JENDA: A JOURNAL OF CULTURE AND AFRICAN WOMEN STUDIES
ISSN: 1530-5686
Issue 9 (2006)
| JENDA: A JOURNAL OF CULTURE AND AFRICAN WOMEN STUDIES ISSN: 1530-5686 Issue 9 (2006) |
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SUPPORTING SISTER P: FEMINIST ALLIANCES IN CLASS-PREJUDICED JAMAICA |
“We were watching you on TV on Sunday night and we were wondering how come an intelligent person like you could be supporting Portia.”
-- University of the West Indies student (female).
The logic of class politics in Jamaica dictates that, as an academic, I would be “intelligent” enough to understand that the construct, “The Most Honourable Prime Minister, Portia Simpson-Miller,” is a contradiction in terms of the most basic sort. First of all, Sister P’s diction is contra to the language that many educated Jamaicans associate with high political office: Standard Jamaican English, especially of the ‘big words’ variety. Jamaican poet and cultural critic Louise Bennett satirises this high-flown diction in the poem, “Big Wuds” [“Big Words”]. The primary speaker in the poem mockingly warns her friend about the danger to her jaw posed by unfamiliar, polysyllabic words:
Jamaican
Missis mine yuh bruk you jaw-bone
All dem big wud yuh dah-sey
Bout “New Nation”, “Federation”,
“Delegation”.
Gal, go weh.
Wat a way yuh elevated!
Gal, is wha yuh chattin bout?
Nowadays is so-so big wud
Dah-fly outa fe yuh mout!1
English
Just be careful you don’t break your jaw
On all those big words you’re using
Talking about “New Nation”, “Federation”, “Delegation”.
Girl, get out of here!
You’re really high class!
Girl, what are you talking about?
These days it’s only big words
You’re spouting!
Though Sister P is unquestionably competent in English, as she demonstrated so eloquently on the occasion of her inauguration as Prime Minister, her mother tongue is Jamaican and she uses the language with natural grace. But, for many Jamaicans, competence in the mother tongue of the majority is not a sign of verbal agility. We have been socialised to associate the language with intellectual deficiency, social inferiority and even moral degeneracy. After all, Jamaican is a “bad” language. Furthermore, the language is not expected to perform any “important” social functions. It is the language of domestic intimacy; not official public discourse. Politicians on the campaign trail will use the language to elicit emotive responses from potential voters. But Jamaican is not the language of governance. It is not be used in Parliament, for example, except in circumstances of deliberate or accidental levity; or for heated verbal exchanges that would certainly lose their piquancy, if performed in English.
In addition, Sister P’s working-class, rural origins automatically exclude her from access to the elite club of politicians, of the Michael Manley stripe, for example, who have been socialised to privilege, however much they may choose to surrender this privilege at their own convenience. The act of surrender is itself confirmation of the power that privilege engenders. Conversely, Portia Simpson-Miller has had to struggle every step of the way to claim the right to the privilege and responsibility of high political office. Leadership of the People’s National Party is not perceived as her natural inheritance.
Given my own working-class origins, admittedly, ‘upper’ working class— my father was a self-employed tailor and my mother a primary school teacher, I readily identified with Sister P’s assertion of her right to fight for the job of President of the People’s National Party and, ultimately, Prime Minister of Jamaica. Furthermore, the raw classism of the political campaign of her closest rival for the PNP presidency, Dr. Peter Phillips, provoked a visceral response. Even middle-class Jamaicans, who might have ordinarily supported Phillips’ candidacy, were appalled by the vulgarity of his appeal to class snobbery. The disdainful slogan, “don’t take a chance,” signified the contempt with which Portia Simpson Miller’s candidacy was viewed by the Phillips camp. She was dismissed as an unequivocally bad risk. A taxi-driver, with whom I regularly do business, vividly summarised the collective unease in this way, “what a way dem a gwaan like a lotto!” [it’s amazing how they’re behaving as if it’s a lottery!]
I decided to bet on Sister P and willingly accepted the invitation to endorse her candidacy at the launch of her campaign for presidency of the PNP on November 6, 2005. As a representative of “academia,” I joined a number of other supporters from a variety of fields to take a chance on Sister P. The theme of her campaign was “the strength of a woman.” To illustrate this, I translated into Jamaican an African-American aetiological tale recorded in Zora Neale Hurston’s collection, Mules and Men, affirming Sister P’s command of that devilish female cunning which would ensure her victory. The television news broadcast of the launch omitted to include the third of the three keys to which I referred. So I wrote an account of my intervention that was published in the Sunday Gleaner on November 13, 2005, entitled “Portia’s Key Cards.” For this Jenda version I translate Hurston’s story into English.
‘What is the third key?’ So many people have been asking me that question all week I think I better tell the whole story. I’m not a card-carrying member of any political party in Jamaica. I vote, yes. But I am not a diehard anything. And I’m not accustomed to attending mass political rallies. When I stepped into the National Indoor Sports Centre last Sunday mi head grow. I knew this was history in the making.
I was honoured to have been invited to share the stage with Donald Quarrie, Sameer Younis and so many others who had come out to endorse the Hon. Portia Simpson Miller’s candidacy for leadership of the PNP and, even more important, leadership of the nation.
No matter what party you belong to—including Anthony B’s ‘Nah Vote Again’ Party—you must know in your heart of hearts that Jamaica is ready for a big-big change. Things can’t continue the way they going. And many of us believe is time we give a woman the chance to lead this country out of the seemingly bottomless pit of destruction in which we are trapped.
Not just any woman. Portia Simpson Miller: A woman of distinction, with a thirty-year track record of hard work and a long string of accomplishments to show for it:
You don’t know how it grieve mi when mi hear fool-fool people a she “But Portia kyaan represent wi a farin!” Is not even a question. Is a eedyat argument. Dem don’t know nothing bout di woman ability an her experience. Dem just prejudice. Is class prejudice an sex prejudice. She a no no Dr. Dis nor Dr. Dat like di man dem weh a run jostle her fi tun party leader. So she naa no sense. Is dyam facetyness an dyam foolishness. An wi fi stop it.
Look pon all George Bush. Im never one time lef America go a any other country before im tun president. Not even fi go a Canada. An mi never hear nobody a seh im naa no international experience so im kyaan represent im country a farin. Well im is a special case, so mek mi lef im.
[You can’t imagine how much it hurts me to hear silly people claiming that “Portia can’t represent us internationally.” It’s not even a question. It’s an idiotic statement. They know nothing about the woman’s abilities and experience. They are just prejudiced. It’s class prejudice and gender prejudice. She is not Dr. this or Dr. that like the men who are jostling her for the leadership of the party. So she has no sense. It’s nothing but contempt and stupidity. And we must stop it.
Just think about a man like George Bush. He never left the US even once to go to any other county before he became president. Not even Canada. And I’ve never heard anyone say that he doesn’t have international experience and so he can’t represent his country abroad. Well, he’s a special case, so let me drop it.]
Then you see how I had to draw gear and switch from English to Jamaican to get that off mi chest. We really are a bilingual country. But some things are best expressed in your heart language.
A recent island-wide survey conducted by the Jamaican Language Unit at the University of the West Indies, Mona, has found that 80% of the people interviewed believe that patwa (or Jamaican, as some of us say) is a bonafide language; 69% say it should be an official language; and 71% want bilingual schooling for their children.
According to the report published in the Gleaner on Wednesday, November 2, the majority of the respondents also said that “parliamentarians should deliver their speeches in Gordon House in the local dialect—patois—in order to communicate better with the public.” So Sister P gone clear [So Sister P is a clear winner]. She is fluent in both English and Jamaican.
So let me tell you the whole story about Portia’s three keys. It’s an African-American story and I’ve adapted it for our Jamaican situation. And I’m sorry for all those people who don’t know the Cassidy writing system for Jamaican. You are going to have to ask somebody to read it for you.
For almost five years I tried to teach the Cassidy orthography for Jamaican in my (W)uman Tong(ue) column. And some people couldn’t bother to learn. It was too ‘hard.’ I bet you anything your children can read it. It’s a phonetic system and much easier than it looks. By the way, I’m getting ready to publish a selection of these columns in a book. It’s long overdue.
Lang taim abak, man an uman chrang siem wie. Dem fos an fait bout uu fi di du dis an uu fi du dat. Bot dem de pon di siem levl. Nobadi no chranga dan nobadi.
Wan die di man ed tek im, an im se im a go go a Gad so beg im fi mek im chranga dan uman. Im waan mos an boun ar fi du we im se shi fi du. So Gad tel im aarait. Im gi im muor chrent.
Di man ron aal di wie fram hebn, im so waan go chrai out im chrent pan di puor uman. So im kech a yaad, im baal out, ‘Uman, yu baas kom. Gad se mi kyaa angl yu eniou mi pliiz. Mi a di baas.’
Di uman fait im aaf siem taim. An im biit ar. Shi kech op bak arself an wiil an kom agen. Siem ting. Chrii taim shi chrai fi difen arself. An im biit ar, an im biit ar an im biit ar. An im tel ar se, if shi do we im tel ar fi du, im naa go biit ar. Bot eniou shi ribel, im a go kil ar wid lik.
Di uman beks, shi beks, shi beks. Shi maach chriet op a hebn an waan kala Gad. Shi tel im se shi waan bak ar powa. Gad tel ar se shi av di siem powa we shi av fram lang taim.
So shi aks im, we mek di man kyan biit ar nou, an im kudn dwiit wan taim. Gad tel ar se, di man kom beg im fi muor chrent, an im gi im. Uu aks, a dem get. So di uman beg Gad fi gi ar di sed siem chrent we di man av. An Gad se im kyaan dwiit. We im gi we, im kyaa tek bak.
Long ago women and men had equal physical strength. They used to fuss and fight about who would do what. But they were perfectly matched. None was stronger than the other.
One day, all of a sudden, the man lost his senses and went to God to ask him to make man stronger than woman. He wanted to be able to rule the woman. So God said ‘fine’ and gave him more strength.
The man ran all the way home from heaven; he was so anxious to try out his newly found strength on the woman. As soon as got home he hollered, ‘Woman, your boss has come. God says I can handle you any way I please. I am the boss.’
The woman immediately put up resistance. And he beat her. She gathered up her strength and fought him again. The same thing happened. Three times she tried to defend herself. And he beat her every time. And then he told her that if she did as he dictated he wouldn’t beat her. But, if she rebelled, he would beat her into submission.
The woman became enraged. And she marched straight to heaven to confront God. She demanded back her power. And God told her that she now had exactly the same power as before.
So she asked him how come the man could beat her now and he couldn’t in the past. God let her know that the man had demanded more strength and he had given it to him. Who asks, receives. So the woman begged God to give her the same strength as the man. And God said he couldn’t do it. What he has given he can’t take back.
Di uman beks til shi nierli bos. An shi maach go dong a di debl an tel im wapn. Im tel ar se shi no fi kil op arself. Shi fi go bak a Gad an beg im fi gi ar di chrii kii we im gat saida im chruon. An wen shi get dem, shi fi kum bak an im wi tel ar we fi du wid dem.
So di uman go an Gad gi ar di kii dem. An lisn we di debl tel ar fi du. ‘Yu si dem kii ya? Dem gat muor powa dem aal a di man chrent. Dis fos big kii a fi di kichin. An yu nuo ou man lov dem beli. Dis neks kii a fi di bedruum; an yu nuo man a go beks if im kyaan go in de. An di laas kii a di kii fi di kriegl. Man waan nuo se im av pikni. So tek di kii dem an lak up evriting. An kip yu koni a yu beli. No bada chat out yu bizniz wen yu kech a yaad. Jos lak op evriting.’
Wen di man kom uom, di uman sit aaf pan varanda a sing, ‘It suun bi don, wid chroblz an chraialz, wen ai get uom pan di ada said.’ Wen di man fain out se di duor dem lak doun tait-tait, im swel op laik bulfrag. Im chrai brok dem doun, bot dem udn boj. Im chrent kudn elp im.
So ier im tu di uman, ‘Iz uu lak di duor dem?’
Shi tel im, ‘A mi.’
‘We yu get di kii dem?’
‘Gad gi mi.’
The woman was so angry she nearly burst a blood vessel. And she marched right down to the devil to tell him what had happened. He told her not to distress herself. She should go back to God and ask him to give her the three keys that he kept beside his throne. And when she got them she should come back to him and he would tell her how to use them.
So the woman went to God and he gave her the keys. So this is what the devil told her to do: ‘You see these keys? They have more power than all of the man’s strength. The first big key is for the kitchen. And you know how men love to eat. This next key is for the bedroom; and you know how upset the man will be if he can’t go in there. And the last key is for the cradle. A man wants to know that he has children. So take the keys and lock up everything. And keep your own counsel. Don’t let out your secret when you get home. Just lock up everything.’
When the man came home he found the woman sitting on the verandah singing, ‘Troubles and trials will soon be over when I get home on the other side.’ When the man discovered that all the doors were tightly locked he swelled up in anger. He tried brute force but the doors wouldn’t budge. His strength couldn’t help him.
So he turned to the woman and demanded, ‘Who locked the doors?’
She told him, ‘I did.’
‘Where did you get the keys?’
‘God gave them to me.’
So im ron bak op tu Gad fi komplien. An Gad se a im gi di uman di kii dem fi chruu. Bot a di debl shuo ar ou fi yuuz dem. So di man aks Gad if im kyaa gi im a set a kii. An Gad tel im se, ‘Naa, a no so it wok.’ Im kyaan gi im no kii. Im fi gu bak go wok it out wid di uman.
So wen im kech bak a yaad, ier uol maasa wid im jinal self, ‘Mek wi divaid op. Mi wi gi yu aaf a fi mi chrent, an yu mek mi huol aan pan di kii dem.’ Di uman shi a kansida an di debl jos kom tel ar fi main shaap shi no gi di man di kii dem. Im tel ar, ‘Mek im kip im chrent an yu kip yu kii.’ An a it mek man an uman ha fi giv an tek fi liv tugeda.
So Sista P gat di chrii kii. Di kii fi di kichin, so evri Jamiekan kyan put pat pan faiya. Shi gat di kii fi di bedruum, so aal a wi kyan get a gud nait sliip; an du wateva els wi waan du inna di bed. An shi gat di kii fi di kriegl. An unu nuo se di han dat rak di kriegl ruul di worl. A Portia taim nou! An if di man dem nuo wat aklak a straik, dem uda fala bak a Portia.
So he ran back to God to complain. And God confirmed that he had given the woman the keys. But it was the devil who showed her how to use them. So the man asked God if he could give him a set of keys. And God said, ‘No, that’s not how it works.’ He couldn’t give the man any keys. He had to go home and works things out with the woman.
So when he got back home he cunningly said to the woman, ‘Let’s divide things up. I’ll give you half of my strength and you must let me take control of the keys. The woman started to consider the proposition and the devil immediately appeared and told her to be quite careful and not give the man the keys. ‘Let him keep his strength and you keep your keys.’ And that is why man and woman have to give and take to live together.
So Sister P has the three keys. The key for the kitchen so that every Jamaican can find food to eat. She has the key for the bedroom so that all of us can get a good night’s sleep; and do whatever else we want to do in bed. And she has the key to the cradle. And, you know, the hand that rocks the cradle rules the world. It’s Portia’s time now! And if the men understood the urgency of this moment, they would follow Portia’s lead.
My next public contribution to the campaign was given at the Women’s Rally, held on the final Sunday before the election:
Sister P, women of Jamaica have come out today in full force to show the entire nation—and the whole world—our unconditional support of your candidacy to be leader of the People’s National Party. We want you to be elected as the first female Prime Minister of Jamaica. In the Caribbean, a woman from Dominica, Eugenia Charles, led the way. On the African continent, a woman from Liberia, Gladys Johnson-Sirleaf, has made the historic breakthrough to become the first leader of a modern African state. We know that women have long been warriors on that continent providing military and political leadership in the struggles of their people to resist domination and create humane societies. Our own Nanny of the Maroons is not a mythical creature. She is a historical figure of noble lineage.
Let us honour great women leaders of Africa.
Sister P, this is the epic context of your heroic struggle today—at the beginning of the twenty-first century—to be the first woman to take the helm of the ship of state in Jamaica and steer us into safe waters. Is more than time. Is high time. For too long women in political organizations in Jamaica—across political lines—have stayed in the background and in the trenches doing all the hard work and making the men look good. Yes, it is true that over the last seven decades a few women have stepped from behind the scenes and on to the main stage of representational politics. Let us honour our pioneering female politicians in Jamaica. They have made it possible for you, Sister P, to dare to bright-up yuself, to be Prime Minister:
Nuff thanks to Mrs Hermione Mckenzie, current President of the Association of Women’s Organisations of Jamaica (AWOJA) and a walking encyclopaedia on the history of the women’s movement in the Caribbean, for her help in reminding me these pioneers. And I know that AWOJA endorses the candidacy of the Hon. Portia Simpson Miller who has done so much to give institutional support to women’s organisations in Jamaica.
Sister P, Jamaican women have come together across lines of class, colour, age, sexual orientation and political affiliation to support your candidacy to be President of the PNP. We want a woman for prime minister. But not just any woman. Is you: the Honourable Portia Simpson Miller, a woman of destiny. An astute politician, with a thirty-year track record of hard work and a long history of undisputed accomplishments to show for it.
We are proud of you. You can speak for us at any international forum across the globe and to the furthest ends of the earth. Any en. From UN to fi-wi end.
Sister P, is a woman like you, Miss Lou, must have had in mind when she wrote “Jamaica Oman.” I dedicate this reading of Miss Lou’s poem to you. I know that it will strengthen you in the last days of this historic campaign for the transformation of Jamaica’s political landscape. Miss Lou’s words will empower you as you lead the Jamaican people on the path to full emancipation from the legacy of material impoverishment. We are rich in spirit, we are rich in creativity and I know that you will help to nurture all that is good in the Jamaican people:
Jamaica oman cunny, sah!
Is how dem jinnal so?
Look how long dem liberated
An de man dem never know!
Look how long Jamaica oman>
– Modder, sister, wife, sweetheart –
Outa road an eena yard deh pon
A dominate her part!
From Maroon Nanny teck her body
Bounce bullet back pon man,
To when nowadays gal-pickney tun
Spellin-bee champion.
From de grass root to de hill-top,
In profession, skill an trade,
Jamaica oman teck her time
Dah mount an meck de grade.
Some backa man a push, some side-a
Man a hole him han,
Some a lick sense eena man head,
Some a guide him pon him plan!
Neck an neck an foot an foot wid man
She buckle hole her own;
While man a call her ‘so-so rib’
Oman a tun backbone!
An long before Oman lib bruck out
Over foreign lan
Jamaica female wasa work
Her liberated plan!
Jamaica oman know she strong,
She know she tallawah,
But she no want her pickney-dem
Fi start call her ‘Puppa’.
So de cunny Jamma oman
Gwan like pants-suit is a style,
An Jamaica man no know she wear
De trousiz all de while!
So Jamaica oman coaxin
Fambly budget from explode
A so Jamaica man a sing
‘Oman a heaby load!’
But de cunny Jamma oman
Ban her belly, bite her tongue,
Ketch water, put pon fire
An jus dig her toe a grung
For ‘Oman luck deh a dungle’,
Some rooted more dan some.
But as long as fowl a scratch dungle heap
Oman luck mus come!
Lickle by lickle man start praise her,
Day by day de praise a grow;
So him praise her, so it sweet her,
For she wonder if him know.2
The Jamaican Woman
Jamaican women are so clever!
How is it that they are so cunning?
Just think how long they’ve been liberated
An the men didn’t even know!
Just think how long Jamaican women
– Mother, sister, wife, sweetheart –
In public and at home
Have been holding their own!
From the days when Maroon Nanny used her body
To deflect bullets on men,
To these days when girls have become
Spelling-bee champions.
From the grass roots to the highest heights,
In the professions, skilled labour and the trades,
Jamaican women have been patiently
Climbing and making the grade.
Some are behind men pushing, some beside
Men a holding their hand,
Some are beating sense into men,
Some are guiding him on his way!
Neck and neck and toe to toe
She’s holding her own with men;
While men are seeing her as ‘mere ribs’
The woman is really the backbone!
And long before the Woman’s lib movement
Exploded abroad
The Jamaica female was working out
Her emancipation plans!
The Jamaican woman knows she’s strong,
She knows she’s a stalwart,
But she doesn’t want her children
To start calling her ‘Papa’.
So the cunning Jamaican woman
Acts as if pants are just a fashion statement,
And the Jamaican man doesn’t know she’s wearing
The trousers all the while!
While the Jamaican woman is carefully planning
The family budget so that things don’t get out of hand
The Jamaican man is singing
‘Woman is a heavy burden!’
But the cunning Jamaican woman
Holds it in and bites her tongue,
She catches water, puts on the pot
And just digs her heel in
For ‘Woman’s fortune is on the dungle heap’,
For some buried deeper than for others.
But as long as the fowl roots around on the dungle heap
Woman’s luck will be unearthed!
Little by little the man starts to praise her,
Day by day the praise grows;
It pleases her that he praises her,And she wonders if he’s figured it out.
Sister P, the only obstacle in your path to full leadership of the PNP is one dege-dege [single] rock.3 Di rock claims to be solid. But we all know that just one little drip of water—tip, tip, tip, tip—can wear down the solidest rock. Even eye water. So what you just have to do is turn di [the] rock into a stepping stone. Just step up on the solid rock, climb over it and keep on climbing. An if di other lickle rock dem – weh no so solid – did have any sense dem woulda did folla backa you. A no Ph.D. a do it. A no M.D. A no law degree [And if the other small rocks that are not so solid had any sense they would join your team. It’s not a Ph.D. that’s going to do it. It’s not an M.D. It’s not a law degree]. A [it’s] common sense, knowledge, wisdom, understanding and experience. An yu have nuff a di whole a dat. So mek mi add on two more verse pon Miss Lou poem [And you have a lot of all of that. So let’s add on a couple more verses to Miss Lou’s poem]:
Look how long nuff uman delegate
Gwaan like dem no got no mout
Time fi umam show wi power
Time di man dem get vote out
So Sister P come show you motion
Time fi tek over Jamrock
Gi di doctor dem a lesson
Dem naa get over di shock
When di vote dem count pon Satday
An dem see yu really win
Dat a wen dem head gwine tek dem
An it naa go stop from spin
>Till dem humble up dem self an know seh
Dat di ongl rock we need ya
A di higher higher rock yeah
An di spirit a da rock deh inna Portia
[Just think how long so many female delegates
Have been pretending not to have a voice
It’s time for women to show our strength
It’s time to vote out the men
>So Sister P let us see what you can do
It’s time to take over Jamrock
Give the doctors a lesson4
They won’t get over the shock
When the votes are counted on Saturday
And they see that you’ve really won
That’s when they’re really going to lose it
And their heads won’t stop spinning
Until they humble themselves and admit
That the only rock we need here
Is the Higher Higher Rock, yeah
And the spirit of that rock is in Portia]
Though my two public speeches acknowledged the fact that there was a strong feminist agenda in Portia Simpson-Miller’s campaign to become President of the People’s National Party, I knew that class was an even more potent variable than gender in determining her success. Fortunately for her, the majority of delegates were themselves working class and voted, it would appear, along strict class lines. In response to the elitism of the Phillips’s campaign, which seemed to assert his right to rule based largely on his middle-class origins and his Ph.D., one of the most instructive declarations made by the Simpson-Miller camp was this: “Portia have her Ph.D. – Portia Have Delegates.” That’s the only Ph.D. she needed. In fact, many of the delegates wittily observed that they didn’t have a Ph.D.! The Phillips campaigners seemed to have completely ignored the social reality of the delegates to whom they were appealing. In essence, they were speaking to themselves.
Conversely, Sister P, affirming her working-class origins, was able to establish ties of kinship with the majority of the delegates, many of whom masqueraded as supporters of Dr. Phillips. In the spirit of the trickster, Anansi, these cunning delegates duplicitously accepted the doctor’s largesse, while, at the same time, reserving their loyalty and their votes for Sister P. In a sense, Hurston’s narrative of the feminine wiles of the woman with her three all-powerful keys can be read as a feminist version of the archetypal, gender-neutral tale of the underdog who must use brains instead of brawn to succeed. In the race between Dr. Phillips and Sister P, the mastermind turned out to be not the boastful Ph.D. It was the wily woman who had not forgotten her class origins.
1 Louise Bennett, Jamaica Labrish, Kingston: Sangster’s Book Stores Jamaica, 1966; rpt 1972, 164.
2 Louise Bennett, Selected Poems, Kingston: Sangster’s Book Stores Jamaica, 1982, 21-23.
3 The slogan for the Peter Phillips campaign was “solid as a rock.”
4 Portia’s three male rivals were a medical doctor and two Ph.Ds.
Citation Format:
Carolyn Cooper. “Supporting Sister P: Feminist Alliances in Class-prejudiced Jamaica” JENDA: A Journal of Culture and African Women Studies: Issue 9, 2006.
Copyright © 2006 Africa Resource Center, Inc.