolonial times in Kenya.

Andreana Prichard has done research on the practice in Kenya. We asked her to share her insights into it.

Why do some people in Kenya assume the identity of ‘orphan’?

We often think of “orphans” as children who have lost both parents and who lack kin networks. One might ask why someone would “opt in” to orphan status when they do not fall within the classical definition of the term.

In my paper I look at the issue of orphanhood over the last 160 years. Case studies from Kenya I examine illustrate that the practice I define as “opting in” to orphanhood has precolonial roots. I define “opting in” as choosing to take on the label of being an orphan. This can be done by parents, relatives or even, in some instances, the child. This is because the label “orphan” has come to confer unique opportunities.

The practice became increasingly popular in the mid-1990s, when parents in eastern and southern Africa who had contracted HIV began to die in large numbers. Activists feared many children would be left without caregivers.

In response, the number of orphanages proliferated as humanitarian actors, churches and states inundated east Africa with orphan-focused NGOs.

In 2020, officials in Kenya estimated that there were at least 910 residential institutions for children in the country (of which 581 were registered), housing between 26,198 and 85,733 Kenyan children.

The predicted “orphan crisis” never materialised, partly because families and communities stepped in to care for newly parentless children. But the idea of an “orphan crisis” remained, and so did the funding and infrastructure.

This phenomenon occurred across the continent, not just in Kenya. However, its effects were felt particularly acutely in eastern and southern Africa where HIV/Aids prevalence rates were higher and where there was more western tourism.

Today, many African families see orphan-focused NGOs as a path to access education and improve their lives. My research shows that children themselves sometimes affiliate with an institution that provides shelter, food and schooling. Children facing abuse from caregivers may also prefer the relative anonymity and safety of an institution.

In some cases, receiving orphan services actually raises the status of the “orphan” child above that of other children. They have access to more material resources than they might have had in their villages or at home. They might have more leisure time and less work. They may have access to better bedding, shoes and clothing. They are also likely able to attend school more consistently and have a real opportunity to attend university.

Does ‘opting in’ have a long history?

Yes, it does.

In the precolonial period, most parentless or vulnerable children were cared for through lasting community support systems. Orphanhood, as it exists today as a child lacking support, protection, or care from kin, was largely avoided.

However, the late 19th to mid-20th centuries brought new actors to the east African region. The practice of “opting in” became a strategic, temporary option used by families to access services from western humanitarians.

The earliest example of this shift I found in my research is from the 1890s. Fearing their children would be caught in the Indian Ocean slave trade, African parents sometimes chose to send their children to British missions until the region was safe. They knew the missionaries opposed the slave trade and knew they offered food and medical care.

African parents thought they were making temporary arrangements to keep their children safe. Missionaries, however, understood parents to have abandoned their children. When parents returned to repay the debt – with agricultural produce or trade goods – and to reclaim their children, missionaries refused them.

In another example from Kenya in the 1950s, the British colonial government opened “reform schools” for young men. The Wamumu Approved School was renowned for the relative quality of education it provided. But the state admitted only the “most vulnerable” for a free education. Feeling they had no way to access Wamumu, students claimed to be orphans.

What have been the negative effects of Kenya’s orphan system?

There are several problems with creating a situation in which people present themselves as vulnerable just to gain safety or improve their social and economic standing.

First, research has shown that building orphanages in poor communities incentivises parents to abandon their children if they’re not also given the help to remain together.

Second, research shows that children are often put at risk in these institutions. Institutionalisation exposes children to risks such as sexual abuse, gender-based violence and neglect.

Third, orphanages have become so lucrative that African orphanage owners will go to great lengths to fit African children into the categories westerners wish to fund. The phenomenon of “paper orphans” is a prime example. “Paper orphans” are children who are recruited from their homes by proprietors (or middlemen/brokers) of orphanages and residential-care facilities. Fraudulent documentation is created for them – often including false death certificates of parents and new identity registration documents – rendering them orphans on paper, and vulnerable in practice.

What should be done?

Governments in Europe, Central Asia, Latin America and the Caribbean are trying to phase out orphanages, as are some African countries.

Based on my research I believe that working with families to support vulnerable children in their homes of origin or with extended families is a better option. This can be done through assistance programmes for vulnerable families as well as child welfare programmes. These allow families to remain intact when experiencing hardship.

Kenya is taking steps to do this by replacing orphanages and other forms of residential children’s homes with family-based, foster and community-based care and other forms of assistance. Family strengthening approaches include positive parenting instruction, life skills training, and income-generating activities, as well as supportive supervision.

In addition to this, missionary and voluntourism trips to orphanages and residential care facilities should be banned or limited.

Andreana Prichard received funding from the Fulbright-Hays Doctoral Dissertation Research Abroad Grant.

– ref. Choosing to be an orphan: for some Kenyan families it’s a strategy for survival – https://theconversation.com/choosing-to-be-an-orphan-for-some-kenyan-families-its-a-strategy-for-survival-247371

Source: The Conversation – USA – By Tinashe Mushakavanhu, Research Associate, University of Oxford

In southern Africa townships were built as segregated urban zones for black people. They were created under colonial and white minority rule policies that controlled movement, confined opportunity, and kept people apart.

I grew up in a different historic black township in Zimbabwe, but Mbare was the first of its kind. It holds a unique place in the nation’s imagination.

Mbare was originally named Harare. But in 1982 that name was reassigned to the capital city that houses it. In its storied past, it was once the heartbeat of black urban life. At its centre is Rufaro Stadium, where Bob Marley and the Wailers famously performed at Zimbabwe’s independence celebrations.

The township was a hub of cultural energy, sports, and political activism, and the community beer hall served as a vital gathering point. Today, many of these beer halls stand derelict.

These once-thriving communal spaces reflect a broader neglect of civic infrastructure in post-independence Zimbabwe. Yet out of these ruins, new life is taking shape.

One of the most influential figures in Zimbabwe’s artist-run spaces movement, Moffat Takadiwa, has transformed one of these former beer halls into the Mbare Art Space. The dynamic arts hub reclaims the building’s original spirit of gathering, creativity and public engagement.

Operating under a long lease from the Harare City Council, this nonprofit initiative is part of a wider urban renewal and adaptive reuse project aimed at reimagining the city’s cultural infrastructure.

My ongoing work in archival research includes mapping and visiting historical and cultural spaces like this. Here Takadiwa saw the potential for not just studios and an exhibition venue, but also for dialogue and community regeneration.

Transforming spaces

Beer halls were established by British colonial authorities in Zimbabwe (then Rhodesia) as part of a strategy of social control over the African urban population. They were designed to regulate leisure, restrict political organising and generate revenue through the sale of alcohol. By centralising drinking in state-run facilities, colonial administrators aimed to monitor and contain African social life while profiting from it.

Situated in a repurposed colonial-era beer garden, Mbare Art Space turns a former site of segregation into a vibrant centre of artistic and communal revival. It redefines a legacy of constraint and control as one of creative freedom and empowerment. The place is now an artists’ haven with studios, office space, an exhibition hall and a digital hub.

Takadiwa’s vision is informed by global precedents, notably inspired by US artist Theaster Gates, whose work includes the transformation of a derelict bank on Chicago’s South Side. It became the Stony Island Arts Bank – a hybrid space for art, archives and community engagement.

Takadiwa opened Mbare Art Space in 2019 with a vision to support emerging artists through mentorship and access to resources. True to his artistic philosophy – resurrecting abandoned, often overlooked materials suffering the effects of urban decay – he revitalised a neglected site. Most of the artists working from this space follow his lead, upcycling and recycling found materials into compelling visual forms that speak to both history and possibility.

When I arrive, Takadiwa is on his way out, but offers me a quick tour of his studio, where works in progress for his upcoming participation in the São Paulo Biennale are taking shape.

Known for his lush, densely layered sculptures and tapestry-like works made from found objects – computer keyboards, bottle tops, toothbrushes, and toothpaste tubes – Takadiwa has garnered international acclaim. His works are collected by US rapper Jay-Z and major institutions like the Centre National d’Art Plastique in Paris, the European Parliament’s art collection in Brussels, and the National Gallery of Zimbabwe in Harare.

Collaboration

What Takadiwa is building is not just an arts centre – it’s a new model space rooted in history and responsive to the present. The site itself becomes an ongoing installation, activated by the artists, curators and community members who inhabit it.

Tafadzwa Chimbumu, the operations manager, takes over the tour, guiding me through the rest of the precinct. The site retains the bones of its beer hall architecture, but it bursts with new life. Colourful murals adorn the walls. Tents draped over smaller buildings animate the exposed brickwork.

Plans are underway to establish a library here, a resource where researchers and artists can engage with Zimbabwe’s under-documented art history. Much of this history is scattered across archives and unpublished dissertations, rather than in widely available books. The aim is to bring these materials together and make them more accessible to the public.

Mbare Art Space is also becoming an exciting hub for collaboration and education. Community workshops, for example, are led by resident artists. Local schools take part in art education initiatives. Through community outreach and educational programming, the centre is extending its impact beyond its immediate geography.

As it looks to the future, Mbare Art Space is focused on expanding its artist-in-residence programme, inviting both local and international artists to immerse themselves in the context of Mbare and Zimbabwe.

Ultimately, what the space offers is something intangible – a feeling, a memory, a vision of what is possible when history and imagination meet in a shared place.

Tinashe Mushakavanhu does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. Mbare Art Space: a colonial beer hall in Zimbabwe has become a vibrant arts centre – https://theconversation.com/mbare-art-space-a-colonial-beer-hall-in-zimbabwe-has-become-a-vibrant-arts-centre-256528

Source: The Conversation – USA – By Anette Hoffmann, Senior Researcher at the Institute for African Studies and Egyptology, University of Cologne

During the first world war (1914-1918) thousands of African men enlisted to fight for France and Britain were captured and held as prisoners in Germany. Their stories and songs were recorded and archived by German linguists, who often didn’t understand a thing they were saying.

Now a recent book called Knowing by Ear listens to these recordings alongside written sources, photographs and artworks to reveal the lives and political views of these colonised Africans from present-day Senegal, Somalia, Togo and Congo.

Anette Hoffmann is a historian whose research and curatorial work engages with historical sound archives. We asked her about her book.

How did these men come to be recorded?

About 450 recordings with African speakers were made with linguists of the so-called Royal Prussian Phonographic Commission. Their project was opportunistic. They made use of the presence of prisoners of war to further their research.

In many cases these researchers didn’t understand what was being said. The recordings were archived as language samples, yet most were never used, translated, or even listened to for decades.

The many wonderful translators I have worked with over the years are often the first listeners who actually understood what was being said by these men a century before.

What did they talk about?

The European prisoners the linguists recorded were often asked to tell the same Bible story (the parable of the prodigal son). But because of language barriers, African prisoners were often simply asked to speak, tell a story or sing a song.

We can hear some men repeating monotonous word lists or counting, but mostly they spoke of the war, of imprisonment and of the families they hadn’t seen for years.

In the process we hear speakers offer commentary. Senegalese prisoner Abdoulaye Niang, for example, calls Europe’s battlefields an abattoir for the soldiers from Africa. Others sang of the war of the whites, or speak of other forms of colonial exploitation.

When I began working on colonial-era sound archives about 20 years ago, I was stunned by what I heard from African speakers, especially the critique and the alternative versions of colonial history. Often aired during times of duress, such accounts seldom surface in written sources.

Clearly, many speakers felt safe to say things because they knew that researchers couldn’t understand them. The words and songs have travelled decades through time yet still sound fresh and provocative.

Can you highlight some of their stories?

The book is arranged around the speakers. Many of them fought in the French army in Europe after being conscripted or recruited in former French colonies, like Abdoulaye Niang. Other African men got caught up in the war and were interned as civilian prisoners, like Mohamed Nur from Somalia, who had lived in Germany from 1911. Joseph Ntwanumbi from South Africa was a stoker on a ship that had docked in Hamburg soon after the war started.

In chapter one Niang sings a song about the French army’s recruitment campaign in Dakar and also informs the linguists that the inmates of the camp in Wünsdorf, near Berlin, do not wish to be deported to another camp.

An archive search reveals he was later deported and also that Austrian anthropologists measured his body for racial studies.

His recorded voice speaking in Wolof travelled back home in 2024, as a sound installation I created for the Théodore Monod African Art Museum in Dakar.

Chapter two listens to Mohamed Nur from Somalia. In 1910 he went to Germany to work as a teacher to the children of performers in a so-called Völkerschau (an ethnic show; sometimes called a human zoo, where “primitive” cultures were displayed).

After refusing to perform on stage, he found himself stranded in Germany without a passport or money. He worked as a model for a German artist and later as a teacher of Somali at the University of Hamburg. Nur left a rich audio-visual trace in Germany, which speaks of the exploitation of men of colour in German academia as well as by artists. One of his songs comments on the poor treatment of travellers and gives a plea for more hospitality to strangers.

Stephan Bischoff, who grew up in a German mission station in Togo and was working in a shoe shop in Berlin when the war began, appears in the third chapter. His recordings criticise the practices of the Christian colonial evangelising mission. He recalls the destruction of an indigenous shrine in Ghana by German military in 1913.

Also in chapter three is Albert Kudjabo, who fought in the Belgian army before he was imprisoned in Germany. He mainly recorded drum language, a drummed code based on a tonal language from the Democratic Republic of Congo that German linguists were keen to study. He speaks of the massive socio-cultural changes that mining brought to his home region, which may have caused him to migrate.

Together these songs, stories and accounts speak of a practice of extracting knowledge in prisoner of war camps. But they offer insights and commentary far beyond the “example sentences” that the recordings were meant to be.

Why do these sound archives matter?

As sources of colonial history, the majority of the collections in European sound archives are still untapped, despite the growing scholarly and artistic interest in them in the last decade. This interest is led by decolonial approaches to archives and knowledge production.

Sound collections diversify what’s available as historical texts, they increase the variety of languages and genres that speak of the histories of colonisation. They present alternative accounts and interpretations of history to offer a more balanced view of the past.

Anette Hoffmann does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. African prisoners made sound recordings in German camps in WW1: this is what they had to say – https://theconversation.com/african-prisoners-made-sound-recordings-in-german-camps-in-ww1-this-is-what-they-had-to-say-254127

Source: The Conversation – USA – By Hamza Benattia, Prehistory, Universitat de Barcelona

When people think of ancient burials in North Africa, they often picture Egypt’s pyramids and monuments. But new discoveries show that north-western Africa also has a deep and fascinating prehistoric past.

Morocco’s Tangier Peninsula is particularly interesting. The peninsula sits at Africa’s north-western edge, where the Mediterranean Sea meets the Atlantic Ocean. At just 14 kilometres from Europe across the Strait of Gibraltar, this area has long been a natural crossroads between continents and cultures.

I’m an archaeologist and PhD student who specialises in north Africa’s later prehistoric periods, between 3800 BC and 500 BC. My research explores how ancient communities responded to environmental changes, and how they moved and connected with other communities across regions.

The assumption to date has been that the Tangier Peninsula was uninhabited and isolated in late prehistoric times. As part of my PhD research I wanted to explore whether this was true, or whether the area had simply been overlooked by previous archaeological work.

Through the Kach Kouch and Tahadart Archaeological Projects, we studied both the Atlantic and Mediterranean zones of the peninsula.

Our goal was to revisit the region using modern archaeological methods and technologies, including radiocarbon dating. To understand how this region may have been connected to the wider world in prehistoric times, we used Geographic Information System software to model possible ancient communication routes and surveyed the landscape through satellite and drone imagery. At a later stage, alongside a team of early career Moroccan archaeologists from the National Institute of Archaeology and Heritage, we carried out field surveys and excavations.

What we discovered exceeded all expectations. Far from being empty and isolated, the Tangier Peninsula is filled with evidence that people lived, died and held ceremonies there over thousands of years.

Our hope is that our findings will reframe north-western Africa as a cultural crossroads that has connected regions for thousands of years. This region could reshape our understanding of later prehistory across the Atlantic and Mediterranean worlds.

A prehistoric ritual and funerary landscape

Our study, published in African Archaeological Review, presents the discovery of dozens of new archaeological sites, including prehistoric burials, rock art sites and standing stones.

Until now, research on rock art and burials in north Africa focused on areas like the Nile Valley, the Sahara or the Atlas Mountains. Our discoveries reveal that Morocco’s north-western coast was a major cultural hub in the Bronze Age, over 4,000 years ago.

The diversity of burial practices, ritual sites, symbolic rock art and unique megalithic monuments reflect a rich prehistoric heritage that transcends modern geographic, political and cultural boundaries. It also highlights the longstanding exchanges and contacts of this region with the Mediterranean, the Atlantic and the Sahara.

One of the most remarkable sites we excavated is at Daroua Zaydan, near modern-day Tangier. There we uncovered a cist burial, a small stone chamber made from four upright stone slabs covered by a larger stone slab. A crescent-shaped arrangement of stones likely marked the access to the burial chamber.

Although the grave had been looted in the past, we recovered several human bones outside the cist. One of them was radiocarbon dated to 2118–1890 BC. This date aligns with similar burial traditions across the Strait of Gibraltar in Iberia, and with Early Bronze Age settlement activity at Kach Kouch, about 65km south-east of Daroua Zaydan.

Cist cemeteries had been documented in the region before, but most were excavated during the early to mid-20th century. At the time, archaeologists didn’t have the methods that can now shed light on important details such as how they were built and when they were used. Daroua Zaydan marks the first radiocarbon-dated cist burial in north-west Africa.

Monuments, ritual deposits and Atlantic connections

Our findings suggest the existence of a complex prehistoric ritual landscape at the Tangier Peninsula. This landscape was likely connected to other areas of the Atlantic and Mediterranean through a shared ritual and symbolic “language”.

One clue is a Bronze Age sword found in the 1920s in the Loukkos river. It was likely made in Britain or Ireland and may have arrived in Africa through Atlantic exchange networks. The sword was likely deliberately thrown to the river — a ritual practice documented along rivers in Atlantic Europe. This suggests that communities in northern Morocco were part of a broader cultural and symbolic world that connected the late prehistoric Atlantic.

Another example is the stone circle at Mzoura, made up of 176 standing stones. This site, excavated in the 1930s, is unique in north Africa. But it closely resembles other stone circles in Atlantic Europe like Stonehenge. During our fieldwork we also discovered new standing stones and rock art, located along prehistoric communication routes. This suggests they may have been used as territorial markers or ritual sites.

Before our research, a single painted rock shelter, that of Magara Sanar, was known in north-western Morocco. We have now documented 17 painted and 5 engraved rock shelters.

The variety of symbols and scenes includes dotted patterns, geometric lines and human-shaped figures. They suggest strong links to Iberian, Atlantic and Saharan prehistoric art.

Why this matters

Our research does more than just fill a blank spot on the archaeological map. It opens up new avenues for archaeological exploration in the region. The Tangier Peninsula is home to a rich and largely undocumented late prehistoric heritage. It deserves more attention from researchers, policymakers and the wider public.

Further protection measures are necessary as the region is undergoing rapid urban development. Tourism is growing and there’s been extensive looting. We hope our work will lead to more archaeological investigations, including new excavations and radiocarbon dating of key sites.

Hamza Benattia, director of the Tahadart Archaeological Project, received funding from the National Institute of Archaeology and Heritage of Morocco (INSAP), the Prehistoric Society Research Fund, the Stevan B. Dana Grant of the American Society of Overseas Research, the Mediterranean Archaeological Trust Grant, the Barakat Trust Early Career Award, the Centre Jacques Berque Research Grant, the Institute of Ceutan Studies Research Fund and the University of Castilla La Mancha.

– ref. Rock art and tomb discoveries in Morocco reveal ancient connections to the wider world – https://theconversation.com/rock-art-and-tomb-discoveries-in-morocco-reveal-ancient-connections-to-the-wider-world-256931

Source: The Conversation – USA – By Rick de Villiers, Associate professor, University of the Free State

At last, the most infamous latecomer in all of literature has arrived – not in the flesh, but in South Africa’s Afrikaans language. Irish playwright Samuel Beckett’s best-known drama, Waiting for Godot, now also lives as Ons Wag vir Godot.

Published and staged in 2024, the translation was inspired by the official centenary of Afrikaans in 2025.

As a Beckett scholar, I think it’s worth asking why Afrikaans is so late on the scene – and why it matters.

Godot in many tongues

First written in French, En attendant Godot was published in 1952 and debuted on stage the next year.

The action involves two tramps, Vladimir and Estragon, who have a series of absurd conversations and encounters as they wait for a man called Godot who never arrives. Beckett would self-translate the drama into English in 1954, calling it “a tragicomedy in two acts”.

Since then, translations of the play have exploded. By 1969 – the year of Beckett’s Nobel Prize for Literature – Waiting for Godot could already be read in dozens of languages, including Albanian, Marathi, and even Icelandic.

Samuel Beckett and South Africa

Beckett’s connections with South Africa are surprisingly varied. As a young man, he unsuccessfully applied for a lectureship at the University of Cape Town. His 1951 novel, Molloy, was translated from French into English with the help of a South African student, Patrick Bowles. And in 1968, Beckett made a donation to the then-banned resistance party, the African National Congress, in the form of a manuscript for auction.

This gesture was unprecedented for the Irish writer, who was wary of political causes. Yet not only did Beckett feel strongly enough about apartheid’s injustices to make this donation, he also refused to let anyone perform his plays before South Africa’s racially segregated audiences.

Read more:
The case of the acclaimed South African novel that ‘borrows’ from Samuel Beckett

Already in 1963 Beckett had signed the petition Playwrights Against Apartheid. He would continue to refuse performance rights in South Africa until 1980, when the Baxter Theatre was allowed to stage Waiting for Godot with a racially integrated cast.

Nevertheless, unauthorised Godots materialised before this. Athol Fugard, the South African playwright whose own dramas were influenced by Beckett, directed one of the earliest South African productions in 1962. Featuring an all-black cast, it testified to the play’s political charge, which Fugard emphasised:

Vladimir and Estragon … were at Sharpeville or the first in at Auschwitz.

It’s reasonable to think that Beckett would have supported this protest performance. But he would probably have denounced the first and unofficial Afrikaans version, Afspraak met Godot, translated by Suseth Brits and performed in 1970 at the Potchefstroom University College (now North-West University) behind closed doors.

For different reasons, Beckett would also have frowned on the substantial “borrowings” in Afrikaans novelist Willem Anker’s 2014 novel, Buys.

Domesticating a European classic

Fully sanctioned by Beckett’s estate and beautifully translated (from the French and English) by now-retired professor of French at the University of the Free State Naòmi Morgan, Ons Wag vir Godot arrives at a different moment altogether.

The translation retains the gallows humour of the original while adding local flavour. For instance, where Vladimir originally names the Eiffel Tower as a picturesque site to commit suicide, his Afrikaans counterpart nominates Van Stadensbrug, a bridge over a ravine in the Eastern Cape. The slave-like Lucky once entertained his master with European dances: “the farandole, the fling, the brawl, the jig, the fandango”. These now become a South African mix: “volkspele, die riel, die pantsula, selfs die horrelpyp” (folk games, riel dance, pantsula dance, a hiding).

In translation-speak, Ons Wag vir Godot is therefore fully “domesticated”: the play’s universality comes through even though – and perhaps even more so because – it’s anchored in a particular place and time.

This struck me when I attended the play’s limited-run production, expertly directed by Dion van Niekerk, at the 2024 Vrystaat Kunstefees (Free State arts festival). Its set managed to thread together subtle South African roadside details: a toppled rubbish bin, pylons on the horizon, a (broken) picnic bench.

In the text itself, we encounter familiar place names, sayings and cultural clues. Consider how Beckett’s abstract phrase “the essential doesn’t change” is grounded in African mythology: “Jakkals verander van hare, maar nie van streke nie” (The leopard doesn’t change its spots). Then there’s the charming touch of the dog in Vladimir’s song snatching “’n stukkie wors” (a piece of sausage particular to South Africa) rather than a measly “bone”.

Godot and the Afrikaans canon

Ons Wag vir Godot achieves its most profound tribute to Beckett and Afrikaans through its intertextual richness. Both the French and English originals are highly allusive texts: they invoke other works of literature to increase their range of meaning and subtlety. Morgan is attuned to this subtlety and to the parallels to be found in Afrikaans literature. There are references to works by canonical Afrikaans writers like Eugène Marais, Totius and C.J. Langenhoven, each adding its own resonance.

Read more:
Koos Prinsloo: the cult Afrikaans writer has been translated to English – here’s a review

Yet the dilemma any translator faces is not so much in bringing in the new, but in striking a balance with the old. Consider the judicious swapping of a line from Percy Bysshe Shelley for a line from C. Louis Leipoldt.

In the English version, Estragon looks up forlornly at the moon and half-quotes the English Romantic poet: “Pale for weariness … Of climbing heaven and staring on the likes of us.” In the Afrikaans, he gives us a fragment from the wistful poem, Die Moormansgat: “ek kyk na die lig van die volle silwermaan” (I behold the light of the full silver moon). At face value, this lacks the detached, woeful quality of Shelley’s line. But read in the context of Leipoldt’s poem, it is every bit as poignant.

The virtue of waiting

“Vladimir would agree,” Morgan concludes in the preface to her translation, “that a century is a decent amount of time to hone a language for the translation of one of the best-known dramas in world literature”.

Read more:
Animal Farm has been translated into Shona – why a group of Zimbabwean writers undertook the task

And indeed, the riches of the Afrikaans language are on display in this sensitive, witty and allusive rendering of Beckett’s European classic. But it’s also true that a certain amount of political baggage had to be shaken off before such a feat could be realised – not just in the right words, but in the right spirit. Of course, if Beckett’s play teaches us anything, it’s the virtue of waiting.

Rick de Villiers does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. Waiting for Godot has been translated into Afrikaans: what took so long – https://theconversation.com/waiting-for-godot-has-been-translated-into-afrikaans-what-took-so-long-257345

Source: – By Gaston Adoyo, Lecturer and researcher, Jomo Kenyatta University of Agriculture and Technology

Coconut trees are iconic plants found across the world’s tropical regions. They’re called “nature’s supermarket” or the “tree of life” in several cultures because every part of the coconut tree is used. Its leaves can be used to thatch homes, its heart can be eaten and its roots have medicinal uses.

The refreshing liquid found within a young green coconut is a highly prized component of the coconut palm. Coconuts are unique in the world of fruits because they have a large internal cavity filled with water. Other fruits typically store water within individual cells or pulp.

I’m a food scientist who has carried out research on the properties of coconuts.

All coconut palms produce water, though some, like tall varieties, will produce more than others, like dwarf varieties. The water is sourced from the trees’ immature, green coconuts. As the coconut matures, the developing white flesh absorbs the water, resulting in less liquid in a fully ripe brown coconut.

So, how is this water reservoir created, and what factors influence it?

A coconut’s structure

To better understand how coconut water is formed, it is essential to grasp its anatomical structure. The coconut fruit is classified as a drupe, meaning it has three layers: the exocarp (the smooth, green outer layer seen in unripe coconuts), the mesocarp (a fibrous husk beneath the exocarp), and the endocarp (the hard, woody inner shell that protects the white flesh inside).

Within the endocarp, there are two components: the flesh (endosperm, a soft, jelly-like material in immature coconut that hardens as it matures) and the clear coconut water that fills the cavity. This water is a nutritive fluid nourishing the developing seed and is formed naturally during the development of the coconut fruit.

The water is a filtered sap that’s drawn up from the roots and transported through the tree’s vascular system (its water and nutrient transport system), specifically the xylem tissue.

The coconut tree’s extensive root system, ranging from 1 to 5 metres deep, absorbs groundwater – with dissolved nutrients – from the surrounding soil. The absorbed water is then transported upwards through the trunk and branches and finally to the fruit.

The fruit retains this water, stored in the cavity of the coconut. The accumulated water, with its rich nutrients, provides food to the developing endosperm (white flesh).

Therefore, coconut water is neither rainwater nor seawater stored inside, but carefully filtered and nutrient-rich clear liquid formed by the tree itself.

What is coconut water made of?

About 95% of coconut water is simply water, making it an excellent hydrating fluid.

The rest of the water is made up of various components, which are useful for us too.

Minerals (like sodium, potassium, magnesium and calcium) nourish human nerves and muscles; proteins (amino acids and enzymes) can help in metabolism in both the tree and humans; sugars (fructose and glucose) are responsible for the light sweetness and there are trace amounts of vitamins (vitamin C and B vitamins).

Read more:
Is coconut water good for you? We asked five experts

Coconut water levels

Many factors can influence the amount and quality of water in a coconut.

The age of the coconut is a critical determining factor. Immature, green coconuts (six to eight months) are usually full of water: between 300 millilitres and 1 litre. Mature coconuts (12 months and older) have low water levels as the liquid is partially absorbed by the endosperm.

High rainfall encourages greater accumulation of water, while drought conditions reduce the amount of water that can be transported to the fruit.

Healthy soils packed with minerals lead to high-quality and nutrient-rich coconut water. Poor or salty soils, lacking in minerals that can travel up the coconut tree to the fruit, will lead to low quality water.

Finally, unhealthy or diseased trees produce smaller-sized coconuts with little water.

Protecting coconuts

Coconut trees and coconut water are important to tropical economies across south-east Asia, the Pacific, and the Caribbean Sea territories, as well as the coastlines of central America and Africa.

Conserving the trees and their environment is therefore essential.

Sustainable farming practices, like soil management – including soil testing and organic composting – should be implemented to maintain the proper nutrient profile, which results in high-quality coconut water.

Read more:
The end of coconut water? The world’s trendiest nut is under threat of species collapse

Additionally, protecting freshwater aquifers from saltwater intrusion along coastlines where coconuts grow is crucial for preserving the quality of this refreshing fluid. Drip irrigation and mulching can help maintain soil moisture for the required coconut water production.

Pest and disease management techniques (like intercropping coconuts with bananas or legumes), as well as integrated pest management, can contribute to healthy trees that produce large coconuts with ample water.

Gaston Adoyo does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. How do coconuts get their water? – https://theconversation.com/how-do-coconuts-get-their-water-252673