Cea 3530

Cadernos de Estudos Africanos
37 | 2019
Working for better lives: Mobilities and trajectories
of young people in West and Central Africa
Edição electrónica
URL: https://journals.openedition.org/cea/3530
DOI: 10.4000/cea.3530
ISSN: 2182-7400
Editora
Centro de Estudos Internacionais
Edição impressa
Data de publição: 1 julho 2019
ISSN: 1645-3794
Refêrencia eletrónica
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people in West and Central Africa» [Online], posto online no dia 03 janeiro 2020, consultado o 17
novembro 2022. URL: https://journals.openedition.org/cea/3530; DOI: https://doi.org/10.4000/cea.
3530
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1
NOTA DA REDAÇÃO
After more than a decade of emphasizing African children’s and youth’s agencies,
possibilities and creativities in more or less challenging social, political and economic
environments (see Bordonaro & Carvalho, 2010; Christiansen, Utas, & Vigh, 2006;
Honwana & de Boeck, 2005; Martin, Ungruhe, & Häberlein, 2016; Spittler & Bourdillon,
2012), other recent studies increasingly highlight the young people’s powerlessness,
bleak presents and uncertain futures. Doing so, the image of an enduring social,
political and economic exclusion is manifested in popular conceptualizations of “being
stuck” (Sommers, 2012), “persistent marginalization” (Resnick & Thurlow, 2015) and
probably most prominently in Alcinda Honwana’s (2012) conceptualization of
“waithood” (see Dhillon & Yousef, 2009), all implicitly acknowledging the more than
twenty year old observation of Africa’s “lost generation” (Cruise O’Brien, 1996).
Seemingly affected by deficiencies of various kinds and hence often forced into all sorts
of problematic or dangerous engagements in order to – socially or literally – survive,
today’s young generation in African settings is widely portrayed to live lives “out of
place” (see Invernizzi, Liebel, Milne, & Budde, 2017) and outside social norms. It is this
shift back to conceptualizations of children and youth as social problem that this
special dossier aims to scrutinize and to challenge.
Cadernos de Estudos Africanos, 37 | 2019

2
SUMÁRIO
Dossier
Introduction: Young people working for better lives in West and Central Africa
Christian Ungruhe, Ute Röschenthaler e Mamadou Diawara
Boko Haram Insurgency, Youth Mobility and Better Life in the Far North Region of
Cameroon
Isaiah Kunock Afu
Beyond Agency’s Limits. “Street Children’s” Mobilities in Southern Ghana

Christian Ungruhe
Dead End? Young Mototaxi Drivers Between Being Stuck, Bridging Potholes and Building a
Future in Goma, Eastern Congo
Silke Oldenburg
Le Parcours Professionnel des Jeunes au Mali vers l’Auto-entrepreneuriat

Youssouf Karambé
Le Non-retour des Étudiants Boursiers : Un cas inédit de l’immigration malienne en France

Fodié Tandjigora
« Rester c’est Vivre, Partir c’est Mourir ». Le regard des érudits bamiléké sur la migration
des jeunes et ses causes aujourd’hui
Moris Samen
Unfulfilled Expectations for Making a Better Life: Young Malian men coping with their post
deportation adventures
Susanne U. Schultz
Articles
Reflexões sobre o Modelo de Desenvolvimento Rural e Cooperação no Corredor de Nacala

Natacha Bruna
From Peripatetic Anthropology to the Ethnography of Roads and Motorisation in Africa

Gerard Horta
Book reviews
Augustin Ramazani-Bishwende, Le Kivu Balkanisé. Miroir d’une Mondialisation

Mafieuse. Paris: L’Harmattan. 2017. 58 pp. ISBN: 9782-2-343-11796-6
Carlos Alberto Tello
Review of the book Of hairy kings and saintly slaves: An Ethiopian travelogue, by M. J.
Ramos Kaian Lam

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Dossier
Dossiê temático

4
Introduction: Young people working

for better lives in West and Central
Africa
Christian Ungruhe, Ute Röschenthaler and Mamadou Diawara
1 After more than a decade of emphasizing African children’s and youth’s agencies,
possibilities and creativities in more or less challenging social, political and economic
environments (see Bordonaro & Carvalho, 2010; Christiansen, Utas, & Vigh, 2006;
Honwana & de Boeck, 2005; Martin, Ungruhe, & Häberlein, 2016; Spittler & Bourdillon,
2012), other recent studies increasingly highlight the young people’s powerlessness,
bleak presents and uncertain futures. Doing so, the image of an enduring social,
political and economic exclusion is manifested in popular conceptualizations of “being
stuck” (Sommers, 2012), “persistent marginalization” (Resnick & Thurlow, 2015) and
probably most prominently in Alcinda Honwana’s (2012) conceptualization of
“waithood” (see Dhillon & Yousef, 2009), all implicitly acknowledging the more than
twenty year old observation of Africa’s “lost generation” (Cruise O’Brien, 1996).
Seemingly affected by deficiencies of various kinds and hence often forced into all sorts
of problematic or dangerous engagements in order to – socially or literally – survive,
today’s young generation in African settings is widely portrayed to live lives “out of
place” (see Invernizzi, Liebel, Milne, & Budde, 2017) and outside social norms. It is this
shift back to conceptualizations of children and youth as social problem that this
special dossier aims to scrutinize and to challenge.
2 In particular, its contributions emphasize the modes, practices and meanings of work
and mobility and critically engage with often problematized (yet one-dimensionally
approached) “out-of-place” life worlds of children and youth in West and Central
African settings. Work may imply various motives, shapes and results, e.g. while it may
be a necessary means to contribute to the family’s economy, to meet basic daily needs
and secure a better future, it often comes with challenges, exploitation and hardships.
While acknowledging this multitude, we aim at going beyond a debate of the pros and
cons of young people’s participation in work. Recognising important studies that have
criticized the widespread Western ideology of a work-free childhood (Abebe & Bessel,

5
2011; Spittler & Bourdillon, 2012), we rather ask how children and youth seek social,
cultural, political and economic participation and mobility through work (see Ungruhe,
2018).
3 The Western ideology of a work-free period of childhood and youth often goes along
with the claim for a protected life phase and that it is best for minors to grow up under
parental care and guidance until they have come of age (Hashim & Thorsen, 2011). In
many African societies, however, it is not unusual that youngsters spend (parts of) their
childhood and youth in other social environments, away from one’s nuclear family.
This mobility often forms the basis of their training, education and competence
acquisition to become responsible adults (Alber, 2011; Mahati, 2012; Ungruhe, 2014).
This widespread practice does not only point to divergent cultural concepts of
childhood and youth between African and Western societies (including international
organizations), but also to divergent norms of how coming of age and social
responsibility are achieved. This observation should, however, not reproduce
conceptualizations of young people’s life phases in African settings as fundamentally
different from their European or American counterparts. Rather, it acknowledges that
concepts and norms of how childhood and youth are understood are closely
interrelated with the specific social situations and historical contexts in which they
have emerged in different times and locations. Hence, focussing on the various
particular insights provides us with a key to understand the situation of African
children and youth and the role of training, work and mobility connected to these life
phases.
4 Doing so, this special dossier intends to examine both the predicaments and
possibilities of children and youth in sub-Saharan African countries from their own
perspectives in times of seemingly widespread uncertainty and alleged marginalization
and exclusion. By shedding light on the backgrounds, motives and implications of
leaving home to train, work and make a living the various contributions highlight the
particularities and complexities of young people’s (working) life worlds in the realm of
spatial and social mobilities. To what extent are poverty, conflict and lack of
opportunities prevailing factors that would indeed acknowledge the observation of a
marginalized generation? What other factors are at play and how important are these?
How do young people experience and articulate their situations framed by work and
mobility? How do they perceive their perspectives for a meaningful future, be it at
home, in a village, a town or city, or abroad? What are their hopes, desires and
activities, and how do these relate to the expectations of their respective families and
societies?
5 By ethnographic fieldwork and actor-centred approaches the contributions examine
the practices of children and youth and the ways in which they enlarge their
knowledge and life experience and shape their futures. Far from romanticizing young
people’s life worlds, the authors also consider the detrimental aspects such as anxiety,
stress, exploitation and expulsion that some of them experience and which hinder their
development and the realization of their hopes for a better future. Doing so, they
acknowledge that being young in Africa means more than either deficit, innocence or
heroic struggle, popular conceptualizations that tend to reproduce Africa’s otherness
(Abebe & Ofosu-Kusi, 2016). Rather, they show how children and youth act and are
being acted upon in social environments that are both partly shaped by actors like

6
those young people, yet, also embedded in broader, complex and intertwining social,
cultural, economic and political settings of power.
6 In the first article following this introduction, Isaiah Afu illustrates some of the
alarming experiences of mobile young people in contexts of violence. The region of
northern Cameroon experienced severe conditions of violence when Boko Haram began
to disseminate terror in many rural areas close to the Nigerian border. Afu collected
the stories of young people who managed to escape from villages that have been
attacked and destroyed by Boko Haram and arrived in regional towns where they hope
to find an opportunity to learn a trade and pursue a better future. He shows how these
hopes may or may not materialize among them and how working for better lives are
directed to questions of the possibilities of settling in a new place versus the dream of
returning home.
7 The following two contributions emphasize the life worlds and mobilities of young
people living and working under challenging conditions characterized by “street life”
and violent conflict. Rather than depicting youth merely as victims, their research
sheds light on the linkages of young people’s agentive moving and social becoming.
Based on fieldwork in southern Ghana, Christian Ungruhe engages with the social,
spatial and temporal mobilities of “street children” who frequently move between the
various domains of socialisation, such as their peer group and work sites in the street
and their family at home. By engaging with their biographical life stories, he sheds
light on both the possibilities and challenges of “street life”. Doing so, he shows that
their ability to act is not limited in scope as it has often been suggested by studies
which ascribe lower degrees of agency to “street children”. Rather, he argues, “street
children’s” life worlds are shaped and actively produced by their various mobilities. By
shifting the focus from (limited) agency to mobilities, Ungruhe moves beyond the
reproduction of the dominating image of “street childhood” as a bounded and
primarily problematic life phase.
8 Silke Oldenburg has worked with young moto taxi drivers (motards) who are a pervasive
phenomenon on Goma’s streets in eastern Congo (Democratic Republic of the Congo).
Their emergence and proliferation are closely linked to both the context of the
protracted violent conflict in eastern Congo and the liberalization of the economy and
niches of private trade. Oldenburg highlights the nexus of physical and social
mobilities, street-wisdom and solidarity in their trajectories that go beyond concepts of
“being stuck”. Hereby, she shows that being young in the city does not necessarily lead
into “abject futures” or condemn youth to endless “waithood” resulting in “social
death” as many other studies have observed. While many of the young men in her
study have fled from rural backgrounds to the town and managed to get into this
indispensable means of public transport on Goma’s streets they actively work towards a
better future for themselves. While street-wisdom when they roam the terrain and the
solidarity among the motards are important features to achieve their aim, Oldenburg
shows how their everyday physical mobility contributes to achieve a social one:
reaching the sphere of social adulthood.
9 Thereafter, the chapters by Youssouf Karambé and Fodié Tandjigora depict the
situation of young people who come from middle class families in Mali and have
completed their studies in the higher education sector. They illustrate the difficulties
of finding secure employment opportunities in the public sector which have become
scarce due to the measures of Structural Adjustment Programs and cuts in the public

7
administration that Mali’s government implemented in the 1980s. Karambé researched

the different ways in which young diploma holders have begun to reorient themselves
into exploring the condition of débrouillardise and self-employed small-scale ventures.
He compares such entrepreneurial activity of young people in three regions of Mali:
Bamako, San, and Bandiagara. To the extent that these young people succeed, they
begin to serve as role models for other young people. Karambé observes a gradual
change in the expectations of young Malians who no longer count on the state and
orient themselves more and more to self-employment as a pathway to achieve a higher
social and economic status.
10 Tandjigora looks at students who have received fellowships from the Malian state that
enabled them to study highly valued academic subjects in France such as engineering
and other technologies. The Malian state expects them to return after completion of
their studies and serve the nation. Many of them, however, fear unemployment on
their return and, encouraged by their families that hope to economically partake in
their lives abroad, remain in France. While they receive attractive job offers from
French companies this does not contribute to change the perception and increase the
social status of Malian immigrants in the country more generally. Further, Tandjigora
reveals a paradoxical situation in which the Malian state invests in expensive
fellowships that finally serve the economy of a European state. While staying abroad
often offers indeed better lives for these young people and contributes to their
individual social mobility, it points to problematic questions and consequences on a
broader social and economic level.
11 The two concluding contributions consider the social background and the expectations
of the societies from which the young people have moved away or wish to migrate.
Moris Samen studies the notions behind the massive out-migration of youth from the
Cameroon Grassfields and elaborates on the paradox of a dynamic expressed in the
local dictum that staying at home is equivalent to being alive and living a good life
whereas leaving that homeland means crisis and alienation from this good life. Samen
examines the perspectives of people in the Grassfields to explain why nevertheless so
many young people decide to leave their homeland often at all costs and want to live
and work somewhere else under often complicated conditions. By showing the socio-
cultural tensions that young people are confronted with when deciding to migrate,
Samen adds an important perspective to youth migration beyond a sole image of an
economic and social necessity.
12 Susanne Schultz examines the unfulfilled expectations of young Malian men, who
sought to make a better life through adventure on their way to Europe, but were
forcefully returned home. Based on research in rural southern Mali, she studies how
they are received by their families, peers and communities and sheds light on the
difficulties that this situation provides for them. While, at first sight, their feelings and
fears related to their return seemingly throw them back into a potential “waithood”
which might prevent them from gaining the status and responsibilities of social
adulthood, the young deportees embark on various alternatives in order to hold on to
the hope of a better future. However, and despite their previous experiences, many
seem to be keen to embark on a migration again. Yet, while most of them find it
difficult to materialize their aspirations, some are indeed able to achieve better lives in
the local rural setting in Mali.

8
13 By engaging with different young people’s life worlds in various African settings this
special dossier aims at shedding light on the particularities, commonalities and
complexities of young working lives and mobilities. Foregrounding their own
perspectives, the contributions aim to draw a more nuanced picture of their hopes,
practices and difficulties to fulfill them beyond popular conceptualizations of
children’s and youth’s sheer marginalization and exclusion in Africa. Centralizing
young people of various ages and from various social, cultural and economic
backgrounds, the contributions do not follow a biological or legal definition of this
group. Rather, they define children and youth as people with varying degrees of social,
cultural, political and economic dependency, rights, responsibilities and knowledge and
“whose access to resources, whose experiences, representations, practices and
objectives relate to their specific positioning and self-ascertainment within (different
and sometimes overlapping) social orders” (Martin, Ungruhe & Häberlein, 2016, p. 3).
Hereby, we aim to take into account both the specific and general features of young
people’s working life worlds in Africa that may allow for comparison and identifying
communalities and hopefully inspire further debates around the topic of children and
youth working for better lives.
14 The set of papers consists of four articles in English and three in French language. It is
based on the authors’ participation in two workshops organized by Ute Röschenthaler
and Mamadou Diawara: The first one, “Youth, migration and labour in sub-Saharan
Africa”, was held in Bamako in March 2016 in the framework of the Programme Point
Sud, funded by the German Research Council. It was followed by a panel on “Youth,
work and making a living in sub-Saharan cities” at the European Conference of African
Studies (ECAS) of the Africa-Europe Group for Interdisciplinary Studies (AEGIS) in Basel
in June 2017. We are grateful to the respective institutions to support and facilitate the
workshops and making this special issue possible. We would also like to thank Clara
Paquet and Janine Murphy for their copyediting of the French and English manuscripts
as well as the anonymous reviewers for their valued contributions.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Abebe, T., & Bessell, S. (2011). Dominant discourses, debates and silences on child labour in Africa
and Asia. Third World Quarterly, 32(4), 765-786.
Abebe, T., & Ofosu-Kusi, Y. (2016). Beyond pluralizing African childhoods: Introduction. Childhood,
23(3), 303-316.
Alber, E. (2011). Child trafficking in West Africa? In A.M. González, L. DeRose, & F. Oloo (Eds.),
Frontiers of globalization: Kinship and family structures in Africa (pp. 71-92). Trenton: Africa World
Press.
Bordonaro, L., & Carvalho, C. (Eds.). (2010). Special Issue: Youth and Modernity in Africa, Cadernos
de Estudos Africanos, 18-19.

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Christiansen, C., Utas, M., & Vigh, H. E. (Eds.). (2006). Navigating youth, generating adulthood. Social
becoming in an African context. Uppsala: Nordiska Afrikainstitutet.
Cruise O’Brien, D. B. (1996). A lost generation? Youth identity and state decay in West Africa. In R.
Werbner, & T. Ranger (Eds.), Postcolonial identities in Africa (pp. 55-74). London & New Jersey: Zed
Books.
Dhillon, N., & Yousef, T. (Eds.). (2009). Generation in waiting: The unfulfilled promise of young people in
the Middle East. Washington: Brookings Institution Press.
Hashim, I., & Thorsen, D. (2011). Child migration in Africa. London & New York: Zed Books.
Honwana, A., & de Boeck, F. (Eds.). (2005). Makers and breakers. Children and youth in postcolonial
Africa. Oxford: James Currey.
Honwana, A. (2012). The time of youth. Work, social change, and politics in Africa. Sterling: Kumarian
Press.
Invernizzi, A., Liebel, M., Milne, B., & Budde, R. (Eds.). (2017). ‘Children out of place’ and human
rights. In memory of Judith Ennew. Cham: Springer International.
Mahati, S. T. (2012). Children learning life skills through work: Evidence from the lives of
unaccompanied migrant children in a South African border town. In G. Spittler, & M. Bourdillon
(Eds.), African children at work. Working and learning in growing up for life (pp. 249-277). Münster: Lit.
Martin, J., Ungruhe, C., & Häberlein T. (2016). Young future Africa – Images, imagination and its
making: An introduction. AnthropoChildren, 6, pp. 1-18.
Resnick, D., & Thurlow, J. (Eds.). (2015). African youth and the persistence of marginalization:
Employment, politics and prospects for change. London & New York: Routledge.
Sommers, M. (2012). Stuck: Rwandan youth and the struggle for adulthood. Athens: University of
Georgia Press.
Spittler, G., & Bourdillon, M. (Eds.). (2012). African children at work. Working and learning in growing
up for life. Münster: Lit.
Ungruhe, C. (2014). Migration, marriage and modernity: Motives, impacts and negotiations of
rural-urban circulation amongst young women in northern Ghana. In M. Abdalla, D. Dias Barros,
& M. Berthet (Eds.), Spaces in movement. New perspectives on migration in African settings (pp.
105-125). Köln: Rüdiger Köppe.
Ungruhe, C. (2018). Lasten tragen, Moderne befördern. Wanderarbeit, Jugend, Erwachsenwerden und ihre
geschlechtsspezifischen Differenzierungen in Ghana. Münster: Lit.
AUTHORS
CHRISTIAN UNGRUHE
Erasmus University Rotterdam
ungruhe@eshcc.eur.nl
UTE RÖSCHENTHALER
Johannes Gutenberg University Mainz
roeschen@uni-mainz.de

10
MAMADOU DIAWARA
Goethe University Frankfurt
m.diawara@em.uni-frankfurt.de

11
Boko Haram Insurgency, Youth

Mobility and Better Life in the Far
North Region of Cameroon
Insurreição do Boko Haram, mobilidade juvenil e vida melhor na região do
extremo norte dos Camarões
Isaiah Kunock Afu
EDITOR'S NOTE
Recebido: 29 de julho de 2018
Aceite: 22 de abril de 2019
1 Insurgent groups are not a new phenomenon in some parts of Africa, as the examples of
Al Shabab in Somalia (Ekwueme & Obayi, 2012) and the National Movement for the
Liberation of the Azawad in the north of Mali (Mwangi et al., 2014) indicate. It is,
however, relatively recent in Cameroon, notably in the Far North Region where the
local population suffers from violent acts from Boko Haram, an insurgent Islamist
group originating from neighbouring northern Nigeria. This group frequently targets
citizens in their homes and in public spaces such as markets, bus stations, and places of
worship with shootings, suicide bombings, abductions, and burning houses and
property (Ekwueme & Obayi, 2012).
2 Between 2009 and 2012, the Boko Haram incursions into Cameroon were isolated and
sporadic in many localities and limited to aggression, looting of shops, theft of cattle,
small ruminants, food stuffs and burning equipment and tools that are difficult to
transport (PAM Cameroun, 2014, p. 2). From 2013, the group became more actively
involved in abductions, assaults, arms, drugs and vehicle trafficking. This is how the
Far North Region became deeply affected by terrorism. The year 2014 marked one of
the most catastrophic years, with almost a hundred registered attacks which resulted
in deaths, injuries and enormous material damage (PAM Cameroun, 2014, p. 2). In early

12
January of 2015, more than 80 people were kidnapped (IRIN News, 2015). As a direct
impact of this human loss and the first-hand witnessing of some of these horrific acts,
many people were forced to flee from their homes.
3 Following the declaration of war on Boko Haram by the President of Cameroon at the
security summit in France, in 2014, the violence took a different twist with escalation
resulting in the destruction of villages and large displacements of people. Human
survival and coping mechanisms built around trade and agriculture were ruptured by
the significant increase in the quantitative and qualitative nature of the violence. The
increase in frequency and unpredictability, together with the employment of
unconventional war tactics such as suicide bombing on soft targets like markets,
churches, mosques and schools further degenerated the situation. A significant
consequence of this rupture was a breakdown in the cross-border trade in the affected
villages boarding Nigeria as the government shut down markets and international
border crossings out of fear of insurgent infiltration. This breakdown in trade posed
serious economic implications on a region that derives more than 60% of its income
from trans-border trade with Nigeria and Chad according to the Ministry of Agriculture
and Rural Development (MINADER) (IRIN News, 2015). An estimated 70% of farmers in
the Far North’s three most affected divisions, Mayo-Sava, Mayo-Tsanaga, and Logone
and Chari deserted their farms, and many have missed out on key farming activities
over the course of six months in 2015, such as timely planting (IRIN News, 2015). The
prices of other basic commodities, such as corn, sorghum and petrol, rose by 20 to 80
percent from March 2014, according to MINADER. Fleeing this conflict has also taken a
serious toll on schooling and formal education as most youth find it difficult to go back
to school because of the direct threat on the lives of teachers and students.
4 The upsurge in Boko Haram’s assault in Cameroon’s Far North Region has resulted in
the flight and internal displacements of large parts of the local population including
the tens of thousands of Nigerian refugees taking refuge in the Minawao refugee camp
within the Far North Region of Cameroon fleeing from Boko Haram’s operations in
their home country. Youth constitute an important part of this affected group. While
poverty, unemployment, limited educational infrastructure and the search for better
livelihood opportunities have always been a strong driving force behind youth spatial
mobility in Cameroon’s Far North Region (Schrieder & Knerr, 2000), the outbreak of
violence due to the presence of Boko Haram marks a new twist. With the
unprecedented wave of violence, increasing numbers of young people have been forced
to move from their places of origin with fierce fighting to seek safer sanctuary in other
parts of the same Far North Region, which has resulted in a high number of internally
displaced youths facing problematic livelihoods and increasingly uncertain futures.
5 The question of how do young people navigate their displacements and lives’ uncertain
further trajectories is at the heart of this study. It also explores the integration
dynamics in their new environments and how movement is geared towards attaining a
better life. Would these youths prefer to go back home when the insecurity is over and
calm finally returns or has Boko Haram’s presence even caused upward social
mobilities among displaced youth who prefer to stay in their new environments and
work towards a better life? The study thus comprises an analysis of the impact of the
Boko Haram insurgency on the mobility of youth in Cameroon’s Far North Region. To
answer the above questions, research was conducted in selected settlements in Maroua,
Mokolo and Mora. These sites were chosen for their high concentration of internally

13
displaced persons fleeing Boko Haram attacks, with youth being the main target.
Interviews were conducted with 12 displaced young people aged 15 to 32 in December
2015. Informants were selected using a snowball sampling technique with the help of
two research assistants, doctoral students teaching at the University of Maroua, who
also served as facilitators when the language was a barrier. Additionally, the
interviewed youths were observed during their different daily activities in their new
environments.
6 This article portrays how youth struggle for a better life amidst forced mobility caused
by Boko Haram. It first presents the origin and regionalisation of Boko Haram, followed
by the concept of youth, an exploration of the evolution of mobility trends and the
search for better life in Cameroon. It then proceeds to narrations of escape experiences
and places of destination of mobile youths and sheds light on better life, mobility
pathways and integration dynamics in their new environments.
Origin and regionalisation of Boko Haram

7 Boko Haram is an indigenous northern Nigerian Islamist militant group founded by
Muhammad Yusuf in the early 1990s, and is committed to the propagation of Islam but
more significantly to their fight against Western education which it views as a strategy
to achieve hegemony and disrupt Islamic pietistic morale (Wahhabi scholars as cited by
DIIS, 2015). In the Nigerian media, the group became known by a series of nicknames,
such as Yusufiyya, Taliban and finally, Boko Haram (Ramzi, 2011). Boko Haram, among
others, emerged from the fragmentation of the largest northern Nigerian reform
movement, the Yan Izala. This movement was established in 1978 by Ismailia Idris.
Incited by differences, it provoked disputes in ideology and theological argumentations
amidst its Muslim opponents (Loimeier, 2012). The Yan Izala fought against many
features of northern Nigerian society, rejecting all manifestations of allegedly un-
Islamic characteristics including social customs like paying the bride wealth, extensive
mourning and supererogatory prayers – often in the context of Sufi rituals, but also
advocated for substantial reforms like the establishing of modern Islamic schools and
political mobilisation of women (Loimeier, 2012). Ja’far Mahmud Adam, an ardent
follower of the Izala movement, had many students, one of which was Muhammad
Yusuf who later split from him to form his own group in the early 1990s, ahl al-sunna
wa-l-jama’a wa-l-hijra, which can be liberally translated as “the people of the Sunna [of
the prophet] and the community [of Muslims] as well as [those who accept the
obligation] to emigrate [from the land of unbelievers, i.e., the Nigerian state]”
(Loimeier, 2012). In contrast to the Yan Izala movement, Boko Haram totally rejects
Western education as well as the modern Islamic schools of the Izala movement. After
the death of Muhammad Yusuf in 2009, the group adopted a new name, jama’at al-sunna
li-l-da’wa wa-l-jihad ‘alaminhaj al salaf, translated as “the community of the Sunna who
fight for the cause [of Islam] by means of jihad according to the method of the Salaf” 1,
thus signalling a corresponding shift in the group’s programme and a distinct
radicalization from their former position of advocating for emigration to advocating
jihad, defined as an armed struggle against the enemies of Islam (Loimeier, 2012). Boko
Haram has become very notorious in recent years and its activities have also been
reported in other neighbouring countries like Cameroon, Niger and Chad. Since 2009,
the group has been unleashing mayhem against north-eastern Nigeria (Ekwueme &

14
Obayi, 2012) and, by 2014, Boko Haram became stronger than ever and extended its
area of operation in Cameroon’s Far North Region (Zenn, 2018) with shootings,
bombings, kidnappings, looting, and massive destruction of property. Beginning in
2015, the Far North Region became a major target for their attacks especially the Mayo
Sava and Mayo Tsanaga divisions where the group carried out several abductions of
Cameroonian and foreign nationals. Although some have since been successfully
retaken, others remain in captivity. Since May 2015, Boko Haram beefed up its
gruesome attacks on Cameroonian soil resulting in soldier as well as civilian deaths.
Attacks on Cameroonian villages that border north-eastern Nigeria have resulted in the
displacement of more than 190,000 persons dispersed within the Far North Region
(IOM/DTM, 2016).
8 The spread of Boko Haram’s attacks to Cameroon, Niger and Chad regionalised a crisis
that was originally restricted to Nigeria. The efforts to contain the group by force by
these affected countries have seemingly given it more strength, vigour and popularity.
The group is now recognised internationally as a terrorist organisation. The spread of
Boko Haram to Cameroon was catalysed by a number of factors. The porous nature of
the border area with Nigeria facilitated their back and forth movement to Cameroon,
with the country sometimes serving as a base for recruitment, strategic planning,
training and a hideout. This situation was further compromised by the region’s
poverty-stricken condition with a lack of socio-economic, road and infrastructural
development resulting from the government’s failure to address these needs. Coupled
with the region’s high levels of illiteracy and youth unemployment and its semi-arid,
unfriendly environment, it was not difficult for Boko Haram to infiltrate the area using
radical Islam sermons and the promise of a Caliphate where justice and equity could
reign and replace the present order of corruption and bad governance.
9 Many unemployed youths, especially males, join the ranks of Boko Haram in the hope
of achieving upward economic and social status. According to the DIIS Report of 2015,
Boko Haram seems to easily recruit the young and destitute by offering them money,
jobs, security and networks. And also by addressing their profound grievances related
to failed governance, corruption and the absence of the possibility to have future
aspirations in a region laden with underdevelopment and poverty. Moreover, ideas of
masculinity and “how to be a man” played a significant role in their recruitment, as
expressed in the following quote from Nagarajan (2015) cited by DIIS Report:
Boys and young men are pressured to join groups by threats to their families and
incentivised by cash. Such pressure is difficult to resist. In northern Nigeria, gender
norms and ideas of how to be a man oblige men to provide “bride price” 2 and be the
family breadwinner. Faced with these responsibilities and high rates of
unemployment, joining Boko Haram can offer livelihood opportunities. This is
especially so, when manhood is synonymous with aggression and power. Add to
these ideas the notion of a man’s responsibility to defend the community, whether
from the encroachment of Western ideas or from the abductions and killing by
Boko Haram (DIIS Report 2015, p. 24).
10 Although Boko Haram is widely considered a nuisance, it tends to attract some youths
because it offers them a kind of stability through commerce, marriage, social services,
identity and belonging in a region that seems to have been abandoned by the state. This
may also suggest why Onyemachi (2010) explains that the lack of resources such as
opportunity for employment may lead to youth criminality. Others, however, became

15
victims of Boko Haram or, when they were luckier, managed to escape and turn this
existential situation into a springboard to a better life.
Concept of youth, evolution of mobility trends and the

search for better life in Cameroon
11 In this section, I will proceed with the concept of youth, followed by the evolution of
mobility trends and the search for better life in Cameroon.
The concept of youth
12 Although many anthropological and psychological studies have coined the concept of
youth as a developmental stage (Eisenstadt, 1964; Erikson, 1965; Fortes, 1984; Turner,
1967), the transition from childhood and adulthood is not fixed and stable
(Christiansen, Utas, & Vigh, 2006), and this period of transition between childhood and
adulthood has recently been described as “waithood” (Honwana, 2012) to address
young people’s struggle to achieve social mobility.
13 Youth is not just a biological expression that is restricted to a specific age group but
differs according to the socio-cultural context and time. This may suggest why to call
somebody a youth according Durham (2004) is to position the person in terms of a
variety of social attributes including not just age but also independence, authority,
rights, attributes, knowledge, responsibilities and so on. In Cameroon, the term youth
is constantly negotiated and adapted to the context, with unemployment signalling a
confirmation of their status as the lost generation despite the rhetoric flourished in
official discourse that refers to them as the leaders of tomorrow (Jua, 2003).
Characterised by high numbers of very energetic but unemployed young people that
lack particular or definite means of livelihood, youth are ready to fit into any available
mould of work or opportunity to make a living. This assertion is confirmed by Waage
(2006) who, while studying youth in Ngoundere (Adamawa region of Cameroon),
frequently got the response of “je me débrouille”, liberally translated as I am pushing,
coping, managing, or figuring it out. According to Waage, this phrase is commonly used
by young people when they give explanation as to how they deal with unforeseen and
everyday life situations and challenges in Ngaoundere and in the rest of Cameroon.
Young people usually voice the expression with a smile that highlights the significance
of young adult in contemporary Cameroon of the qualities of resilience, flexibility,
creativity and sociability as essential for coping with challenging demands. This
indicates youth ingenuousness to new suggestions and possibilities for a better life in
the midst of crisis. The lives and the future of young people today, in contrast to their
grandparents, is characterised by a high degree of insecurity and unpredictability.
Bourdieu (1998), in the same manner, affirmed that the future is uncertain for young
people. In this uncertain or unpredictable environment, Jua (2003) stated that
Cameroonian youth perceive themselves as the “unlimited” generation as they act in
response by mapping out new biographical trajectories. Boko Haram insurgency has
made it difficult for youth to set their lives along prescribed and desired life
trajectories. In order to attend their goals mobility stands out as the most desirable yet
the most difficult to attain.

16
Evolution of mobility trends and the search for better life in

Cameroon
14 As in many parts of Africa, mobility is not a new phenomenon in Cameroon. Rather, the
country has an extended history of mobility both within and across its national borders
(Mberu & Pongou, 2016). While economic prosperity, security and better life have
always been key determinants of mobility, there have, at the same time, been instances
of involuntary mobility engendered by domestic and transatlantic slave trade as well as
the colonial practice of forced labour (Röschenthaler, 2006). Since the pre-colonial
period, participation in trade networks as well as pastoral mobility have characterised
the lives of several of its people (Boutrais, 1995/96; Warnier, 1993). Internal mobility in
different directions during pre-colonial times was mainly driven by the desire to
establish new settlements, to escape warfare, invasions, Islamization or enslavement
(Adepoju, 2008). Subsequently, the colonial plantations established in the colonial
period attracted a large labour force mostly from the country’s populous highlands of
the Grassfields region (Ardener et al., 1960). Concurrently, rural to urban migration has
become a consistent practice which today is gaining more momentum in a chain of
movements from villages to towns to cities and abroad (Pelican, 2013).
15 Mobility towards the urban areas continued after independence. Infrastructure,
education and employment opportunities as well as better health facilities made the
towns and cities especially attractive for young Cameroonians from rural areas.
Additionally, the economic crisis of the 1980s pushed young people to migrate in search
of a better life. With a high intra-national mobility index estimated at 32.5%, the
country has one of the highest rates of internal migration in Central Africa with over
90% of migrants below the age of 35 (Mberu & Pongou, 2016; Schrieder & Knerr, 2000).
Because of the uneven distribution of economic and educational opportunities, the flow
of internal migration is mostly directed from the northern and western regions to the
urban centres of the country’s central and southern regions. While the centre and
littoral regions, with their major urban hubs of Yaoundé and Douala, are net recipients
of intra-national migrants, they provide 26% of all inter-region out-migrants (Mberu &
Pongou, 2016; Schrieder & Knerr, 2000). The Far North, West and North-West regions,
on the other hand, supply about four times more inter-region migrants than they
receive, and therefore are the major net labour donors, contributing 53% of all
migrants (Schrieder & Knerr, 2000). Recently, in the Far North Region, the Boko Haram
insurgency became a major cause of internal mobility that has led to the displacement
of almost 200,000 people including youth, some of whom are not only fleeing for their
lives but also seeking opportunities for a better life as well.
16 The concept of better life is relative and varies across individuals, countries, and
scholarly examination. To Hans Hahn (2007), the concept of a better life implies how
young men and women make use of migration in order to gain independence from
their fathers and simultaneously achieve a self-contained position in society. According
to Dorte Thorsen (2007), a better life comprises becoming big, seeing new things, eating
good foods, being knowledgeable and having a sense of well-being and a social status.
To others, like Jeannett Martin (2007), it symbolises Western knowledge, attaining a
certain level of education, progress, material wealth and social prestige. Similarly,
Alonso (2011) contends that a better life can be attained through migration as it
increases individuals’ opportunities to better themselves, such as by improving their

17
individual income, health, education and living conditions. Drawing on Julia Pfaff
(2007), a better life requires a person to be independent and manage their own money
and business, even if it is only on a small economic scale. These goals are imagined to
be achieved by spatial mobility, i.e., by moving to a town or city or abroad. Pelican and
Heiss (2014) conclude that while the task of making a better life is universal, the way
people think and go about it is specific.
17 An overview of mobility in Cameroon, and more generally Africa, paints a relatively
homogenous picture of the perceptions and aspirations of youth mobility. Scholars like
Alpes (2011), Jua (2003), Nyamnjoh and Page (2002), and Pelican and Tatah (2009)
portray the cause of youth mobility in Cameroon as being largely characterised by
general feelings of disappointment and disillusionment: disappointment with the
economic and political situation in Cameroon and disillusionment about the
impossibility of realizing a decent future in their home community. In the same vein,
Adepoju (2008) remarked that these youths are economically and politically driven
from their communities of origin. Other authors look at youth mobility as conflict or
violence-driven. In Nigeria, Onyemachi (2010) observed that youth are often displaced
by conflict and that these displaced youths’ security and welfare have often been
jeopardised making them vulnerable to becoming victims in their new environment.
Frequently, youth mobility is an undertaking that entails uncertainty but also inspires
optimism when it applies to opening one’s future instead of remaining in a foreseeable
situation range of journey-related uncertainties (Hernández-Carretero, 2015).
Accordingly, in the Cameroonian context, “better life” has both the economic
dimensions of escaping poverty, accumulating money and accumulating material
possessions but also the sociocultural dimension which entails the transition into
respected adulthood as well as recognition of the new social status.
18 Better life achieved through mobility accelerates the process of maturing and of
understanding and provides opportunities for youth to learn skills other than
agricultural and artisanal production of tools and utensils and trade in the local
markets. In some West African communities, migration has almost become a rite of
passage for young men to achieve entry into the sphere of adulthood (Thorsen, 2006).
Young males’ economic dependence on their families serves as social barriers that
prevent the younger generation from marrying and thereby becoming respected adult
members of their society and thus failing to achieve social recognition. This can be
explained by the fact that labour migration especially for young men earns them the
financial muscle required to pay the bride wealth at the time of marriage and,
consequently, to attain a higher social status as well as meet the responsibilities of
caring for their families. In these communities, youth migration is a symbol of success
among their peers and often exclusively perceived as a process of intergenerational
negotiation which leads to higher social positions after returning home (Ungruhe,
2010). According to Hernández-Carretero (2015), Senegalese migrants in Spain
highlighted limitations imposed by structural circumstances related to scarce and
badly remunerated employment, nepotism, high living costs, and extensive financial
responsibilities towards family and friends as reasons for their mobility in search for
opportunities of better life. These factors combined generate a condition of
socioeconomic uncertainty in which young people, especially men, are unable to make
the transition into socially respected adulthood by gaining financial independence,
establishing and providing for their own families and assisting others (Buggenhagen,
2012). Christiansen et al. (2006) assert that a similar situation is common to youth in

18
other parts of Africa. The mobility of young Africans from rural to urban areas or
abroad is frequently motivated by the search for better employment opportunities,
although other factors could include education and marriage, making migration a
natural response by young people to a lack of opportunity that can help them to
expand their life chances (UNICEF, 2009). This might explain why Alonso (2011)
remarked that in an increasingly integrated world, people move across national
borders despite significant restrictions, seeking the opportunities they have been
denied in their own countries on foreign soils.
Escape from Boko Haram, mobility pathways and

integration dynamics in new environments
19 How do the young people in this region – who have faced chronic poverty, frustrations
and climatic uncertainties for decades, and, more recently, existential insecurity –
imagine their future and try to improve their social and financial standings, if not by
spatial mobility? And how have these youngsters managed to cope with Boko Haram
insurgencies? The following narrations from my research in Cameroon’s Far North
Region will shed some light on how youth actively pursue opportunities and activities
that will improve their standard of living through mobility to urban settings even
amidst the horrors of insurgency.
20 In December 2015, I met Adama in the town of Mora in a shop where he was selling
groceries. He was fifteen years old and had left his village Kolofata where he attended
form three in the secondary school. He recalled how Boko Haram surprised them one
morning in their house:
Early one morning strange people came to our village while we were asleep. They
opened fire and killed our people. I did not see their faces because they were
covered with black cloths. Our people started running. They were also using knives
and killing the men and boys. In my neighbourhood, I saw them kill my friend’s
father and my brother’s friend. They also carried away many people’s possessions.
They removed roofing sheets from the houses. If it was a thatched house, they
burned it. I don’t know where they took these things to. They also killed women
and raped some. I ran into the bush with three members of my family. The other
four members ran to a different direction. We were in the bush for five days. During
this time, we ate leftovers from groundnut farms that had already been harvested.
After five days of walking through the bushes we reached Mora. I am now staying in
Mora with my father’s friend together with my three siblings. As of now, I don’t
know the whereabouts of my father, mother and elder sister. I have not attended
school since I left my home village. I have not seen my school friends as well.
21 Some people had friends or relatives in nearby Mora, to whom they could escape,
others tried to reach Mokolo or went further on to Maroua. Boubakary, a 20-year-old
woman from Kerewa, told me the story of how they escaped the village. I met her at the
Maroua central market where she came to buy some materials for a tailoring workshop
where she was an apprentice in December 2015. She left her village because Boko
Haram burned down their family house:
We heard a woman shouting that our house was on fire. We started running out
while the gunshots persisted. This time, we were the targets. We took the children
and ran into the bush. We stayed in the bush for the rest of the night. At dawn, we
came out of the bush to find out exactly what had happened only to see some dead
and others injured. Suddenly, pow, pow, pow … the gunshots resumed. We didn’t

19
know that those Boko Haram agents were still in the village. We ran back into the
bush again and remained there for six days. There we ate roasted yams and
groundnuts that we harvested from the farms in the bush. News reached us that
mobile policemen had come to the village and that we should come out. We thought
the killings had stopped until we started hearing that the killers are coming again
with gunshots. Our people were being killed. They killed my parents. I saw them kill
my father and his younger brother. The mobile policemen could not withstand
them. They, too, ran. We ran back to the bush, which seemed to be safer.
They pursued us. When they caught up with us they separated the children and me
from my husband and cut my husband’s throat as we watched. He died. When I saw
this, I went and held one of them and told him that I have nobody to take care of
the children since they have killed my husband. I asked them to kill the children
and me too. The others came and removed him from my hold. They left us. I took
the children and we continued to move further into the bush with some other
women and children. Some of the pregnant women gave birth in the bush. There
was no water or anything and the babies died. One woman gave birth to twins and
the twins died. Later, the woman died. There was nobody to bury the dead. We
wallowed in the bush for three more days walking on bare foot. We then surfaced
where we met some people on our way who sympathized with us and gave us food,
water and slippers. After three days, they gave us transport money and we went to
Mokolo. In Mokolo, I studied tailoring with my friend’s mother who is an expert
and deals with “big men and women”. In two and a half years I think that I will be a
“big woman”, sewing dresses for “big people”. My brother, who ran to Maroua
town, started learning how to build houses with a friend, but later abandoned and is
now on the street because there was nobody to advise him there. My other brother,
who is 11 years, has abandoned school and joined other street children. No father to
help him. I don’t think I can return because my heart won’t leave me in peace in my
village after seeing my husband beheaded in front of me.
22 This troubling first-hand narrative in the preceding section provides a glimpse into
what is behind the large numbers of people who have moved from their home places as
their lives become severely threatened and they have to look for alternative survival
and coping strategies. As Lindley (2009) observed in Mogadishu, migration is a common
response to the disintegration of livelihoods and takes various forms from temporary
to permanent to acute and massive. In an analysis of violent conflict and mobility,
Zetter and Purdekorva (2011) ascertained that violent outbursts of conflicts are
followed by large internal displacements and cross-border flows of peoples. This
directly mirrors the situation in Cameroon’s Far North Region with large internal
displacements of people and a high influx of refugees from Nigeria following the
onslaught of Boko Haram.
23 Not all have managed to escape the gunmen of Boko Haram. 22-year-old Aminatou
from Ashigachia in the Mayo-Tsanaga division of the Far North Region of Cameroon
was living with her uncle in Mora when I met her selling beignets. She recalled that she
was roasting maize with her brother in the afternoon when they were surprised by
armed men:
My brother wanted to run when he saw them, but he only heard the pow, pow, pow
in the sky and he surrendered. I was afraid and full of panic. One of the men moved
towards me and the other one moved towards my brother. They took the two of us
to a forest that I did not know. We met some other people there. Together with the
others who were mostly youths, we were taught a doctrine which is against
anything that came from the West, especially education. There, I was able to
identify one of our neighbours who had disappeared suddenly and whose
whereabouts was not known. I was separated from my brother. We could not
communicate anymore. We were given poorly prepared millet in the evenings.

20
Anyone who refused to eat would be tortured or even killed sometimes. I had no
choice than to eat to live.
Some days later, the kidnappers called me out from among the others and asked me
to follow them. They took me to join some other women. These women were
involved in the preparation of food. I joined them in the cooking but was a little
afraid. One evening those men forcefully slept with me and that is how I became
pregnant. Some months later, when they discovered that my stomach had started
protruding, I was escorted by one of those men to the bush and abandoned there
alone. Again, in panic and confusion, I went and hid myself under a big tree. I did
not know when I fell asleep. The following morning, I took off, not knowing exactly
where I was heading to. After moving for two days in the bush, I came across some
Cameroonian army people in the bush. I breathed a sigh of relief, saying thanks to
Allah. I was brought to Mora and from there I traced my way to my uncle who lives
here. For the meantime, I am assisting my uncle’s wife in frying and selling puff-
puff [beignets] while waiting for my uncle to decide which trade I can learn. I don’t
want to return because I fear being kidnapped again.
24 From the above narration of escape experiences, the escalation of this violent conflict
from 2014 on seems to be the immediate cause of the unprecedented youth mobility
which accounts for a good percentage of internally displaced persons in this conflict
affected region. Lindley (2009) further demonstrates that people flee violent conflict
areas when survival and coping mechanisms breakdown. In this study, the breakdown
of survival and coping strategies results from conditions that forced farmers to
abandon their fields and crops, which led to a sharp drop in the harvest. In addition,
these farmers who deserted their farms and those who can no longer be sustained have
missed out on key farming activities, such as timely planting leading to food insecurity
in the future. Furthermore, rearing and trading cattle and small ruminants, one of the
region’s mainstays, have been seriously hampered as they are either looted or
abandoned by their owners due to insecurity.
25 The cumulative effect is increased poverty because agriculture is an important source
of income and food insecurity for an already impoverished people. Youths were
particularly affected by the burning of some schools and the precipitated closure of
others following repeated attacks and the circulation of threats from Boko Haram,
which plunged them further into the limbo of uncertainty about the future. Due to the
huge financial losses incurred by families, their ability to ensure the education of their
youth has seriously been endangered. These outcomes substantiate Lindley’s (2009)
conclusion that there are three main types of changes that precipitate outmigration:
the loss of human capabilities (loss of immediate family members, physical assault,
rape, loss of limbs); the loss of financial and physical assets (cash and savings,
structures, equipment); and the loss of socio-political protection – for example,
membership in certain groups, which was an asset before and now becomes a liability.
Insurgency alongside its effects on the disruption on livelihoods has caused
unprecedented mobility and displacement.
26 The trajectory followed by these youths on the path to seeking out a better life often
takes a long winding course involving several stops of taking temporal refuge in the
bush before embarking on the long difficult road to safer places determined by the
location of relatives, friends and more peaceful towns such as Mora, Mokolo and
Maroua. Zetter and Purdekova (2011) affirm that mobility is a complex process
determined by strategies for survival (personal safety, livelihoods), available networks
of support, and by improvisation, exercised, though, in highly constrained and
unpropitious circumstances. According to IOM/DTM (2016), 70% of internally displaced

21
persons in the Far North Region because of this insurgency live in host communities
with families because of strong historic, cultural and ethnic ties between the
populations of the Lake Chad region; while 16% reside in spontaneous sites; 10% in
rented housing; 3% in collective centres; and 2% in the open-air spaces. In contrast to
the situation in the Far North Region, Raeymaekers (2011) reported that youth in a
situation of extreme mobility faced by displaced people in Butembo, Congo were not
well received but rather faced marginalisation and discrimination from the
autochthonous host community where majority had to find shelter in “spontaneous
sites” and often with family members whose recipient capacity is very limited or ad hoc
settlements such as abandoned, dilapidated buildings or improvised dwellings. Once in
their new environment, these youths seek ways to integrate themselves by acquiring
skills that would permit them make a living.
27 32-year-old Aicha had arrived in Mora in December 2014 after her husband was killed
by Boko Haram. She pointed out that she and her children felt more at home and safer
with their relatives in Mora, whom they knew well from regular former visits. They felt
that it was easier for them to start a petty trade in Mora to sustain the family and send
the children to school than being a farmer in the village (interview, Mora, December
2015). Other young people also felt that despite the traumatic experiences they had
survived and the homes in the village they had left behind, they appreciated life in
town because it enabled them to better pursue their goals. 24-year-old Musa, who
escaped from his village in January 2015 after Boko Haram burnt down his farm,
explained:
Being in Maroua town alone is an opportunity I’ve been seeking for long. In the
village, I had nothing more to do than labour on the farm, but here I have the
chance to make some money for myself by selling goods on the street. It is difficult
and painful, but I hope things will get better for me. I will eventually marry and
settle with my family here in Maroua (interview, Maroua, December 2015).
28 While most youths decided to acquire money-making skills in the informal sector by
learning a trade, very few (2) still thought it was necessary to pursue education as a
means to achieve a better life, albeit later and not immediately. This is corroborated by
Ibáñez and Moya (2009) whose analysis of the impact of conflict induced displacement
in Colombia revealed that to avoid further deterioration, households rely on costly
coping strategies (effective short-term but with important negative long-term
impacts), such as interrupting school attendance to increase their participation in
labour markets among older children. Some interviewees see their current places as
temporary settlements where they could make some money that will permit them to
proceed to the main economic urban hubs of Douala and Yaoundé or eventually abroad
where they could make a better life with higher earning jobs. Souleman, aged 27,
resided in Mokolo with a friend when I interviewed him in December 2015. Before, he
had traded Nigerian petrol, commonly called zoua-zoua across the border to Cameroon,
but then fled from his village of Kolofata in November 2014. He stated:
I prefer to be with my friend because he is hardworking and ambitious. With his
networks to other people in regions like Yaoundé, Douala and Bamenda, he has a lot
of money and can link me up with one of his friends. I can work with them, make
my own money and become rich like him. With the money, I will be able to get
married, ride in a car, and take care of my own family. If I succeed, I would prefer to
return to my village if calm returns because home is home.
29 In all these examples, these youths are optimistic with glimpses of hope shining
through the dark pictures painted. The hope of making a better life keeps them alive

22
and going. Although various scholars (Alonso, 2011; Hahn, 2007; Martin, 2007; Pfaff,
2007; Thorsen, 2007) maintain that the desire for a better life is a desire to gain
independence, knowledge, prestigious social status and to improve their income, the
youth in the Far North Region of Cameroon also see the better life as being able to
change their locations and activities, wear beautiful dresses, connect with successful
business people as well as to ride in a car. 24-year-old Bintu, for example, was a farmer
in Mozogo village before Boko Haram killed her husband and kept her in captivity for
one year together with her 2-year-old son. She escaped during a confrontation between
the Cameroonian army and the insurgents. With her aunt, she saw her dream of
becoming a dress maker herself come true:
I prefer to stay with my aunt who is a tailor in Mora so that I will learn how to make
beautiful dresses, and later start making my own money through dress making. I
want to be a big tailor making dresses for big men and women like ministers. To
me, making money, dealing with big people and putting on beautiful dresses would
make life better. I don’t think of returning because I would be constantly reminded
of the tragic moments I lived there (interview, Mora, December 2015).
30 To the youths I have interviewed, better life culminates in being able to emerge from
poverty and make enough money to attain and maintain better living standards for
oneself and their family. This is translated in engagement in trades or related
entrepreneurial activities. Ali, too, who managed to flee from his village Kolofata to
Maroua in November 2014, does not want to return to the village, but prefers to stay
with his uncle there,
as he might be able to introduce me to some of his businesses or link me to work
with some of his friends who are big businessmen in Maroua town. This will enable
me to learn a trade and very soon I will start making my own money. I would prefer
to remain here or continue to a better destination than return to the village.
31 Most youths (10) who were interviewed in their current places of residence seemed to
be afraid of going back to their home as the trauma of what they witnessed first-hand
and the warning messages left behind by the insurgents are too great to consider
returning. Adamu, cited at the beginning of this section, has a similar vision:
I am now being trained as a shopkeeper and in the future, I should be able to set up
and run my own shop. Two of my brothers are learning embroidery while the other
is a motor bike rider, working for somebody. The choice of these different trade
activities was guided by our father’s friend who believes that it can fetch us more
money a short time from now. With all the terrible things I witnessed, I don’t think
I would return to Kolofata (interview, Mora, December 2015).
32 Like Adamu, other interviewees cannot imagine returning to their villages, fearing that
they would be haunted by their traumatic experiences there. One of them, whose
husband was beheaded by Boko Haram, said: “my heart won’t leave me in peace in my
village”. Another 24-year-old informant favoured the development of the Maroua
urban centre over the rural hinterland and hoped to settle, marry, and raise his family
in Maroua. He considered being in Maroua a long-sought opportunity that, although it
came amid crisis, he could not just let slip away. He thus achieved self-content position
in his new environment.
33 Only two youths considered it better to return to their villages in case calm would be
restored because of their inability to cope in town. One of them is Idrissou, a 17-year-
old herder from Tourou, whose cattle had been stolen by insurgents in August 2015.
Frustrated with the conditions in town, he turned to the street as a beggar. Therefore,
not every youth who migrates succeeds with the quest for better life. Youth pursuit of

23
better life amidst forced mobility caused by Boko Haram is often accompanied by
uncertainties and misery which could sometimes and not always be surmounted.
Idrissou muttered “Why do I need so much money [...]? If I could have back my cattle, I
would not hesitate to return because that is what I could do best”.
34 This situation contrasts that of Raeymaekers’ observation of the complexity of mobility
patterns where he highlights the “circular” aspects of migration, where:
a few extreme circumstances aside in which insecurity totally impedes a return to
home regions […] a more frequent mobility pattern among displaced youngsters
actually consists of circular migration between their original homesteads and new
urban environments, in which the latter remains the main but never the exclusive
place of residence (Raeymaekers, 2011, p. 16).
35 In fact, the reasons for migrants’ return to their origin are indistinct and vary between
the causes of mobility, individuals, and are embedded in the cultural background from
where the migrant originates.
36 The youths who fled Boko Haram’s violence experienced a great deal of uncertainty.
Having lost families, homes, property, and education, a prosperous future life course is
quite at risk. However, their accounts show that they have not lost hope and that
uncertainty can be productive. This may suggest why in Africa, Cooper and Pratten
(2016) examined uncertainty as a social resource that can be used to negotiate
insecurity, conduct and create relationships and act as a source for imagining the
future.
Conclusion
37 The quest for security and better life has propelled many displaced youths, fleeing
insurgency, to pursue different livelihood options in other more peaceful settlements.
In as much as this crisis brought untold suffering, human and material losses, it also
brought along opportunities for achieving a better life amidst constrained
circumstances. Mobility is fundamental at this stage because it is how young people full
of plans, aspirations, frustrations, hopes and interests are ferried to their places of
destination where long sought opportunities can be grasped and harnessed to make
dreams become a reality.
38 At the places of destination, aspirations and hopes of better life are translated into
concrete action through the acquisition of skills and knowledge, the application of
which will eventually yield the dividends that guarantee a decent life and a self-
contained position in society in the not too distant future. In their new environments,
they no longer embark on their traditional occupations of farming and herding but
rather engage effectively in activities involving training and acquisition of skills that
will fetch them money in the short term that were not previously available. It is
therefore likely that a better life can have a decisive impact on the direction and the
speed of mobility.
39 Individuals mostly sought to acquire knowledge and skills from the informal sector in
domains like dressmaking, embroidery, petty trading, catering, and motor bike
transportation. The aim of integrating the informal sector was fuelled by the following
markers of better life: the desire to acquire new knowledge and skills, improved
individual income to shoulder family responsibilities especially vis-a-vis children, and
improved wellbeing and living conditions in the near future. Other markers of better

24
life were found to include gaining independence from parents, acquiring a comfortable
social status such as being married and social prestige like owning a car and other
assets that were all strongly linked to economic independence and financial prosperity.
40 Arrival at new destinations also opened windows of interaction with people already
established in different lines of business that these youth deemed as already enjoying a
better life and a source of inspiration compared to their counterparts in the suburbs.
For some others, new destinations provide opportunities to prepare for migration to
better and far off locations. Life threatening events not only have the tendency to push
people out of their homes to seek refuge in safer areas but might also provide platforms
for new interactions, discoveries and coping strategies engagements.
41 Having fled from the horrors of Boko Haram, the dream of better life, often in the form
of achieving economic prosperity and the prospect of a meaningful and fulfilled social
life as adults, incentivised the efforts and time invested exploring avenues for making
money in their respective places of destination. Although Boko Haram’s violence has
led to the loss of families, homes, friends, property and education, violence and life-
threatening experience may also lead to better lives in the long run. As time goes on,
youth are able to establish relationships as they move along and within their different
activities that lead to the amelioration of the condition of living. Family ties were a
very important determining factor in the choice of destination as most displaced
youths chose to reside with relatives or very close family friends. Having the privilege
to choose their places of destination with little or no restrictions certainly enhanced
their human freedoms and consequently allowed them access to an enabling
environment where dreams of better life will be nurtured into reality.
42 Although life threatening events and insecurity guarantee that the future of these
youth is at risk, they continue to navigate their way through the informal sector.
Therefore, mobility is a phenomenon that can be used to negotiate insecurity and life-
threatening events and to acquire a new status. Security and freedom were found to be
prime prerequisites for engaging in whatever activity was undertaken.
43 To a greater extent, displaced youth preferred not to return to their places of origin
even in the event that violence would cease because of the opportunities to make a
better life in their places of destination. Hence, while escaping conflict and insecurity
and achieving better lives elsewhere, their mobility is finally a means to overcome
general problematic livelihoods and poor living conditions at home.
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NOTES
1. Salaf is a reference to the methodology used by Boko Haram to advance the cause of Islam
through “jihad” – an armed struggle against the enemies of Islam, advocated for by Prophet
Mohammed, and practiced by his companions (first three generations of Muslims).
2. The current term would be bride wealth.
ABSTRACTS
This article portrays youth mobility in Cameroon as a means to escape poverty and to achieve a
better life. Youth mobility though not new is, however, taking a new dimension as a result of
Boko Haram’s violent conflict. To explore how this violence has affected mobility, this study
analyses narration of youngsters’ escape experiences from Boko Haram and their ideas of how to
achieve a better life, drawing on interviews in Cameroon’s Far North Region. The study begins
with the origin and regionalisation of Boko Haram, followed by the concept of youth, the
evolution of mobility trends and better life. It then proceeds to narrations of escape experiences,
places of destination and sheds light on mobility pathways and integration dynamics.
Este artigo descreve a mobilidade dos jovens nos Camarões como um meio de escapar à pobreza e
conseguir uma vida melhor. A mobilidade juvenil, embora não seja um fenómeno novo, está a
assumir uma nova dimensão devido ao conflito violento do Boko Haram. Para explorar como esta
violência afetou a mobilidade, o presente estudo analisa a narração de experiências dos jovens
que fugiram do Boko Haram e as suas ideias de como alcançar uma vida melhor, com base em
entrevistas realizadas na região do extremo norte dos Camarões. O estudo começa com a origem
e regionalização do Boko Haram, seguidas pelo conceito de juventude, a evolução das tendências
de mobilidade e a procura de uma vida melhor. Prossegue com as narrações de experiências de
fuga, lugares de destino e lança luz sobre os caminhos da mobilidade e as dinâmicas de
integração.

28
INDEX
Keywords: youth, mobility, better life, Boko Haram, traumatic experiences, Cameroon
Palavras-chave: juventude, mobilidade, vida melhor, Boko Haram, experiências traumáticas,
Camarões
AUTHOR
ISAIAH KUNOCK AFU
Université de Yaoundé I, Department of Anthropology
B.P. 755 Yaoundé, Cameroon
afisaku@yahoo.com

29
Beyond Agency’s Limits. “Street

Children’s” Mobilities in Southern
Ghana
Para além dos limites da agência. Mobilidade das “crianças de rua” no sul do
Gana
Christian Ungruhe
EDITOR'S NOTE
Aceite: 03 de maio de 2019
1 Working children and youth in African settings often provoke dichotomous reactions of
either romanticization or victimization. Yet, such either-or categories hardly reflect
local understandings of childhood, youth, and work in Africa (Spittler & Bourdillon,
2012). While recent studies on young people in Africa stress their social marginalization
(see most prominently Honwana, 2012), the question of young people’s agency is never
far off. However, as Lancy (2012) and Eßer (2016, p. 49) argue, the concept of agency in
studies on children and youth has often been used with levity and scholars have rarely
engaged with the wider debate in relation to structure. Indeed, as Durham (2008, p.
151f) points out for African settings, it is often unclear what kind of agency is
attributed to children and youth in such studies. Nevertheless, in recent years and
concerning children and youth in Africa and the global South more generally, various
scholars have proposed approaches to specify young people’s agency. Most notably,
they deal with children and youth affected by difficult social environments such as
“street children”1, a particular group of young people seemingly widely disconnected
from parental care and dependent on making a living on their own. Today, the
ascription of certain forms or degrees of agency has become the dominant academic
approach to capture those children’s and youth’s coping strategies or creativity in

30
problematic life worlds and to overcome economic hardships, misery, and social
marginalization. Here, agency is most prominently conceptualized as “thin,”
“restricted,” “tactical” or “limited,” implying the notion as if agency was a quantified
possession that young people such as street children hold to a lesser degree than
others.
2 Initially, this development seems valuable as these particular groups of young people
seem to embody vulnerability and marginalization as well as the creativity and
potential to overcome hardships at the same time. However, as I will argue with
reference to street children as a particular group of working youngsters in southern
Ghana, acknowledging a lower degree of agency separates children and youth
according to normative, primarily Western-based perceptions of what is an adequate
environment for growing up. It victimizes those who live or work in settings outside
the norm while uncritically idealizing those youngsters’ living conditions who stay
with their parents and attend school. It thus constructs fixed entities of different life
worlds that are rather fluid. Hence, it is not so much a question of the degree or quality
of their ability to act but of various spatial, temporal, and social mobilities: the fluidity
between home, street, and other potential locations and the social trajectory of a child
or youth both as everyday achievement and over the life course. Acknowledging
temporal, spatial, and social dimensions of children’s and youth’s mobility helps to
overcome analytical shortcomings about the agency of children and youth confronted
with a seemingly inadequate life world of the street.
3 Methodologically, this paper incorporates a perspective that is based on oral life stories
of children and youth in the southern Ghanaian cities of Ashaiman and Accra. Of the
more than 50 of such conversations that were recorded over several different field
stays between 2004 and 2016, four representative cases are presented. In this context,
however, listening to street children’s voices is not an end in itself. While this
perspective sheds light on the actors’ actual processes of social embeddedness at the
various sites, their accounts need to be put into context in order to provide sound
standing representations of their biographies (James, 2007, p. 266; Spyrou, 2011).
Street children: the loving family’s other?

4 Roaming around markets, bus stations, and other public places in African urban
centers, it is rather impossible to overlook working children and youth who engage in
various informal economic activities. One is accustomed to working youngsters
particularly in places like Ashaiman, publicly known as one of Ghana’s rapid growing
shanty towns in the surrounding of the country’s capital Accra (Owusu, 1999; Ungruhe,
2010). When I first embarked on fieldwork in 2004, I was interested in a seemingly
particular group of young informal workers: street children. Tunjay 2, Ben, and some of
their friends were among the first of those kids I met at the main market, a usual place
to work and spend the nights for many. During the day, they worked as scraps, collected
discarded metal and sold it to merchants. We started chatting about football, school,
work, and other things until some of the boys decided to sleep and others roamed
around without me. I came regularly and was surprised one of the following days that
Tunjay was not among his friends. “Sometimes we sleep in the house,” Ben said,
casually. Astonished, I asked: “House?” He explained that he meant their families’
place. I probed for more details: “Why? How often?” “Few times. My clothes are in the

31
house and I get food there,” Ben replied but was not eager to go into detail. So I waited
for Tunjay’s return one of the following days to find out more about it. Luckily, when
we met again, and I asked him about moving between his family and “street life,” he
was ready to tell me his story.
5 15-year-old Tunjay was born in Ashaiman. His parents divorced when he was six or
seven years old. Since then, his mother cares for him and his four brothers and his
younger sister. His father has married again and no longer lives in Ashaiman. Tunjay
does not know where he is now. Tunjay and his siblings went to public schools and his
mother paid their school fees. He has not attended school for four years now. “One day
my mother didn’t give me money to pay my school fees. I refused to go because I was
afraid that the teacher would cane me.” He started roaming around and looking for
jobs. He met some boys at the market and helped them search for metal to sell. They
became friends and he started going there every day. At times they go to neighboring
towns to look for scrap metal if it is too hard to come by in Ashaiman. After some time,
and once in a while at first, he began to stay overnight with his friends at their sleeping
place at the market. While these overnight stays soon became the norm, he still sees his
mother and sometimes he sleeps at her place for one or two nights. She keeps his
clothes and gives him a little money at times. “She wants me to come back. I also like
but she has to send me to school before.”
6 Tunjay’s biography is not exceptional. As I quickly began to realize during my field
research, street children moving back and forth between their families and friends
represent rather ordinary livelihoods. Likewise, Bordonaro (2011, p. 127f) experienced
a similar encounter with a street boy in Cape Verde and was equally amazed at the
boy’s homecoming as I was with Tunjay’s frequent visits to his mother’s house.
Circulating between home and the street does not seem unusual in African settings.
Nevertheless, our astonishment when confronted with the children’s mobile practices
indicates that returning home – even if it is only occasionally – challenges our common
perception of street children’s living environments. But why were we surprised at
street children’s mobility in Africa where people’s life worlds – particularly those of the
young (Hashim & Thorsen, 2011) – are extremely mobile (de Bruijn, van Dijk, & Foeken,
2001; Hahn & Klute, 2007)?
7 Such surprise, I would argue stems from the remaining “sedentarist bias” in
conceptualizing childhood in anthropology and other social sciences, added by a
persistent static and to a great extent victimizing notion of street childhood in
academic and children’s rights discourses. In this respect, processes of socialization on
the street and within a family are constructed as opposite entities that deny any form
of reciprocal and dynamic exchange between the two (Ennew & Swart-Kruger, 2003;
Glauser, 1990/1997; Panter-Brick, 2002; van Blerk, 2005).
8 The “sedentarist bias” in anthropology has evoked much criticism (e.g., Brettell, 2000;
Malkki, 1995). Today, people’s mobility is increasingly no longer portrayed as a result
or cause of social and cultural crises but as a necessity for the reproduction of the social
and cultural fabric. Mobility is seen rather as the norm and not the exception, as the
vanguards of the “mobility turn” in the social sciences have argued (see Hannam,
Sheller, & Urry, 2006). Remarkably in the mobile African context, children’s spatial
mobility is continuously identified as abnormal, although studies on child fosterage
(e.g., Alber, 2014) and parentless labor migration practices (e.g., Thorsen, 2006;
Ungruhe, 2010, 2014) have questioned this notion. Here in particular, mobile minors

32
continuously challenge Western conceptions of childhood “as a period of innocence,

play, care, and learning” (Evers, Notermans, & van Ommering, 2011, p. 4) to the extent
that NGOs, children’s rights agencies and scholars tend to label children’s mobility as
trafficking or exploitation when certain forms of fosterage and labor migration
practices are addressed (see Alber, 2011; Ungruhe, 2010). However, as Hashim and
Thorsen (2011, p. 10) argue for the West African context,
Children’s experiences are far from the normative globalized ideals of childhood, in
which childhood is a period of dependency, involving education, play and leisure;
where the only legitimate places for growing up are the “sanctity of the nuclear
family on the one hand and the school on the other” (Nieuwenhuys, 1996, p. 242). In
this idealized version, the home is perceived as a sedentary unit that offers a safe
framework for children’s lives, with the “proper” place for children being with the
bosom of a loving family.
9 In this regard, the street serves as the loving family’s other: as a public and careless
environment for growing up that is hazardous to the children’s well-being. The notion,
however, that street children are stuck in an inappropriate space has to be questioned
as Tunjay’s view on his fluid (street) life world indicates. Indeed, studies on the
phenomenon have shifted from the notion of street children as passive victims to their
actual experiences and strategies already since the mid-1990s (Ennew & Swart-Kruger,
2003; Panter-Brick, 2002, p. 148)3. However, similar to the discourse on child mobility in
Africa outlined above, this shift has not replaced the notion of street children’s
inappropriate and problematic socialization. Moreover, as Gigengack (2014) argues,
while it may have “rehabilitated” some groups of vulnerable children and youth from
being victimized as street children, the focus on choice, resilience and the ability to act
and shape their lives has led to an academic glorification of their agency and a general
romanticization of street life. Because of this overemphasis of agency, more recent
studies tend to qualify the actual abilities of street children by introducing nuances and
the drawbacks of agency. In the following, I will elaborate on this approach in child
research and further discuss its contribution to overcome conceptualizations of the
street as the loving family’s other and to meet the mobile life worlds of street children.
Forms, degrees and limitations of (street) children’s

agency
10 As agency is always related to the possibilities and limitations that structure entails,
restrictions are already an integral part of the concept of agency (Giddens, 1979). Yet,
several authors have identified different forms and degrees of agency of children and
youth in difficult livelihoods, some of which explicitly address the realities of street
life. Other approaches have been transferred from war-affected or the socially
immobile (stuck-in-youth) life worlds of children and youth to research on street
children. In a study on child domestic workers in Tanzania, Klocker (2007) introduces
the concept of “thin” agency to the context of laboring children. Away from their
familiar living environments, these children seem to have little room to maneuver yet
still apply certain limited strategies to broaden their scope. Therefore, “‘thin’ agency
refers to decisions and everyday actions that are carried out within highly restrictive
contexts, characterized by few viable alternatives” as opposed to “thick” agency, that
is, “having the latitude to act within a broad range of options” (Klocker, 2007, p. 85).
Accordingly, acknowledging a lower degree of agency rather than portraying these

33
children as victims or as having no means to exercise agency helps to reflect “their

difficult circumstances and their efforts to survive and to build better lives” (Klocker,
2007, p. 92).
11 The concurrence of actual challenging conditions and the ability to act upon them are
also deliberated in Honwana’s (2006) study on child soldiers in Africa. Her concept of
“tactical agency” derives from child soldiers’ position of weakness in which “they may
not be fully conscious of the ultimate goals of their actions; and they may not
anticipate any long-term gains or benefits”. Instead, they try to find means to be able
“to cope with and maximize the concrete, immediate circumstances of the military
environment in which they have to operate” (Honwana, 2006, p. 51). Therefore,
“tactical agency” enables children to act within an environment in which daily needs
and survival are immediate concerns but do not allow strategic planning 4.
12 Applying Honwana’s concept to a non-war-affected context, Langevang and Gough
(2009, p. 752) define the “tactical agency” of urban youth in Ghana as “actions [that] are
more a matter of continuously adjusting to a changing situation than having complete
control over their lives”. In the realm of street childhood, Bordonaro (2011, p. 144) sees
the concepts “tactical” and “thin” agency as adequate tools to both acknowledge the
motives and efforts of street children within structurally constrained living
environments and move beyond “the victims-or-heroes Scylla and Charybdis”.
13 In this regard, applying concepts of “tactical” and “thin” agency to street children’s
scopes attempts to introduce a middle-way to understand such children’s decision-
making processes. However, acknowledging a certain degree of agency in difficult
circumstances may also imply more problematic connotations of the term, as recent
studies in contexts of the global South indicate. Mizen and Ofosu-Kusi (2013) have
shown how children’s seemingly independent decision to leave their families and try
their luck on the streets of Ghana’s capital Accra is indeed a vulnerable act. Regardless
of their actual motive for leaving their homes, their decision reflects their inability to
be dependent on parents and other kin rather than often articulated free choice.
Hence, their street-ward migration is problematically pre-conditioned and shows how
vulnerability is a determining factor for (street) children’s agency. Moreover,
Bordonaro and Payne (2012) have introduced the term “ambiguous agency” to refer to
young people’s subversive potential and activities. Particularly, when they are affected
by difficult life situations, children and youth may react contrary to normative social
and cultural ideals and perceptions of adequate behavior of minors to cope with their
challenging experiences. An example of such an ambivalent exercise of agency is
Atkinson-Sheppard’s (2017) concept of “protective agency”, whereby street children in
Bangladesh’s capital Dhaka face various hardships and harassments, often from elder
street gang criminals, and decide to work for certain gangs and engage in organized
criminal activities to ensure survival. Accordingly, the gang provides them with both
protection and opportunities to make money. While this may involve violent acts,
“protective agency” also stresses the vulnerability of those youngsters. Further,
Gigengack’s (2000/2008) account of street children’s abuse of glue and solvents in
Mexico City does not reflect forms of resilience or resistance but sheds light on the
dangerous effects of agency. Sniffing poisonous substances is widespread among these
children and has devastating impacts on their health, leading sooner or later to death.
But rather than being the victims of structural constraints Gigengack’s protagonists
seem to be victims by choice. Therefore, Gigengack introduces the concept of “self-

34
destructive” agency to focus on the negative consequences of children’s actionability

on the street with the goal of contributing to theoretical conceptualizations of street
children’s livelihoods at large and beyond his area of ethnographic research in the
Latin American context. Hence, following his general critique on studies that imply a
positive notion of street children’s ability to act, “self-destructive” agency should also
be applied in conceptualizations of street children’s motives, decisions, and activities in
African countries.
14 In sum, the concept of agency, with its various constricting connotations, has recently
become the dominant theoretic tool to approach street children’s actionability within
their specific life worlds. However, it is questionable whether approaches of different
degrees of agency may help to overcome common perceptions of street children as
either sole victims or heroes and whether they reflect the dynamics of socialization
processes within various and interchanging contexts of street children’s life worlds. It
is also questionable whether such approaches resolve the underlying “sedentarist bias”
in the research on street childhood and reflect social, spatial, and temporal mobilities
among street children. Yet, research needs to explore and conceptualize street
childhood not as a status quo of being but as a dynamic process that addresses street
children’s dynamic movement between the various “domains” (Lucchini, 1996) of
socialization (e.g., street, family, institutional care centers, etc.), and, thus, analyze the
role of the street as a creative, yet challenging place for growing up: how do children
and youth maneuver through their social life world and how do they make use of their
mobility? An actor-centered biographical approach is key to this. In the following,
therefore, presentations of life stories reflect upon multifarious motives and pathways
of street children and shed light on modes of actionability, social embeddedness, and
mobility in their various environments. This approach will then serve as a means to
review whether the concept of agency facilitates appropriate conceptualizations of
street children’s life worlds.
Navigating mobility
15 Van Blerk (2005, pp. 11-16) has shed light on the importance of looking at mobility in
the realm of street childhood in Uganda and identified three types of children’s spatial
mobility in this context: moving between various spaces on the street (e.g. between
places of work, leisure and sleep), between street and non-street spaces (such as the
family) as well as a “nomadic life style” which may involve circulating between various
cities. Therefore, not all children and youth share the same degree of mobility. Indeed,
as the following biographies show, street children follow different paths and strategies,
and some may be more mobile than others. However, as Langevang and Gough (2009, p.
745) illustrate for young people in Accra, spatial mobility regardless of the form
dominates young lifestyles in general and looking for job opportunities in order “to
become a somebody” reflect the importance of moving more specifically.
16 In this respect, it comes as no surprise that economic hardships within the family are
frequent reasons why children look to the streets to earn money (Bordonaro, 2011, p.
138f). They may support their parents’ economic activities by working as market
sellers, load carriers, or mobile shoemakers and hence become jointly responsible for
the well-being of the family. As Kofi’s biography shows, responsibilities such as
contributing to paying school fees may serve as a motive for children’s economic

35
engagement. I met Kofi and his friends while they were resting after walking the
outskirts of Ashaiman where they were looking for scrap metal. They were practicing
as acrobats at the roadside and grabbed my attention. We started chatting about work,
school and leisure activities. None of them liked sitting in the classroom but preferred
their daily routine of scrap dealing and acrobatics. However, Kofi, 15 years old, insisted
that he would like to attend school if he had the chance. He went to school before but
dropped out a few years ago when attending class four. When I asked him why he had
left, he told me that he was the oldest of six children living at home at that time. His
three elder brothers had already moved out and were holding down various jobs. When
Kofi was in school, he was also working as a load carrier at the market after school so
that he could contribute to his school fees. But when his younger brothers and sisters
also started school, his parents, his father a harbor worker in nearby Tema and his
mother a seller at the local market, stopped paying their part of his fees and he had to
leave school. There was no need to push the truck anymore and so he decided to stop.
He started to spend more time with his friends with whom he already practiced
acrobatics. Some of them worked as scrap collectors and he began following them when
they were looking for metal to sell. “We work for one man in Ashaiman,” says his friend
Malcom, “and go to Tema or Ashaiman to look for aluminum.” Earning a little money in
addition to their performances was appealing to Kofi and he joined his friends
regularly. He still stays with his parents, he says, however, sometimes he takes care of
one of the small stores at the market during the night. Then, he and some of his friends
get little money from the owners to prevent thieves from breaking in. Although his
parents are not happy about his absences at night, he says, they cannot stop him since
they do not provide him with the financial support he needs to go back to school.
17 Regardless of whether he (and previously introduced Tunjay) would really like to go
back to school, the appeals of street life, making money, enjoying freedom and moving
around with friends is underlined in both of their biographies and serve as important
factors in decision-making processes of where to spend the day and the coming night.
As a family becomes more reliant on the child contributing to an income because of
economic hardships at home, sometimes in addition to the loss of a caretaker or in
cases of the parents’ divorce, this might lead the child to drop out of school. Financial
burdens at home and dissolutions of families are, however, only one part of the story.
Friends and the street’s various attractions are the complementary other part and an
almost required condition for a child or youth to choose to frequently stay on the
street. Ekua’s biography underlines this. I met her when she was 16 years old and
loosely involved with one of the boys whom I regularly met on the street. She was
staying with some other girls at a friend’s place in Ashaiman. She was 14 when she first
joined them, she told me.
At that time, I had friends who liked to go out to dance or watch movies and I joined
them. Often, I came home late and was too tired to work hard in school. Sometimes
when we came back in the night I couldn’t even enter the house because the gate
was locked. Then I went and slept at my friend’s place. So, I quit school then. My
parents were not happy, but they couldn’t stop me.
18 At one point, Ekua did not return home for a whole month. Her parents did not know
where she was. She went out with her friends during the nights and spent the days
sitting at the roadside, begging pedestrians for coins. “That is how we survived,” she
says, however, “one day I went back to my parents because I did not get anything and
[had] not eat[en] for the past three days. My parents said I should go back to school and

36
not follow my friends again. But this is exactly [what] had happened. I wanted to be
with them and have fun.” Today, she continues to go out with her friends again and
spend the nights at one of her friend’s place. When she needs money, she joins her
mother and helps her selling at the market. When she is in the mood or when she feels
sick, she comes home to stay overnight. “My mother doesn’t want me to do all that, but
she can’t do anything,” Ekua says, nevertheless, “it is good to stay in touch when I need
something.”
19 As Ekua’s case shows, having a good time with friends is an important asset for
enjoying street life. However, social relations among street children go beyond the
motivation to simply spend their leisure time together. As Mizen and Ofosu-Kusi (2010)
point out, friendships among street children are essential for caring for their basic
needs, to the extent that friendships serve as a “survival strategy” on the street (see
Ennew, 1996). Their research in Ghana’s capital, Accra, shows that:
the possession of good friends may mean ending the day having eaten instead of
going hungry; avoiding the frightful vulnerability that comes with the darkness by
sleeping in the relative security of the company of others; and of surviving illness
or injury (Mizen & Ofosu-Kusi, 2010, p. 452f).
20 Ekua’s stress on sharing a safe place to sleep and joint begging for money to buy food
underlines this. At the same time, her quote of not having eaten for three days
indicates the limits and fragility of mutual support on the street. It is also important to
acknowledge that street children’s life worlds are based on reciprocal companionships
in everyday life and times of crises. As Kofi’s and Tunjay’s stories from the street
indicate, friendships among street children are also valuable on a different level. Since
finding work on the street is essential, load carrying and scrap dealing are, among
other activities, appealing jobs for street children of various ages. Although such
activities may only seem to require limited skills on the surface, the ability to gain
access to structures of niches of labor in the informal economy is a necessity. Certain
groups of street children have agreements with customers like scrap dealers or market
women. To work in these sectors, it is necessary to get introduced to them by
experienced street children and learn the required skills of knowing where to find and
sell metal and how to gain the trust of potential customers.
21 Access to work, sharing secured places to sleep in the night, having support in times of
sickness, and being able to get food from friends when necessary, constitute the
importance of social relations and mutual comradeship among street children. Whereas
this is already a necessity among local children like Tunjay, Kofi and Ekua who have
grown up in Ashaiman, it is even more so for children for whom Ghana’s southern cities
are more or less alien surroundings. Hence, the essential relevance of friendships for
individual mobility is best reflected in the labor migration practices of the hundreds of
child migrants who come to urban centers annually. This is most striking in the kayayei
(head porters) phenomenon, which sees mostly young Muslim females from all over
northern Ghana working as load carriers on Accra’s and Kumasi’s markets and bus
stations (see, e.g., Awumbila & Ardayfio-Schandorf, 2008; Ungruhe, 2014; Yeboah, 2010).
Girls begin to migrate between the ages of about ten to twelve and are predominantly
engaged in earning means to accumulate goods for their dowries. Their migration,
however, is mainly seasonal. During harvest activities in the rural north, the girls and
young women return to their hometowns in numbers only to return to the cities when
extensive farming activities end (Ungruhe, 2014). Amina, 14 years old, is one of these
kayayei. Similar to most of her fellow colleagues, she went to the country’s capital

37
without her parents. “I was 12 when I went for the first time,” she recalls, “there is no
work at home, so I decided to go. I told my mother and she agreed and gave me the
lorry fare. I went with one of my friends who has been to Accra before. We went to
Tamale [the capital of Ghana’s Northern Region] to take a bus to Accra.” Upon arrival
her friend led the way to the place where most of the other girls from their hometown
stayed. Amina got a place in one of the wooden huts near the market and shared it with
five girls she had known from her hometown. She was introduced to the work of load
carrying and one of her friends bought her a head pan for carrying the goods to start
work. They were looking for customers at the market where traders and people who
come to buy all kinds of things need somebody to carry the load. Initially, she found it
difficult and was only able to earn enough money to get something to eat. She could
neither enjoy the various attractions that life in the city had to offer nor accumulate
items for her dowry. She decided to try something else and a friend found her a job as a
food seller at the market. Luckily, she never experienced a severe sickness or damaged
somebody’s goods while carrying them. But she has met many fellow girls who needed
money due to take care of such issues. Yet, in the event of such crises, it is common
among girls from the same hometown who stay and work together to support each
other. Jasira, one of Amina’s colleague confirms:
One girl fell sick and we sent her to the hospital. The doctor said it is malaria and
that she needs treatment. We all g[a]ve money to buy her the drugs but still she
didn’t get better. So, each of us gave something to pay the lorry fare and send her
home so that her family can take care of her.
22 Despite hardships of labor and poor living conditions, Amina is keen to try her luck in
Accra again after she had returned to her hometown in the farming period. “I will go
again because of the marriage goods [for her dowry],” she says.
23 Usually unaccompanied by parents, kayayei live as seasonal street children in the
southern cities. They are not driven to migrate because of poverty. Instead, they are
motivated both by achieving a degree of freedom and enjoying urban life as well as
accruing valuable household items that may constitute a wealthy dowry, which would
increase a women’s status in the family and the community (Ungruhe, 2018). In the
alien city, they build upon social relations with the fellow kayayei they know from their
home communities. As Amina and Jasira explain, mutual cooperation within a circle of
friends (providing access to work, a safe place to sleep and a certain degree of social
support in times of crises) is most crucial for seasonal migrants in order for them to
achieve their aims of accumulating goods and return home 5.
Mobilities beyond agency

24 Reflecting upon the presented biographies sheds light on various aspects of
actionability, social embeddedness and mobility. Firstly, motives and reasons for
becoming a street child are indeed multifarious. Often, financial burdens at home and
family dissolutions are part of a street child’s story. But it is not necessarily poverty or
misery that drives children and youth from their homes to the street. In addition, as
Ekua points out, the appeal of the street may be the driving force behind children’s
decisions to leave their families and to stay and work with friends. However, street
children’s situations and motivations are fluid and subjects to change (Aptekar, 1996, p.
250). Today, the street might offer a better and more appealing alternative than the
living environment at home. Tomorrow, perhaps, it might be hard to make a living on

38
the street or the child might be simply ready to go back home after spending some time
hanging out with friends. In Cape Verde, Bordonaro (2011, p. 139) identified a kind of
“seasonal agenda” among children who move to the street. Public events, festivals and
the peak season of tourism present occasions where children find better opportunities
to earn money and tend to spend their time in popular public places. This agenda is
perhaps most clearly visible in circular migration practices of northern Ghanaian
children and youth, as Amina’s case demonstrates. Regardless of whether street
children move from their homes to the street due to family dissolution or financial
hardships at home, in search for economic opportunities, in order to enjoy time with
their friends, or on a seasonal basis, all biographies have shown that street children are
exceedingly mobile and so are their various life worlds.
25 Therefore, street children are not acting in fixed and separated scopes of home and the
street. Instead, they move in a fluid environment comprising both home and the street.
Yet, while Gigengack (2014, p. 271f) acknowledges street children’s daily and short-
term spatial mobilities, he stresses that this reflects social exclusions at play rather
than autonomous individual decisions. “The emphasis on fluidity runs the risk of
overlooking the structural power at work,” he argues, locking children and youth in
states of persistent marginalization. However, I would argue, while power relations
indeed need to be considered, they do not exclusively facilitate fixed levels of children’s
and youth’s subordination. Relationships, whether with parents, peers, or institutions,
are also fluid and constantly reproduced and rather speak to the mobilities of street
childhood than the converse.
26 Furthermore, acknowledging the individual mobile practices and relations of children
and youth, their different motivations to move to the street and their varying level of
street wisdom, it would be arbitrary to generalize street children’s scopes as if they all
share a collective lower degree of agency. Whose agency is thick and whose is thin?
Whose activities are self-destructing and whose are self-empowering? Is a school kid’s
agency reflexive and strategic while a working street child’s agency is short-sighted
and tactical? Finally, at what point may a tactic become a strategy and when does thick
agency turn into thin? Acknowledging a lower degree of agency for all street children
generalizes the actionability of children like Tunjay, Kofi, Ekua and Amina whose life
worlds, motives and decision-making processes differ crucially. Furthermore, it creates
analytical boundaries between street children and those at home who may rather move
back and forth between the two spheres. In this respect, it is not far from the notion of
the street as an inappropriate space for growing up (see Glauser, 1990/1997; Panter-
Brick, 2002, p. 148). That is, such depictions are not far from those that confine street
childhood to a state of misery and victimhood, a conceptualization that advocates of
the agency approach have actually tried to overcome (e.g. see Ennew & Swart-Kruger,
2003).
27 Yet, street children’s practices are not exclusively aimed at achieving short-term goals
but may comprise long-term ambitions and social mobility. Children and youth may
look for means to go back to school, get a better paid job through networks in the
informal economy, become leaders within their batch of work mates or accumulating a
wealth of goods that would lead to a prestigious marriage and economic coverage at
home. Therefore, street children’s actionability within fluid environments go beyond a
lower degree of agency since “tactical,” “thin” or “self-destructing” agency implicitly
lock protagonists in a fixed state of victimhood and overlook their potential long-term

39
social mobilities. Further, ascribing a lower degree of agency to street children

reproduces their othering and sets them outside the Western ideal of growing up in a
society. However, people’s ability to act rather needs to be studied from within, that is,
in relation to the perceptions and possibilities of the particular group of people in
question, and not in relation to a dominant outside norm (Mahmood, 2005). Finally,
denying process-related dynamics of and interlinkages between street children’s life
worlds reproduces a “sedentarist bias” that neglects the fundamental relevance of
mobility, as acknowledging street children’s fluid life worlds is key to understanding
the practices and embeddedness of youngsters like Tunjay, Kofi, Ekua and Amina.
28 Hence, while studies need to avoid fixing entities that street children themselves treat
as fluid, and, thus, to actually acknowledge the various forms of spatial and social
mobility, it is important to effectively overcome pitfalls of implicit inscriptions of
street children’s collective misery. Therefore, going beyond the various approaches of
agency’s limits is central for conceptualizations of the street children phenomenon.
Conclusion
29 Far from idealizing street life, the presented life stories of children and youth in
Ashaiman and Accra reflect a different notion of the phenomenon than a sole state of
victimhood, suffering and misery. Becoming a street child is often rather a rational and
strategic decision that entails better opportunities and promises a better life than with
economically or socially challenged families (see de Bruijn 2007, p. 276). However,
navigating street life usually means maintaining relations with the family. Moving
between the spheres of home and the street characterizes children’s and youth’s life
worlds and their trajectories to seek social mobility.
30 Like Ekua, Amina and Kofi, Tunjay, this paper’s first protagonist, is one of those
movers. He feels comfortable staying with his friends and he manages to care for his
living. Leaving his family was not the only remaining option. Still, his mother cares for
him when he visits her for a few days. Rather than being stuck in one place he makes
use of both, home and the street. Making money by undertaking paid labor and
enjoying freedom on the street does not keep him from collecting his mother’s coins
and looking for parental shelter when he likes. Tunjay’s mobility between home and
the street follows rational and reflexive considerations. It is a constant search for
opportunities and implies an active role in creating and utilizing space to maneuver.
Moving between the different domains widens his immediate social and economic
scope and may lead to social mobility in the long run. Hence, for Tunjay and many
others, the mobile life world of the street promises a better alternative to the state of
immobility at home.
31 In this regard, the opening description of young people’s engagement in various
economic activities in the busy public places of African cities can be read as a reflection
of their various attempts to utilize their spatial mobility for their “everyday well-being
and their process of social becoming” (Langevang & Gough, 2009, p. 752). Therefore,
underlining street children’s collective state of being out of place and their seemingly
limited options and abilities to act neglects their potential of achieving better lives. An
approach that focuses their mobilities may offer a better framework to conceptualizing
their social life worlds. While it acknowledges street children’s spatial mobility as being
inherent to their everyday lives it points to their abilities of achieving both immediate

40
gains and social mobility in the long run. In this respect, different modes and degrees
of mobility among street children have to be considered. While some might just move
around to find something to eat and a safe place to sleep others follow a long-term
vision, e.g. by accumulating dowry items for a future marriage. Therefore,
understanding the children’s various backgrounds, motives and actions is key to grasp
how they navigate street life.
32 Today, however, we may not know how successful Tunjay, Kofi, Ekua and Amina will be
in their individual attempts to achieve social mobility in the remote future. Therefore,
a study that focuses on long-term processes of street childhood could explore how
children’s and youth’s navigation lays paths beyond today’s struggles and enjoyments
(see van Blerk, 2005, p. 6).
33 In general, future research on street children’s mobilities need to take the concept’s
various dimensions into account and explore the entangled spatial, temporal and social
features of mobility. Spatial mobilities include street-ward migration, daily movement
and moving between various spheres of socialization (see Bordonaro, 2011; van Blerk,
2005). Temporal mobilities refer to both the daily struggle on the street and mid- and
long-term trajectories over the life course. A focus on “street careers” would also imply
looking beyond the life phase of childhood and youth and investigate where street life
leads in the long run (see Gigengack, 2014, p. 271; Stodulka, 2017, p. 21), and how
imaginations and makings of African children’s and youth’s futures materialize
(Martin, Ungruhe, & Häberlein, 2016). Spatialities and temporalities are both connected
to the social dimension of mobility. They do not inherently imply a linear trajectory to
better lives but may imply immobilities to a great extent. Thus, it is important to follow
Gigengack’s (2014, p. 271) call to take the various power mechanisms of street
childhood into account in order to investigate possible immobile life worlds and social
trajectories. However, whether leading to social mobility or immobility, the various
dimensions of mobility highlight the multifarious social processes, dynamics and
trajectories of street childhood over time and space and therefore capture a more
nuanced and thorough picture of street life worlds. Hence, rather than focusing on
limited forms and degrees of agency and spotlighting the bounded status quo of young
people’s street life experience, future studies on street children should explore the
various and interwoven dimensions of mobility.
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NOTES
1. Generally, the term comprises young people over a wide age span, including children and
youth. While my informants were between 14 and 16 years old at the time of research, “street
youth” seems to be the appropriate term for them. However, I refer to “street children” in order
to link my study to the broader debate of “street childhood”. In addition, a critical understanding
of the term and its normative implications is often indicated by using inverted commas. This is
done here when terms are mentioned for the first time. In order to refer to an existing debate, I
then use the terms without such a marker. “Street” is used as a synonym for all places where
children who work and stay (not necessarily continuously) in public places like bus stations,
markets, parks, roads, etc., and is usually separated from “home” or “family,” seemingly
normative and ideal places for growing up.
2. I use pseudonyms in order to guarantee the children’s anonymity.
3. Debates on street childhood have first emerged in the Latin American context in the 1970s.
While street children in African settings have attracted academic attention only since the
mid-1990s, they have contributed to shape the global discourse on street children ever since
(Adick, 1997, p. 8). The shift in the perspective on street children is not least reflected by
participatory methods in child research that have become increasingly popular in studies on and
with African street children (see e.g. Bordonaro, 2011; van Blerk, 2005).
4. In his study on children and youth in war-torn Liberia, Utas (2005, p. 57) identifies “victimacy”
as “the most limited form” of “tactical agency.” However, depicting oneself as a victim of impacts

44
of warfare may serve as an effective mode to gain access to certain forms of support, particularly
those offered by international humanitarian organizations.
5. Child migrants who look for work in the informal economy of larger cities are not unique to
the West African context. Young (2004) refers to the practice of unaccompanied children’s labor
migration to urban centers in Uganda as “street-ward migration” since for many of the young
migrants the street becomes the dominant social life world.
ABSTRACTS
As a response to widespread conceptualizations of street childhood in the global South as a state
of misery and marginalization, recent studies tend to portray street children as social agents.
However, many refer to “tactical” or “thin” agency in order to point out the limited scope of
those young people’s practices. Yet, the problem of acknowledging a lower degree of agency is
that it separates children and youth living in environments “outside the norm” from those who
stay with their parents and attend school. This constellation is particularly inadequate in the
realm of street childhood in the global South, as it constructs fixed entities of different life
worlds that are indeed fluid since street children frequently move between the various domains
of socialization. I propose that the social, spatial and temporal mobilities of street children can
best be explored through children’s biographical life stories, focusing here on street children in
southern Ghana.
Em resposta às conceitualizações generalizadas da infância de rua no Sul global como um estado

de miséria e marginalização, estudos recentes tendem a descrever as crianças de rua como
agentes sociais. No entanto, muitos referem-se à agência “tática” ou “fraca”, para salientar o
limitado alcance das práticas desses jovens. Porém, o problema de reconhecer um grau de
agência mais reduzido é que ele separa as crianças e jovens que vivem em ambientes “fora da
norma” daqueles que ficam com os seus pais e frequentam a escola. Esta constelação é
particularmente inadequada na esfera da infância de rua no Sul global, já que constrói entidades
fixas de diferentes mundos de vida que de facto são fluídos, uma vez que frequentemente as
crianças de rua circulam entre os vários domínios de socialização. Proponho que as mobilidades
sociais, espaciais e temporais das crianças de rua podem ser melhor exploradas através das
histórias de vida das crianças, focando aqui as crianças de rua no sul do Gana.
INDEX
Keywords: street children, agency, youth, social mobility, victimization, Ghana
Palavras-chave: crianças de rua, agência, jovens, mobilidade social, vitimização, Gana

45
AUTHOR
CHRISTIAN UNGRUHE
Erasmus University Rotterdam
Burgemeester Oudlaan 50
3062 PA Rotterdam, the Netherlands
ungruhe@eshcc.eur.nl

46
Dead End? Young Mototaxi Drivers

Between Being Stuck, Bridging
Potholes and Building a Future in
Goma, Eastern Congo
Beco sem saída? Jovens condutores de mototáxi entre ficarem parados,
atravessarem buracos e construírem um futuro em Goma, leste do Congo
Silke Oldenburg
EDITOR'S NOTE
1 Goma’s city center has changed a lot during the last ten years. During my first research
period in 2008, the remnants of hardened lava flows from the Nyiragongo volcano’s
latest eruption in 2002 were still visible, and taking a motorcycle taxi through the
bumpy and dusty streets was often an adventurous ride. Ten years later, Goma’s road
network has changed a lot. Not only do roundabouts and sculptures beautify the
streets, but a giant traffic robot also regulates one of the busiest crossroads of the city.
The robot stands with a solar panel over its head, displaying green and red arrows on
its chest and knees to bring some order into the chaotic city traffic – even the
motorcycle taxi drivers pay attention to its signals. To be sure, they still park in parallel
lines of up to ten motards in front of the traffic stop, so close that their clients’ knees
would touch each other. Taking these improvements into account, however, it is
obvious, that many of the neighbourhoods are still impaired by lava rocks, potholes,
and huge puddles. This lack of infrastructure requires the motorcycle taxi driver to be
particularly versatile – especially in residential areas – and it is noteworthy that as the
number of motards continues to grow (20,700, the latest figure from September 2017,

47
townhall) their paths give shape to the uneven urban landscape as they traverse and
connect through the city – both as public transport and as means of transporting small
material goods.
2 In many parts of Africa, mototaxis are a pervasive phenomenon that’s associated with a
vibrant street life, chaotic traffic situations, and a labor market for young male drivers.
In a number of West and Central African countries, motorcycle taxis constitute a
decisive post-conflict urban market and sociopolitical fabric (for the Great Lakes
region, cf. Goodfellow & Titeca, 2012; Rollason, 2013; for the Mano River region, cf.
Bürge, 2011; Bürge & Peters, 2010; Menzel, 2011). Goma, the emblematic capital of
Eastern Congo’s war-ridden North Kivu province, can be seen in this light. In the 1980s,
motorcycles and some motorcycle taxis were already transporting people and goods,
which inherently links the big boom and the onset of Goma’s mototaxi market to the
Rwandan genocide in 1994 and its aftermath1. It was further accentuated by the
eruption of the Nyiragongo volcano (2002), eventually becoming a profitable and fast-
growing urban sector in its own right. Many young motorcycle taxi drivers (hereafter
referred to as motard) fled from rural areas to the urban center of Goma. Some of them
are demobilized fighters who have fought in the manifold militias in Eastern Congo’s
hinterland while others have felt the pull of Goma’s economic opportunities. As a
result, the number of motards increased, thus generating a multitude of different
stories, lifestyles, and expectations, be it due to their heterogeneous ethnic identities,
educational backgrounds, financial means, urban experiences, or sociopolitical
expectations.
3 It is hard to overlook motorcycles and their young drivers as they wait at Goma’s street
corners, honking to gain the attention of potential clients and roaming the city with
colorful identification plates, pennants, and other decorations on their motos. They are
a symbol of being (physically) mobile, even if the informal character of their work
makes them a target of the public discourse that stereotypes these young men as the
embodiment of inherent danger and violence; a typecast that is similar to young men in
other contexts of crisis. Indeed, this appears to be a dilemma for youth in Africa. Many
studies on young people tend to reproduce notions of hopelessness, decline, and bleak
futures (Cruise O’Brien, 1996; Honwana, 2014). Catchy concepts such as “social death”
seem to provide a compelling explanation for the future of these young people when
their traditional path to social adulthood becomes blocked (Hage, 2003; Vigh, 2006).
Such youth may give the impression of ”being stuck,” as Mark Sommers describes for
youth in Rwanda (2012), or as Alcinda Honwana argues, they are in a liminal state of
“waithood” (2012). Even if Honwana’s prominent conceptualization of ”waiting” does
not draw away agency from these youth per se, I posit that the state of waiting for
adulthood – ”waithood” – projects a normative, socially desirable understanding of
adulthood while the very notion of adulthood is undergoing a contemporary
transformation anyway (Blatterer, 2010; van Dijk, de Bruijn, Cardoso, & Butter, 2011, p.
5). In this sense, “being stuck” has become one of the key descriptions of a generation
that holds the little possibility for youths to undergo the passage from adolescence to
adulthood.
4 As a truism, movement in any direction or in no direction (being stuck), is always
necessarily spatial. In the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DR Congo), structural
roadblocks in the form of protracted violent conflict, political factors,
intergenerational relations, and economic hardship hinder young motorcycle taxi

48
drivers from becoming “a somebody,” from moving forward (Langevang, 2008). Here,
roads may be read as “social promise” (Harvey & Knox, 2012) that gives way to the
imaginative connection between physical and social mobility. Roads are political
arenas, whether virtually or physically, where style and youth are enacted and become
a “space of possibility afforded to youth” (Vigh, 2006, p. 37). As motards’ attempt to
outwit the traffic police and shape their present, they actively seek future routes along
which they can keep moving and make detours in order to circumvent social
immobility and achieve social adulthood. Questions of being mobile or being stuck have
led to a conceptual approach towards youth that has gained much attention in recent
years. However, these questions continue to underpin former descriptions of young
people as marginalized, without a future, or with bleak and gloomy prospects. As a
contrast to these characterizations, this article approaches youth through the various
perceptions and emic understandings of what being young and becoming an adult
means to young motorcycle taxi drivers as learning to “read” a volatile city.
5 I will focus on this young urban group’s perspectives on mobility and their way of social
becoming in a context where “learning” seems to be a necessary asset to make one’s
surroundings legible and therewith lay the foundation for achieving social status and
getting by. Being streetwise, evaluating opportunities, bonding on the peer-level, or
reaching out to other actors via associations or by tempting one’s luck, indicate that
identifying young men as desperately stuck or waiting seems to be one-sided. In this
paper, I will show how motards are not only physically mobile but also achieve social
mobility while reproducing their own socioeconomic conditions (similar to Paul Willis
seminal study on why “working class kids get working class jobs”, 1977). The social
reproduction of a structural economic framework and practices to deal with it will
serve as a useful lens for this article to illustrate the extent to which young men are
living their youth and struggling to become adults. The skills for this cannot be
acquired through formal learning but are, as Spittler argues, developed by imitation
and become visible in issues of “work” (Spittler & Bourdillon, 2012, p. 74). Questions
about how young mototaxi drivers move in order to “secure lifelihood” and where “to
acquire the necessary skills and capacities to do so” (Simone, 2004, p. 3) are particularly
important here.
6 Linking these questions of youth theory to a conceptualization of work, I intend to
focus on the conundrum of three different aspects, perceptions, and understandings of
work, which may be considered as “real work”, as (informal) “débrouillardise,” or as
“mere survival.” Kazi ya moto may be interpreted by young men as income-generating
work in its own right, as a future business where they could possibly become the patron
someday and have one or several motards working for them, it can be considered
adventure, freedom, and a time of solidarity, or it can be seen as last option – the lesser
evil – when they’re oscillating between getting by or surviving. This differentiation
neither dramatizes nor romanticizes motards’ lifeworlds, but it does depict a complex
situation that often tends to be oversimplified in public and in academic discussions.
Economic uncertainty is connected to social and existential questions that constitute
crucial facets for growing up and thereby impacts how social adulthood can be enacted
and achieved, especially in an urban context that is highly shaped by political tensions
and economic precarity.
7 Work and learning have been fruitfully conceptualized by Gerd Spittler (2008) through
the following four key questions: First, asking about the concept of rationality around

49
which work is structured; second, how work is embedded in people’s lifeworlds; third,
how work can be performed; and fourth, inquiring about the significance of work for
human beings. For this contribution, I will specifically concentrate on the fourth
question as it focuses not only on issues of performance but also focuses more
substantially on the meanings and significance of work itself 2 (Spittler, 2008, p. 18). As
the skills valuable for both work and life, in general, can be acquired through work
itself, the context within which work and learning take place is crucial. As such, the
following analysis positions work as a school of hard knocks.
8 Methodologically, this article is based on the ethnographic data I gathered between
2008 and 2018. For a total of 24 months, I worked closely with motards and their
organizations by hanging out at motards’ waiting points on street corners and at open-
air shops where they sell and purchase stylish moto attachments 3. Furthermore, I have
spent a lot of time on the backseats of motorcycles myself. This is where I first
perceived this as a daily routine and as a necessity in order to move around Goma’s
urban landscape. I later realized that this interaction was what Taussig coined for
Colombian taxis as “stranger intimacy” (Taussig, 2003, p. 8), the physical proximity that
might open up dynamics of encounter and exchange and reveal much about motards’
lifeworlds while both participating in their daily work and leisure practices.
9 In order to explore their lifeworlds, I will first situate Goma as an empirical context,
connecting it to a brief review of the urban scholarship on youth, conflict, and work.
The empirical part delves into motards’ understandings of their occupation reflecting
how these shape and are shaped by the wider public and academic discourses.
Experiences of mobility, learning, street smarts, conviviality and aspirations for the
future are the ethnographic heart of this contribution. I conclude with reflections on
the social skills the motards use to deal with uncertainty and unpredictable settings.
Goma as a school of hard knocks: context and

infrastructures
10 African cities are mostly depictured as either site of perilous overpopulation,
deteriorating infrastructures, chronic poverty, crime, and violence, or as being
breeding grounds for creativity and inventiveness (Makhulu et al., 2010; Simone, 2004;
Trefon, 2004). Cities are full of possibilities and futures but also might be experienced
as a school of hard knocks. With Goma, we have a context that was not only shaped by
IMF’s structural adjustment programs in the 1980s, but it was implicated by protracted
armed conflict in the 1990s and the eruption of a volcano in the early 2000s as well.
Over the last four decades, Goma’s face has changed substantially. A small town of little
importance in the east of a vast country has been pushed into the spotlight of
international media and humanitarian policies. Therefore, Goma’s context is elusive
and the city operates as many things at once: A safe haven from armed conflict in the
rural hinterland, a prospering boomtown thanks to private investment, a market of
intervention (Oldenburg, 2015), an NGO-pole (Büscher & Vlassenroot, 2010), a
comparatively dynamic labor market, among others. The flow of people, goods, and
ideas related to war and displacement, (transborder) trade and transnational
organizations, “traditional” and “expat” lifestyles have impacted the urban space. The
accelerated flow of images, technologies, commodities, and people is symptomatic of a
whole range of new connections that offer a space for narratives of sudden

50
transformation but also new forms of exclusion and disconnection simultaneously

(Makhulu et al., 2010; Simone, 2004, p. 3).
11 Both the growth of Goma as a city and the advent of the mototaxi market are
consequences of the protracted armed conflict in the Kivu provinces. Quite similar to
bike-riding in other post-war contexts (e.g., Sierra Leone), the boom of mototaxis
started in Goma in the aftermath of a conflictive event, in this case, the Rwandan
genocide in 1994, when many young men needed to find new sources of revenue to get
by. Because of its easy accessibility and the promise of physical and social mobility, the
motorcycle became a very attractive asset in the urban post-conflict market. However,
even before the wars and during the height of Mobutu’s reign, mototaxis circled the
town. When governmental institutions eroded successively, citizens found detours to
substitute the lack of public investment in transportation. In turn, mototaxi driving
became less than a “real profession” and much more than mere “politics of survival”
(Goodfellow & Titeca, 2012), it became an economic niche, or more explicitly, a form of
débrouillardise, an income-generating activity, where either a diploma is unnecessary or
where having a diploma in hand does little to help an individual enter the job market
(Oldenburg, 2016a). Moreover, the physical conditions of Goma’s roads favor
motorcycles as urban public transport: after the latest eruption of the Nyiragongo
volcano in 2002, mototaxis became the most adequate means to roam the bumpy
streets as they were able to cover unpaved roads and maneuver around potholes and
puddles as large as lakes. This illustrates the correlation between crisis-related events
(war and natural disasters), and the consequences it has on Goma’s built environment
and the economic opportunities they created. Motards, then, actively produce social
space by maneuvering through it.
12 Roads – as infrastructure, as a social promise, and a factor of threat – are motards’
everyday sites of work. Recently, advancement can be seen in the state of Goma’s roads
as the private enterprise Safritex began to (re)pave Goma’s major avenues starting in
2016. Nevertheless, many urban residents observe the upgrading of the roads
suspiciously and often subject it to mockery. For example, little remarks such as, “This
will break down soon,” or “It’s badly made, who do they want to fool,” suggest that
even if the main road is paved, a decade of neglect has sown distrust regarding public
urban works. Roads emerge as sites of connectivity and interfaces, where diverse social
groups move, meet, and interact. They also generate a promise of speed, political
integration, and economic connectivity (Harvey & Knox, 2012). Obviously, no formal
education is needed to drive a motorcycle taxi or to transport people. Yet, as most
roads are bumpy, working the roads on a mototaxi means learning the hard way.
Following Spittler and Bourdillon, learning can be understood through imitation and
education of attention (Spittler & Bourdillon, 2012). Brothers, friends, or neighbors
continually teach the driver, and many encounters with traffic police or bandits make
them feel the hard knocks of the urban environment. Here, learning often requires the
driver to approach and deal with these instances case-by-case – on a basis of trial and
error.

51
Approaching the concept of youth in Goma: il faut

tafuta kwanza4
13 Youth take up a relational position within the generational spectrum, and they are
equally shaped by and shaping sociopolitical contexts. In Goma, youth (ki/vijana) is not
primarily defined by chronological age but often conceived as a period of searching, be
it searching for success, money or a spouse, all of which are important ingredients for
becoming an adult (mutu mukubwa). More generally, youth marks a quest for meaning
in order to tame uncertain conditions. In places where uncertainty has become a
dominant trope of life (Cooper & Pratten, 2015, p. 1), contemporary youth feel
confronted with the impact of two decades of war and economic liberalization that
hinder their chances to gain income, to marry, and, consequently, acquire social status.
Even if youth is also regarded as a period of uncertainty in many countries of the so-
called Global North, being young and living youth in a very violently shaped context
requires some different skills to optimize one’s life chances.
14 Mark Sommers has found that in both rural and urban Rwanda, young people have
little plans for the future as they favor “stability over advancement” (Sommers, 2012, p.
200). In this study, the Rwandan youths express frustration about their lack of
opportunities, which Sommers describes as a state of stuckness. In general, since the
1980s, economic liberalization and globalization have heavily impacted youth and their
paths to adulthood (Diouf, 2003). Young people face uncertainties spanning from
housing and education to meeting social expectations. It is against this backdrop that
some scholars have articulated the notion of “waithood,” which is described as social
immobility or a prolonged period of suspension between childhood and adulthood
(Honwana, 2012; Vigh, 2006, p. 37).
15 As a border town to Rwanda, Goma seems to be quite different as discussions among
young motards focus on more than just “survival.” In Goma, a different tendency seems
to rule, as, sometimes, young people, having fled from rural areas to Goma, praise the
urban setting. While some young urbanites might perceive their lack of opportunities
as a personal failure (Oldenburg, 2016b), rural youngsters might confront their
situation with a pragmatic attitude. Even if they cannot participate in the booming
market of intervention5 (Oldenburg, 2015) or if they feel excluded from future
prospects, this does not necessarily lead to shattered dreams. As one rural motard
explained to me, “back in the village, we would not have it anyway” (fieldnotes, Mayai,
June 2016). Here, rural or urban backgrounds manifest themselves differently in
motards. Youth who are born and raised in the city often perceive and expect different
opportunities than those from the countryside who have yet to spend much time in
Goma and are still in awe of its possibilities. Different visions towards the urban
landscape and its opportunities are based on “education” and “informal learning.”
Formal education still plays a strong part in Goma’s imagination towards a modern,
better future (Oldenburg, 2016b). However, motards particularly lack this background.
In contrast to youths who have studied and experience failure in acquiring the status
they long for, the dramatic drop height – the discrepancy between high expectations
and shattered dreams – seems higher for a student than it does for a young motard
(Oldenburg, 2016a).
16 Motards try to construct and improve their social, economic, and existential conditions
even while having limited access to positions of power. Here, practices of work can be

52
framed and understood as performances of masculinity and machismo (Fuh, 2012;

Verweijen, 2015, p. 198). Many seek work to provide for their families, but jobs are
increasingly difficult to find. They have to be inventive in order to succeed and in doing
so, they confront the barriers and limitations of their economic condition.
Consequently, motards move through situations of urban uncertainty. They are not
passive, idle, violent victims but they do have agentive leeway, meaning that they can
find ways to manipulate, comment on, and approach restrictive social conditions in the
urban environment. By roaming their way through a volatile and unpredictable urban
environment, they confront situations of uncertainty on an everyday basis. In
literature, we find many active verbs that refer to agentive struggle, such as
“maneuvering” (Berner & Trulsson, 2000), “navigating” (Vigh, 2009), “managing”
(Langevang, 2008), ”cruising” (Archambault, 2013), “straining” (Finn & Oldfield, 2015)
or “hustling” (Thieme, 2013) to name a few.
17 For youth in Goma, the “débrouillardise” – the ability to fend for one’s self – is integral to
the everyday vernacular and social practice in DR Congo (MacGaffey, 1991). The deeper
significance of la débrouillardise encompasses everyday struggles and opportunistic
routines even if the presence of formal institutional support is lacking. La débrouillardise
is a multifaceted concept that can either be linked to short-term goals to secure one’s
next meal or to long-term strategies to secure economic gain, continue to diversify
their sources of income and to manage risks and rewards in an uncertain local
landscape (Oldenburg, 2016b). As Karen Hansen observes, young people’s reactions to
uncertainty are situated by their socioeconomic context and depend on the set of skills
and resources they draw from within households and society (Hansen, 2005).
18 Following Wulff’s concept of a “cultural moratorium” (1995), Henrik Vigh proposes the
concept of a “social moratorium” to describe the unwanted prolongation of youth
(2006). In the Global North, youth is regarded as period of freedom, status, and fun, an
age of creativity, and a “space and time of innovation and cultural production”
(Hebdige, 1988; Wulff, 1995, p. 7). In contrast, Vigh characterizes youth in the Global
South as a social position of a “social moratorium” that does not allow for freedom but
symbolizes social limitation and desperate struggles that easily result in “social death”
(Hage, 2003; Vigh, 2006). While youth in the Global North are perceived as a group that
refuses to grow up – described as “Peter-Pan-Syndrome” (Blatterer, 2007) –, young
people from poor contexts are described as desperately trying to escape the status of
youth to become adults. Chabal and Daloz write that youth “hunger after the age,
which will endow them with an authority currently denied” (Chabal & Daloz, 1999, p.
34).
19 The subsequent sections empirically challenge the following questions about how
young motards in Goma deal with economic hardship and conditions of physical
uncertainty: In what way are young men striving and struggling to survive in order to
escape “social death”? How do they comply with their socially-expected trajectory
towards becoming an adult? Finally, have they surrendered to the difficult
circumstances and accept the “social moratorium” as a dead end, as the title of this
article challenges?

53
Motards’ lifeworlds in Goma

20 Motards describe their work and its challenges as the need and struggle to make ends
meet in order to live their youth in the present and achieve a socially recognized
position as an adult in the future. This balancing act between being young and
becoming an adult might be even more difficult when their chosen career has a bad
reputation. As motard Junior deplores, “What shall I do? Our reputation is bad. Parents
tend to give their daughters to a barber rather than to a motard. They consider us
adventurers” (Junior, September 2009).
21 This bad reputation classifies the mototaxi market as a very ambiguous one. Although
the market is essential for public transport in Goma, it is nevertheless closely related to
the context of armed conflict where demobilized fighters integrate themselves in this
recent economic niche in town. Alternatively, the mototaxi market is associated with
urban criminality (robberies) and safety issues (accidents). The social and political
influence of mototaxi associations as urban pressure group (Büscher, personal
communication, 2015; Oldenburg, 2018) is palpable for Goma’s population as well.
Urban struggle frames motards’ everyday life and their difficult circumstances might
be considered somewhat normal. Young mobile men are often judged and negated by
their informal socio-economic practices. Nevertheless, motards as a group have become
increasingly diversified over the last decade. In general, these young men are from
lower social strata and they start working with motorbikes through their social
networks. During an interview, chairman Gaspard from ACCO explained that the
motards’ income depends on the number of passengers they carry or the distances they
travel. He continued explaining that being a motard comprises different categories of
young men: many of them come from the rural hinterland – either having demobilized
from one of the many militarized groups or coming to Goma in search of a better
livelihood – and many others are internally displaced and try to ensure their
livelihoods while living with their extended family (interview, 28.09.2008). I met
motards from town who were part-time pupils or students and who needed to take up a
job to invest in their education. Generally, motards are considered by the local
population as “dangerous” and “bandits.” The motards take up these prejudices with
humor; for instance, the abbreviation of the Indian motor company TVS is laughingly
translated into “Tous les Voyous Sont des Motards” (all the villains are motards).
22 Although a motard only needs a motorcycle and a short informal introduction to
driving (mostly learned from friends, neighbors, brothers, etc.), very few young people
have the capital to buy a motorbike from scratch. Most often, youngsters start working
for a patron with the objective to buy a second-hand motorbike in the future.
Patronage relations are very diverse in Goma and they range from patrons (mostly
former motards themselves) who employ one or two motards to patrons who have up
to 20 motards working for them. These are often military officials, police commanders,
politicians, or local businesspersons6. Many of my research interlocutors plan to
become a patron themselves in the future or open their own business one day. Most of
them want to buy a motorcycle so that they could eventually hire one or even more
motards driving for them. In the long run, none of my research interlocutors
considered that they would be a motard for life; most view it as a provisional stage and
not necessarily a dead end. For example, one of my research partners wanted to enter
politics by getting elected to the biggest motorcycle association, which would allow him

54
to exercise influence among his peers, gain visibility in the city, and increase his social
status.
23 Maneuvering a motorcycle through Goma’s urban infrastructure is demanding. It
requires balancing around potholes that have swelled to the size of lakes, muddy soil
and navigating slippery paths caused by the gravel and rocks that make the motorbike
slip7. Riding a mototaxi is an embodied experience. To perform this work, a motard has
to develop the corporeal skills such as strength and agility that allow one to drive a
motorcycle in such environments. Because of the high degree of physical force needed,
complaints about aching backs, rheumatism, or illnesses caused by dust are part of
regular conversations as roads are in a bad condition: “Mwili inatshoka,” the body is
tired, I often heard.
24 While motorbikes can be clearly seen as working instruments, yet some motards
ascribe to them feelings of freedom and the effects of adrenaline. Motorcycles were
regarded not only as instruments for work but also as “sources of agency,
experimentation and pleasure” (Ivinson, 2014, p. 612). For example, decorating a bike,
appropriating it, “styling it,” and making it an extension of one’s own personality,
one’s own imaginations of modernity, and of the future, might be interpreted as an
extension of the body (De Boeck & Plissart, 2004, p. 54). Motard Jean-Jacques explains:
“You know, I like my moto, my body and my machine become one, it feels good 8.” Here,
the individual relationship to one’s working instrument becomes obvious, and it
expands the range of corporeal rhythms and relations motards share with the world
(Ivinson, 2014, p. 609). This sentiment is comparable to the social situation of a young
man being mobile and free to live an adventurous life.
25 For many youths coming from rural areas, these relations are highlighted by their
migration to the city. Joseph, for example, underscores the myriad of possibilities that
promise freedom and autonomy in Goma by contrasting it to social control in the
village: “I never liked working the field, always going to the field, no… Goma is a big
city, here there is a lot to do” (Joseph, May 2008). Motard Dieudonné sees it similarly.
He had to flee from Mweso, in Masisi, to Goma because he feared he would be recruited
to a militia like his brother was. In Goma, he now lives with a “grand frère” who
introduced him to working as a motard. For Dieudonné, “Goma means freedom and
chaos,” indicating that he does not miss his rural life and he enjoys the freedom of the
city. This kind of chaos might appear attractive to some while it raises many levels of
mistrust and confirms the negative impression of danger that is attributed to motards
as a collective for others.
26 The performance of work and its embeddedness in everyday life are, according to
Spittler, facilitated by “knowledge and skill” (Spittler, 2008, p. 16). Motards, who roam
through the city, looking for passengers, or gathering at neuralgic junctions while
waiting for their clientele, demonstrate the social relations that constitute motards’
lifeworlds. Furthermore, according to Spittler, work can be interpreted as “play, a
struggle or an art form” (p. 17). As I describe above, frustration and satisfaction for
motards are related to the purposes they follow. For Dieudonné or Joseph, kazi ya moto
is satisfactory as they traded it in for a life in the fields or in a militia. Compared to
what might have been expected of them back in their village, they interpret the type of
work they find in the city as liberation because it offers them opportunities to save
enough money to cover the dowry, contribute to their household, and even invest.

55
27 In 2009, Damien fixed a vanity license plate on the back of his moto that said, “Sous le
sang de Dieu” (under God’s blood) and a front plate that said, “Decision 2009.” The
sentiments expressed on these vanity plates display the future that Damien is trying to
manifest by moving to the city, liberating himself, becoming a motard, and taking
advantage of the opportunities that Goma has to offer. Unfortunately, I did not see
Damien during my follow-up research visits, so I do not know if he actualized his goals
or not. Nevertheless, his vanity plates display the hopes and ambitions that encompass
what mototaxi work means to young motards, especially on the streets of Goma. For
Damien, such a dream could be realized by acquiring and owning his first motorcycle,
which is a purchase that would open up avenues to be a “patron” one day. Such an
artistic display of what work means to this motard exemplifies Damien’s
determination, perseverance, and religiosity, and most notably, his ambition to succeed
in life.
28 Most of the motards I formed relationships with refer to their work as “real work”
(kazi) as opposed to débrouillardise (informal work). However, when talking about
professionalism or their life goals, most of them stated that they did not find another
occupation and chose motorcycle taxi driving as an alternative. Take, for instance,
what motard Anibal had to say:
No, faire la moto is no real job, it is just something provisional. See, I am in my
second year of studies, but, you know, the context is difficult. I have to live from
something and have to pay for university. I am living with my brother and his
family and need to contribute to the household. If I could find something as easy as
being a motard, I would do something else. The other motards are loud and not well
educated, they come from the countryside (Anibal, July 2016).
29 Many urban observers would confirm Anibal’s remark that mototaxi driving is a form
of work due to the lack of alternatives that are available. Most motards would prefer
being a chauffeur for an international NGO or the United Nations. However, being a
motard does not provide the means to approach Bazungu (Westerners) or enter their
exclusive networks. Ultimately, many motards consider being motard as a life phase,
while others enjoy being motard. They would praise the freedom they feel while on the
moto and how the moto allows them to meet different people while having a more or
less secure way to gain income. Heritier, who deliberately chose to be motard, states:
I studied education/pedagogy at ULPGL. But the longer I studied, the less I felt
prone to teach. You always have to prepare everything and correct everything and
no, there is no money in the end. Much work, no money. I am popular; I have a lot
of friends who are motards, so I decided to do that as well. I have my own bike, it is
used but I will be able to buy a new one soon. I like to drive, you see a lot, you are
always up to date, you meet with interesting people and money comes in. If I feel
tired, I am my own boss, I stay at home (Heritier, August 2016).
30 It was not uncommon to meet motards who are satisfied with their work. In September
2017, a motard was driving me back to the city center, close to the golden Tshukudu
monument9. He started negotiating with me that I would not have to pay if we took a
photograph together in front of the monument. Enthusiastically, he told me that he
was coming from the Grand Nord, the northern part of the province, and has started
working as a motard only four months ago. By sending the photo back to his family, he
wanted to show that he is doing fine (fieldnotes, September 2017). I interpreted his
wish to pose in front of the most prominent tourist attraction with a European
passenger as way to show he is well, that he is making his way in the city, and that he
has connections to the global world. In essence, a position on the road is a social

56
promise to make connections and achievements, it is a promise that provides

meaningfulness to his work.
Bridging potholes – challenges, street wisdom, and

solidarity on Goma’s streets
31 Meaningful work, or work that establishes a foundation for a future as a socially
recognized adult, is difficult to find in Goma. The potholes on the roads might be
equated with the challenges young motards face while looking for chances to move up
the social ladder. A sensitive and context-specific understanding of the “road” or
“social conditions” is essential in this regard. Roaming the roads as a motard interlaces
this kind of work on the one hand with the generation of spatial knowledge on the
other. Motards know the city inside out, they know which places to avoid and at what
hours, how to take shortcuts, how to block movements through manifestations, and
how to read the urban environment in case of a threat. It is mostly by experience and
learning from colleagues that the motards will gain this understanding of the city.
32 This knowledge might help motards realize better opportunities for their future. By
driving through different neighborhoods and talking to different passengers, shop
owners, and colleagues, short-term coops10 might pop up. The money motards make is
often invested in so-called saving systems, locally called likirimba 11. In case of need, the
motards can get back to their money, which is administered by a trusted member of the
group and might be invested in whatever need is pertinent at a specific time. The
likirimba can be understood as an urban networking group that demonstrates forms of
solidarity and social integration among motards.
33 For the many challenges they face, solidarity among motards is an often-heard slogan.
This comradery is important to their economic savings, as well as their ability to
negotiate with police officers, which have almost become a daily routine for motards.
In terms of livelihood, the police are often in the same desperate position as the
motards, so there is a lot room left for negotiation. As the headquarters of
débrouillardise, Goma has an advantage in that there is always a way to circumvent
problems with authorities as many people feel that they can negotiate everything.
34 According to the moto-associations, however, the arbitrary practices of the traffic
police are identified as a substantial problem when roaming the road. Using
roundabouts to make vehicles and mototaxis slow-down is only one of the techniques
used to pit the material space against the motards. For example, the following instance
from my fieldwork exemplifies this phenomenon:
I am walking through Birere when suddenly an ear-shattering honking comes up,
accompanied by furious shouting: “Namupiga” (I will hit you). I hesitate as the noise
comes out of the direction I need to go. I am thinking of retreating but continue
nevertheless cautiously. At Roint Point Birere, I notice that there is just a little
tussle between motards and the traffic police. The motards alerted their colleagues
who in the meantime flocked together and circled around the six policemen with
threatening gestures (Fieldnotes, August 2009).
35 This anecdote demonstrates that motards are active participants in the urban sphere
who seek out allies and try to push their own interests. These everyday confrontations
and contestations with public servants are indicative of the ways in which motards use,
appropriate, and transform roadsides. Obstacles that seem to rule the present and the

57
future in the school of hard knocks are confronted and “bridged” through forms of
solidarity and street wisdom.
36 Rising levels of urban insecurity and increasing incidents of accidents strongly shape
the motards’ lifeworlds. Here, guidance and learning are achieved through forms of
peer-culture whether in the framework of professional mototaxi associations or by
exchanging with fellow colleagues while waiting at street corners for clients or sharing
a drink. Enhancing social mobility with one’s own physical mobility presents a way to
follow up on one’s own aspirations. Even if motards face many challenges, they try to
bridge these potholes by coming together. Motards informally acquire the skills needed
for their job through “imitation, observation, help and, experimentation” (Spittler &
Bourdillon, 2012, p. 75). Providing help to each other when, for example, something
breaks on the motorcycle, learning how to outwit the traffic police through trickery
from the example above, or upholding solidarity with the objective to demonstrate for
their rights, makes Goma’s motards a collective of young men that know how to read
the city.
37 The formation of this group is also significant on their path to becoming adults.
Working as a motard means different things in the ontological continuum between
being young and growing up. It can range from, for example, trying to save money to
pay a dowry or to buy a motorcycle, learning to drive but also to read the city from
their peers, preparing for harassment by traffic police, and controlling urban flows,
and knowing where and how to move in contexts of unpredictable situations.
38 Rhythms of immobility (waiting at streetcorners for passengers while chatting with
motard colleagues, personified radio trottoir) or mobility (rushing through the city,
traversing different socioeconomic spaces, and generating opportunities – e.g., talking
to the ethnographer) mean that motards skillfully navigate a transforming urban
landscape. The road as social promise leads to interactions and connections that might
offer access to better jobs, financial opportunities, or new networks. Although working
as a motard is socially ill-reputed and/or associated with banditism, motards find
reassurance in solidarity and street wisdom. The next section addresses another facet
of life as a motard that is often neglected when talking about urban male youth: fun.
Expectations of conviviality and leisure

39 This section comes back to the aforementioned notions of waithood and social
moratorium. In order to achieve the means to become socially recognized as an adult,
marriage and social reproduction are considered the most important elements of
maturity even when new trajectories have already been mapped. This can be
exemplified through the example Pychou used when he explained his “life plan 12” to
me. He argues that life expectancy in DR Congo is rather short 13. To achieve his plans,
he explains that he might have to integrate everything he: a) wanted to do himself, and
b) is expected of him socially. When I met Pychou in 2008, he was 23 years old and
earned under favorable conditions up to 15-20 US dollars a day 14. He was able to
support his family with this money. However, his life plan implied that he would get
married within five years, which means when he turned 28. Until then, he wanted to
party with his friends. He told me that if he married at 28 and died at 45, he would still
have enough time left to have five children, which he regarded as ideal for his life plan.
Self-realization and persistence helped Pychou to get along; and he was quite satisfied

58
with his work and life. Like many other motards, his “professional objective” was to
become a boss and have other motards work for him, while he would sit observing the
streets: “Ça me fera plaisir” (I would like that).
40 A similar idea pursues motard Assumani. As an unmarried man, he wants to wait
ideally five more years before he would marry. In his case, that would mean marrying
when he turns 25. He plans to have 5000 US dollars as seed money. He already owns his
own moto, the money for which he had saved over three years. He bought it second
hand for 1,200 dollars and put an “Omba Mungu” (Praise God) vanity plate on it. In his
perspective, it was God’s help that enabled him to succeed in reaching his first life goal.
He arrived in Goma after fleeing armed conflict in Walikale in 2008. Assumani’s
example is interesting as it underlines the contradiction of somebody who has clear
objectives in life (and who succeeds in meeting them, buying his own moto), but who
did not pursue them straightforwardly. I often observed Assumani hanging out in the
nganda (local bar), Chez Mama Eva, where he would drink with some colleagues.
Conversing and having a drink was important for his social ties within his network.
Meeting friends, exchanging news, investing in pleasure might be read as hedonism.
When I ask him what he does with his money, he smiles and answers: “Minakula mimi
pek” (I eat everything myself).
41 Assumani’s phrase, “Minakula mimi pek,” suggests that we have to think beyond theories
of mere survival, especially in terms of their future. Furthermore, I posit that the
experience young men face as they struggle to scrape up money for bridewealth
requires a more detailed observation. The state of youth is often analyzed as a dead
end. However, I argue that youth do not desperately “hunger” after authority in times
of uncertainty; instead, these young men prioritize forms of having fun, especially in
terms of the conviviality and the ambiance of their environment. These behaviors
might make them look dangerous or uncanny in the eyes of other urban observers, and
as the motards’ invest money in liquor or prostitutes, their moral character is judged.
As a result, we can locate a dichotomy between the motard’s agency and the social
conditions that restrict that agency. On the one hand, youths have more agentive
leeway than the gloomy picture of waithood might suggest. On the other hand, motards
reproduce the social conditions in which they live (Willis 1977) by fulfilling the
negative stereotypes, a majority of the society might have of them.
42 I agree with Martin et al. that the relationship between youth and future in Africa
needs to be studied by their own “perspective; ideas, expectations and concrete
practices in regard to their future” (Martin, Ungruhe, & Häberlein, 2016, p. 1). As the
examples of Pychou and Assumani illustrate, both motards are trying to “make a
future” by taking action (Pelican & Heiss, 2014, p. 7). Here, the analogy between social
and physical mobility becomes evident. Even if they are aware of different
opportunities, motards exhibit different styles of pragmatism as they are sometimes
manipulative, cunning, or stoic. Self-enactment and self-decoration underline one’s
connection to the future – to modernity – and this relationship is manifested through
their pragmatic and crafty set of skills. Pychou and Assumani kept track of their
concrete “plans” by sharing time with their peers, following up their long-term
objectives, and integrating their pursuit of becoming adults in their everyday life. In
this sense, life projects, or “plans” are always directed “forward” (Cole & Durham, 2008,
p. 21). Consistently planning ahead for the long run might be difficult in a context like
Goma, especially due to the challenges that accrue with many societal factors and

59
insecure landscapes or infrastructures. However, if one is flexible, it is possible to

bridge their different plans, and even literally, traverse over the potholes that cover
the road. If expectations are not too great, and, accordingly, the drop height not too
high, pleasure and ambience have a prominent space in juvenile worlds of experience.
This does not mean that general social norms have changed; but rather, alternative
trajectories have emerged. Even if uncertain, these are not necessarily connoted with
chaos but could be explained by a sense of adventure or living one’s youth to the
fullest.
43 “On s’amuse quand même” (we are having fun anyway) is a statement that I heard often
in Goma. Ambiance, having fun, or enjoying oneself are lifeworldly phenomena that are
rarely studied in contexts of protracted violent conflict as the dominant reading of
youth in Africa focuses on potentially deviant street cultures and violence. As a result,
such youths are rendered as a “lost generation” who are perpetually disoriented by the
enduring violence that surrounds them without taking into account the experiences
and relationships that allow them to find their identity and place in the world. These
academic and social discourses ignore the processes of sociality, celebrations, romance,
and friendship when ascribed adulthood is required.
44 Clearly, urban space is attractive for youthful peer-practices that can be enacted far
from parental control and authority. Considered “bad work” and associated with
“banditism,” many young motards experience joy by roaming the city without many
rules, hanging out with fellow motards, and having a good time. “Ambiance” is a crucial
element of social practice and should not be mistaken as romanticizing difficult
economic circumstances and war: chatting, drinking, playing football, or dancing
constitute the social practices that foster embodied practice or can be used rationally
by “conspicuous consumption” for self-staging. Accordingly, fun is likewise connected
to social integration and stability just as it is to stigmatization. The moto is adorned, it
is a symbol that someone is enjoying their youth, it is a working instrument that is not
only looked after, but also engendered a form of social mobility as it opens up new
opportunities to connect, acquire knowledge, and gain useful experiences.
45 Another facet of work is, therefore, in the context where unemployment or informal
work dominates, the conceptual question of leisure. Here, hanging out at street corners
or in bars, allows us to see social practices that are beyond the gloomy portrayal of the
always depressed, the always managing/ navigating/ maneuvering/ straining young
man. Youth cannot always be straining. They do not, as Chabal and Daloz write,
“hunger after the age, which will endow them with an authority currently denied”
(Chabal & Daloz, 1999, p. 34). Concepts that approach Goma’s economic situation with
theories of “mere survival” fail to adequately capture the situation of Goma’s youths as
these young men appreciate conviviality and leisure as social practices that allow them
to relax, connect, and have fun – even in a context of protracted armed conflict and
humanitarian crisis. To be sure, being mobile does not imply a steady movement in
time, or a linear progression forward to mobility’s end. There are different rhythms
and priorities that may be important during different moments. Thus, relaxing and
taking a rest is equally significant as working hard or taking a risk because one can be
rewarded on the uncertain paths towards adulthood.
46 Ulf Hannerz explains Simmel’s concept of “Geselligkeit” (sociability) as an end in itself:
“Sociability is interaction for interaction’s own sake, without a purpose other than
enjoyment of the moment and without consequences beyond the encounter itself”

60
(Hannerz, 1969, p. 105). Sociability and the “context of conviviality” (Nyamnjoh, 2002,
p. 111f) are important for motards as they include social ties and networks that
demonstrate the impact of peer groups, regardless of whether that is a circle of friends
to share money in a likirimba or associational life in regard to mototaxi organizations
(Kaufmann, 2017; Oldenburg, 2018).
47 Youth culture, sociability, and spaces of self-enactment are crucial to understanding
youth identities. Leisure time seems to be a time that is not “under the control” of
elders or public authorities, and this might cause feelings of mistrust towards motards.
This demonstrates how leisure works as a social space: youth do not struggle and fight
every day for survival or to secure the money for bridewealth. Instead, they enjoy
leisure as a space of self-enactment, celebration, boredom, relaxation, and enjoyment
while also reproducing power structures and urban socioeconomic conditions (Willis,
1977). Within a very constrained structural context, some agentive leeway is used by
motards to enjoy their everyday life without losing hope for the future.
Conclusion: dead end or building a future?

48 Exploring visions beyond a state of waithood, which sees young people waiting to enter
the normative sphere of adulthood (Honwana, 2012), motards’ physical mobility is
conflated with an imagined social mobility, or, in short, a better future. This
contribution has focused on the dynamic urban lifeworlds of motards in Goma and the
agentive moments they create while roaming the streets, creating bonds, mobilizing
each other, and practicing conviviality. Following Makhulu et al. (2010), it can be
interpreted as “hard work.” Nonetheless, it produces income amidst volatility, war, and
sociopolitical constraints. As a bodily practice, driving a mototaxi opens up
imaginations of overcoming social impasses. Not every pothole can be bridged, socially
inherent power structures are reproduced by experimenting and performing ill-
reputed work as part of an ill-reputed peer culture. Ascriptions of roughness and
banditism are not exclusive labels for motards; rather, kazi ya moto is but one element
that Menzel calls a “broader aesthetics of danger” (Menzel, 2011, p. 100).
Conceptualizing young men as being “stuck” ignores their ability to shape their social
and economic environments. By shedding light on their perceptions of work and their
perspectives towards the future, I have shown that young motorcycle taxi drivers’
lifeworlds are more complex than just portrayals of them as youth on the brink of a
social abyss.
49 The idea that unemployed or informally employed youth are more prone to joining
criminal or armed groups might sound convincing for African contexts. However, even
if they sense their own social exclusion while experiencing and performing conviviality
in associations or while having drinks at the next street corner bar, this adds to a
repertoire of urban stories of being young and becoming adults. Motards might
stumble into potholes while enjoying their youth and thereby hinder their own
attempts to secure future success, prestige, and social becoming with such behavior.
Nevertheless, these lived experiences of young people reflect varied trajectories that go
beyond an exclusive survivalist attitude, especially as they try to construct their
pathways even in difficult and uncertain times.
50 The urban landscape has increasingly become one that requires further analysis to
determine the social practices, skills, and alliances that need to be mobilized for future

61
success. Goma’s motards are a heterogeneous group of young men that try to overcome
social immobility through their work on the roads. Developing street wisdom through
practice and experience, learning from peers in the school of hard knocks, helps them
to slowly acquire the ingredients needed to secure their way to social maturity.
However, their trajectories are blocked with many obstacles, some of which they can
circumvent, others that might make them stumble. Nevertheless, working as a motard,
even though it is mostly seen as a temporary occupation, is not necessarily experienced
as a “dead end.” It goes beyond conceptual approaches that depict African youth as
being stuck: motards’ strategies to “get by” both inform and are shaped by processes of
learning, interpretations of work, and meanings of future aspirations.
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NOTES
1. Interview with ACCO chairman, August 2008. When I started doing research on the life worlds
of young motards in 2008, there existed three different associations in this sector (APROTAM,
ATAMOG, ACCO-Section Moto). By 2017, this had increased to seven (COTAM, COPTAM,
ASNAMOG, ATAMOV, SYPROTAC, MUDEI, ATAMOG). This development coincides with the growth
of the city itself in the last decade but is also indicative of competing urban factions along ethnic,
economic and political lines. Since compulsory registration was introduced by former mayor
Nasson Kubuya Ndoole (abbreviated by his initials Kundos) in November 2014, more than 20,700
bikes were registered at the town-hall (latest update of records: 08.09.2017). In 2008, in contrast,
only 7000 motards were registered with the former umbrella organization for motos: ACCO-Moto.
2. “Work can be regarded as meaningful or meaningless. The worker finds his identity in it or is
alienated by it. He can, but does not have to, see it as a purely instrumental activity. He can also
turn it into play, a struggle or an art form. Above all, he can endow it with an ethical meaning
(work ethic) going beyond its immediate benefit... The act of work is not exhausted in
performance but includes a human aspect. It brings satisfaction or frustration. The worker may
be eager or unwilling” (Spittler, 2008, p. 18).
3. The time span of ten years comprises the fieldwork for my PhD research that was carried out
between January to December 2008 and July to September 2009 on youth, war and everyday life
in Goma (Oldenburg, 2016c). Motorcycle taxi drivers were part of the “ordinary” lifeworlds that I
was investigating. When I had a good conversation on my way to the remote neighborhood of
Keshero, where I’ve spent most of my time, I invited the motard for a drink, asked for his number
and we met on another occasion, which allowed me a glimpse into their lifeworlds, getting to
know family, friends and living conditions while I could observe them mastering the bumpy and
dusty roads of Goma. For my PostDoc project, I went back to Goma in 2013 (five months), 2014
(one week), 2016, 2017 and 2018 for ten weeks each, where I continued to research urban
subjectivities, among them motard’s lifeworlds. Structured interviews and informal
conversations were held in French or Swahili without assistance. Names of individuals and
mototaxi associations I worked with have been anonymized in this article for reasons of
confidentiality.
4. Translation: “You have to search first.” I follow the standard definition of “youth” as a
generational category that’s used in many African countries. This covers young people between
the ages of 15 and 35.
5. Market of intervention is a concept that I define as a contact zone between humanitarian
workers and the local population where different arrangements of power constellations co-exist
temporarily (Oldenburg, 2015).
6. The involvement of politicians, businesspersons, and military personnel demonstrates that
motards might get involved in political conflict. Often times, motards are “used” as protestors to
bolster demonstrations or political campaigns (Oldenburg, 2018).

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7. In August 2017, I was hit by a car while I was on a mototaxi. The motard stayed balanced
during the crash without falling over. When I retold this story, many people remarked that the
motard was obviously very skilled and experienced having avoided the fall.
8. Mwili yangu na machine yangu ni sawasawa tu, ni furaha tu (Jean-Jacques).
9. The golden Tshukudu is a wooden scooter used to transport freight and is only found in eastern
DRC.
10. Temporary employment in Goma is emically called bizniz or coop and is mostly of informal
and sometimes of criminal nature.
11. Likirimba (in Goma), likelemba (in Kinshasa), la tontine (in French) is a social form of savings
that exists in many urban contexts in Africa. See for example Koning’s article on Bendskin drivers
in Douala (2006, p. 58).
12. Plan de vie.
13. Male life expectancy: 55.4 years (Retrieved 21.10.2017 from https://www.cia.gov/library/
publications/the-world-factbook/geos/cg.html).
14. Pychou has a “patron” to whom he pays around seven US dollars each day to use his
motorcycle.
ABSTRACTS
Bustling mototaxis are a pervasive phenomenon on Goma’s streets and their emergence and
proliferation is highly linked to the context of the protracted violent conflict in Eastern Congo.
By highlighting the nexus of physical and social mobilities, work, and leisure, this paper aims to
analyze the different trajectories of young mototaxi drivers that go beyond concepts of “being
stuck” (Sommers, 2012) and focus instead on their ways of working towards the future. In
contrast to prior research, this paper shows that being young in the city does not necessarily lead
to “abject futures” or condemn youth to an endless “waithood” that results in “social death”.
Based on ethnographic data I have gathered since 2008, I will trace the different ways young
mototaxi drivers make sense of the ontological continuum of being young and becoming an
adult. By centering on their everyday life worlds, I argue that motards have more options than
simply ending up at a dead end.
Os mototáxis são um fenómeno generalizado nas ruas de Goma, e o seu surgimento e proliferação
estão fortemente ligados ao contexto do conflito violento prolongado no leste do Congo.
Destacando o nexo entre mobilidades físicas e sociais, trabalho e lazer, o presente artigo analisa
as diferentes trajetórias de jovens condutores de mototáxi que vão para além de conceitos de
“ficar parado” (Sommers, 2012), focando em vez disso as suas maneiras de trabalhar em direção
ao futuro. Em contraste com pesquisas anteriores, o artigo mostra que ser jovem na cidade não
leva necessariamente a “futuros abjetos” ou condena os jovens a uma eterna “idade de espera”
que resulta em “morte social”. Com base em dados etnográficos reunidos desde 2008, são
traçadas as diferentes maneiras como os jovens condutores de mototáxi entendem o continuum
ontológico entre ser jovem e tornar-se adulto. Centrando-me nos seus mundos da vida
quotidiana, defendo que eles têm mais opções do que simplesmente acabarem num beco sem
saída.

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INDEX
Keywords: youth, waithood, DR Congo, Goma, motorcycle taxis, urbanity
Palavras-chave: juventude, idade de espera, RD Congo, Goma, mototáxis, urbanidade
AUTHOR
SILKE OLDENBURG
University of Basel
Münsterplatz 19
CH – 4015 Basel, Switzerland
silke.oldenburg@unibas.ch

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Le Parcours Professionnel des

Jeunes au Mali vers l’Auto-
entrepreneuriat
O percurso profissional dos jovens no Mali para o auto-empreendedorismo
Youssouf Karambé
NOTE DE L’ÉDITEUR
1 L’accès à un emploi salarié a longtemps été considéré comme une réussite sociale et un
épanouissement individuel. L’école, par le biais du diplôme, était le plus sûr moyen
pour y arriver. Les services de l’État et les ONG étaient les secteurs d’activité les plus
convoités. Mais depuis une trentaine d’années, le chômage n’a cessé de progresser au
point de devenir un fléau chez les jeunes Maliens, surtout diplômés. Les mesures
politico-institutionnelles prises par l’État malien n’ont pas pu infléchir la situation : au
plan local, le chômage touche de plus en plus de jeunes. À considérer le phénomène, on
observe deux éléments essentiels : la forte proportion de chômeurs de longue durée
(plus de neuf chômeurs sur dix étaient au chômage pendant plus d’un an) et la forte
proportion de chômeurs à la recherche d’un premier emploi (quatre chômeurs sur
cinq). Le système de l’emploi est défavorable aux jeunes, qui enregistrent le taux de
chômage le plus élevé (INSTAT-Mali, 2014). Les conséquences liées au chômage sont
multiples et néfastes : pauvreté, perte du lien social, hausse de la délinquance et de la
criminalité, émigration. Face à l’inefficacité de ces mesures et à l’impuissance de l’État,
une prise de conscience s’observe chez de nombreux jeunes Maliens qui initient des
projets individuels afin de créer par eux-mêmes de l’emploi.
2 Cet article vise à montrer comment certains jeunes arrivent à s’en sortir pour devenir
des modèles de réussite sociale qui vont inspirer les autres jeunes de leur génération.

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L’auto-entrepreneuriat étant devenu – à l’instar de l’engagement civique – la nouvelle

« doctrine » en matière de création d’emploi, il est aujourd’hui nécessaire d’intégrer ce
nouveau paradigme aux cursus scolaires et universitaires. Il est important que chaque
jeune adulte assimile une culture entrepreneuriale durant ses études pour anticiper sa
situation post-diplôme. Il s’agira d’amener les élèves et les étudiants à concevoir des
projets professionnels réalisables par eux-mêmes en les accompagnant par des stages
en milieux professionnels. Le fait de développer la fibre entrepreneuriale dans leur
esprit durant leur parcours scolaire, nourrit en eux la volonté et la possibilité de
s’investir dans ce secteur avec la conviction de réussir. Cette réforme du curriculum
peut servir de soubassement pédagogique afin d’adapter, dans le contexte actuel, la
formation de la jeunesse aux possibilités réelles d’emploi. Cela permet également un
changement des mentalités concernant l’idée que les parents et les élèves ont de
l’école.
3 Il sera question ici pour nous d’analyser les formes d’actions possibles chez les jeunes
adultes dans leur recherche d’emploi en vue de leur autonomisation. Les dispositifs
d’insertion professionnelle mis en place par l’État malien pour l’emploi des jeunes sont
faibles et inadaptés, et peu en bénéficient. L’accès à un emploi est une véritable épreuve
(Dubet, Galland, & Deschavanne, 2004). Parce que le système universitaire malien se
focalise sur l’éducation à destination de l’emploi dans le secteur public. L’accès à un
premier emploi prend du temps dans les villes maliennes, trois ans et demi en moyenne
(Boutin, 2013). On observe qu’un grand nombre de jeunes sans occupation attendent
qu’on leur offre un emploi (Honwana, 2014 ; Ouedraogo & Tallet, 2014). Ainsi, le
renforcement des connaissances entrepreneuriales des jeunes favorise leur autonomie
et le développement économique (Tchouassi, Ngwen, Oumbe & Temfack, 2018). Malgré
leur intérêt pour le fonctionnariat, certains jeunes développent des stratégies
personnelles d’auto-entrepreneuriat. Dans cet article, nous avons choisi de rassembler
ces stratégies articulées autour d’activités successives sous le terme « parcours
constructifs pour l’autonomisation ». Notre enquête, réalisée en 2011, s’inscrit dans un
travail de thèse de doctorat sur l’implication de la jeunesse dans la gouvernance locale
dans la commune VI du district de Bamako, la commune de Bandiagara et celle de San.
La méthode employée – guide d’entretien semi-directif – était qualitative. Ont été
réalisés des entretiens avec une soixantaine de jeunes : des élèves – déscolarisés et
diplômés – âgés de 16 à 35 ans. Le Mali, en tant que pays membre de l’Union Africaine
(UA), a défini l’âge officiel maximum de la catégorie « jeune » à 35 ans (UA, 2007).
Pourtant, sur le terrain, cette limite n’est pas opératoire. Nous nous sommes donc
référés à trois catégories de jeunes. La première est constituée de personnes sans
qualification ou diplôme. Rassemblant analphabètes et lettrés, elle se caractérise par
son émergence sur le marché du travail dans la catégorie d’âge la plus jeune. Les
secteurs d’activité dominants sont le commerce, le tourisme (visites guidées),
l’artisanat, les petits métiers. La deuxième catégorie est constituée de diplômés en
quête d’emploi qui mènent toutefois des activités professionnelles ponctuelles ou
temporaires ne relevant pas forcement de leur domaine de qualification : notamment
l’enseignement, le commerce. La troisième catégorie se compose de salariés exerçant
dans leur domaine de qualification comme l’enseignement, la santé, l’agriculture et le
bâtiment principalement.
4 La question principale est de savoir quelles sont les stratégies développées par les
jeunes pour obtenir un emploi stable. Celle-ci s’inscrit dans la théorie des « figures de
réussite », une expression empruntée à Banégas et Warnier (2001/2014) issue de leur

69
texte paru dans la revue Politique Africaine. Dans cet article, les auteurs montrent que
« la figure de l’intellectuel diplômé […] a vu sa valeur sociale se dégrader à mesure que
se fermaient les opportunités d’embauche dans la fonction publique et que s’aggravait
la crise des filières universitaires ». Par la suite, des catégories sociales vont, à travers
d’autres trajectoires d’accumulation comme le commerce, s’affirmer et se hisser dans
les hiérarchies du prestige (Banégas & Warnier, 2014, pp. 6-7).
5 Dans le même ordre d’idée, Gough et Langevang (2015) rapportent dans leur ouvrage
Young Entrepreneurs in Sub-Saharan Africa que l’auto-entrepreneuriat est devenu un
phénomène massif chez les jeunes. Face à un chômage élevé qui est la conséquence de
la restructuration économique et de la transformation du marché de travail, les
opportunités d’emploi deviennent de plus en plus limitées et l’auto-entrepreneuriat
représente une alternative. Selon ces auteurs, les jeunes ont investi le secteur informel
à travers un éventail d’activités génératrices de revenus. Des jeunes femmes vendent
sous des hangars ou en plein air une variété de marchandises telles que des fruits et des
légumes, des produits cosmétiques, ou proposent leur service de coiffure (les tresses)
ou de couture (confection d’habits). Quant aux jeunes garçons, ils sont plus actifs dans
les filières manufacturières, comme les jouets électroniques, les services de lavage de
voitures, de recharge de téléphone et autres. Ces jeunes gens sont devenus
prédominants parmi les entrepreneurs « ordinaires », prouvant ainsi leurs capacités à
trouver de niches économiques, à gérer des ressources rares et à saisir des opportunités
au sein d’environnements économiques contraignants.
6 Dans cet essai, notre propos s’articule en premier lieu autour de la problématique de
l’emploi et de l’analyse des dispositifs institutionnels mis en place par l’État malien.
Puis, nous nous attachons à décrire comment les élèves perçoivent l’emploi, leurs choix
futurs et leurs modèles de réussite. Enfin, la dernière partie porte sur les parcours
professionnels des jeunes à partir de l’école.
L’emploi au Mali
7 Le chômage des jeunes n’est pas un problème spécifique au Mali, il est devenu un
« fléau » pour la jeunesse mondiale (Le Bigot et al., 2012). Ce phénomène relativement
récent procède de causes diverses et complexes ; néanmoins, il faut souligner dans le
cas du Mali l’importance de la date d’octobre 1983, c’est-à-dire de l’instauration d’un
concours d’entrée à la fonction publique. Ce concours découle du salariat et de la
scolarisation (Kail, 1998, p. 72). L’entrée sur le marché du travail devient une épreuve
majeure pour les jeunes. N’étant à l’école pas formés à l’auto-entrepreneuriat, les
jeunes éprouvent des difficultés d’insertion. Depuis le début des années 1980, les
mesures d’austérité budgétaire des institutions financières internationales ont poussé
le Mali à cesser « d’assumer le rôle de pourvoyeur d’emploi des jeunes gens
fraîchement sortis des écoles et des universités locales ou occidentales.
L’administration publique freine non seulement les recrutements, mais aussi accentue
la précarité socioprofessionnelle en licenciant, pour des raisons financières, certains de
ses agents » (Amouzou, 2009, p. 198). La situation, néanmoins, n’est pas la même pour
tous ; il existe plusieurs niveaux d’insertion. Dans leur étude sur « l’insertion
professionnelle et le rapport au temps de jeunes ayant interrompu leurs études
secondaires », Trottier, Gauthier et Turcotte (2007) ont observé quatre types de jeunes
: « stabilisés, en voie de stabilisation, en situation précaire, en marge du marché du

70
travail ». Selon le ministère en charge de l’emploi, la situation au Mali se résumait

ainsi :
• Sous-emploi élevé et très faible productivité dans le secteur agricole qui regroupe 60% des
actifs en 2007 ;
• L’emploi informel non agricole représente 24% des actifs ;
• 42% des travailleurs du secteur informel sont des femmes ;
• L’emploi formel est le lot de 8% des actifs, dont 40% d’hommes et 60% de femmes ;
• Le chômage atteint 63% chez les jeunes de 15-29 ans ;
• Le chômage n’épargne pas les personnes instruites : il est de 24% chez ceux qui ont atteint le
niveau du secondaire et du supérieur.
8 L’emploi chez les jeunes est un sujet qui revient sans cesse dans les discours des
dirigeants politiques. En 2012, le ministère de l’Emploi et de la Formation
professionnelle estimait le taux de chômage des jeunes à 17%. Pour trouver une
solution au problème, le président de la République du Mali de 1992 à 2002, Alpha
Oumar Konaré, déclarait en 1992 au colloque « Jeunes, ville et emploi » à Paris que :
« […] pour la gestion des problèmes d’emploi, pour la gestion de l’environnement, de
l’espace urbain, il faut libérer les initiatives partout où l’État n’est pas nécessaire :
libérer les jeunes, libérer les associations des jeunes » (Le Bris & Chauveau, 1992). En
2005, 488 associations, organisations et mouvements de jeunesse avaient été
répertoriés sur le territoire national. Leur nombre est passé à 2147 en 2012 ; soit une
augmentation de plus de 400% en sept ans. Ces initiatives ont principalement pour
objectif l’insertion professionnelle et le développement local. Selon Alpha Oumar
Konaré, les jeunes et les associations de jeunes n’étaient pas, en 1992, libres de prendre
des initiatives. Il fallait donc les libérer. Quel était le problème, notamment en matière
d’emploi ? C’était principalement l’attente d’opportunités offertes par l’État malien à
travers le concours d’entrée à la fonction publique ou de quelques postes dans les ONG.
Mais ces types d’offres étaient limités par rapport à la forte demande d’emploi. Ainsi
l’auto-entrepreneuriat est apparu comme une alternative. Une étude à petite échelle
menée sur l’auto-entrepreneuriat des jeunes au Mali dans les zones de Bamako, de
Ségou, de Konobougou et de Niono réalisée par Dougnon, Cissé, Bello, Koné et Touré
(2013) a permis de montrer que l’auto-emploi est l’option dominante chez les jeunes
(31% des jeunes sont des auto-employeurs, 27% des chômeurs, 23% des étudiants et 19%
des employés). Une situation qui est en phase avec la dynamique observée en Afrique,
ainsi que l’observe l’OCDE dans un rapport de 2017. L’organisation estime que les
entrepreneurs sont plus jeunes en Afrique que dans d’autres régions en
développement, avec un âge moyen de 31 ans, tandis qu’en Asie de l’Est, il est de 36 ans,
et en Amérique latine de 35 ans (OCDE, BAfD, & PNUD, 2017, p. 185). Si l’auto-
entrepreneuriat est devenu l’outil principal de combat contre le chômage, il est
également devenu selon Gough et Langevang (2015) un facteur principal de
transformation économique et sociale.
Les dispositifs d’insertion professionnelle des jeunes

9 Des dispositifs publics ont été créés pour favoriser l’insertion socioprofessionnelle des
jeunes. C’est le cas de l’Agence pour la promotion de l’emploi des jeunes (APEJ), de
l’Agence nationale pour l’emploi (ANPE), qui entre 2009 et 2012 aura coûté 18 milliards
de francs CFA au budget national, et du Programme d’appui à la jeunesse malienne

71
(PAJM) pour un coût de 1.310.000.000 francs CFA. C’est le cas également du Programme
national de Promotion de la jeunesse (PNPJ), d’un montant de 1.443.545.000 francs CFA
(DNJ, 2010), mais aussi de sommes allouées à des projets et des programmes
d’accompagnement de la jeunesse en recherche d’emploi. Ces structures se ressemblent
dans leurs objectifs et leurs actions, ce qui a conduit certains observateurs à parler de
« doublonnage » (Bah, 2012). Ces structures sont censées offrir des conditions
financières et techniques de création d’entreprises, des offres de stages de qualification
ou d’emploi.
10 Après des années de mise en œuvre, les jeunes ressentent peu les effets de ces
dispositifs au niveau des communes ou des quartiers. Ces programmes, officiellement
destinés aux jeunes, ne les atteignent pas sinon de façon symbolique auprès seulement
de quelques-uns – des actions médiatisées par les responsables politiques. Seule une
poignée de jeunes, souvent responsables d’associations et leaders syndicaux, parvient à
obtenir des fonds, des stages pour les diplômés ou des kits agricoles pour les jeunes
ruraux. Bon nombre de jeunes diplômés n’ont pas bénéficié de l’accompagnement de
ces structures et ont « été conduits à rechercher du travail dans le secteur privé, ou
plutôt, en vertu de cette nécessité et du faible développement de ce secteur, à
‘chômer’ » (Gérard, 1997, p. 29). Toutefois, les outils d’insertion professionnelle ne
comportent pas de « bourse d’accès à l’emploi […] pour assurer au jeune un minimum
de revenu pendant les périodes » de chômage, comme en France (Davoine, 2005, p. 148).
Face aux contraintes, quelles sont donc alors en pratique les stratégies d’accès à
l’emploi les plus courantes au niveau local pour les jeunes ? L’entrée sur le marché du
travail ne se fait pas d’un coup ; elle s’effectue par étapes successives émaillées
d’obstacles et d’épreuves. Chaque étape participe à la construction de la personnalité
de l’individu que nous désignerons – ainsi que nous l’avons déjà évoqué – par le terme
de « parcours constructif ». Qu’est-ce que ces jeunes ont-ils en commun ? Ils ont en
commun la recherche d’un emploi décent qui leur permette de s’épanouir, de réussir
personnellement et de participer au développement de leur localité.
L’école comme première étape du parcours
11 Évoluant par paliers, le parcours de la plupart des jeunes commence à l’école. Ceux qui
restent longtemps dans le circuit scolaire terminent généralement par un diplôme, or
certains jeunes arrêtent les études en cours de route et se retrouvent sans diplôme.
Parmi ceux-ci, il y a ceux qui arrêtent précocement les études et ceux qui restent un
certain temps encore dans le système scolaire avant de décrocher. En 2010-2011 par
exemple, au niveau du second cycle de Bandiagara, on dénombrait 9119 élèves dont
3380 passants (37%), 4098 redoublants (44%) et 1641 exclus (17%). Chaque interruption
des études trouve sa justification ; du reste, il faut préciser qu’un arrêt des études n’est
pas synonyme d’interruption complète du parcours, car l’école ne représente qu’une
étape parmi d’autres et participe de la construction de la personnalité du jeune adulte.
L’école dans le parcours constructif des jeunes
12 Le parcours scolaire exerce une influence sur la réussite professionnelle et son analyse
permet de mettre en évidence deux types d’enjeux : d’un part, une insertion
professionnelle réalisée grâce aux savoirs scolaires acquis dans une école adaptée
(emploi salarié dans la fonction publique ou dans une entreprise privée), l’acquisition

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de savoirs minimaux comme la lecture et l’écriture, et d’autre part il faut considérer les
facteurs comme l’influence de la famille, l’encouragement et l’accompagnement
politique, le contexte économique et social, lesquels participent de la réussite d’un
projet professionnel indépendant.
13 Si les causes du décrochage scolaire sont multiples, l’environnement social et familial
défavorable à la poursuite des études joue un rôle de premier plan. Parmi plusieurs
facteurs, on trouve l’activité économique dominante du milieu familial qui exerce
souvent une pression sur certains jeunes, les obligeant à chercher de l’argent plutôt
que de rester à l’école. À Bandiagara, où le tourisme représente l’activité principale
pour nombre d’habitants, les entretiens que j’ai menés montrent que de nombreux
élèves abandonnent le chemin des classes pour emprunter celui de la visite guidée. À
San, c’est plutôt le commerce. À Bamako, on n’observe pas d’activité économique
dominante qui serait un facteur principal d’abandon des études. Ceci explique pourquoi
la plupart des cas rencontrés à Bandiagara et à San lors des entretiens concernent
majoritairement le tourisme et le commerce.
Figures de réussite sociale et orientations futures des lycéens
14 La notion de réussite sociale comporte plusieurs dimensions. Il peut s’agir de quelqu’un

connu et populaire par ce que l’on a et ce que l’on fait. Ces dimensions couvrent des
aspects financiers, matériels, des savoir-faire que la société apprécie. Ainsi, « Seraient
définis comme ayant réussi des personnes qui se sont imposées dans leur carrière, en se
faisant connaître, ou en occupant les plus hauts postes de responsabilité. » (Girard,
1962, p. 96). Dans le contexte africain, il faut ajouter l’accumulation d’argent et de biens
matériels puis leur mis à disposition de la famille et de la collectivité pour résoudre tel
problème ou satisfaire tel besoin. L’obtention d’un diplôme était supposée comme une
condition pour avoir accès à ces « valeurs reconnues », une étape déterminante
puisqu’il donne la possibilité d’avoir accès à un emploi salarié. Mais cette dernière idée
commence à se déconstruire par le fait que non seulement plusieurs diplômés ne
parviennent pas à obtenir un emploi salarié mais aussi du fait que certains gagnent leur
vie sans être salariés.
15 Toutefois, le chômage et l’inactivité sont considérés comme des échecs.
16 Dans son ouvrage Jeunesse africaine et dynamique des modèles de la réussite sociale -
L’exemple du Cameroun (2012), Jean-Marcellin Manga se met « à l’écoute des jeunes afin
d’apprendre comment ils ‘fabriquent’ leur avenir historique ». Il s’aperçoit que, « dans
leurs expériences quotidiennes, les jeunes sont amenés à construire leur avenir en
opérant des choix au sein d’une société marquée par de multiples blocages ». L’auteur
en vient au constat que « les jeunes sont contraints de trouver des itinéraires qui
divorcent, en bien des aspects, des voies classiques » (Manga, 2012, p. 9). Toutefois,
selon l’adage bamana « les pintades emboitent les pas de leurs devanciers », ceux qui
réussissent exercent une influence sur les suiveurs, sur ceux qui rêveraient d’être
comme eux. En sciences sociales, le terme de « modèle » désigne une « figure destinée à
être reproduite. Il fait référence à une image et/ou à une réalité, une expérience, que
l’on s’efforce de reproduire dans les pratiques sociales » (Manga, 2012, p. 9). En ce sens,
le terme renvoie à de multiples pratiques par lesquelles les individus ou les groupes
cherchent à reproduire, « à imiter une forme objective ou imaginaire ou à s’en
inspirer » (Manga, 2012, p. 38). Cette définition implique qu’il existe plusieurs modèles,

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et non un seul. Notre analyse porte alors sur les différentes stratégies d’insertion que
les jeunes développent pour réussir leur parcours professionnel.
Les modèles de réussite sociale à Bandiagara et à San
17 La notion de réussite est fonction du milieu. Pour mener notre étude, nous partons du
postulat que les souhaits d’avenir des jeunes sont fondés sur des exemples de réussite
qu’ils voient autour d’eux, dont ils entendent parler au quotidien. Nous avons interrogé
40 lycéens, dont 20 à Bandiagara et 20 à San, en leur demandant quelles sont les
personnes à qui ils voudraient ressembler lorsqu’ils seront adultes. L’enquête s’est
déroulée par groupe de 10 élèves. Les thèmes abordés ont été les conditions d’études,
les activités secondaires pendant l’année scolaire et les vacances, et les projets d’avenir.
À la question « Quels sont les exemples de réussite sociale pour vous ? », les jeunes
citent des figures actuelles qu’ils connaissent. Ainsi, à San, les premiers noms cités sont
ceux des opérateurs économiques, des hauts fonctionnaires et des hommes de culture.
18 Dans la catégorie des opérateurs économiques, ce sont les noms de Youssouf Traoré de
Bani Transport, de Zoumana Traoré de Sankè, d’Alou Badra Coulibaly de Ben & Co qui
ne cessent d’être cités. Ces derniers sont natifs de la ville de San et sont les PDG de
sociétés de transport et de sociétés pétrolières connues au Mali. Parmi les hauts
fonctionnaires, les noms d’anciens ministres reviennent également : Aminata Dramane
Traoré, ancienne ministre de la Culture, le colonel Youssouf Traoré, ancien ministre,
Seydou Traoré, ancien directeur administratif et financier à la présidence de la
République à l’époque du Président ATT et Madou Koné, directeur de l’Agence
Nationale de la Sécurité Routière (ANASER). À Bandiagara, les noms fréquemment cités
sont, dans l’ordre : Papa Napo, promoteur de l’Hôtel La Falaise, Fifi Tembely,
coordinatrice de l’ONG Yag-Tu, Boucari Sagara, entrepreneur dans le secteur du
bâtiment et des travaux publics (BTP) (devenu député après réalisation de l’enquête),
Dramane Tembely, ancien maire qui a fait fortune en Côte d’Ivoire et Housseyni Amion
Guindo, président du parti politique CODEM, devenu ministre en 2014. Il faut souligner
que les personnalités locales sont plus citées que les personnalités nationales. Ces
différentes personnalités sont considérées comme des modèles de réussite économique,
politique et culturelle.
Les aspirations des lycéens concernant les secteurs de carrière
19 Le tableau ci-dessous rassemble de manière systématique les premières réponses des

élèves à la question « Que voudrais-tu devenir après tes études ? » :

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20 Dans ce tableau, le terme « dépendance » signifie que le travailleur est assujetti aux
règles de production et de répartition des biens définies par une autre personne
physique ou morale dans le milieu professionnel. Le terme « autonomie » désigne une
situation inverse : le travailleur est responsable de son activité ; il gère et utilise comme
bon lui semble les revenus qu’il gagne sans être soumis à la volonté d’une tierce
personne. On observe également qu’à Bandiagara et à San la volonté de faire carrière
dans la fonction publique est presque identique : 11 contre 10. La différence principale
observée entre les deux villes est qu’à San la moitié souhaite faire carrière dans le
secteur privé en passant par l’entrepreneuriat. Les affaires, le commerce, le transport
et la pharmacie sont des secteurs d’activité où les acteurs sont indépendants et
autonomes. Ces choix démontrent l’influence des personnalités natives de ces villes
citées plus haut. Les jeunes dont les parcours sont retracés dans cet article sont ceux
qui ont emprunté la voie de l’entrepreneuriat ou de l’auto-emploi, refusant la
dépendance. Nous les avons classés selon deux types de parcours professionnel : la
débrouillardise et le « parcours modèle ».
La débrouillardise des jeunes

Dans le guidage touristique
21 Souleymane T. (37 ans), Sibiri T. (28 ans) et Cheick Oumar N. (35 ans) ont en commun
d’avoir abandonné précocement leurs études pour devenir guides touristiques à
Bandiagara. Voici le témoignage de Cheick Oumar N., guide depuis 20 ans. Fils
d’antiquaire, il abandonna les études en classe de 5 e année du 1 er cycle de
l’enseignement fondamental (5 années d’études après la phase préscolaire). Il dit avoir
grandi dans une famille où la présence des touristes était fréquente. Cette présence l’a
vite marqué et lui a donné l’envie de devenir guide. Concernant ses études, il explique
s’y être consacré pour satisfaire les adultes qui l’éduquaient :
J’ai volontairement interrompu les études parce que je pensais que j’étudiais pour
satisfaire mes parents et mes enseignants. Lorsque j’ai décidé d’arrêter les études,
j’ai marché de Bandiagara à Sévaré, 62 km, à pied ; je suis à Ségou. Six mois après,
lorsque mes parents m’ont accordé la liberté de ne plus poursuivre les études, je
suis revenu en famille. Depuis la 3e année, je suivais au campement les guides qui
m’offraient des cadeaux, de l’argent, des habits, des montres. Je pouvais, à cet âge,
avoir 15000 francs. Cela m’influençait énormément. Donc, je ne pouvais plus
étudier. Mon rêve de tout temps était de travailler dans le tourisme. Actuellement,

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il y a peu de touristes ; je ne peux gagner qu’entre 1000 francs et 5000 francs par
semaine (Entretien réalisé à Bandiagara le 8 novembre 2011).
22 Avant la crise politico-sécuritaire de 2012, les guides estimaient déjà que leur activité
ne leur permettait pas de gagner leur vie : à partir de 2010, les conditions sécuritaires
du nord du Mali ont amené les autorités occidentales à considérer la zone comme
dangereuse pour les touristes. En 2012, la situation s’est aggravée avec le coup d’État et
l’occupation des trois régions du nord. La crise sécuritaire a contraint plusieurs jeunes
adultes à partir dans les grandes villes du pays, principalement à Bamako. Ils se sont
convertis à d’autres métiers tels que le petit commerce, les services de courtiers.
Certains auraient quitté le pays avec le soutien de touristes qu’ils auraient rencontrés à
Bandiagara.
Le secteur du transport
23 Devenir chauffeur routier n’exige pas un long parcours. En général, on devient

chauffeur de véhicule après avoir été apprenti quelques années, le temps d’apprendre à
conduire et d’obtenir son permis.
24 Voici l’exemple de Harouna, chauffeur de taxi-moto à San, âgé de 22 ans. Il évoque ici le
début de son activité et son quotidien :
Je n’étudie plus depuis très jeune. Comme je ne faisais rien, mon frère a acheté un
taxi-moto pour me permettre de générer des revenus. Ça marche un peu. Mais nous
sommes nombreux à mener cette activité. Malgré cela, je parviens à avoir des
clients. Le jour de la foire, je peux gagner 15000 francs. Les jours ordinaires où ça
marche moins, je peux avoir au moins 5000 francs mais rarement 10000 francs. Mon
projet, c’est d’ouvrir une boutique. C’est pour cela que je suis en train d’épargner de
l’argent. Malgré la fatigue, je ne peux pas décider de prendre un petit repos, même
si je ne dois gagner qu’un peu d’argent seulement. Je pense que si je parviens à me
lancer dans un commerce en ouvrant une boutique, ce sera mieux. Après cela, je
peux me marier (Entretien réalisé à San le 17 juin 2011).
25 Par l’intermédiaire de son frère qui le soutient financièrement, Harouna a obtenu un
emploi lui rapportant peu et l’obligeant à travailler sans repos. Toutefois, cet emploi lui
permet d’avoir des projets comme l’ouverture d’une boutique où il espère gagner plus
d’argent afin de pouvoir se marier. On voit bien comment Harouna entend faire un
parcours dont le départ est un emploi peu rentable et fatigant, qui pourrait cependant
lui permettre d’accéder à un autre emploi moins fatigant et plus rentable comme une
boutique. Tenir une boutique permettrait de réaliser son rêve de se marier.
Les vendeurs ambulants
26 De nombreux jeunes qui disent se débrouiller difficilement sont des vendeurs

ambulants. C’est le cas de Yacouba T., 31 ans. Il fait le récit de son parcours et exprime
son désespoir et sa vie précaire après avoir abandonné l’école :
J’ai arrêté la médersa en 5e année pour des raisons financières. J’étais alors obligé
d’errer dans la rue durant 8 ans. C’est ainsi que l’idée m’est venue d’entreprendre
une activité. Ce qui s’offrait à moi tout de suite, c’était la vente de thé. Les gens se
moquaient de moi, surtout les jeunes qui ne travaillent pas. Mais je ne faisais pas
attention aux ragots car quand je décide de faire quelque chose, je m’y donne corps
et âme sans tenir compte de ce que peuvent penser les autres. Je me débrouille avec
ma femme et mes enfants. Comme j’ai beaucoup de charges sociales (les dépenses
de la famille et des proches), je suis souvent paniqué. Il m’arrive alors souvent de

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penser à migrer. Souvent, la vie me dégoûte et je me demande faut-il partir, faut-il

rester ou mourir ? Je me demande à quoi sert-il de mettre des enfants au monde et
d’être incapable de les entretenir. Je suis inutile dans la vie. Ce n’est pas facile de
vivre à Bandiagara. Pendant les foires hebdomadaires, je peux gagner 25000f, mais
ça ne suffit pas pour les frais de la ration alimentaire journalière de la famille. Avec
ça, on ne peut rien entreprendre. Quelque fois, on n’a pas à manger. La scolarisation
des enfants exige des dépenses. Je regrette d’avoir abandonné l’école, car c’est à
cause de cela que je suis dans ma situation actuelle (Entretien réalisé à Bandiagara
le 12 novembre 2011).
27 Yacouba T. se trouve dans un « immobilisme social » et un désespoir. Il ne dispose pas
de moyens de mener une autre activité que de vendre du thé, ce qui ne lui permet pas
de sortir de la précarité, bloqué par la responsabilité familiale dont la charge est lourde
et difficile à supporter. Yacouba T. se retrouve pris dans un dilemme : abandonner sa
famille dans cette misère en migrant et en espérant trouver un ailleurs meilleur, ou
bien continuer à vivre dans les conditions actuelles et désirer mourir. Face à la
complexité de sa situation et au manque de perspectives, il remet en cause son utilité
sociale dans la mesure où il est incapable de satisfaire les besoins alimentaires de sa
famille et d’éduquer ses enfants. Dans sa dure réalité, il manque d’espoir malgré son
envie d’entreprendre ; son parcours est pour l’instant bloqué.
28 Tout comme Yacouba T., Korga (40 ans) se « débrouille » dans le maraîchage. Il est
toujours célibataire ; faute de moyens, il n’a pas pu se marier :
J’ai abandonné les études en 4e année. Je faisais la maçonnerie mais j’ai arrêté pour
le jardinage, il y a de cela plus de vingt ans. Je vends les trois pieds de salade à 50
francs CFA. Le jour où ça marche, je gagne au maximum 3000 francs CFA. Ce n’est
pas un travail qui nourrit son homme (Entretien réalisé à Bandiagara le 11
novembre 2011).
29 La débrouillardise est caractérisée par une situation où les jeunes qui la vivent
souhaitent changer d’activité au profit d’une autre pour satisfaire leurs besoins
fondamentaux (mariage, nourriture). Ceux qui n’ont pas obtenu de diplômes regrettent
d’avoir monnayé leurs études contre un métier qui ne leur permet pas de vivre
dignement. Dans les villes dotées d’infrastructures pour faire des études, on trouve une
jeunesse qui a pu surmonter ses difficultés pour arriver à une situation bien meilleure.
D’initiatives en initiatives, avec courage et persévérance, ces jeunes adultes sont
devenus des exemples de réussite aux yeux d’un grand nombre qui souhaite suivre leur
exemple ; en bref, il s’agit de parcours modèles.
Les parcours modèles
30 Un « parcours modèle » correspond à un itinéraire professionnel qui, graduellement,

aboutit à la réussite d’un jeune adulte. Les jeunes qui empruntent un parcours modèle
ont en commun l’auto-entrepreneuriat. Ce qui caractérise le parcours modèle, c’est que
ce sont des jeunes qui décident de mobiliser leurs ressources pour réaliser leur projet.
Ils sont engagés et déterminés à poursuivre leurs démarches entrepreneuriales pour
aboutir aux résultats qu’ils escomptent : faire fonctionner, grandir leurs entreprises et
gagner leur vie sans compter sur l’aide de l’État. Il ne s’agit pas d’entrepreneurs formels
au sens d’une certaine formalisation de leurs entreprises avec tout ce que cela implique
comme montants investis, chiffres d’affaires, nombre d’employés et tenue d’une
comptabilité, nous parlons des jeunes qui décident de prendre des initiatives
professionnelles afin de répondre au problème d’emploi. Le second facteur qui

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caractérise le parcours modèle, est la croyance de ces jeunes porteurs de professionnels

en la réussite, ce qui fait qu’ils sont persévérants et résilients face aux difficultés qui
surviennent. Certains emploient même d’autres jeunes. Dans la majorité des cas, ils
n’ont pas bénéficié d’appui financier leur permettant de constituer un fonds de départ.
En mobilisant leur imagination, et à force de vouloir avancer, ils se sont forgé des
itinéraires qui les ont conduits sur le chemin de la réussite. Il faut noter que notre
rencontre avec les jeunes exemplaires d’un parcours modèle a été motivée par le fait
que d’autres jeunes les ont cités en exemple. Voici les extraits d’entretiens décrivant
ces parcours de réussite.
Mme Din du restaurant « Dinette » à la ZRNI en commune VI du

district de Bamako
31 Diplômée, avec la possibilité de travailler dans un bureau, Mme Din a choisi la voie de
l’entrepreneuriat avec peu de moyens. Sans être contrainte de mener cette activité, elle
a tenu bon face au regard démoralisant et souvent moqueur de ses camarades. La
particularité de cette jeune dame est qu’elle a renoncé à un travail d’employée dans une
administration pour se lancer dans la transformation et la vente de produits
alimentaires. Contrairement à d’autres qui considèrent que ce genre d’activité est
réservé aux analphabètes, elle n’a pas tenu compte de son diplôme, comprenant que
celui-ci ne constituait pas une garantie de travail.
J’ai fait mes études en Côte d’Ivoire jusqu’en classe de 8 e année. Je suis venue au
Mali pour continuer en 9e année. Après le Diplôme d’études fondamentales (9 e
année) je suis partie à l’École Centrale pour l’Industrie, le Commerce et
l’Administration où j’ai fait un stage de fin de cycle à la Société Malienne de Piles
Électriques. Par la suite, j’ai effectué une formation en informatique et j’ai obtenu
un stage à la direction commerciale de la Société des Télécommunications du Mali
(SOTELMA). De là, j’ai obtenu un contrat de travail pour 50.000 francs CFA. Pendant
que je travaillais, je vendais du jus de fruits et la crème de mil mukudji [crème de mil
en langue bamana], à la descente [fin de journée de travail] au terminus de
Banankabougou vers le petit soir [fin d’après-midi], entre 16h et 17h. Je faisais en
moyenne 3000 francs CFA de bénéfice par jour. Quand je me suis rendue compte que
je gagnais beaucoup plus dans cette activité, et en si peu de temps, j’ai arrêté d’aller
à la SOTELMA avant même la fin de mon contrat pour me consacrer à la vente de la
crème de mil. Avec le petit fonds que j’avais gagné dans la vente de la crème, j’ai
ouvert mon restaurant avec l’appui de mon mari. J’ai d’abord commencé avec le
poulet ; à la demande de certains clients, j’ai ajouté le riz et d’autres aliments. Je
peux dire que j’ai réussi. Au début, quand je préparais les jus, mes amies se
moquaient de moi ; elles disaient : « toi tu préfères le soleil au climatiseur ». Mais je
ne les ai pas écoutées, parce que ce travail me permettait de gagner ma vie. Je
n’aurais jamais gagné autant dans un bureau. En plus, on est plus libre quand on
travaille pour soi. Aujourd’hui, mon mari et moi avons acheté des terrains pour la
famille dont certains sont en construction ; des terrains pour mes sœurs dont nous
préparons le mariage. Nous avons acheté une voiture (Entretien réalisé à Bamako le
9 mars 2012).
32 Peu de jeunes disposant d’un contrat dans une société de télécommunication par
exemple oseraient s’adonner à un tel travail. Le parcours de Mme Din nous permet de
considérer qu’elle pourrait être un modèle, bien qu’elle fît l’objet de moqueries de la
part son entourage à ses débuts.

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L’exemple d’Aly K., entrepreneur à Faladié
33 Aly Diallo continue d’aller au lycée mais enchaîne depuis plusieurs années les échecs au
baccalauréat. Finalement, il ouvre un salon de coiffure et devient ainsi entrepreneur.
Voici son récit :
Je suis bloqué au niveau du baccalauréat que j’ai passé à plusieurs reprises et je
continue toujours à le faire comme candidat libre. Lorsque j’étudiais, j’ai appris à
coiffer. J’ai continué à coiffer et j’ai ouvert mon salon de coiffure. Avec les revenus
que j’ai gagnés, j’ai ouvert une boutique. J’ai ainsi construit un restaurant. Cela fait
deux ans que je suis là. J’emploie sept jeunes. C’est très rentable, parce
qu’actuellement j’ai ouvert encore un dépôt de boisson. Je vole de mes propres ailes
sans le soutien ni des banques ni des parents. Maintenant, j’envisage beaucoup
d’autres projets comme la transformation du restaurant en hôtel. L’emploi à
Bamako n’est pas du tout facile, mais il faut être courageux ; ne dit-on pas qu’il n’y a
pas de sot métier ? Il faut seulement avoir quelque chose à faire. Les jeunes qui
restent à la maison sans rien faire en disant qu’ils ont des diplômes dans tel ou tel
domaine et qu’il leur faut un emploi dans ce domaine, c’est un manque de
compétence, une faiblesse de leur part (Entretien réalisé à Bamako le 10 mars 2012).
34 Par son courage, Aly est parvenu à transformer son échec scolaire en réussite
professionnelle. Il a réalisé ses projets sans le concours d’autrui. Il a pu relever le défi
tout en se prenant en charge et en devenant indépendant. Ses petites entreprises lui
rapportent de l’argent. En outre, il a créé des emplois pour d’autres jeunes qui
travaillent dans son restaurant. Contrairement à l’idée selon laquelle il faut de l’argent
pour entreprendre, il a montré que ce qui importe c’est le courage et l’esprit de
créativité. Une autre leçon à tirer de son cas de débrouillardise, c’est qu’il faut
commencer petit avant de réaliser de grands projets. Cela montre que, par la créativité
et le courage, on peut partir de rien et devenir chef d’entreprise.
Bocary Sagara, figure du jeune entrepreneur BTP
35 Bocary est cité comme un exemple de jeune ambitieux qui a réussi. Les lycéens et les
guides que nous avons rencontrés ont affirmé que Boucary servait de figure de « jeune
qui réussit ». Sa vie professionnelle a commencé par l’enseignement. Contrairement à
Mme Din, c’est sur les conseils d’une tierce personne qu’il revient à sa qualification
scolaire pour créer une entreprise dans le BTP :
J’ai fait des études de bâtiment. Quand j’ai fini en 2001, je suis venu à Bandiagara.
Comme je ne parvenais pas à avoir un emploi dans le domaine du bâtiment, je suis
parti dans l’enseignement. Deux ans après, je me suis dit : bon, il faut revenir à la
formation initiale que j’ai eue à l’école. C’est ainsi que je suis revenu à ma première
formation. Ma première expérience a été le suivi de la construction du palais
Aguibou Tall. C’est à partir de là que j’ai eu l’idée de créer mon entreprise. Mon vœu
a été exaucé grâce à l’aide d’un ami français qui m’a beaucoup encouragé. Il m’a dit
qu’en France, si on travaille dans le bâtiment, il est facile de créer une entreprise, et
qu’au Mali ça doit être le cas aussi. Je lui ai dit que j’allais me renseigner. C’est
comme ça qu’il m’a poussé. Et petit à petit, j’ai fait, et voilà comment j’ai créé mon
entreprise en août 2006. Mon premier marché a été la construction de la salle des
professeurs du lycée de Bandiagara en 2006. Dès lors, j’ai fait environ 150 chantiers,
entre autres la construction des magasins de stockage d’échalotes dans les petits
villages et construction de vingt logements sociaux de Bandiagara (Entretien réalisé
à Bandiagara le 8 novembre 2011).

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36 Bocary inspire les jeunes qui ont fait des études dans le domaine professionnel et qui
cherchent à être employés. Les jeunes diplômés en recherche d’emploi que nous avons
rencontrés le citent comme exemple de réussite sociale. Ils s’imaginent que s’ils
parviennent à forger la volonté et l’esprit d’organisation dont a fait preuve Bocary, ils
réussiront dans le secteur libéral avec les opportunités de marché qui sont de plus en
plus nombreuses (État, collectivités, privé).
Gaoussou, vendeur d’habits à San
37 Gaoussou D., 32 ans, est un commerçant que les jeunes de son entourage prennent pour
modèle. Son parcours leur sert de leçon sur la capacité de chacun à surmonter les
difficultés pour améliorer sa situation. Voilà son histoire :
J’ai été obligé d’arrêter mes études à la médersa en 9 e année, faute de moyens
financiers. Toutefois, ma famille dispose d’une grande superficie dans la zone
rizicole où des dizaines de tonnes sont récoltées chaque année. Après le décès de
mon père, je cohabitais avec mes quatre grands-frères dans la grande famille. Au
début, j’ai fait un emprunt et j’ai commencé à voyager à Lomé pour acheter des CD
de vidéos et des tissus que je venais placer auprès de mes clients à Bamako et à
Koulikoro. Avec ces économies, j’ai ouvert une boutique de vente d’habits pour
hommes et dames au marché de San. Je fais en moyenne un voyage à Lomé tous les
deux mois, et une fois par mois à Bamako pour acheter des habits. Bien qu’il y ait de
la place dans la grande famille, j’ai loué une maison où je me sens plus libre. Comme
projet, j’ai acheté un terrain sur lequel je construis actuellement. J’ai déjà investi
plus de quatre millions de francs CFA dans la construction. Je ne me plains pas
(Entretien à San, 14 juin 2011).
38 Après l’arrêt de ses études, Gaoussou n’a pas voulu devenir agriculteur comme ses
frères aînés malgré le potentiel agricole que le père leur a légué. Il a très tôt épousé
l’esprit entrepreneurial grâce à un prêt lui permettant d’acheter des CD de vidéos et des
tissus dans un autre pays, à Lomé au Togo, pour les revendre à Bamako et à San en les
plaçant chez des détaillants. Son projet est clair au départ. La méthode de placement
est une première étape qui doit lui permettre d’ouvrir une boutique dont il sera à terme
le gérant. Avec le succès de sa boutique, il obtient une autonomie financière : il est en
mesure de louer son propre logement en dehors de la résidence familiale paternelle,
tandis qu’il a acheté une parcelle de terrain où il a déjà investi pour sa propre maison.
Gaoussou est cité par plusieurs jeunes que nous avons rencontrés comme un modèle de
réussite dont ils souhaitent s’inspirer pour leur propre parcours.
Abdoulaye, gérant d’hôtel et chauffeur
39 Abdoulaye Ouologuem habite le 7e quartier de Bandiagara. Il est gérant d’hôtel et

chauffeur. Il raconte son parcours fait d’initiatives et d’embûches. Voici les étapes
marquantes de son parcours :
Je suis né à Abidjan. C’est à l’âge de 26 ans que je suis venu à Bandiagara. Je parle
relativement bien français, parce qu’à Abidjan on le parle dans la rue. J’ai très tôt
arrêté avec les études en 6e année car mes amis gagnaient de l’argent et faisaient la
fête. À l’âge de 14 ans, mes parents m’ont coupé tout soutien du fait que j’ai
abandonné les études. J’ai fait la sculpture durant 8 ans. Après, j’ai travaillé dans
une société de fabrique de sacs et de bâches. Ensuite, je suis allé travailler dans un
abattoir comme fermier. Quand j’ai pu économiser 25000 francs CFA, j’ai commencé
à acheter le bois de sculpture à mon propre compte. J’organisais, avec mes amis, la

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sous-traitance des marchés que je n’étais pas capable d’assumer seul. J’étais très
fort dans la finition (cirage, coloriage). Quand l’insécurité a commencé à prendre de
l’ampleur au nord, notre clientèle composée essentiellement de Blancs est rentrée
en Europe. Je suis retourné à la fabrique de sacs où je suis resté pendant 8 mois.
L’année 1999 a été un tournant avec le retour de mon père au Mali. Puis, ce fut le
tour de ma mère et de ma nièce. Suite au décès de mon père, je me suis rendu à
Bandiagara pour les condoléances, et je suis resté. Cinq mois plus tard, j’ai passé le
test pour obtenir un permis de conduire, car mon grand frère possédait un véhicule
avec lequel je transportais des touristes. Mais c’est un véhicule qui n’était pas
toujours en bon état, il tombait très souvent en panne. Mon frère et moi avons
vendu l’ancien pour en acquérir un autre en bon état. Actuellement, on les met en
location pour des tours avec des touristes. Ça nous permet de gagner de l’argent et
de subvenir aux besoins de la famille. Nous envisageons d’ouvrir une boutique
actuellement (Entretien réalisé à Bandiagara le 9 novembre 2011).
40 Abdoulaye faisait preuve dès l’enfance d’un esprit entrepreneurial. Très tôt, un désir
d’indépendance s’est chez lui manifesté. Arrivé à Bandiagara pour des raisons
familiales, il s’est rapidement engagé sur le plan professionnel en s’appuyant sur les
ressources générées par le véhicule de son frère. Conscient de la situation de précarité
dans laquelle se trouvait sa famille, il tire profit de l’entraide fraternelle et travaille
pour améliorer les conditions de vie de ses proches.
41 À travers ces différents récits, on observe que lorsque les jeunes possèdent une vision
professionnelle et que celle-ci s’inscrit dans une démarche auto-emploi, leurs projets
sont susceptibles d’aboutir. La création, la persévérance et le don de soi conduisent à la
réussite. Cette réussite est d’autant plus possible que leur objectif est partiellement
motivé par le souhait de contribuer à réaliser un projet individuel pour une édification
familiale.
De la réalité de l’emploi au Mali : vers la fin d’un imaginaire du

salarié ?
42 Tout parcours professionnel a pour objectif la réussite sociale. L’expression « réussite

sociale renvoie à une mobilité sociale ascendante que connaît un individu ou un groupe
d’individus dans la hiérarchie des positions sociales » (Manga, 2012, p. 42). Le modèle de
réussite basé sur le diplôme se caractérise par des jeunes qui réussissent dans
l’administration publique. C’est le cas, à Bandiagara, du coordinateur local du Conseil
National de la Jeunesse du Mali et du chargé de communication du bureau qui sont des
enseignants (salariés). À San également, le coordinateur local et certains membres du
bureau exercent le métier d’enseignant. Lorsqu’ils sont à l’école, les jeunes rêvent de
devenir des fonctionnaires. C’est pourquoi la majorité des guides que nous avons
rencontrés regrettent d’avoir abandonné si tôt leurs études : ils perçoivent leur
parcours comme monotone et court. Il faut noter qu’à Bandiagara, l’activité principale
des jeunes est le travail de guide touristique. Cette activité est considérée comme la
première cause d’abandon scolaire dans la ville. De ce fait, de nombreux jeunes guides
se trouvent piégés dans une activité précaire avec de faibles revenus. Une minorité de
guides arrive à réaliser des projets grâce à l’appui de certains touristes. Cette minorité
exerce une influence sur les tout petits à l’école qui n’ont pas encore conscience des
limites de ce métier. Des guides m’ont raconté comment ils ont pu être influencés par
ceux qui les ont précédés dans la profession ; or les parcours dans ce métier n’ont pas
abouti à la réussite sociale esperée, c’est-à-dire débouchant sur des revenus réguliers.

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43 Suivre un parcours scolaire et universitaire normal et obtenir un diplôme ne

représente cependant plus une garantie d’emploi. La probabilité de trouver un travail
stable grâce au diplôme devient de plus en plus faible. Gérard (1997) qualifie le diplôme
de « quête obsolète » pour l’accès à l’emploi. Les concours d’intégration à la fonction
publique ne sont pas organisés régulièrement ; et lorsqu’ils le sont, le nombre de places
reste très limité. Le potentiel d’emplois se situe ailleurs, dans le secteur privé ou dans
l’auto-entrepreneuriat. Cette situation est connue de tous depuis l’école. Les élèves du
lycée que nous avons interrogés ont exprimé leur inquiétude face au chômage de leurs
aînés qu’ils voient en famille ou dans les quartiers. « Les figures de l’intellectuel
diplômé, du diplôme de l’enseignement supérieur, de l’enseignant, ou encore du
fonctionnaire qui hier incarnait le pouvoir, le prestige et la réussite sociale, sont
aujourd’hui concurrencées par d’autres pôles d’identification sociale » (Manga, 2012, p.
215).
44 Un des pôles dominants à Bandiagara et à San est l’auto-emploi et l’entrepreneuriat qui
sont le fruit simultané d’une accumulation de difficultés et d’expériences
professionnelles formatrices. Nous avons qualifié ce type d’expérience de « parcours
modèle ». Le parcours modèle se caractérise par le fait que les acteurs parviennent non
seulement à créer un emploi pour eux-mêmes, mais également pour d’autres jeunes.
Très vite, ils ont compris qu’il ne fallait pas compter seulement sur l’État pour s’insérer
professionnellement, surmontant, pour ce faire, les blocages et les difficultés à devenir
indépendant et autonome. Par leurs itinéraires, leurs actions et leurs idées d’auto-
emploi, ces acteurs de la jeunesse participent pleinement au développement de leur
localité. Cela montre que de nouveaux agents de développement émergent au niveau
local. De par leurs initiatives personnelles, ils sont devenus matériellement et
financièrement indépendants et autonomes. Ils ont surtout démontré que le salariat
tue les initiatives personnelles. Ces nouvelles figures incarnent des sources
d’inspiration efficaces pour les plus jeunes générations qui vivent essentiellement de la
débrouille (N’Diaye, 2009).
Pour une culture entrepreneuriale chez les jeunes

45 Aujourd’hui, pour nombre de jeunes l’éducation ne semble être plus le « passeport pour
la modernité » ainsi que l’avait formulé il y a une vingtaine d’années Paul Richards
(1996, p. 138). Ainsi que l’ont souligné Gough et Langevang (2015), c’est désormais
plutôt l’entrepreneuriat qui permet de s’intégrer au marché du travail (voir Ungruhe &
Esson, 2017). Le système éducatif actuel n’est pas encore arrivé à se libérer des
fondements sur lesquels il a été bâti depuis l’indépendance du Mali, lorsque les besoins
prioritaires étaient de former des cadres de l’administration. Aujourd’hui, les réalités
ont beaucoup changé, les besoins ne sont plus les mêmes. Les formations doivent elles
aussi évoluer vers l’accompagnement des jeunes scolaires et universitaires vers les
initiatives entrepreneuriales qu’ils ont eux-mêmes prises afin s’adapter à la situation
actuelle, sachant que la fonction publique ne peut absorber qu’un petit nombre de
diplômés sortant des écoles et des universités. En outre, les opportunités d’auto-emploi
et d’entrepreneuriat sont multiples à condition d’oser prendre des initiatives qui aillent
dans ce sens. Au sortir de l’école, les jeunes adultes se retrouvent dans une situation à
laquelle ils ne sont pas préparés. Ils espèrent être employés alors que le marché leur
demande de s’auto-employer. Durant leur parcours scolaire et universitaire, les

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étudiants ne reçoivent aucune formation à l’auto-emploi ou l’entrepreneuriat, alors

que cela fait partie de la réalité du marché du travail. Et si l’État offre des possibilités de
financement à travers de nouvelles structures ad hoc, ces politiques publiques pour
l’insertion professionnelle imposées aux jeunes (Loncle, 2003; Mbembe, 1985) sont
devenues hélas des leurres au niveau local. L’inefficacité de ces politiques réside dans
leur conception, leur orientation, leur fonctionnement et leur gestion. Gérées par des
fonctionnaires bureaucrates qui ne connaissent pas de l’entrepreneuriat, ces politiques
visant à réguler l’auto-entrepreneuriat ne tiennent compte ni de la capacité ni de la
volonté des jeunes, encore moins de la viabilité des projets financés.
Conclusion
46 Dans un contexte où les dispositifs institutionnels se sont révélés inefficaces face au
problème de l’emploi, nous avons tenté de décrire et d’analyser le parcours
professionnel des jeunes au Mali à travers des entretiens individuels conduits à
Bamako, à San et à Bandiagara. Les résultats montrent qu’obtenir un emploi salarié
dans la fonction publique de l’État ou dans une ONG est une espérance partagée par les
lycéens et les jeunes diplômés sans emploi. L’auto-entrepreneuriat commence à faire
bouger les lignes et les mentalités ; il devient de plus en plus une alternative aux
modèles de réussite par le salariat.
47 Deux facteurs expliquent les conduites actuelles des jeunes face à l’emploi : le travail
salarié devient difficile à obtenir ; la possibilité de gagner sa vie et de s’épanouir par
l’auto-entrepreneuriat. La conjugaison de ces facteurs ouvre une nouvelle perspective
qui est celle de l’autonomisation professionnelle par l’entrepreneuriat. Sur le terrain,
nous avons observé deux catégories de jeunes émergents dont les parcours ont en
commun l’école comme point de départ. Il y a d’abord ceux qui travaillent à leur
compte sans avoir la possibilité de changer d’activité. Ceux-ci restent dans la catégorie
de « l’immobilisme professionnel » et de la précarité. Nous les avons qualifiés de
« jeunes dans la débrouillardise ». On observe une seconde catégorie de travailleurs
dont la caractéristique principale est d’avoir multiplié les expériences et les activités, et
qui sont parvenus à une indépendance financière et une réussite sociale. La cause de
cette réussite est qu’ils ont refusé la dépendance, ils ont cru à l’auto-emploi et l’auto-
entreprise à travers une détermination d’atteindre leurs objectifs. Diplômés ou non, ces
jeunes ont cru en leur capacité à surmonter les difficultés malgré les risques d’échec.
Nous assistons là à une situation similaire analysée par Christian Ungruhe et James
Esson (2017) au sujet de la jeunesse ghanéenne qui utilise la migration par le sport
comme un moyen pour réussir professionnellement et socialement. Bien que
l’entrepreneuriat sportif des joueurs se fasse toujours au prix de risques de précarité et
d’échecs, les auteurs rapportent qu’il s’agit aussi d’une négociation sociale de l’espoir.
Les jeunes ne sont pas dans une situation de victimes passives du manque
d’opportunités dans leur société. Bien que nombre d’auto-entrepreneurs échouent, les
jeunes continueront de tenter leur chance afin de surmonter l’immobilité sociale
(Ungruhe & Esson, 2017). Au Mali, les jeunes pensent qu’il faut créer un emploi afin de
subvenir à leurs besoins et éviter par-là la dépendance professionnelle. Car travailler
comme salarié laisse peu de place aux initiatives privées. C’est également rester
dépendant des ordres hiérarchiques et manquer de liberté individuelle. Même si pour

83
le moment ils ne sont pas encore très nombreux à emprunter cette voie, ces jeunes
pionniers servent de modèles.
48 Nous assistons à l’émergence d’un nouvel esprit dans la jeunesse, celui du
développement de l’auto-entrepreneuriat qui devient un moyen certain de créer des
emplois et de la croissance, et de garder ainsi les jeunes sur place. C’est un atout de
premier plan pour le développement local (OCDE, 2005). Dans le cas échéant, on assiste
aux prémices d’un changement réel et profond de mentalité sur la question de l’emploi
au Mali. C’est la fin d’un imaginaire, celui du rêve d’intégrer la fonction publique de
l’État. Si elle s’amplifiait, cette donne devrait favoriser la réussite sociale et
professionnelle des jeunes.
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RÉSUMÉS
L’auto-entrepreneuriat tend à devenir le modèle professionnel dominant chez les jeunes. Les
faiblesses du système éducatif et celles des dispositifs d’insertion professionnelle de l’État malien
ne permettent pas aux diplômés d’accéder à un emploi pérenne. La fonction publique et les
collectivités territoriales se montrent inaptes à absorber la population en demande d’emploi.
Face à ces problèmes, les jeunes s’engagent dans un parcours professionnel précaire. À travers
des entretiens individuels conduits à Bamako, San et Bandiagara, j’ai pu retracer le parcours de

85
plusieurs jeunes Maliens. De petits métiers en activités ponctuelles en passant par l’auto-
entrepreneuriat, certains jeunes parviennent à consolider leur parcours et devenir des modèles
de réussite. De plus en plus, l’auto-entrepreneuriat devient un choix alternatif à la fonction
publique.
O auto-empreendedorismo tende a tornar-se o modelo profissional dominante entre os jovens. As

fraquezas do sistema educativo e dos dispositivos de inserção profissional do Estado maliano não
permitem aos diplomados aceder a um emprego permanente. A função pública e as coletividades
territoriais mostram-se incapazes de absorver a população à procura de emprego. Perante estes
problemas, os jovens enveredam por um percurso profissional precário. Através de entrevistas
individuais realizadas em Bamako, San e Bandiagara, pude traçar o percurso de vários jovens
malianos. De pequenos trabalhos em atividades pontuais, passando pelo auto-
empreendedorismo, alguns jovens conseguem consolidar o seu percurso e tornar-se modelos de
sucesso. Cada vez mais, o auto-empreendedorismo torna-se uma opção alternativa à função
pública.
INDEX
Palavras-chave : juventude, trabalho assalariado, desemprego, auto-empreendedorismo,
percurso profissional, sucesso social
Mots-clés : jeunesse, salariat, chômage, auto-entrepreneuriat, parcours professionnel, réussite
sociale
AUTEUR
YOUSSOUF KARAMBÉ
Institut National de la Jeunesse et des Sports
Bamako, Mali
youkarembe@yahoo.fr

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Le Non-retour des Étudiants

Boursiers : Un cas inédit de
l’immigration malienne en France
O não retorno dos estudantes bolseiros: Um caso inédito da imigração maliana
em França
Fodié Tandjigora
1 Dans cet article, nous traitons du cas des Maliens diplômés de l’enseignement supérieur
en France. Il prend en compte leur trajectoire migratoire, les processus d’insertion sur
le marché de l’emploi en France ainsi que les obstacles au retour après formation. En
outre, ce travail s’attache à donner à l’immigration malienne une nouvelle figure
différente de l’immigration ouvrière. Nous nous intéresserons au motif de non-retour
mais aussi aux politiques d’immigration choisie prônées par la France.
2 Au Mali, on assiste à une nouvelle forme d’émigration chez les lauréats des bourses
d’excellence destinées à former du personnel spécialisé dont le Mali a besoin. Chaque
année, ils sont nombreux à partir en France pour suivre une spécialisation. Les bourses
d’excellence sont décernées par la Direction nationale de l’enseignement supérieur aux
meilleurs élèves admis au baccalauréat de l’année en cours. Selon la Direction nationale
de l’enseignement supérieur, en 2016, quinze bourses d’excellence furent attribuées
aux nouveaux bacheliers pour suivre une formation en France dans toutes sortes de
disciplines, que ce soit l’informatique, le génie civil, la prospective, etc. D’autres
bourses attribuées en grande quantité durant l’année 2016 concernent le Maghreb avec
l’Algérie (124 bourses), le Maroc (100 bourses) ou la Tunisie (11 bourses). La démarche
que nous avons employée pour conduire les entretiens semi-directifs est

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essentiellement qualitative. Ces entretiens retracent les typologies des vagues

migratoires arrivées en France depuis les indépendances ainsi que les principales
filières d’études.
3 Menés entre 2013 et 2014, ces entretiens ont été réalisés sur un échantillon de 85
diplômés maliens de niveau master et doctorat en activité en France. Le choix de cet
échantillon est fondé sur les critères suivants : être né au Mali et avoir quitté le Mali
après le baccalauréat ; être toujours de nationalité malienne au moment des enquêtes.
4 De générations différentes, ces diplômés arrivés en France pour un stage ou une
formation universitaire dans des domaines variés ont été répartis pour les besoins de
l’enquête en trois catégories : les étudiants-stagiaires, les étudiants boursiers et les
étudiants arrivés à titre personnel1 en France pour leur formation. Ces trois catégories
n’ont pas la même trajectoire socioprofessionnelle. Les entretiens réalisés abordent les
parcours, l’insertion en France, les difficultés de promotion en tant que cadre d’origine
étrangère, les obstacles de retour au Mali après la formation. En 2014, une seconde
enquête a été menée auprès des acteurs institutionnels maliens en charge de la
formation des étudiants étrangers dans le but de comprendre les cas de non-retour.
5 L’objectif de cette enquête est de mettre en évidence un profil de migrants maliens
qualifiés. Les immigrés maliens de France ont été longtemps présentés dans l’opinion
publique en France comme des ruraux analphabètes. Ce recours à l’emploi étranger
plus récente fait naître des grands débats dans la littérature scientifique mais aussi
dans des émissions de télévision et de radio (Kouvibidila, 2008). Cet article ambitionne
de faire évoluer ce paradigme.
De l’ouvrier au diplômé : un nouveau paradigme

migratoire malien
6 Les premiers travaux menés sur les immigrés maliens en France renvoient à une
catégorie de population déqualifiée en quête de moyens de subsistance pour leurs
villages d’origine (Daum, 1998 ; Quiminal, 1991 ; Timera, 1996). Entre 1945 et 1973 2,
l’économie française eut massivement recours à une main d’œuvre non qualifié pour
des travaux publics. L’accès au territoire pour les étrangers non qualifiés avait été
facilité par la législation entre la France et ses anciennes colonies. Dès 1960, la France
signe avec ses anciennes colonies du Mali, de la Mauritanie et du Sénégal une
convention permettant aux ressortissants de ces pays de rentrer librement sur le
territoire français (Gubert, 1999). Comment ces immigrés tant sollicités par la demande
économique sont-ils devenus des « parias » et considérés comme une population à
problème ? La France connut entre 1945 et 19733 une grande prospérité économique
appelée les trente glorieuses. Celles-ci nécessitèrent une main d’œuvre conséquente
pour répondre à la demande économique et c’est dans ce contexte européen
d’industrialisation de l’après-guerre que les premiers migrants maliens arrivèrent en
France. Il s’est principalement agi de ressortissants du bassin du fleuve Sénégal
constitués essentiellement de Soninké et de Harpular. Dans un premier temps, la
migration soninké du Mali était le fait d’hommes isolés. Un parent travaillant dans la
marine aidait un frère à venir en France par exemple. Il s’agissait d’une migration
temporaire à but économique et à durée limitée. Celle-ci a été facilitée par la possibilité

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d’émigrer en France avec une simple carte d’identité offerte aux citoyens des anciennes
colonies françaises jusqu’en 1964.
7 La crise pétrolière de 1973 fait émerger une nouvelle politique migratoire en France. La
circulaire de juillet 1974 suspend l’immigration des travailleurs et des familles
extracommunautaires. Cette mesure intervient à une période où la demande d’émigrer
est très forte au Sahel à cause de la sécheresse. Les aides au retour volontaire sont ainsi
expérimentées auprès des immigrés qui souhaitent rentrer définitivement au Mali. Au
fil des années, la demande économique s’adresse moins aux immigrés maliens non
qualifiés qu’aux travailleurs qualifiés.
L’avènement du marché de l’emploi qualifié
8 L’une des principales caractéristiques de l’économie des vingt dernières années est la
dépendance de plus en plus forte à l’égard de la production et de l’utilisation des
nouvelles technologies de connaissance. Le rapport du CNUCED (2003) indique que la
part des produits considérés comme relevant de la haute technologie dans le commerce
est passée de 8% en 1976 à 23% en 2000. Les économies en développement sont
devenues de plus en plus dépendantes de ces produits nécessitant l’emploi de
personnel qualifié. L’avènement d’une économie de connaissance produit une forte
demande de main d’œuvre qualifiée nécessitant le recrutement de personnel qualifié
provenant de l’étranger. Par exemple, environ un tiers du personnel technique et
scientifique aux États-Unis, titulaire d’un master ou d’un doctorat, est d’origine
étrangère (Harfi & Mathieu, 2006, pp. 28-42). La main d’œuvre qualifiée devient une
« marchandise » sur le marché de travail qui semble répondre à la loi de l’offre et de la
demande. La mondialisation impose une compétition entre les économies, d’où la
nécessité de recourir à une main d’œuvre permettant de réaliser le maximum d’intérêt.
Dans cette logique, toute personne possédant une certaine qualification est recherchée
sur le marché de l’emploi. L’expression « exode des compétences », très fréquente dans
le monde de la presse4, serait donc un effet combiné d’offre et de demande qui est une
loi fondamentale du marché de travail. Le XXIe siècle est marqué par un changement
radical dans la sphère même du travail. Ce changement est consacré par le
rapprochement de la science et de la production de sorte que la science est devenue un
facteur indispensable de la production économique. Le rôle des travailleurs hautement
qualifiés devient alors prépondérant et leur cas d’immigration soulève des enjeux
économiques et stratégiques.
L’immigration choisie en France
9 Pour attirer de la main d’œuvre en fonction des besoins de son marché, la France a mis
en place une série de mesures. Depuis 2006, une nouvelle politique migratoire cible les
migrants qualifiés, s’appuyant sur le concept « d’immigration choisie » définie dans la
loi du 24 juillet 2006. Cette loi facilite l’entrée et le séjour de travailleurs hautement
qualifiés en fonction des besoins des entreprises françaises. C’est ainsi que plusieurs
dispositifs ont été mis en œuvre afin de faciliter l’immigration professionnelle, et plus
précisément, l’entrée et le séjour des ressortissants des pays en développement qui ont
une qualification recherchée. La France est le premier État de l’Union Européenne à
transposer la directive de l’Union 2009/50/CE du 25 mai 2009 baptisée « Carte bleu

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européenne » par la loi du 16 juin 2011 relative à l’immigration, l’intégration et la

nationalité (REM, 2013, p. 8).
10 Malgré les innombrables efforts de la France, l’immigration professionnelle qualifiée
reste faible, environ 9% des 193.000 titres de séjour délivrés en 2012 (REM, 2013, p. 8). Il
est alors légitime de se demander si la politique d’immigration choisie est réaliste au
regard de la composition des vagues migratoires. De nombreuses analyses évoquent les
difficultés de mise en œuvre d’une politique « d’immigration choisie 5 » dans le contexte
français. Opposer « l’immigration choisie » à « l’immigration subie » revient
systématiquement à trier les migrants en « bons » et « mauvais ». Or, la finalité de
l’immigration ouvrière ou celle de l’immigration qualifiée demeure le travail. En
substance, la politique « d’immigration choisie » s’adresse à ceux qui possèdent une
qualification requise comme les ingénieurs, les médecins, les enseignants et les
chercheurs. C’est pourquoi cette politique migratoire entre dans le cadre de notre
problématique en tant que dimension politique de l’immigration des diplômés maliens.
« L’immigration choisie » va se traduire, sur le plan empirique, par la mise en place
d’une procédure de récupération des talents étrangers (facilités d’accès à
l’enseignement supérieur français, puis changement de statut d’étudiant à celui de
travailleur). L’immigration des diplômés maliens doit être perçue comme une des
conséquences de la demande de main d’œuvre sur le marché mais aussi comme étant
une stratégie de promotion sociale pour les acteurs eux-mêmes. On pourrait affirmer,
sans ambages, que la migration qualifiée est une nouvelle donne de l’immigration
malienne en France. Aujourd’hui l’immigration malienne n’est pas qu’ouvrière mais
elle est aussi constituée de diplômés en quête de meilleures formations. L’ancien
paradigme d’ « émigré-ouvrier » doit évoluer compte tenu de la composition des
nouvelles vagues migratoires subsahariennes.
L’arrivée des étudiants étrangers maliens en France

11 L’arrivée des diplômés maliens en France s’est effectuée de manière successive et à
différentes époques. Ainsi que nos enquêtes nous l’ont montré, on peut distinguer
plusieurs générations avec des idéaux parfois très contrastés et des parcours
spécifiques. Certains sont arrivés à une époque où la formation des futures élites
maliennes était une priorité pour assurer la relève après les indépendances. C’est
pourquoi parmi cette ancienne génération on y trouve des stagiaires dont la finalité
migratoire devait être le retour en vue de capitaliser les acquis du stage. C’est le cas de
Oulématou Sissoko et de Bandjougou Diakité, tous deux venus pour un stage de 36 mois
aux termes desquels ils ont dû rentrer au Mali et servir leur pays. Pour ce faire, l’État
malien a fait signer un engagement de retour pour servir le pays durant dix ans sans
avoir droit à la disponibilité. Cet engagement décennal n’était pas suivi d’un effet
dissuasif de manière à faire respecter le principe du retour dans le pays d’origine. Pour
ces deux exemples précités, on remarque que les raisons de non-retour sont
strictement personnelles. Monsieur Bandjougou Diakité témoigne :
Normalement je devais retourner, mais le gouvernement malien avait fermé les
écoles entre 80 et 81 à cause de la contestation sociale. J’en sais quelque chose
puisse que j’ai été syndicaliste. En tant que tel, l’État avait un œil sur mon cas.
D’autres sont retournés et se sont vu jetés en bagne ; et je ne voulais pas ça
(Bandjougou Diakité, enseignant au collège).

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12 Après l’ouverture des frontières aux élites africaines post-indépendance, la France a

accueilli une frange importante d’étudiants maliens. Selon Guimont, le contexte de la
guerre froide a provoqué un climat de convoitise entre les deux blocs (Est/Ouest),
chaque bloc tentant d’attirer les futures élites africaines afin de les former selon leur
propre système. Cependant, comme le montre l’article de Ichaka Camara (2018) :
Mais, avec la fin de l’Empire soviétique et le début de la Russie, la région a connu
dès 1990 une forte réduction du taux des étudiants étrangers, y compris des
Africains. En peu de temps, le nombre total de ceux-ci en Russie a diminué de deux
à trois fois, soit est passé de 126 500 personnes en 1990 à 39 300 personnes en 1991.
13 On observe également une raison objective : le taux de scolarisation était très faible
(environ 16% en AOF) et il était nécessaire de pallier ce problème. Les chiffres de
l’époque attestent que le nombre d’étudiants africains était en constante augmentation.
Ils étaient 2000 en 1950, 4000 en 1952, et 8000 en 1960 (Guimont, 1997).
14 La formation des cadres maliens à l’étranger constitue une pratique ancienne qui
remonterait depuis les périodes d’indépendance. Cependant, il existe aussi des cas de
non-retour des cadres formés à l’étranger dû à plusieurs facteurs : chômage, famille,
projet professionnel, etc. En effet, à partir des années 2000 seront instituées des
bourses d’excellence au Mali et c’est la France qui est chargée d’accueillir les boursiers.
Cependant, des cas de non-retour sont également constatés parmi ces boursiers. Ils
sont constitués de bacheliers ayant obtenu une bonne mention au baccalauréat et ainsi
sélectionnés. Si à ses débuts, en 2000, le programme a compté 300 jeunes, aujourd’hui il
compte à peine une dizaine de boursiers6 en raison d’un désengagement continu des
bailleurs. En 2016, la catégorie des boursiers d’excellence était en nombre restreint (15
seulement). La seule université d’accueil pour les boursiers d’excellence maliens
demeure l’université Joseph Fourier (Grenoble-I) de Valence, près de Grenoble. Les
formations proposées sont assez modernes et axées sur la biologie moléculaire-
immunologie, la télécommunication et l’informatique, et la bio-informatique. Ces
boursiers soigneusement choisis sont censés suivre une formation afin d’exercer une
profession ou une fonction dont le pays a besoin pour son économie. Si le projet de
formation, en soi, est à saluer, des cas de non-retour après la formation effectuée à
l’étranger sont à déplorer. En outre, les offres de formation sont en décalage avec les
besoins de l’économie malienne. Monsieur A. D., chargé du programme bourse à la
Direction nationale de l’enseignement supérieur, estime que le plus important est
d’offrir des opportunités de formation aux élèves plutôt que de refuser ces bourses que
les pays amis octroient au Mali :
Nous avons très souvent des offres de formation qui trouvent difficilement des
débouchées au Mali. C’est le cas des études de prospectives qui englobent à la fois
l’intelligence économique, l’ingénierie des systèmes d’informations, etc. Mais nous
les acceptions car il s’agit aussi de permettre aux intéressés de trouver leur avenir
propre (Monsieur A. D., entretien réalisé en février 2014).
15 À travers ce récit, on constate qu’il existe des prédispositions structurelles au non-
retour des boursiers maliens. À cela s’ajoute le contexte du marché mondial du travail.
En effet, le recours à l’emploi étranger suscite de vives discussions au sein de la
littérature scientifique7. Relativement au contexte de relations asymétriques entre pays
développés et pays pauvres, certains reconnaissent dans ce phénomène une forme de
gain, tandis que d’autres y voient plutôt une perte. Gaillard et Gaillard (1999)
dénoncent quant à eux la dramatisation du phénomène de la fuite des cerveaux à
l’échelle mondiale. Selon eux, l’ampleur du phénomène serait exagérée par manque de

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chiffres réels, mais aussi par une focalisation exagérée sur les pertes alors même qu’il
s’agit d’une stratégie de survie pour les acteurs concernés. Ainsi que le précise le
courant internationaliste, les talents à l’étranger ne correspondent pas tous à des
secteurs d’insertion dans le pays d’origine.
16 Le manque d’encadrement des boursiers maliens génère des dysfonctionnements vis-à-
vis des dispositions auxquelles l’offre des bourses doit se conformer. Notons que la
quasi-totalité des boursiers estiment qu’ils ne sont pas suivis par l’État malien au cours
de leur formation et l’on peut déplorer l’absence de méthode de suivi et d’encadrement
de la formation afin d’augmenter les chances d’insertion. Les boursiers d’excellence
signent des engagements de retour auprès d’un notaire, la réalité cependant est tout
autre : il s’avère que cet engagement n’a jamais eu d’effet pratique. Après leur
formation en France, il se pose en effet aux diplômés un sérieux dilemme : rester en
France ou retourner servir le Mali malgré le risque d’être au chômage ? C’est le cas par
exemple de Bintou, arrivée en France pour une spécialisation en droit des affaires après
avoir obtenu une maitrise en droit :
J’hésitais entre rentrer avec le risque de dépendre à nouveau de papa et maman, ou
rester en France sachant bien que ma carte de séjour est liée aux études et que je
risque de tomber dans la clandestinité si je n’ai pas de boulot (Bintou, conseillère
juridique à la CAF en France).
17 Retourner ou rester ? Ainsi de la traditionnelle question qui lancine les étudiants
étrangers en France à la fin de leur cycle de formation. Le retour risquerait d’être une
nouvelle aventure si non suivi d’insertion tandis que l’insertion en France n’est
également pas garantie. Ces questionnements sont permanents chez les étudiants
étrangers et le premier tremplin réel vers la vie professionnelle en France demeure le
stage de fin de cycle.
L’insertion des diplômés maliens en France
18 Le terme « insertion » appliqué à l’immigration peut renvoyer à plusieurs dimensions :

l’insertion sociale des immigrés en tant qu’étrangers, l’insertion des immigrés en tant
que minorité. Dans le dictionnaire encyclopédique de l’éducation et de la formation,
Champy et Etévé (2005) définissent l’insertion professionnelle comme l’entrée dans la
vie active des sortants du système scolaire. Il s’agit d’un processus conduisant à
l’emploi et à l’insertion sociale dans une société. De ce concept, nous ne disposons
d’aucune définition faisant consensus. Dans le cas précis de notre étude, « insertion »
désigne l’ensemble du processus de recherche d’emploi à l’issue d’une formation
universitaire. Dans le cas des diplômés maliens, nous distinguons deux types de
trajectoire d’insertion :
19 Une trajectoire directe d’emploi : les diplômés ayant obtenu un emploi immédiatement
après leur formation comme ce fut le cas de Méma Camara et de Gouro Ousmane, tous
deux ingénieurs et anciens boursiers maliens d’Algérie. Leur trajectoire fut directe car
leur filière de formation fut sanctionnée par un stage de fin de cycle en entreprise. On
observe que tous ceux qui ont pu obtenir un parcours direct sont passés par des stages
en entreprise. Les filières classiques comme l’histoire, la sociologie et le droit ne
comportent pas de stage en entreprise pour valider la formation. Les étudiants ayant
suivi ce type de cursus ont en général plus de difficultés à trouver un emploi.

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20 Une trajectoire indirecte : les diplômés sans insertion à l’issu de leur stage de
formation. Ils ont généralement exercé des métiers en dessous de leur qualification
tout en recherchant une insertion dans leur domaine initial de formation.
Le stage comme principal biais d’insertion
21 La quasi-totalité des diplômés en activité est passée par un stage de fin de cycle pour
accéder au marché du travail. L’absence d’une expérience professionnelle est souvent
considérée comme l’une des principales causes du chômage des jeunes et leur accès à
l’emploi nécessite une première expérience professionnelle (Vincens, 2001). Comme en
témoignent nombre de nos enquêtés, les apports du stage sont multiples et permettent
d’être mieux préparé aux situations professionnelles. Il permet aussi d’accéder à un
réseau professionnel que la simple formation académique ne permet pas de constituer.
C’est le cas de Kissima Camara, notre interlocuteur, qui est ingénieur informaticien
travaillant pour une société privée spécialisée dans les jeux vidéo. Dans son cursus, le
stage de fin de cycle a été constitutif de son diplôme. C’est par ce vecteur qu’il a été
recruté comme ingénieur, ainsi que le confirme son témoignage :
En France ici, j’y ai passé deux ans pour une formation de master Pro, ces deux
années ont été sanctionnées par un stage. C’est donc au cours de ce stage que tout
bascule. En effet, la boîte où j’ai fait mon stage m’a proposé un contrat et un
changement de statut. Évidemment j’ai accepté. Je ne suis pas le seul dans cette
trajectoire.
Le non-retour des diplômés maliens : fuite des

cerveaux ou stratégie de promotion sociale ?
22 Ce sous-chapitre ambitionne d’articuler la politique d’« immigration choisie » avec le
projet professionnel des diplômés eux-mêmes. Comment cette politique a-t-elle pu être
déterminante dans l’insertion des diplômés maliens en France ? S’agit-il d’une fuite ou
d’une opportunité d’insertion pour une catégorie d’individus ? Bien que l’on présente
les migrants qualifiés dans le débat scientifique comme étant « aspirés » par une
politique fatale d’attrait des talents, leur propre projet professionnel, ainsi que la
promotion sociale qu’ils recherchent, sont passés sous silence. Nous avons constaté,
durant nos enquêtes, tout le contraire de ce qui prédomine dans le débat scientifique
international, à savoir le « pillage » des cerveaux ou encore la fuite des cerveaux (Dia,
2005 ; Kouvibidila, 2008). Concernant les analyses de Simon Gildas (2008), elles effacent
les migrants eux-mêmes qui sont les acteurs au cœur du système. On parle alors d’une
mondialisation des flux migratoires, qui se manifesterait par l’émergence d’un marché
international de compétences et entrainerait une migration des spécialistes dans
différents domaines que Simon Gildas (1995, p. 97) qualifie de « noria mondiale des
savoir-faire et des compétences ». Les analyses se sont essentiellement concentrées sur
les systèmes, les dispositifs en matière de circulation des compétences, mais rarement
sur les migrants en tant qu’individus en quête d’un lendemain meilleur. La migration
qualifiée a été longtemps analysée dans un schéma bipolaire d’appel et de rejet encore
appelé « dynamique push-pull8 ». Les migrants, en tant qu’acteurs dotés d’un projet
professionnel, doivent apparaître en premier plan des analyses. Or, très souvent,
l’immigré est perçu comme victime de rapports de force qui le dépassent. Leveau (1989,
pp. 113-126) met justement en garde contre ce type d’analyse qui escamote le

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comportement des acteurs sociaux dans le jeu politique dont les migrants et les États
sont les acteurs.
L’immigration des diplômés est d’abord un projet personnel et

professionnel
23 Si les théories sur l’immigration qualifiée permettent de schématiser le phénomène,

elles demeurent par ailleurs insuffisantes pour rendre compte de la complexité du fait
social migratoire. Dans de nombreux entretiens apparait le besoin de « réalisation de
soi ». L’insertion en France s’inscrit dans une réelle stratégie de promotion sociale dans
la mesure où les migrants sont en quête d’un lendemain meilleur. Si les théories sur les
migrations qualifiées sont nombreuses, elles ne suffisent pourtant pas à expliquer
toutes les raisons du phénomène. La migration, fut-il celle des diplômés, est la
résultante des facteurs géographiques, écologiques, politiques et économiques auxquels
les migrants s’adaptent au moyen de comportements individuels. Or, ces
comportements sont loin d’être homogènes car ils obéissent à des dynamiques
personnelles inscrites dans un contexte social global. La compréhension de cette
dynamique est déterminante pour appréhender le reste du comportement chez les
migrants. C’est pourquoi : « Expliquer un phénomène social, c’est toujours en faire la
conséquence d’actions individuelles » (Boudon, 1979). Autrement dit, le non-retour
comme phénomène social serait la conséquence de plusieurs facteurs sociologiques,
économiques, politiques et individuels. Ainsi, les facteurs de non-retour doivent être
analysés comme un tout. En effet, pour Boudon, une action sociale est la somme des
actions individuelles, ce qui fait que la question de la fuite des cerveaux doit être
analysée à l’échelle individuelle des acteurs et non selon des théories dominantes.
24 Ce type d’interprétation de phénomènes sociaux comme l’immigration qualifiée permet
d’aboutir aux logiques individuelles qui animent l’action collective. Ainsi comme le
souligne Julia Boger (2007), les retours sont souvent confrontés à des difficultés
professionnelles. Par exemple, certains diplômés rencontrés lors des entretiens
savaient déjà qu’ils n’allaient pas rentrer au Mali compte tenu de la nature même de
leur formation :
Certains étudiants ont bénéficié de bourses d’étude dans des domaines qui ne
trouvent pas d’insertion au Mali. C’est mon cas avec une formation en génie
industriel, notamment en robotique, comment pouvais-je trouver une insertion au
Mali où l’on manque terriblement d’entreprises. Depuis mon stage au Mali, je me
suis rendu compte que mon secteur trouvait difficilement de débouchés car les
moyens même de mon stage n’existaient pas (Gouro Ousmane, ingénieur en
robotique industrielle).
25 Notre interlocuteur est un ancien boursier d’Algérie qui avait effectué un stage au Mali
lors de son année de licence en Algérie. C’est lors de ce stage qu’il s’est rendu compte de
l’absence de structure de stage adéquate pouvant l’accueillir et par conséquent de
l’impossibilité de trouver un secteur d’insertion professionnelle au Mali. Dès lors, il
s’est inscrit dans une stratégie individuelle de promotion visant à son insertion en
France. Il existe tout un ensemble de motivations individuelles tout comme il existe des
contextes sociopolitiques qui vont faciliter l’insertion. À travers son parcours, on
comprend qu’il s’agit d’un espoir de mobilité social car le choix de continuer dans
certains cursus résulte de l’intention d’une émigration future. Un diplôme d’ingénieur
dans le domaine de la robotique industrielle ouvre la voie à une immigration en France

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qui, d’ailleurs, pourrait se justifier par l’absence de débouchés au Mali. Il existe une
corrélation étroite entre le choix personnel et les déterminants du marché du travail,
de telle sorte que les politiques migratoires offrent aux migrants les moyens de réaliser
leur projet. Même dans les entretiens menés auprès des générations précédentes,
constituées essentiellement de stagiaires, l’installation en France apparaît comme un
moyen d’accomplir leur réussite sociale personnelle et celle de leur famille qui en
profiterait au Mali. Pour saisir la logique des comportements, selon Boudon, il faut
accéder au raisonnement qui fonde ces comportements. Si l’idée d’une rationalité
utilitariste est un préalable chez Boudon, elle reste insuffisante, c’est pourquoi il
préfère le terme d’ « actionnisme » à celui d’individualisme méthodologique. Boudon
démontre que beaucoup de comportements humains considérés comme « irrationnels »
peuvent s’expliquer par leurs mobiles. C’est pourquoi lorsque l’on parle de fuite des
cerveaux ou d’immigration qualifiée, il faut mettre en relation ce phénomène avec la
logique des acteurs eux-mêmes. La théorie de l’acteur, longuement développée en
sociologie, est une catégorie susceptible d’interpréter des actions sociales. Si la vision
durkheimienne avait prévalu (à savoir que les actions des individus sont généralement
le résultat de forces sociales qui le dépassent), il s’en suit qu’elle ne rend pas
suffisamment compte des réalités que nous avons observées. Le concept d’acteur que
Michel Crozier introduit vise à rompre avec le déterminisme absolu théorisant les
individus comme les « jouets » de forces obscures et non comme des sujets agissant par
eux-mêmes. Si la notion d’acteur est essentielle pour expliquer l’immigration des
diplômés maliens, il ne s’agit pas de nier l’existence des systèmes politiques et
économiques auxquels les migrants sont soumis. Par exemple, lorsqu’un Malien
diplômé décide de rester en France et de s’insérer, il évolue dans un univers de
contraintes liées à son travail ou à son origine sociale et auxquelles il doit se soumettre.
La question du retour
26 Dans la littérature sociologique sur les migrations qualifiées, la question du retour

apparaît seulement dans les années 1990 avec des publications dédiées à la
problématique des études à l’étranger, considérées désormais comme principal vecteur
d’émigration qualifiée (Gaillard & Gaillard, 1999). Des spécialistes comme Gildas (1995)
et Wagner (1998) ont ainsi commencé à reconnaître dans ce phénomène la fuite des
cerveaux. Les travaux de Jeannett Martin (2005) analysent également la question du
retour des migrants ghanéens dans leur pays natal avec une approche biographique.
27 L’insertion professionnelle devient, même pour les diplômés étrangers, une question de
réseau ou de capital social comme le disait Emmanuel Amougou :
À la fin de leurs études en France, ces étudiants qui rejoignent leur pays ont
souvent du travail à la clé comme on le dit. Ceci est sans nul doute le résultat d’une
stratégie de mobilisation familiale ou ethnique (1997, p. 129).
28 Si l’émigration des diplômés est une réalité en Afrique, comment faire pour rapatrier
ceux-ci ? Le retour n’est pas le même pour un informaticien que pour un physicien de
haut niveau dont l’environnement scientifique nécessite des équipements de pointe.
C’est pourquoi le retour est lié à des spécificités de formation, à la trajectoire et au
projet migratoire. Les pays d’Asie du Sud-Est (Corée du Sud, Taïwan) ont par exemple
mis en place un dispositif de récupération de leurs compatriotes qualifiés. L’efficacité
de ces politiques (à moyen et long terme) reste limitée selon Gaillard et Gaillard (1999).
Les dispositifs de rapatriement comportaient de nombreux avantages pour le migrant

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qualifié et sa famille mais l’expérience a montré qu’il fallait plutôt chercher à améliorer
les conditions de la pratique de la recherche, impliquant l’amélioration des
infrastructures et la connexion au réseau mondial de la science. L’exemple des pays
d’Asie du Sud-Est illustre bien le fait que le retour des élites scientifiques est largement
tributaire du développement de la science et de la technique dans les pays d’origine.
29 Le retour fait partie de la problématique de l’émigration qualifiée d’autant plus que les
différentes positions se forgent autour du retour et du non-retour. On ne peut donc
passer sous silence la question du retour des diplômés ainsi que les mécanismes
institutionnels qui soutiennent ce retour. Au Mali, les premières générations de
diplômés signaient un engagement décennal de retour qui les obligeait à rentrer après
leurs études. Mais aujourd’hui, avec la prospérité économique, la nouvelle
configuration du marché de travail ainsi que les conditions attrayantes, les diplômés
sont plus enclins à rester dans les pays d’accueil. L’élan de retour des années 1950 et
1960 du temps des FEANF et de la West African Students’ Union (WASU) s’inscrivait
dans une idéologie indépendantiste. Ces mouvements ont été brusquement ralentis par
la crise économique et les programmes d’ajustement structurel imposés dans les années
1990 par le Fonds monétaire international et la Banque mondiale. Leurs effets
immédiats ont été des mises en retraite anticipée et le gel du recrutement de diplômés.
Organiser le retour des diplômés suppose une volonté politique à long terme et un
effort financier considérable pour reproduire dans les pays de départ les conditions de
travail des pays d’accueil. Il faudrait améliorer les conditions d’exercice des métiers
scientifiques et académiques par l’équipement des laboratoires, la transparence des
conditions de recrutement et la définition claire d’un plan de travail et de carrière. Ces
moyens permettront de récupérer l’investissement dans la formation des compétences
en vue de les utiliser dans un contexte national.
30 Pour Gaillard et Gaillard (1999), la mise en place d’un programme de retour des
étudiants ne peut être efficace que si les autorités nationales font des efforts
considérables pour reconnecter leurs élites avec les pays d’origine dans les réseaux
scientifiques et techniques. Pour mettre en marche le processus de retour, une
reconnaissance des compétences africaines avec des rémunérations adéquates est
nécessaire. Il faut de surcroit mettre en place des espaces de rencontre entre
chercheurs comme c’est le cas au Sénégal où des universitaires, des banquiers et des
industriels se rencontrent périodiquement. Les cadres diplômés maliens, toutes
trajectoires confondues (anciens boursiers ou non), témoignent du non suivi des talents
maliens par l’État. Quant aux étudiants étrangers en fin de cycle, ils n’ont pas connu de
difficulté d’insertion de retour jusqu’en 1980 où les accords de coopération
réglementaient le parcours des étudiants étrangers. Si le retour des élites africaines est
célébré dans les discours officiels en Afrique, ne faudrait-il pas que nos États s’attèlent
d’abord à la mise en place de conditions de retour viables comme ce fut le cas de la
Corée du Sud et de Taïwan ? D’autres obstacles au retour s’ajoutent, ce dont les
entretiens rendent bien compte, notamment concernant la pression que la famille au
Mali exerce sur leurs enfants pour qu’il restent en France. Certaines familles voient
déjà dans le départ en France pour les études une voie de réussite ; par conséquent, le
retour au Mali est perçu comme une « défaite ». C’est ce que révèle le parcours de Dolo,
boursière d’excellence qui avait pris la décision de rentrer au Mali :
Tous ceux qui connaissent la société malienne savent que si tu retournes de la
France, il est inadmissible de tomber bas […] Quand je finissais mon master avant
même de m’inscrire en thèse, j’ai été faire un tour au Mali. Et je me suis présentée à

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la « cellule 300 jeunes » qui s’occupe des boursiers d’excellence. Tout ce qu’on a pu
me faire, c’est de me remettre les adresses des lieux de stage mais comme vous le
savez… tout s’obtient au Mali par affinité. Puis mes parents ont fini par me
conseiller de retourner en France où selon eux les manœuvres mêmes gagnent leur
vie (Dolo, ingénieure, entretien mené en mai 2013, Grenoble).
31 Il ressort plusieurs problématiques dans cet entretien, notamment le non
accompagnement des boursiers d’excellence de retour, le poids de la famille, et le
spectre du chômage au Mali. En effet, de nombreux étudiants sont incités par leur
famille à rester compte tenu de l’aide qu’ils apportent en famille. Ensuite le chômage
est un argument longuement évoqué pour justifier le non-retour au Mali. Dans les
paragraphes qui suivent, nous allons développer les différentes formes d’obstacles au
retour des diplômés maliens.
Retour et non-retour : discours et réalités sur les obstacles au retour
32 « Mon objectif n’était pas de m’installer en France… » Cette phrase, presque rituelle,
revient régulièrement dans les entretiens comme pour repousser un poids moral et
jeter la responsabilité sur les conjonctures politico-sociales. Il est régulièrement fait
référence à des contraintes – que nous évoquerons – lesquelles auraient détourné un
projet initial pour certains, et pour d’autres auraient abouti à la réalisation du projet
initial. Comme précédemment évoqué, beaucoup d’étudiants ont fait leur entrée dans le
marché du travail par le biais de stage de fin de cycle. Ce faisant, un nombre
considérable d’étudiants avaient commencé à travailler dans la branche professionnelle
de leur formation. Dans notre échantillon, c’est le cas de ceux qui sont ingénieurs et
informaticiens où l’essentiel du secteur d’emploi demeure le privé. Ibrahim est
ingénieur et travaille chez EDF (Électricité de France). C’est déjà dans cette entreprise
qu’il avait réalisé son stage de fin d’études :
Mon parcours s’est constitué au gré des opportunités car après mon stage de fin de
cycle ingénieur, on m’a directement proposé un CDI. Avoir directement un CDI était
l’occasion qui me permettait d’avoir une expérience de travail ici en France. Je sais
aussi que cette expérience pouvait me permettre de faire des économies avant un
retour éventuel. Ainsi, je me suis dit : OK je vais faire une année sinon trois tout au
plus dans le but d’avoir une expérience de travail avant mon retour au Mali. Mais là
je suis déjà à ma quatrième année mais je compte quand même retourner mais pas
forcément au Mali, ça peut être un autre pays d’Afrique car je participe à beaucoup
de forums sur l’emploi en Afrique.
33 L’espoir de retour revient dans tous les discours mais ce retour, comme chez les autres
migrants, reste en état de projet pour période longue. Les contraintes de la vie de
couple ou des prêts bancaires à rembourser peuvent constituer des entraves au retour
d’un cadre par exemple. Car si le retour est simple pour un célibataire, il s’avère plus
compliqué pour un couple avec des enfants scolarisés. Le cas de Hawa, docteure en
médecine, est assez illustratif. Venue rejoindre son mari à Grenoble, elle a été
professionnellement déqualifiée comme de nombreux médecins. Mais le retour est
pratiquement impossible pour elle, compte tenu de la situation de ses enfants
scolarisés. Il faut souligner que nombre de migrants craignent que le retour soit une
nouvelle émigration avec des contraintes et des difficultés nouvelles :
Bon ! Si j’ai accepté cette situation, c’est parce que de toute façon je suis venue
rejoindre mon mari, et en plus il était également dans une situation précaire avec
un statut d’étudiant. C’était donc compliqué pour moi. L’heure n’était pas de
réfléchir si je dois accepter ou pas ce statut de précaire. Et puis de toutes les façons,

97
le retour est de plus en plus compliqué avec mes enfants de 6 ans et 3 ans. Puis, est-
ce que j’ai la garantie de pouvoir faire également mon insertion au Mali ? Vous
savez c’est compliqué tout ça.
34 Les choix d’installation sont tributaires des parcours et des projets de vie que les
diplômés se donnent tandis que le débat scientifique sur la « fuite des cerveaux »
semble effacer les choix personnels des migrants. En effet, certains migrants qualifiés
sont en quête d’un lendemain meilleur ; au-delà des débats, il y a des individus avec des
choix et des projets de vie qu’ils cherchent à réaliser.
Les facteurs de non-retour/fuite des cerveaux maliens
35 Le non-retour est-il une fuite ou une opportunité d’insertion pour le migrant qualifié ?
36 Le Mali, malgré son émigration essentiellement ouvrière, n’échappe pas à ce
phénomène qui prend une ampleur sans précédent et très inquiétante. Ainsi, une
grande partie des étudiants formés en France par le biais des bourses, choisissent de
rester à cause de nombreux facteurs comme le chômage, le poids de la famille,
l’inadaptation de la formation au marché du travail, etc. Pareillement, ceux qui ont
gagné en expérience dans les entreprises maliennes et qui partent pour une
spécialisation ne reviennent plus. Ces situations entraînent des pertes aussi bien en
termes de coûts financiers, qu’en termes d’expériences et de performances des
entreprises et des administrations.
37 Aujourd’hui, il faut être cependant beaucoup plus nuancé quand on parle de « fuite de
cerveaux » à travers le prisme de perte ou de gain. Pour faire face à l’avancée de la
science et de la technologie, le Mali est obligé, comme les autres pays en voie de
développement, d’envoyer ou de laisser partir ses étudiants et ses intellectuels étudier
ou se former à l’étranger, en particulier dans les pays développés. Il est urgent de
repenser la façon dont la fuite des compétences est analysée et perçue, autrement dit,
d’abandonner le concept négatif de « fuite » pour parler de « circulation des
cerveaux ». Car, jusqu’en 1990, cette expression de « fuite des cerveaux » évoquait
l’idée d’une migration définitive et à sens unique de personnes hautement qualifiées,
venant du monde en voie de développement vers les pays industrialisés. Or, de nos
jours, ce type de migration n’est plus un déplacement définitif dans un seul sens, les
effets positifs de la migration sur le progrès économique et social et culturel ont fini
par faire comprendre que la circulation des compétences et de la main d’œuvre pouvait
être un catalyseur du développement.
38 Les diplômés maliens en activité évoquent souvent la question du chômage au Mali
comme un obstacle au retour. Leur inquiétude est légitime, d’autant plus que ces
derniers prennent en charge toute une famille et des proches parents. L’éventualité
d’un recrutement par l’État malien est faible, car la fonction publique au Mali
n’embauche généralement pas sur la base d’une évaluation des besoins. Dans ces
conditions, les jeunes diplômés restent en marge de la société car ils ne possèdent pas
les moyens sociaux et financiers leur permettant d’intégrer la fonction publique ou de
s’installer à leur propre compte. Il faut en outre rappeler que les jeunes constituent
environ 60% de la population malienne (RGPH, 2009).

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Les couples mixtes : un retour compliqué
39 Parmi les individus maliens de notre échantillon, les couples mixtes, c’est-à-dire des
Maliens mariés à des Français d’origine, rencontrent également des problèmes. Leur
retour soulève des questions notamment liées à l’intégration du partenaire étranger
dans la nouvelle société. Le retour des couples mixtes maliens au Mali pose la
problématique de l’insertion professionnelle du conjoint français, mais aussi celle de la
scolarisation des enfants. Le retour du diplômé malien au Mali sera pour lui une
réinsertion dans son pays d’origine, tandis que son partenaire devra s’insérer dans une
société nouvelle. Le retour du couple mixte constitue un renversement de situation :
celui qui était étranger revient chez lui tandis que celui qui était chez lui devient
étranger à la nouvelle société d’accueil. Si ce renversement de situation relève
davantage du plan juridique9 (les procédures d’installation), il présente également
quelques effets psychologiques qui résultent du contact avec la culture malienne et
l’assimilation des normes sociétales. Ce retour pourrait être davantage compromis
lorsque le couple possède des enfants scolarisés. Selon M. Sow, « c’est tout simplement
une aventure si l’on doit retourner refaire une nouvelle vie au Mali. L’insertion de ma
femme, les rapports qu’elle doit tisser avec sa belle-famille, tout cela est à apprendre. »
40 M. Sow est marié avec Véronique depuis six ans et le couple a deux enfants de 4 ans et 2
ans. Lors de notre entretien au domicile conjugal en présence de son épouse qui est
assistante sociale, M. Sow explique que pour sa part la principale difficulté demeure le
lien avec la grande famille, et surtout pour sa femme : « Au Mali, elle va devoir tout
apprendre, la plaisanterie avec mes jeunes frères, le respect absolu envers mes parents
et tous ceux de leur âge et elle va voir que mes grandes sœurs décident souvent à sa
place. »
41 La question du retour va au-delà de la fuite des cerveaux tant évoquée. C’est une
question complexe impliquant des dimensions sociopolitiques et économiques. À trop
vouloir généraliser la situation des migrants qualifiés dont les trajectoires sont variées
et les projets de vie très contrastés, on manque l’objectif d’une description pertinente
du phénomène.
Conclusion
42 Aux termes de ce travail, nous disons qu’il existe une nouvelle figure de l’immigration
malienne en France. Une catégorie de migrants qui ne retournent à cause de plusieurs
facteurs, notamment le chômage, ainsi que l’environnement familial du Mali.
Cependant, si nos enquêtes montrent qu’un nouveau profil migratoire des Maliens en
France apparaît, celui-ci reste absent du discours politique sur les immigrés maliens.
Cette situation nouvelle est le produit de la formation des futures élites maliennes
après l’indépendance. En outre, l’internationalisation de l’enseignement supérieur a
uniformisé les formations en provoquant une certaine mobilité estudiantine. Malgré
cette réalité migratoire, les médias français présentent encore les émigrés maliens
comme des ruraux analphabètes moins intégrés à la société française. Bien que
présents en France, les émigrés maliens qualifiés ne jouissaient jusque-là d’aucune
visibilité dans la société française. Les populations étrangères qualifiées en France sont
rarement mentionnées dans les études sur les immigrés, tandis que les discours sur les
problèmes sociaux liés à l’émigration se construisent sur les catégories défavorisées de

99
l’immigration. Afin de comprendre ce phénomène, il est important de rappeler que

l’histoire de l’immigration en France s’inscrit dans celle de la classe ouvrière, surtout
durant les périodes de croissance. La genèse même de la catégorie d’immigré en France
met en lumière, de façon récurrente, une immigration ouvrière destinée à pallier la
pénurie de main d’œuvre nationale. À l’instar de toute émigration, celle des diplômés
peut être considérée comme la quête d’une promotion sociale. Au-delà de tous les
débats sur la mondialisation migratoire ou sur la fuite des cerveaux, l’émigration des
diplômés maliens s’insère dans une stratégie personnelle de promotion sociale. Pour
finir, rappelons néanmoins que dans certains cas, ce sont les familles d’origine qui
incitent à rester en France tout en brandissant le spectre du chômage.
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NOTES
1. C’est-à-dire qui n’ont pas de soutien financier de la part de l’État ou d’un organisme.
2. À ce sujet, voire Pessis, Topçu, & Bonneuil (2013).
3. En réalité la période fait 28 ans mais elle est appelée trente glorieuses.
4. Voir le site www.jeunesafrique.com où plusieurs numéros y sont consacrés.
5. Voir l’interview de Patric Weil dans Le Monde du 9 mai 2006 ; ainsi que l’ouvrage de Bertossi,
Stefanini et Wihtol de Wenden (2008).
6. Direction nationale de l’enseignement supérieur, rapport de 2014.
7. A ce sujet, voir l’article de Ibrahima Amadou Dia (2005).
8. Autrement dit, les facteurs qui poussent à sortir et ceux qui attirent dans les pays d’accueil.
9. Autrement dit, qu’il s’agit tout simplement d’un renversement de situation où le conjoint
français devient étranger au Mali, donc une question davantage d’abord juridique avec un
changement de territoire. Mais ce renversement de situation est aussi psychologique avec le code
culturel du Mali qu’il faut connaître dans ses rapports avec la belle-famille, etc.

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RÉSUMÉS
Cet article vise à définir les contours de l’émigration des diplômés maliens de l’enseignement
supérieur. Il se concentre sur l’étude des titulaires d’un master ou d’un doctorat, nés au Mali, y
ayant effectué une partie de leur cursus, et aujourd’hui en activité en France comme avocats,
médecins, responsables associatifs, ingénieurs ou professeurs. À travers nos enquêtes menées
auprès de 85 diplômés maliens de France, nous démontrons l’existence d’une figure nouvelle de
l’émigration malienne connue jusque-là sous sa forme ouvrière. Déconstruisant le paradigme
dominant de fuite de cerveaux des jeunes africains, l’article montre que les raisons pour le non-
retour de beaucoup de diplômés maliens sont plus complexes et ne pas seulement économiques
comme l’approche fuite de cerveaux nous veut faire croire.
Este artigo visa definir os contornos da emigração de diplomados malianos do ensino superior.
Centra-se no estudo de titulares de um mestrado ou de um doutoramento, nascidos no Mali,
tendo aqui realizado uma parte dos seus estudos, e a trabalhar atualmente em França como
advogados, médicos, responsáveis associativos, engenheiros ou professores. Através dos nossos
inquéritos junto de 85 licenciados malianos de França, demonstramos a existência de uma nova
figura da emigração maliana que, até agora, tem sido conhecida sob a sua forma operária.
Desconstruindo o paradigma dominante de fuga de cérebros dos jovens africanos, o artigo mostra
que as razões para o não retorno de muitos diplomados malianos são mais complexas e não
apenas económicas como a abordagem fuga de cérebros nos faz acreditar.
INDEX
Mots-clés : migration qualifiée, fuite des cerveaux, insertion professionnelle, déclassement
professionnel, enseignement supérieur, Mali
Palavras-chave : migração qualificada, fuga de cérebros, inserção profissional, desclassificação
profissional, ensino superior, Mali
AUTEUR
FODIÉ TANDJIGORA
Université de Bamako, Department of Anthropology
B.P. E3637 Bamako, Mali
tandjigoraf@yahoo.fr

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« Rester c’est Vivre, Partir c’est

Mourir ». Le regard des érudits
bamiléké sur la migration des
jeunes et ses causes aujourd’hui
“Ficar é viver, partir é morrer”. O olhar dos eruditos bamileke sobre a migração
dos jovens e as suas causas hoje
Moris Samen
1 Une mobilité vécue comme de plus en plus vitale pousse les jeunes Africains à quitter le
continent. Les études et débats sur ce phénomène arborent communément les facteurs
suivants : pauvreté, chômage, manque de perspectives futures, instabilité des régimes
politiques, quête d’une vie meilleure (Chaabita, 2010 ; Likibi, 2010 ; Mbembe & Sarr,
2017). Un aspect pourtant tout aussi important n’est cependant presque jamais pris en
compte : le point de vue des érudits, c’est-à-dire des personnes ayant accès au savoir
élitaire et ancestral de leurs sociétés respectives. Grâce à ce savoir, ces érudits sont les
mieux placés pour expliquer certains faits sociaux par la prise en compte d’aspects
historiques et culturels, ainsi que par une connaissance affinée de la conception du
monde organisatrice de ces communautés dont ils sont des experts. À ce niveau, la
perspective ethnologique devient particulièrement intéressante car elle permet de
mieux sonder cet aspect inexploré des causes de la mobilité. Vu que la mobilité des
jeunes Africains compose un sujet vaste, nous prendrons un cas ethnographique plus
restreint comme exemple, pour envisager cette mobilité – généralement désignée
« migration » – du point de vue de ces érudits. En les extrayant du matériel empirique,

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les résultats obtenus seront interprétés à une plus haute échelle. Il s’agira en fin de
compte de montrer que d’autres facteurs, processus, voire termes plus intéressants,
interviennent aussi dans ce phénomène de migration. Ceci nous permettra, non
seulement de comprendre le cas d’étude choisi, mais aussi de mieux appréhender des
phénomènes similaires dans d’autres sociétés africaines.
2 Cette étude se base sur le cas de chefferies installées dans la région des Grassfields au
Cameroun. Celles-ci sont composées de populations dites Bamiléké où j’effectue depuis
2010 des recherches ethnographiques. La migration chez les Bamiléké présente un
paradoxe intéressant : si ceux qui souhaitent partir sont nombreux, plusieurs désirent
néanmoins maintenir le lien avec leur chefferie d’origine. Les travaux consacrés
jusqu’ici à la migration au Cameroun (Alpes, 2015 ; Atekmangoh, 2017 ; Geschiere &
Nyamnjoh, 2001 ; Mouiche, 2013 ; Ndjio, 2009 ; Pelican, 2014 ; Tabapssi, 1999)
n’expliquent pas ce paradoxe. En analysant les diverses causes de la migration, ces
auteurs se sont davantage concentrés sur les conséquences des programmes
d’ajustements structurels et sur l’opinion des jeunes, plutôt que sur l’arrière-plan
cosmologique de la vision du monde des sociétés qu’ils étudiaient. En outre, les raisons
pour lesquelles les migrants tiennent à rester en lien avec leur communauté d’origine
tout en résidant à l’étranger ne furent pas thématisées. La prise en compte de la
cosmologie des chefferies bamiléké peut cependant expliquer ce paradoxe à partir de la
perspective des érudits avec lesquels j’ai réalisé des entretiens. Il ne s’agissait pas d’une
catégorie distinctive dans ces chefferies-là. Le terme « érudit » que j’utilise dans ce cas
présent désigne certains interlocuteurs dont leur particularité était leur connaissance
approfondie de la conception du monde de leurs chefferies. Il s’agissait des fo (rois) et
des nkam (notables) affirmant avoir été initiés à ce savoir cosmologique dans le cadre
d’un apprentissage rigoureux, et certains roturiers qui possédaient des connaissances
établies sur les coutumes de leurs chefferies respectives, ainsi que sur leurs
fondements. Les données ethnographiques me permettant de décrire cette perspective
sont fondées sur les faits suivants : j’ai vécu près de 18 ans dans les Grassfields
camerounais. Depuis 2010 je fais des recherches sur le vécu des émigrés africains,
Bamiléké en l’occurrence, en Europe (Allemagne, France, Angleterre, Belgique) ayant
obligation d’envoyer régulièrement de l’argent au Cameroun. Entre 2012 et 2013, j’y ai
effectué des enquêtes de terrain1 approfondies portant entre autres sur les relations de
dépendance et les causes de la persistance du statut servile. C’est dans ce contexte que
j’ai eu l’occasion de m’entretenir avec diverses personnes sur le thème de la migration
des jeunes bamiléké. Tandis que ceci était un projet irrépressible pour plusieurs,
d’autres m’affirmaient cependant vouloir à tout prix rester au lah (nom local de la
structure que les colons appelèrent ultérieurement chefferie). Les personnes
interviewées étaient des femmes et des hommes, mineurs et majeurs, issues des
chefferies suivantes : Bafoussam, Bagangté, Baleng, Bamendjinda, Bamougoum,
Bangoulap, Bazou et Bangoua2. Les langues utilisées étaient le français et quelques
langues locales. Il s’agira donc dans ce présent texte d’aborder la migration des jeunes
et ses causes de la perspective des érudits dans les chefferies bamiléké.
Notes préliminaires sur les chefferies bamiléké

3 Pour mieux comprendre les enjeux de la mobilité des jeunes de la perspective des
érudits bamiléké – thème de ce présent texte – quelques éléments de contexte relatifs

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aux chefferies bamiléké doivent être clarifiés. Qui sont les Bamiléké ? Combien sont-
ils ? Combien parmi eux ont migré ? Qu’entend-t-on par jeune chez les Bamiléké ?
4 Il faut d’abord préciser que le terme « bamiléké » n’est pas utilisé à l’origine par les
populations locales pour se désigner. Ce terme serait probablement né d’une
transcription de colons allemands qui le mentionnèrent pour la première fois dans
leurs rapports écrits afin de désigner certaines populations des « Grassfields
camerounais » (Barbier, 1981 ; Dongmo, 1981). À travers la politique identitaire de
l’administration coloniale (allemande et ensuite française), ces populations
commencèrent à se désigner elles-mêmes par le terme « bamiléké ». Quoiqu’affirmant
les particularités de leurs différentes chefferies respectives – de nos jours 106 au total
(Tanefo, 2012) –, ces populations partagent de fortes similitudes au niveau de la
structuration sociale et politique. Ma présente étude se référera cependant aux
chefferies bamiléké comprises non pas au sens d’un groupe ethnique homogène, mais
comme désignant la population de la région de l’Ouest3. Quoique les langues parlées
dans les différentes chefferies présentent de ressemblances tangibles (Delarozière, 1950
; Tardits, 1960)4, je m’appuierai toutefois sur la langue medumba, que je maîtrise le
mieux, pour désigner certaines notions communes à ces chefferies bamiléké.
5 Les populations originaires de la région de l’Ouest baptisées depuis la colonisation
bamiléké, majoritairement les jeunes, se sont progressivement et massivement
installées dans les autres régions, et même hors du Cameroun. En parlant des Bamiléké
il serait convenable de savoir à combien s’élève cette population et parmi celle-ci, le
nombre de migrants. Malheureusement il n’existe pas de statistiques fiables au niveau
du gouvernement camerounais (INSC, 2016 ; SPM, 2016). De même que Socpa (2003), le
projet d’étude « La diaspora camerounaise en Allemagne » menée par la Gesellschaft für
Internationale Zusammenarbeit (GIZ) en 2006, désigne les Bamiléké comme le groupe
« ethnique » le plus nombreux. Selon Feldman-Savelsberg (2015), 30% des 20 millions de
Camerounais seraient Bamiléké. À cause du flou démographique et terminologique il
est du moins à considérer que le terme « bamiléké » renvoie à des millions de
personnes vivant hors ou dans la région de l’Ouest.
6 Cette lacune des données démographiques empêche en outre de déterminer le nombre
de migrants bamiléké. Tout compte fait, plusieurs pays européens accueillent de plus
en plus ces migrants (Alpes, 2015 ; Fleischer, 2012). Mais dans cette présente étude, le
cas de l’Allemagne servira d’exemple précis. Le fait que j’y vis a favorisé des recherches
plus approfondies dans quelques communautés de ces migrants camerounais. L’étude
de la GIZ citée plus haut mentionne 14.414 ressortissants camerounais vivant
légalement en Allemagne en 2006, tout en précisant qu’il y aurait un nombre important
de « sans-papiers » non recensés. D’après cette étude, en l’espace de quinze ans
(1991-2006), le nombre de migrants camerounais officiellement établis en Allemagne
aurait sextuplé (GIZ, 2006). En 2016, la société allemande de statistiques Statista estime
leur nombre à 18.301 (Statista, 2016). Côtoyant le milieu des Camerounais (tous sexes
confondus) un peu partout en Allemagne (Hesse, Bade-Wurtemberg, Berlin, Hambourg),
j’ai été frappé par le nombre de Bamiléké : ils étaient largement majoritaires. La
tranche d’âge s’étirait entre 18 et 55 ans.
7 Il est aussi nécessaire de définir la notion de « jeune » dans les Grassfields. Celle-ci est
relative et n’est pas nécessairement basée sur un groupe d’âge défini. Certains facteurs
comme l’apparition des cheveux gris, le statut marital d’une personne, le statut social
dans sa chefferie, etc. l’influencent aussi. Une personne célibataire même à 40 ans est

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généralement considérée comme jeune. Tandis qu’une personne mariée à 29 ans n’est
plus considérée comme jeune. Par exemple, un nkam (notable) de 20 ans n’est pas
considéré dans une chefferie comme jeune. Tout compte fait, dans ce présent texte
« jeunes » renvoie aux personnes âgées entre 18 et 40 ans. Certaines (à plus de 40 ans)
ne se désignaient plus comme jeunes, mais avaient autrefois migré en tant que jeunes.
Le vécu des jeunes au Cameroun en tant que cas

d’espèce
8 Dans le cadre de mes enquêtes de terrain, j’ai pu recueillir la parole de quelques jeunes
camerounais en Europe ou au Cameroun. Quand on les interroge sur les causes de la
migration, ils citent : le manque d’emploi, la recherche d’une meilleure formation
professionnelle, la dureté de la vie, la pauvreté. Le Cameroun fait en effet partie des
pays les plus corrompus et les plus pauvres du monde (Transparency International
Cameroun, 2016). Quelques exemples tirés du vécu des Camerounais nous aideront à
sonder en quelque sorte les raisons évoquées par mes interlocuteurs.
9 Rentrons quelques années auparavant en 2008, un point mémorable dans l’histoire du
pays. Exaspérée, la population, jeune en majorité, descend dans les rues de Douala et de
Yaoundé pour manifester contre le coût de la vie. Des échauffourées avec les forces de
« l’ordre » du gouvernement causent la mort de plusieurs dizaines de personnes
(Bouopda, 2009). Tandis que les grévistes se plaignaient de la « vie chère », certaines
personnes avec lesquelles je m’étais entretenu sur ce sujet exprimaient de façon
générale l’idée d’une crise d’identité comme étant la principale cause de ces difficultés-
là. Un interlocuteur me confiait par exemple qu’il trouvait aberrant que les jeunes
camerounais prennent la route pour protester de ce que le prix du pain avait augmenté.
Il trouvait illogique qu’un Camerounais vivant dans un pays doté d’une grande diversité
de produits alimentaires (tubercules, légumes, fruits, viandes) ait pour denrées de
« premières nécessités » des produits importés au Cameroun (farine de blé, poisson,
poulet congelé) (Guy D., communication personnelle, Darmstad, 2008). Un autre aussi
m’expliquait au moment des manifestations que :
Si les gens ont faim, ce n’est pas de nourriture matérielle mais spirituelle. En
reniant leurs racines, Dieu leur a repris ce qu’il leur avait donné jadis. La terre les
refuse. C’est une malédiction. Ne voyez-vous donc pas les étrangers [Européens et
Asiatiques] qui, de plus en plus, achètent les terres ici pour exploiter les ressources
agraires et minières ? (Rostand C., communication personnelle par téléphone,
Hambourg, 2008).
10 Six érudits bamiléké qui avaient suivi l’évolution de ces grèves me firent également
part de leurs impressions plus tard, pendant mon séjour au Cameroun (2009). Pour ces
derniers, les causes principales de celle-ci se trouvaient dans l’acculturation, accentuée
par un désordre croissant tant sur le plan spirituel que social. Des années après les
grèves, pendant mes différentes études de terrain au Cameroun (2012, 2013 et 2018),
donnant leur avis sur les défis de la société actuelle, les érudits – de façon convergente
– énonçaient encore l’acculturation comme problème majeur. Ainsi, ils considéraient la
pauvreté, la famine ou le coût élevé de la vie qui sévissaient comme symptômes d’un
désastre croissant. C’est ainsi qu’à Bagangté, un nkamsi (prêtre, notable de la Divinité Si)
m’expliquait que cette conjoncture n’était pas seulement valable pour les Bamiléké,
mais pour d’autres Africains dissociés de leurs ancêtres :

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Tu vois les Africains souffrir comme ça. Pour nous autres nkamsi, c’est une
conséquence logique quand on est coupé de ses ancêtres. Tu me demandes ce que je
pense des maladies, des guerres, de la pauvreté en Afrique actuellement. Je
répondrai que : la souffrance des Africains a-t-elle même commencé ? Les
problèmes que l’on connaît aujourd’hui ne sont rien par rapport à ce qui arrive. La
vraie souffrance arrive (Nkamsi [prêtre] Jackson, communication personnelle,
Bagangté, 8 octobre 2012).
11 De façon globale, pour les érudits, la manière dont plusieurs jeunes bamiléké copient de
plus en plus les modes de vie et croyances exogènes (européennes ou arabes) tout en
rejetant les valeurs en vigueur dans leurs chefferies constituent une menace notoire :
Celui de « refuser d’être soi-même ». Les exemples qu’ils arboraient portaient sur des
domaines tels que la nutrition, l’éducation, la sexualité, la spiritualité, etc. Mais il est
évident que conserver ces valeurs des chefferies ou encore ne pas copier les concepts
de vie exogènes ne pourront résoudre le problème des jeunes, à savoir le manque
d’emploi, la vie chère, la pauvreté, etc. Cependant, en considérant le fait que les gens
s’évertuent de plus en plus à vivre un certain standard (à l’européenne en
l’occurrence), sans avoir les moyens nécessaires, peut susciter la convoitise et les
frustrations. Il s’agirait du fait, par exemple, que malgré la diversité biologique et
alimentaire au Cameroun, le panier de la ménagère est composé majoritairement de
produits importés. Nous ne parlons pas ici d’un conflit tradition vs modernité
(Nyamnjoh, Durham, & Fokwang, 2002), mais plutôt de la difficulté de vivre le
modernisme et des problèmes engendrés. D’ailleurs, les érudits ne m’ont en aucun cas
fait allusion à une antipathie vis-à-vis du modernisme, d’autant plus qu’eux aussi
modernisent les palais royaux de jour en jour. Ainsi donc, au-delà de la perspective des
érudits nous pouvons utiliser leur lexique du « refus de soi » tout en le définissant
plutôt comme le fait qu’une personne rejette les éléments fondamentaux de son
identité propre. Quand donc un individu assume une certaine identité (tant culturelle
que civique) tout en refusant le cadre normatif y relatif, il peut en pâtir. En revenant au
cas d’espèce nous voyons que les Bamiléké s’identifient et s’attachent volontiers au lah
aussi surtout parce qu’ils y tirent leur vitalité. Cependant ils rejettent de plus en plus de
manière consciente ou pas le savoir-vivre, us et coutumes, sans toutefois assimiler
dûment les modes de vie exogènes, européenne en l’occurrence, qu’ils veulent copier.
Les conséquences sont légions et l’on rejoint le pronostique du désastre croissant dont
se désolent les érudits car on peut déjà constater, entre autres, l’évolution contrariée
de la parenté, de l’individualisme, la désacralisation de la féminité, de la faune et de la
flore, fondements même de leur lah. Cet ébranlement de la structure sociale n’est pas
sans conséquences dans les domaines économiques, sociaux, etc.
12 Une question très importante se pose : Pourquoi est-ce que ceux qui migrent, soit par
moyens légaux ou illégaux, sont presque exclusivement ceux qui ont eu de l’argent ?
Les problèmes d’ordre économique, tels qu’arborés par les jeunes, n’y apportent pas
une réponse. Quoique la notion du « refus de soi » n’explique pas toute la complexité
sociologique du phénomène de cette migration, l’enjeu identitaire qu’il met en relief
permet néanmoins de répondre à cette question.
Du refus de soi au grand désir de migrer

13 Le refus du soi dont nous parlons dans cette étude est à concevoir en tant que fait
sociologique, donc pas spontané. Il peut être vu comme le produit d’un type de

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socialisation boostée par le système éducatif, les religions exogènes, l’appareil

médiatique (livres, radio, télévision) mis en place depuis la colonisation. C’est-à-dire
qu’à côté de leurs desseins d’éducation, ces structures véhiculent aussi des notions
tendant à pérenniser l’infériorité des Africains par rapport aux Européens, en se basant
le plus souvent sur la couleur de la peau. Quelques exemples nous permettrons de
mieux comprendre l’impact de ceci sur les jeunes.
14 Pendant mon cursus scolaire primaire et secondaire au Cameroun dans les années
1980-1990 plusieurs enfants devaient par exemple réciter par cœur la phrase suivante :
« L’histoire, c’est la connaissance du passé basée sur les écrits » du manuel scolaire
Histoire du Cameroun (Criaud, 1961, p. 3). N’ayant pas de système d’écriture reconnu
comme tel par les colons, notre histoire commençait donc avec la colonisation
européenne qui d’ailleurs avait pour but « d’arrêter les pratiques barbares » de nos
ancêtres. Ainsi, les gens qui étaient contre cette campagne de civilisation furent
présentés comme sauvages, des maquisards, terme péjoratif, collé jadis très souvent
aux Bamiléké et aux Bassa. Plusieurs Camerounais se souviendront de la chanson
dûment apprise dans les écoles « je m’en vais chercher (A)fricain pour venir planter le
chou. (A)fricain ne veut pas planter le chou. Je m’en vais chercher bâton pour venir
frapper (A)fricain… ».
15 Dans les églises, on nous apprenait que nos ancêtres ne connaissaient pas Dieu et de ce
fait l’évangélisation était une chance sublime. Les rois (fo), les notables (nkam), les
savants et prêtres (ngakang, kamsi, megnisi) étaient désignés lors des prédications
religieuses comme « les représentants du Diable ». Les objets d’art des chefferies
étaient vus comme instruments d’idolâtrie. Nous chantions des cantiques tels que :
« dans mon âme noire s’est levé le jour » (Toukéa, s.d., chant nº 356) ou encore « lavé
dans le sang de l’agneau, je serai plus blanc que la neige » (Toukéa, s.d., chant nº 513).
Dans plusieurs bouquins le Diable était dessiné sous les traits d’un homme costaud et
noir ; tandis que Dieu, Jésus et les anges étaient représentés dans un idéal de beauté à
l’européenne. Les livres que nous lisions présentaient la blancheur comme synonyme
de pudeur tandis que la noirceur connotait l’impureté. Certaines personnes auraient pu
certes interpréter ces dessins et textes de façon relative. Tout compte fait, on nous
avait tout de même octroyé à l’école, à l’église, etc., l’identité « noire » dont la
performativité péjorative se ressentait dans plusieurs aspects de la vie sociale,
religieuse et dans les supports médiatiques. Ainsi ancrée dans la société, même au sein
des familles actuelles, la personne la plus nantie et s’occupant financièrement de ses
pairs est appelée couramment le « Blanc de la famille ». Un pasteur d’une église dite
pentecôtiste au Cameroun m’a dit un jour : « je regrette d’être né Camerounais et non
Israélien, car c’est le peuple de Dieu. Naître et vivre en Israël auraient été une grâce
divine sublime » (Pasteur Pascal, communication personnelle, Douala, 1998).
16 Avec ce « formatage » intellectuel, religieux, médiatique, l’on comprend qu’un jeune,
victime de ceci, réagissant à cela, éprouve un désir vif de s’identifier aux « Blancs ». De
même l’on pourrait aussi plutôt s’étonner que malgré cet impact, un jeune n’éprouve
pas ce désir-là. Le fait que les jeunes veulent manger et vivre comme les Européens tout
en « se refusant » devient donc une conséquence logique avec des sources socio-
politiques bien définissables. L’une des conséquences est le fait de mettre tous les
moyens en jeu pour aller vivre chez les « Blancs ». Projet surtout accessible à ceux qui
ont les moyens financiers.

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17 Si le refus de soi permet de comprendre les motivations et choix de la destination des

jeunes migrants, il n’explique cependant pas le paradoxe bamiléké énoncé à
l’introduction : Pourquoi est-ce que plusieurs jeunes veulent absolument migrer mais
tout en maintenant à tout prix des liens avec leurs chefferies respectives ? Ceci nous
amène donc à comprendre pourquoi la terre et le territoire de leurs chefferies leur sont
essentielles et en quoi consiste ce lien-là.
La signification de la terre et du territoire dans la

pensée bamiléké : « C’est le lien avec la terre qui vivifie
l’Homme »
18 Selon les érudits bamiléké la terre dans leurs chefferies n’est pas la propriété d’un seul
homme. Dans la construction de l’identité culturelle et religieuse bamiléké, le territoire
n’est pas perçu comme une notion essentielle. La terre est appelée couramment tcha ou
ta ; le sol ou le bas, si ; tandis que terme le plus utilisé pour désigner leur Divinité
suprême est Si. Ce lexique signale une corrélation entre le bas, le sol et le sacré, et la
Divinité Si s’exprime elle-même par la terre. La Terre est le plus souvent appelée « Si-
tcha », que l’on pourrait traduire mot à mot par « Divinité-terre » ou encore « Divine-
terre ». Les fondements socio-politiques des lah (chefferies) reposent sur Si qui de
manière figurative, les aurait établis en tant que structures permettant aux Hommes
d’avoir la possibilité d’accéder à un état d’être et de connaissance « élevé ». En tant que
fondatrice du lah, Si est aussi perçue comme première souveraine et force immanente
se réincarnant dans tous les fo (rois) « Si be fo » (Si est fo) (Garnier & Fralon, 1951 ;
Hirsch, 1987) et établit les règles de vie appelées nkohn 5.
19 Dans un lah, la terre possède un caractère sacré ; elle est inaliénable. Au cours d’un
entretien dans sa chefferie à Bamendjinda, le fo Tanefo renchérissait que : « c’est un
sacrilège de vendre la terre » (J.-M. Tanefo, communication personnelle, Bamendjinda,
13 janvier 2013). Le lah étant établi sur une terre qui n’appartient pas à ses habitants,
les érudits envisagent le territoire comme nécessaire à l’établissement du lah sans
toutefois être essentiel. Ce point marque – à mon avis – une différence fondamentale, et
trop souvent ignorée, entre chefferie et lah. Employé par l’administration coloniale
dans le cadre de la territorialisation, le terme « chefferie » fixe géographiquement un
lah. Or le lah existe au-delà du territoire, il est avant tout une communauté spirituelle
sur terre (tcha) avec pour dessein principal le renforcement des liens entre l’Homme et
le sol, entre l’Homme et Si-tcha (Divinité-terre). Quoique cette conception ne soit pas
spécifique aux Bamiléké, il est impératif de la prendre en considération afin d’analyser
les raisons pour lesquelles appartenir au lah est pour ces derniers d’ordre vital (Samen,
2018). La sacralité du sol renvoie donc à un rapport complexe entre l’Homme, la terre,
le territoire et la chefferie.
20 L’établissement d’un lah sur une terre, ainsi que la garantie de son intégrité territoriale,
dépend des bons rapports que les habitants entretiennent avec le sol ou la Divinité Si.
La qualité de ces rapports est influencée surtout par l’observation ou non des lois
sacrées, et a en retour un impact sur l’épanouissement d’un individu. Les bonnes
relations garantissent aussi l’intégrité territoriale, physique, matérielle et spirituelle,
ainsi que la descente du défunt dans le monde souterrain des ancêtres 6.

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21 L’idéal bamiléké sera de renforcer ce lien avec Si-tcha, la Divinité-terre. Ce lien est
d’ores et déjà établi dans la mesure où l’Homme vit sur terre. Pour le renforcer, les
Bamiléké utilisent divers procédés, symbolisés par des rites. Par exemple, dès la
naissance, le symbole du renforcement de ce lien entre l’Homme et la terre se fait par
l’enterrement du cordon ombilical du nouveau-né sur le domaine de son père social 7
afin de marquer son appartenance à un réseau social et à un lieu géographique donné,
indispensables à son épanouissement dans la vie future. L’enterrement du cordon
ombilical s’apparente à une « formalité d’identification de la personne », car l’Homme
appartient au lieu où son cordon ombilical a été enterré. Tout au long de sa vie, cet
endroit exact demeure, pour un Bamiléké, le lieu de référence pour l’exécution de rites
qui lui permettent de grandir sur le plan physique, social et spirituel (Kamga, 2008).
22 L’immense Terre abrite en son sein les ancêtres. Afin d’établir le contact entre un
Homme et ses ancêtres, il devient nécessaire de trouver un endroit approprié pour
rentrer en relation. En enterrant le cordon ombilical, l’enfant est relié symboliquement
à ses ancêtres grâce au lieu en question (Kamga, 2008). La « terre » d’un Bamiléké se
trouve là où demeurent ses ancêtres, représentés par leurs reliques, en l’occurrence
leurs crânes (Tanefo, 2012 ; Tchoutezo, 2006). Ceci explique, comme nous le verrons
dans la section suivante, pourquoi quitter sa terre n’est pas sans conséquences pour
l’identité d’un Bamiléké ou sa perception de soi.
Les notions du « partir » et du « rester »

23 Ainsi que nous l’avons vu, la notion de territoire n’est pas indispensable pour la
perduration d’une mémoire collective en tant que lah. Ceci peut expliquer pourquoi
plusieurs migrants bamiléké, indépendamment de leurs lieux de résidence, gardent le
sentiment de vivre au lah du moment où leurs cordons ombilicaux y sont enterrés et les
reliques de leurs ancêtres respectifs s’y trouvent. C’est donc partant de ces faits qu’on
peut mieux comprendre pourquoi les notions bamiléké du « partir » ou du « rester » ne
traduisent pas forcément l’idée d’un mouvement géographique. La sémantique de la
langue bamiléké medumba dépeint d’ailleurs la particularité de ces notions. Nen signifie
« partir », tandis que yock possède les significations suivantes : « rester », « vivre » et
« vie ». La formule de salutation « ou yock le », qui veut dire mot à mot « es-tu resté ? »,
peut être également traduite par « vis-tu ? ».
24 « Rester » c’est appartenir au lah et « partir » implique son contraire. Puisque le
concept du lah se pense indépendamment du territoire, il devient concevable qu’une
personne puisse restée physiquement dans les Grassfields sans pour autant encore
appartenir à son lah. Dans pareil cas, on parle de « a nen e djeu nessa » (elle est partie
loin) ou de « a ke yock » (elle n’est pas restée ou encore elle ne vit pas). À l’opposé, une
personne peut vivre très loin et « rester » en même temps dans son lah. Même si la
distance géographique n’influence pas le fait de « rester » ou de « partir », l’idéal reste
cependant « yock lah » (rester et vivre au lah), car c’est du lah que plusieurs Bamiléké
puisent leur force mentale, spirituelle et sociale. Dans tous les aspects de leur vie –
cérémonies de mariage, de naissance, de deuil, maladies et traitements médicaux, culte
des ancêtres, fertilité, réussite, vitalité –, les Bamiléké se réfèrent à leur lah.
L’appartenance à un lah requiert au moins trois formalités. La première c’est
l’enterrement du cordon ombilical sur la terre du lah. Ensuite, la préservation des
crânes des ancêtres dans un sanctuaire. Enfin, la construction d’une demeure, où l’on

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sera enterré, ceci aussi vu en tant que signe de réussite et de stabilité (Ndjio, 2009).
Choses faites, le Bamiléké fournit à son entourage la preuve qu’il est là : « a yock ».
25 La mise en œuvre de ces trois formalités réclame le concours de ceux qui sont « restés »
et qui résident au lah. Il s’agit principalement des nkam (notables), des ta-nkap (pères
sociaux), des ngakang (prêtres) et des fo (rois). L’ensemble des résidents du lah serve
ainsi d’intermédiaire entre les émigrés bamiléké et les ancêtres. Bien que « rester » et
vivre au lah soit un idéal, il faut noter que des millions de Bamiléké résident
aujourd’hui hors des Grassfields. Il y a trois raisons principales à cela. Avant la
colonisation la transgression des lois sacrées nkohn n’était pas tolérée et conduisait,
dans les cas graves, au bannissement. Les malfaiteurs, par exemple, étaient expulsés du
lah. Ce bannissement peut s’étendre à leur progéniture. Pendant la colonisation, il eut
des affrontements violents opposant les forces armées coloniales allemandes puis
françaises aux Bamiléké insoumis. Ces turbulences ont causé un « génocide bamiléké » 8
et entraîné la migration de plusieurs jeunes. Après la colonisation, l’établissement des
nouvelles structures tant économiques que sociales, le système d’urbanisation calqué
sur un modèle « européen » a attisé la migration des jeunes bamiléké principalement
vers le littoral et le centre du Cameroun, en l’occurrence Douala, Nkongsamba et
Yaoundé. Par la suite, ceux-ci se sont propagés fortement et durablement dans tout le
Cameroun.
26 La majorité de mes interlocuteurs bamiléké vivant au Cameroun ou en Europe m’ont
affirmé avec véhémence leur attachement au lah. Une Bamiléké vivant depuis près de
25 ans en Allemagne me dit ceci : « On ne peut pas renier son lah. Quoique l’on fasse, on
doit s’y rendre pour des rituels afin de se fortifier. Quand on mourra, on y reposera »
(Chantale N., communication personnelle, Wiesbaden, 28 avril 2016). Malgré les
ouvertures économiques et sociales dues à la colonisation et à la globalisation, les
Bamiléké, même immigrés, tiennent à « rester ». C’est dans cet esprit que la diaspora
bamiléké reproduit les structures des lah là où elle s’établit avec la désignation d’un fo
(roi) et de nkam (notables) sous le patronage des royautés d’origine (Geschiere &
Konings, 1993). Certains Bamiléké s’efforcent donc à « rester » car « partir » dans le
sens de la rupture avec la Divinité Si se révèle d’autant plus désastreux pour eux dans la
mesure où ceci entrave à la mort leurs chemins vers les siens dans le monde souterrain
des ancêtres. De ces faits nous pouvons dire que « rester » c’est maintenir des liens
affectifs et historiques qui forment le socle de l’identité, nécessaire à leur équilibre tant
sur le plan psychologique que physique. Les données permettant ce maintien sont
codifiées dans le savoir-vivre des chefferies, donnant à certaines de leurs formalités
sociales (rituels) une performativité manifeste. La détérioration de ces liens peut être
provoquée de différentes manières.
Les causes et conséquences du « partir »

27 « Partir » traduit notamment dans le savoir élitaire des érudits bamiléké la rupture
entre l’Homme et la Divinité-terre. Les causes de cette rupture sont multiples.
Principalement on peut citer l’excommunication du lah-familial (grande famille) 9. Ceci
peut survenir lorsqu’un Homme n’est plus en contact avec ses ancêtres ou est banni
(excommunié) de la famille. Il faut ajouter que les membres d’un même lah-familial, en
particulier le matrilignage, peuvent avoir des relations sexuelles entre eux. Il s’agit du
hohne, assimilable à l’inceste. Une rupture se concrétise par l’expulsion de l’individu

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hors de son réseau familial, ce qui, par ricochet, l’oblige à rompre avec ses ancêtres.
Nous pouvons aussi citer l’individualisme. Étant donné que l’identité profonde d’un
Bamiléké est définie par rapport à son appartenance à un groupe, notamment le lah-
familial, l’individualisme conduit à l’inévitable rupture avec le lah et la terre. Les
ouvertures économiques marquées par un modèle capitaliste, ainsi que les mœurs et les
religions provenant d’Europe, ont encouragé l’esprit d’individualisme chez certains,
attisant ainsi leur « départ ». La perte des valeurs morales dans les lah est aussi une
cause du « partir ». L’évangélisation, la colonisation, et d’autres facteurs exogènes ont
altéré la transmission des savoirs du nkohn chez certains Bamiléké ; par exemple : la
sacralisation de la maternité, de la flore et l’interdiction d’ôter la vie à tout être ne sont
plus des principes observés par plusieurs jeunes10. Les mariages et procréations
illicites aussi y jouent un grand rôle car l’union maritale selon nkohn (lois sacrées) est
l’un des piliers de la vie sociale et religieuse. Elle fusionne les membres des deux
grandes familles concernées y compris leurs ancêtres respectifs. Hors de cette
réglementation, l’union maritale peut provoquer une rupture entre la progéniture des
protagonistes et leurs aïeuls respectifs. Enfin, le bwen ntak, communément traduit par
le terme français « maudire », provoque aussi le « partir ». Il s’agit de « malédictions »
proférées dans les familles contre un enfant par les parents biologiques ou sociaux. Ceci
provoque selon eux la rupture entre l’individu et ses parents, voire ses ancêtres
(Samen, 2018).
28 Vues sous l’angle de la migration des jeunes, les explications des érudits sur les
rapports entre l’Homme et la terre acquièrent un sens plus significatif. Nous retenons
par-là que « partir » signifie tout d’abord la détérioration des liens affectifs et
historiques qui – dans cette structure sociale des Bamiléké – garantissent l’équilibre
psychologique, physique et spirituel. Ainsi, « partir » se traduit par des ruptures dans la
transmission des données permettant au Bamiléké de raffermir son identité culturelle,
familiale, sociale, voire spirituelle dans un lah. Donc, une telle rupture dévitalise ce
dernier. Il est nécessaire de souligner que dans leur cosmologie, les Bamiléké
établissent un lien très étroit entre l’essence vitale de l’Homme et le sol. Cette essence
provient du souterrain et le lah est une structure socioreligieuse permettant de
l’amplifier. Lorsque les liens qui enracinent l’Homme dans son lah sont déstabilisés, son
départ (ou celui de sa progéniture) – au sens géographique du terme – devient, pour les
érudits, une conséquence logique et inévitable. Les érudits m’expliquèrent – à titre
d’exemple – que la plupart des jeunes bamiléké qui migrèrent dans la région du
Moungo (littoral) dès la première moitié du XXe siècle étaient des roturiers défavorisés
ou des malfaiteurs bannis. Leurs descendants y sont demeurés et représentent jusqu’à
nos jours la majeure partie de ces Bamiléké qui n’ont plus de lien avec le lah d’origine
de leurs parents. J’ai pu observer onze cas de personnes nées et vivant hors de la région
de l’Ouest qui y sont revenues à la recherche du lah de leurs géniteurs. Certains ngakang
(prêtres) avec qui j’ai conversé établissaient même un lien entre le fait de ne plus avoir
de contact avec le lah de leurs ancêtres et l’accumulation de maux (maladies, échecs,
attaques de sueh, dit « sorcellerie ») dont souffraient ces derniers, signe de
dévitalisation.
29 Selon les érudits, en « partant », un Bamiléké amoindrit donc considérablement la
vigueur de son essence vitale, un phénomène qui peut s’intensifier avec sa
descendance. En d’autres termes, nous pouvons traduire cela par le fait que perdre
certains repères sur le plan culturel, familial et socioreligieux, fondamentaux pour

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consolider son identité dans le sens de Mbembe (2013), peut produire des Hommes
limités. À en croire les érudits, « partir » ou encore un certain niveau de dévitalisation
dans une famille, est l’une des causes principales pourquoi certaines générations ne
peuvent plus vivre sur une terre, se dispersent ensuite. Elle peut entrainer, dans les cas
les plus poussés, l’effacement d’un nzuit (lignée) de la surface du tcha (terre). « Partir »
peut également conduire à la perte du territoire. Les érudits ont établi une liste de
symptômes capables d’évaluer si, dans un lah-familial, les ancêtres sont « partis » jadis :
stérilité, mort des membres de la famille à la fleur de l’âge, maladies chroniques
durables ou incurables, manque de réussite, pauvreté, désunion, rétrécissement du
nombre des descendants de génération en génération. Ces familles sont baptisées
tchounda ke po (signifie littéralement tchounda pas bon). « Partir » n’a pas seulement des
conséquences au niveau individuel et familial, mais aussi au niveau communautaire. Le
bouleversement croissant des fondements sociaux, religieux et culturels des chefferies,
accentué depuis la colonisation, a des conséquences fatales pour les jeunes bamiléké. Si
l’on en croit les érudits, ces traumatismes ne cessent de s’exprimer à travers divers
symptômes (terres infertiles, épidémies, criminalité, pauvreté, etc.) poussant en
revanche plusieurs à migrer.
De la migration au « better life »

30 Les jeunes migrent avec pour objectif principal le « better life ». Atteignent-ils donc le
« better life » en migrant ? Pendant mon séjour au Mali en 2016 par exemple, j’ai
conversé avec sept Camerounais (quatre hommes et trois femmes) ayant quitté le
Cameroun avec pour dessein d’atteindre l’Europe par voie terrestre. Les maintes
tentatives restèrent – jusqu’à lors – infructueuses. Au Mali, où ils demeuraient
provisoirement, ils avaient créé l’ONG Association des Refoulés d’Afrique Centrale au
Mali (ARACEM) aux fins d’encadrer les « refoulés ». Malgré le fait que certains avaient
déjà pu établir des activités commerciales et obtenaient du soutien de certaines
organisations humanitaires internationales, tous mes interlocuteurs étaient cependant
prêts à récidiver. Tous avaient laissé leurs activités professionnelles au Cameroun,
vendu leurs biens, dépensé d’énormes sommes pour gagner le pari du « better life ».
Comme ces derniers, plusieurs autres jeunes déboursent plusieurs milliers d’euros et
parfois abandonnent des postes de travail ou leurs enfants pour atteindre leurs
destinations idéales, l’Europe ou les Amériques, de manière légale ou pas. Donc,
contrairement aux causes de la migration énoncées par les jeunes et les études y
relatives, ce n’est manifestement pas la pauvreté qui anime principalement plusieurs
jeunes.
31 Il est difficile de statuer si le « better life » est généralement atteint ou pas car les buts
visés diffèrent d’un individu à l’autre. Cependant, un rapport étroit entre la quête d’une
vie meilleure et la notion de « rester » (de la perception symbolique des érudits) est
constatable. Pour atteindre les objectifs visés en migrant, plusieurs de mes
interlocuteurs en Europe – demandeurs d’asile, travailleurs, étudiants, prostituées,
voire fay-men11 – semblaient beaucoup nécessiter le maintien des liens avec le lah
duquel provenaient forces, bénédictions et protections via ceux qui étaient « restés ».
Des relations de dépendance manifestes s’étaient établies entre ces jeunes migrants en
majorité cadets sociaux (bun en tant que pluriel de mun) et leurs protecteurs au
Cameroun, en l’occurrence les parents sociaux (ta-nkap ou ma-kap), des prêtres locaux

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(ngakang) ou autres marabouts et gurus quelconques (Samen, 2018). Il est notable que
ce sont principalement les cadets sociaux qui projettent de migrer 12. En scrutant le
« better life » il devient nécessiteux de comprendre la complexité de ces liens de
dépendance.
32 Dans les codifications sociales des chefferies, les cadets sociaux se trouvent sous la
tutelle de leurs parents sociaux, appelés ta-nkap (hommes) ou ma-nkap (femmes)
(Warnier, 1995)13. Pour augmenter la masse des cadets sociaux le moyen perpétuel est
l’union maritale. Des trois types de régime d’union maritale incombant aux cadets
sociaux, à savoir le régime ta-nkap et le régime d’acquisition ta-nkap, le régime dotal est
le plus approprié et le plus répandu de nos jours. Ici le prétendant fournit la dot et
acquiert seulement certains droits matériels sur l’épouse et sa progéniture (Pradelles
de Latour, 1991). Mais le ta-nkap, possesseur de l’épouse, maintient ses droits
immatériels (les plus importants d’ailleurs) sur la femme et ainsi que sur sa
progéniture. Dans le cadre de ces relations de dépendance, les cadets sociaux sont
utilisés par leurs « propriétaires » de diverses manières (Röschenthaler & Argenti,
2006 ; Warnier, 1995). Par exemple, pendant le commerce triangulaire, dans les ports de
déportation (Bimbia, Douala, Calabar), ils constituaient la majorité des esclaves destinés
à la déportation vers les Amériques. Pendant la colonisation ils furent mis en travail
dans les plantations de leurs propriétaires ou des Européens (Samen, 2018). Toujours
est-il que, comme nous le verrons dans la section suivante, plusieurs cadets sociaux,
migrants, se trouvent dans relations de dépendance entravant considérablement la
réalisation du « better life ».
Migration à servitude
33 Avec les ouvertures économiques et sociales leur utilisation est devenue plus rentable
en termes d’envoi d’argent (remittances). La colonisation a facilité l’illicite production et
l’exploitation des bun du fait que plusieurs familles de nos jours, se dérobant du
créneau traditionnel, essayent de copier la recette des ta-nkap « légitimes » pour eux-
aussi posséder des cadets sociaux (bun) et de les utiliser et ce très souvent sans les
fondements et connaissances requises. Grâce aux religions étrangères, surtout le
pentecôtisme et d’autres mouvements ésotériques appelés couramment
« maraboutisme » au Cameroun, ces « usurpateurs » cherchent moyens de protection
contre les menaces naturelles ou surnaturelles des ta-nkap « légitimes ». Chacun peut
donc créer son propre réseau avec des structures de répression y relatives. De ce fait,
les ta-nkap « modernes » sont dans plusieurs cas aussi les gourous, pasteurs et
marabouts divers, percevant de droit le nkap (argent) sur leurs sujets auxquels ils
promettent protection ou représailles (Geschiere, 2000 ; Nyamnjoh, 2005 ; Samen, 2018).
Ces nouveaux ta-nkap « illégitimes » se servent du modèle et de la pédagogie
traditionnelle pour instaurer un nouveau système pluricéphale, plus dynamique en
parlant de remittances et plus déstabilisant pour la société. En fin de compte, il s’agit
dans plusieurs cas d’envoyer des enfants en Europe, par exemple, aux fins de
régulièrement recevoir de l’argent d’eux. Il aurait fallu scruter le « better life » pour
déceler cette autre cause majeure de la migration des jeunes bamiléké. Ces liens de
dépendance ne sont pas seulement basés sur la contrainte mais aussi sur la docilité,
celle-ci étant forgée et consolidée par une pédagogie bien définie. L’éducation chez les
Bamiléké est avant tout basée sur la transmission des informations nécessaires à un

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individu afin qu’il puisse prendre part activement à la vie sociale et trouver sa place
dans l’univers. Or l’éducation des bun – surtout dans les familles des ta-nkap
« illégitimes » – est expressément basée sur la réduction ou la manipulation des
informations concernant un individu et son environnement à dessein de produire des
Hommes limités. De ce fait, le « partir » dont nous avons fait mention en tant que
l’amoindrissement des liens affectifs et historiques s’extériorisant par un certain
déséquilibre, n’est pas seulement l’œuvre des facteurs exogènes (colonisation,
évangélisation, islamisation, etc.). Dans le but de mieux huiler la machinerie
d’exploitation de leur bun, certaines familles laissent expressément les enfants dans de
grandes lacunes surtout en ce qui concerne leur langue, identité, statut, histoire de leur
famille respective, de leur chefferie, etc. Ces lacunes vont en s’empirant, d’une
génération à une autre. Elles forgent, avec la peur permanente des représailles du
phénomène sueh (traduit par sorcellerie), un état mental de servitude qui devient des
chaînes plus dures que l’acier pour les gens de condition servile (Samen, 2018).
34 Non seulement le vécu en Europe n’était pas si facile comme ils l’imaginaient avant de
migrer, mais la plupart vivaient dans une précarité notoire tout en finançant le luxe et
le superflu de certaines personnes au Cameroun14. Était-ce une forme d’altruisme
propre à ces jeunes bamiléké-là ? Je crois que non, dans la mesure où ces derniers
m’avaient indiqué qu’eux aussi aspiraient – tout comme les autres personnes – à vivre
bien. Peut-on aussi parler de solidarité ? Je dirai que non ! car ils envoyaient de l’argent
plus par contrainte que par besoin et ce soumis à de graves pressions et menaces.
Plusieurs me disaient d’ailleurs qu’ils devaient le faire pour « payer leur tête ». C’est
donc dans cette optique et en se basant sur la charte universelle de 1948 (ONU, 2018)
garantissant les droits de l’Homme, qu’on peut aussi qualifier la situation de plusieurs
jeunes migrants bamiléké de nos jours de servitude. La servitude ici c’est quand dans le
cas d’espèce, une personne ne réussit pas à vivre de manière décente mais est obligée
de financer le luxe d’une autre personne au Cameroun. Ceux qui perçoivent de l’argent
de ces derniers depuis le Cameroun profitent donc le plus de la migration de ces jeunes-
là.
Lutte contre la migration « illégale »

35 Les ONG et les politiques ont engagé la lutte contre la migration. En 2017 par exemple,
le ministère camerounais de la Jeunesse et de l’Éducation civique et l’ONG allemande
The African Network of Germany avaient initié une « campagne de lutte contre les
migrations irrégulières ». Le Parlement européen avait aussi décidé en 2016 d’allouer
un fonds spécial de 1,8 milliard d’euros pour lutter contre les causes de la migration
illégale en Afrique (Parlement européen, 2016). Dans cette lutte, la perspective étique
des ONG et des politiques par exemple, est orientée vers les difficultés économiques et
sociales en tant que causes premières de la migration des jeunes ; par exemple : les
conséquences des programmes d’ajustement structurel, le chômage des jeunes, les
déficiences de l’État. Or dans le contexte bamiléké nous constatons plutôt deux
principaux facteurs de la migration des jeunes. L’une c’est l’existence d’un système
d’exploitation des cadets sociaux basé sur une structure de relation de dépendance qui
ne croise, ni n’enfreint les lois issues du code civil. L’autre cause c’est le « refus de soi »,
c’est-à-dire, les crises identitaires et culturelles.

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36 De cette complexité on peut en dégager trois attitudes par rapport au phénomène de la

migration. D’une vision que je qualifierai d’eurocentrique, c’est la migration qui est un
problème à résoudre, pas le « partir ». De la perspective des érudits bamiléké ce n’est
pas la migration mais plutôt le « partir » qui est le problème majeur. Pour les profiteurs
du système d’exploitation des bun, la migration et le « partir » sont une solution, un
succès. En ne considérant pas ses deux dernières perspectives émiques, les actions de
solutionnement proposées par les ONG et les politiques semblent bien manquer leurs
cibles. D’une part, ils huilent les crises identitaires au niveau local, causes du « partir »
et de la migration même. D’une autre part, ils ne contrarient pas la servitude, autre
cause de la migration. Ainsi, nous pouvons donc déduire que : résoudre les problèmes
de la migration de la perspective étique revient, dans un sens métaphorique, à traiter
les symptômes et pas le mal, ce dernier d’ailleurs croissant. En traitant les symptômes
et pas le mal, les crises identitaires et culturelles croissantes pourraient s’extérioriser
par une pathologie plus acerbe.
37 Rejoignant les idées déjà énoncées par plusieurs autres chercheurs, comme Sallaberry
(2010) ou Mbembe et Sarr (2017), la migration des jeunes africains est en premier plan
un problème européen. La notion de territoire, imposée par les Européens dans le cadre
de la colonisation, ne trouve à nos jours pas encore d’ancrage dans les convictions
locales de plusieurs Bamiléké. Par exemple, étant donné que le lah existe au-delà du
territoire, migrer en Europe ne donne pas au Bamiléké le sentiment d’être « parti » de
son lah, tant que ce dernier remplit les formalités requises. Cette propriété culturelle
lui donne une certaine latitude à pouvoir aller partout dans le monde. Il est donc
difficile de faire comprendre à une telle personne qu’il devrait idéalement vivre
seulement sur le territoire camerounais tels que délimité par les accords européens
d’antan (Mbembe, 2010). Or nous nous souvenons que c’est la classe dirigeante
européenne même (se voulant de manière pérenne de fixer les barèmes de l’évolution
de l’histoire de l’humanité) qui lorsqu’elle avait besoin de la main-d’œuvre aux
Amériques, conceptualisa la traite des esclaves, en d’autres termes, la migration forcée.
Elle exporta ce concept vers l’Afrique en employant tous les moyens nécessaires y
compris génocides et ethnocides. Maintenant se sentant menacé par les effets du
« repeuplement du monde » (Mbembe & Sarr, 2017), elle conceptualise cette fois-ci la
lutte contre la migration et l’exporte de nouveau, par tous les moyens nécessaires
(financiers, politiques, infrastructurels).
38 Dans le cadre d’une solidarité diplomatique, le gouvernement et les ONG camerounais
apportent – avec grande peine – leurs contributions à résoudre ce problème européen.
Cependant, solutionner efficacement ce problème au Cameroun revient aussi à
combattre le « partir » et la servitude générée par les relations de dépendance. D’une
part, il faudra donc revoir les concepts médiatiques, religieux ou éducatifs introduis et
établis, inculquant aux jeunes camerounais leur infériorité par rapport aux Européens.
Ceci renvoie, dans le sens de Mbembe et Sarr (2017), à la nécessité de se réinvestir de
certains « concepts endogènes ». D’une autre part, l’on devra aussi lutter contre
certaines structures traditionnelles d’interdépendance. C’est au moins le profit que
plusieurs Camerounais pourront en tirer du solutionnenemt du problème de la
migration, en l’occurrence ceux qui sont parti des lah et les victimes de la « migration à
servitude ». Autrement, le solutionnement du problème européen de la migration ne les
apporterait rien d’assez profitable.

116
39 Cette étude sur les Bamiléké peut à juste titre être considéré comme un cas d’école. Les
notions du territoire, du « partir », des relations de dépendance et d’exploitation des
migrants élucidés dans ce texte sont similaires à celles existant dans d’autres sociétés
africaines. De ce fait, le regard des érudits bamiléké sur la migration des jeunes
africains peut pertinemment contribuer aux débats actuels sur la migration.
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NOTES
1. Ces recherches de terrain dans le cadre de ma thèse de doctorat furent financées par le DAAD
(Office allemand d’échanges universitaires).
2. Il n’est pas facile de caractériser ces chefferies en termes de ville ou de village. Le terme ville
renvoie à la présence d’une forme d’urbanisation de type européen dans une agglomération
donnée, tandis que village désigne les agglomérations rurales (Tchatchoua, 2009). Or, la
population locale utilise le terme français « village » exclusivement pour définir leur chefferie
d’origine.
3. Depuis 2008, les dix provinces du Cameroun ont été renommées les dix régions. Les Grassfields
s’étendent sur les régions Ouest et Nord-Ouest. La région de l’Ouest comprend exclusivement les
chefferies dites bamiléké et bamoun.
4. C’est fort de cela que Nkwi et Warnier (1982) les classent dans le sous-groupe qu’ils nomment
« Mbam-Nkam ».
5. Nkohn en langue medumba est l’une des appellations des lois sacrées.
6. Il est à noter que le sens du monde dans cette conception du monde est du haut vers le bas.
7. Au sein des lah, il existe une différence entre le père biologique et le père social. Le père social
est celui qui possède un individu. Il peut par exemple s’agir d’un njeunda, propriétaire d’un
tchounda, un chef de famille (Hurault, 1962). Il peut aussi s’agir d’un ta-nkap. Ce dernier possède

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ses filles et les marie avec des cadets sociaux. Ainsi les enfants issus de tels mariages lui
reviennent. Voir Kamga (2008) ; Tanefo (2012).
8. Terme utilisé par Deltombe, Domergue et Tatsitsa (2011).
9. Aussi appelé tchounda (lignée, parenté).
10. Un érudit m’expliqua qu’il était, avant la colonisation, interdit par exemple de tuer, même les
animaux. Seuls les ngakang (prêtres) étaient habilités à commettre pareille action. Immoler un
animal requérait des rituels d’expiations, car le sang versé entrainait l’impureté. Avec la
christianisation, par exemple, ces valeurs ont été combattues.
11. Le terme fay-man est utilisé par les Camerounais et maintenant dans d’autres pays africains
pour désigner les malfrats comme les arnaqueurs et faussaires quelconques. La faymania est très
souvent associée avec la migration (Pelican, 2014).
12. Il est notable qu’il ne s’agit pas d’un système de caste. Les sociétés bamiléké, quoique
fortement hiérarchisées, offrent cependant des possibilités de mobilité sociale. De ce fait, le fils
d’un roturier peut accéder à la notabilité. Ou encore la fille d’un roi peut être de condition
servile.
13. Dans la structure « légale » des chefferies, seules les personnes puissantes, ayant atteint un
certain échelon dans la société, dans leur conscience du moi et dans la religiosité peuvent
devenir ta-nkap en vue de fortifier le groupe et aussi donner une certaine assurance et protection.
14. Phénomènes tout à fait récurrents dans plusieurs sociétés africaines.
RÉSUMÉS
Les causes de la migration des jeunes africains scrutées dans diverses études jusqu’à lors ne
tiennent presque pas en compte l’opinion des érudits africains. Or ceux-ci sont les mieux placés
pour expliquer certains faits sociaux par la prise en compte d’aspects historiques et culturels,
une connaissance affinée de la conception du monde organisatrice de ces communautés dont ils
sont des experts. Dans ce présent texte, le cas ethnographique des Bamiléké nous permet à titre
d’exemple, de découvrir d’autres facteurs, voire termes plus intéressants liés à ce phénomène de
migration. Il explique également le paradoxe de savoir pourquoi ce sont plutôt ceux qui partent
qui disposent de ressources financières tout en arborant les difficultés économiques comme
raison de leur émigration.
As causas da migração dos jovens africanos analisadas em diversos estudos até agora quase não
têm em conta a opinião dos estudiosos africanos. No entanto, estes estão melhor colocados para
explicar certos factos sociais, levando em consideração aspetos históricos e culturais e um
conhecimento aprofundado da conceição do mundo organizadora destas comunidades das quais
são especialistas. No presente texto, o caso etnográfico dos Bamileke permite-nos, a modo de
exemplo, descobrir outros fatores e, mesmo, termos mais interessantes ligados a este fenómeno
de migração. Também explica o paradoxo de saber por que razão são sobretudo os que partem
que dispõem de recursos financeiros ao mesmo tempo que salientam as dificuldades económicas
como causa da sua emigração.

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INDEX
Palavras-chave : migração, servidão, better-life, mobilidade, Bamileke, território
Mots-clés : migration, servitude, better-life, mobilité, Bamiléké, territoire
AUTEUR
MORIS SAMEN
Goethe University Frankfurt
Department of Social and Cultural Anthropology
Norbert-Wollheim-Platz 1
60629 Frankfurt am Main, Germany
info@morissamen.com

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Unfulfilled Expectations for Making

a Better Life: Young Malian men
coping with their post deportation
adventures
Expectativas frustradas de alcançar uma vida melhor: Jovens malianos a lidar
com as suas aventuras pós-deportação
Susanne U. Schultz
EDITOR'S NOTE
1 We sit in the shadow of a little shop that belongs to Seku, our young host in this small
Mandé village in southern Mali. It is a small group of young and some elder men, all of
whom have been formerly deported, involuntarily returned, mostly from North African
countries. Seku has spread the word that my colleague, Birama, and I are here and
would like to talk to some of those formerly deported. Although we had agreed to speak
to individuals and visit their families, many have come to Seku’s shop and discuss with
us their experiences. Seku was the first to tell his story. He has been to Libya twice. The
first time, in 2006, he returned deliberately to show off the money he had earned and to
get married. Two years later, he took the road again to Libya with the plan to continue
on to Europe. He wanted to take a boat to Italy where a friend of his was staying.
However, he did not make it further than to Libya. There, he was deported, after he had
been unexpectedly apprehended on an open street. “By those policemen,” he says.
Having no permit to stay, he was detained and after six weeks without proper water,
bread, or sleep, he was brought to the airport and flown back to Mali. It was the time of
the turmoil in the initial post-Gaddafi’s era1, and he was not the only one involuntarily

122
returning. Several of the village youth, in emic terms those men between the ages of
about 16 and 40, were deported or repatriated via air or land during and after this time.
Each one of them continued to suffer from his personal and above all financial loss and
had a story to tell, leading to an engaged discussion that lasted several hours (Group
discussion, November 7, 2015).
2 Many of the participating men had ventured out to “search for money” (Bambara:
warignini) in their youth. Their migratory journey is called adventure (French:
l’aventure) in large parts of West Africa. This adventure should allow both exploring the
world and emerge as men to support and learn the necessary skills to become a
household head (Koenig, 2005, p. 80). Since structural adjustment measures in the 1980s
have transformed and confined the economic, historically agricultural life
(Lachenmann, 1986), existing pathways to achieve such social status have been blocked
for large parts of the young generation. As I will discuss later on, migration has been an
integral part to achieve social maturity since generations. However, it is particularly in
light of this current and widespread lack of perspectives that emigration offers a means
to escape in order to gain the status and responsibility of social adulthood. Moreover,
while processes of globalization have further deteriorated prospects of young people,
they created a need for global connectedness among youth (Geschiere & Nyamnjoh,
2000). From the beginning of the 1990s, migrations increasingly meant going to Europe
in this region in the Malian south that I will discuss. Hence, it is the simultaneous need
of local and global belonging which forms the basis of contemporary migration as
adventure and social necessity.
3 However, the narrations of hardship, disillusion, and of loss of their so-called
adventures completely contradict these young men’s goals. Most had crossed the
Sahara and tried to enter Europe, the assumed “El Dorado” (also Nyamnjoh, 2010) on a
small vessel. Due to restrictive migration policies and multifold borders, the journeys of
the mostly young men are interrupted, stopped, redirected or reversed (Drotbohm &
Hasselberg, 2015). After their forced return, hopes for success connected to the
adventure remained unfulfilled and the often perceived personal failure may have led
to instances of (social) shame, thereby impairing the deportee’s dignity, an experience
that ought to be avoided not only as a Malian man (Broqua & Doquet, 2013). Deported,
they may be thrown back into a situation of “waithood,” what Honwana (2012) called
the extended phase between youth and adulthood that does not allow young people to
follow the established paths to gain social status as their preceding generations did.
4 In the following, I will critically examine the narrations of the deported young men
along the lines of waithood, a generation “in the-waiting” (Schulz, 2002, p. 806) and
involuntary immobility. By analyzing the social realities of deportees in situations
when the aspired expectations of a better life suddenly fail to materialize, while people
keep going on or look for alternatives, I aim to go beyond a notion of deportation as
sheer failure. The article follows the trajectories of young male deportees in the Malian
south. The retrospective stories of these deportees offer insights into a spectrum of
strategies for coping with the situation of a forced return. I begin by introducing my
fieldwork and relevant aspects of mobility, migration, and deportations in southwest
Mali, particularly Kita. Second, I outline the ambivalence of the “failed” migratory
adventure in light of unmet expectations for adventure and the consequent social
reactions between failure and success, shame and suffering on the one hand, but
likewise joy and gratefulness of being back healthy and alive, on the other hand.

123
Herein, I describe how deportations, as increasingly collective experience, become

integrated in established circular migratory forms. While the hegemonic foil of again
leaving persists, many are torn between leaving and staying, but significantly less
actually leave again. Not only does this finding contradict some of literature on post
deportation that refers to re-emigration as a common consequence of forced return
(e.g. Dünnwald, 2012; Schuster & Madji, 2015), more importantly, the reminiscence to
the previous and potential anew adventures is source for one’s masculine personhood
and contributing to becoming an adult man. I will eventually display deportees’ local
engagement, creating agentive ways and thus proactively coping with the presumed
failure by positively focusing on the village, “back to the soil,” and alternative forms of
economic income, internal and social mobility. The names of the informants have been
changed to preserve their anonymity. For the same purpose, the villages mentioned
will not be named.
Approaching situations of post deportation in the field

5 This article is based on extensive qualitative fieldwork completed over the course of
eight months in Mali (between 2014 and 2016)2, which focused on the everyday life and
self-representations of deportees in urban as well as rural contexts. Of particular
interest were the deportees’ social embedding and the question of how and to what
extent a deportation characterizes a person’s life after return.
6 For my fieldwork in the communities of origin, where deportees would (finally) return,
which more than expected turned out to be also their places of anew settlement, I was
mostly assisted by Birama Bagayogo, a young Malian anthropologist. While such
collaborations have evoked concerns regarding power hierarchies and the role of
translations, for instance (cf. e.g. Englert & Dannecker, 2014), this research
constellation was particularly beneficial as most informants were male and being there
with a male counterpart created additional commonality. Though one might assume
people would have difficulties to speak about a traumatic or shameful past, we
encountered a lot of openness. Birama reasoned that, as I was an outsider, there was
nothing to hide and no potential competition in the usually narrow social context. This
explanation would feed into what has been discussed as a positive effect of being a
researcher from outside the specific field (Diawara, 1985); it might also be connected to
the observation that former deportees want to share their stories (Lecadet, 2011).
7 The data selected and presented here derive from one small Malinké village close to the
capital of the Kita district, in the administrative region Kayes, as well as from the main
village of a Malinké-Fulbe area, a rural community 40 kilometers south of Kita city. Kita
was chosen as a research site as it had received a significant number of expelled
migrants from Mauritania, Morocco, Spain, and since 2002, repatriates from Côte
d’Ivoire, likewise from Libya, particularly around 2011. In 2015 and 2016 it continued to
be a place of high-frequency migration, considerable numbers of shipwrecked and
again increasing deportations.
On mobility, migration and deportations in Mali

8 The district of Kita is considered as a region of international emigration par excellence
(Konaté & Gonin, 2016, p. 25). There are municipalities where emigrants have

124
developed models of public, political, and economic investments and connectivity

through constructing schools, health centers and roads (Lima, 2005), and thus
positioning themselves as true agents of development. However, despite its current
emergence, migration is not a new phenomenon in Kita and the role attributed to
migration builds on the (historically) grown cultures of circular migration, nomadism
and ritual journeys within the region (Bredeloup & Pliez, 2005; Hahn & Klute, 2007). It
forms the basis of the “migratory adventures” (Bredeloup, 2008) and dynamic
transnational spaces today (Manchuelle, 1997).
9 The migratory adventure builds on former pilgrimages into the wilderness as “the first
collective or individual experience of a man. […] Weeks of walking through the forests,
savannah, and soils reinforced his masculinity” (Dougnon, 2012, p. 152) as initiation to
social adulthood. This wilderness has now been replaced by big cities or far away
countries, while its function as a rite of passage remains, facing risks, violence or even
death3. The migratory adventure, not necessarily toward Europe, to gain economic,
social and personal success, is “reinterpreted, as a prestigious, ‘initiatory’, value-giving
experience” (p. 162). The adventure is thus about learning and becoming someone.
Since the 1960s, the migratory voyage, respectively “the adventure,” is a part of local
culture and a popular theme in music, literature and everyday life (Dougnon, 2013, pp.
39-46). Children, particularly boys, are trained from early on through (first of all often
internal) labor migration (Dougnon, 2012, p. 144). Many young boys in Mali grow up
with the desire and expectation to leave home both to study and to also potentially
support the family (Hertrich & Lesclingand, 2013, p. 181). In this context, mobility as
path to social adulthood is intrinsically connected to masculinity, economic success,
socio-cultural recognition and families’ livelihoods.
10 The post-colonial international emigration in Kita was spurred by the “rail crisis” and
the shut-down of the state-owned peanut oil mills between 1986 and 1995 because of a
more pro-active liberal economic state policy. Export revenues of groundnuts fell in
Mali, Senegal and Gambia by 50 to 80% from 1960 to 1980 (Badiane & Kinteh, 1994, p. 6).
The transfer to Mali’s Cotton Mill incited a surge of migration towards Senegal and Côte
d’Ivoire. Due to increased possibilities of mobility through processes of globalization
and the political unrest in the 1990s in Côte d’Ivoire, many migrants from Kita moved
further North (Mauritania, Morocco, Spain and Italy), and primarily to Libya between
2004 and 2008 (Konaté & Gonin, 2016, pp. 117-119). This coincided with the EU and its
member states experimenting one of the most rigorous border management policies in
Libya, including large deportations on the African continent since the 2000s (cf. also
Sylla & Schultz, 2019a).
11 Mali has been affected by a high number of forced returns of its citizens since its
independence from France in 1960, most importantly from other African countries,
partially through massive deportations, of e.g. 500,000 “aliens,” including Malians,
from Ghana in 1969. These were economic and xenophobic measures, mostly in
moments of crisis, to strengthen the postcolonial state’s sovereignty (Bredeloup, 1995;
Sylla & Schultz, 2019b). The first deportations from France date back to 1986 and were
particularly symbolically charged (Lecadet, 2011). In the course of the progressive
externalization of EU border and migratory control into the African continent, the
transit countries in the Maghreb increasingly implemented mass deportations of
“irregular” migrants (Lecadet, 2011). Malian migration statistics estimate that of more
than 100,000 Malian migrants who were expelled between 2002 and 2012, 91.8% were

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expelled from countries on the African continent, while deportations from Europe
represented 6.6% of all deportations during the same period (MMEIA, 2014, p. 55). The
previous circularity of migration was forcefully interrupted, people forced to return in
an undignified way, to take dangerous routes to (re-)migrate or to remain involuntarily
immobile (e.g. Jónsson, 2007). Since the European “refugee crisis,” the EU interventions
have reached a new dimension of collaboration on migratory control, development and
increasingly “assisted voluntary returns” (Trauner, Jegen, Adam, & Roos, 2019), which
are often described as deportations by returnees and the Malian civil society alike.
12 Some of these patterns and discourses seem to be reflected by the young deportees’
narratives depicted in the following sections. Particularly the increasingly collective
dimensions of deportations seem to generate a certain normalization of its social
effects as well. Still, at the community level, young deported men face ambivalence and
hardship upon return and expectations related to the collective imaginary of migratory
success remain high.
“Failed” adventure: ambivalences and social

embedding
13 This section shall develop the in-depth ambivalence of the migratory adventure in case
of its supposed “failure,” where deportees are thrown in involuntarily with empty
hands, facing the expectations of their social circle unfulfilled and having to
demonstrate the productivity of their conditions simultaneously. Since pre-colonial
times, the return from the pilgrimage to the wilderness was thought to be favorable
and returnees were celebrated as heroes who had overcome the arduousness of the
unknown (Dougnon, 2012). In the small village close to Kita, Seku has demonstrated his
success following his first return when he came back mostly “to show off.” Most
importantly was the money he had earned: he married, handed out presents and lived
“la belle vie,” as he laughs in recounting. The deportee, in contrast, usually returns with
empty hands, at the most with a plastic bag from the airport. Others are thrown into
the desert, directly re-emigrate or muddle through from here, and, supported by
undertaking little jobs, continue their return to their villages.
14 Particularly the involuntary return to the village is a sensitive issue, and post
deportations in this respect come with particular social and economic challenges for
returnees. In the village, social spaces are clearly defined, and it is usually all too
obvious who is a deportee. Boureima, from the main village of the rural community,
explains: “Everybody knows that this is a deportation. If you spend two years [abroad]
and then you’re deported, your objective to succeed is not achieved” (Boureima,
personal interview, October 30, 2015)4. “Deportee, deportee,” they may call after you in
the street, “and then they denounce your mother,” he indicates a crucial connection.
15 It is not uncommon that a deportee stays inside the extended family’s house, not
wanting to talk to anybody: “I haven’t left the house in a month,” Boureima admits,
now two years later. At 27 years old, he has already been deported twice from
Equatorial Guinea, and once from Libya. He continues:
It was my friends in the village that helped me and said “go out again.” It was them
who unburdened me at every moment to forget these gruesome days. Bit by bit, I
regained my confidence though I was having pains in both hands and it took almost
a year before I recovered (Boureima, personal interview, October 30, 2015).

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16 Mandé society is organized and adhered around norms and ideas of respectability and
relatedness in the conception of (masculine) personhood. They imply a positive debt, in
the sense of a “debt of life” (De Latour 2002, as quoted in Bredeloup, 2008, p. 301), or a
“family debt” (Mbembe, 2006, p. 327) towards one’s close. This implies a general
reciprocity, which not least helps to constitute the social fabric and cohesion. Money
plays a central role herein. Individual felicity and affluence, social harmony and the
respect of the others are thus only possible through compliance to socially prescribed
roles (Brand, 2001, p. 134). Against this background, the adventurer is thought to leave
and return to earn money for his socially close, furthermore, knowledge and
experience through the journey for becoming a man and a household head. At first
sight, Boureima’s “unsuccessful” return marks his failure to achieve the objectives of
the migratory adventure. First, he reacts by internalizing this failing out and his pain,
ashamed to leave the house fearing the villagers’ judgment. Still, it is the friends who
support, providing relief in this delicate moment and thereby opened up new ways to
self-assurance and potential social harmony.
17 In other cases, deportees might not immediately return to their villages; and
sometimes, they may not return at all, re-emigrate directly or stay in the capital
Bamako in social distance, with more anonymity and autonomy. After being deported
from Libya in 2011, Karim (45 years old), from the same village as Boureima, for
instance, went to his elder brother, a teacher in another province in the south:
In this moment, it was really hard for me. I was sad: I went to school, which didn’t
work, and then I left on adventure, which also did not work. These two failures
have quite affected me. Since the adventure did not work out, I was unsure how to
return to the village and explain this to my family. This was difficult. My father and
mother were both old, and I returned from adventure with empty hands (Karim,
personal interview, October 31, 2015).
18 Equally, Karim is ashamed about his repeated failures in light of his symbolical as well
as literal empty hands. He takes all this very personally, unclear how to confront his
aging parents. More than that, the villagers criticize his capacity of being an honorable
man. Karim adds: “People were saying I was not man enough to stay abroad” (Karim,
personal interview, October 31, 2015). He finds relief through his brother who helps
him recover, buys him a radio to relieve the distress, and encourages him emotionally
to return to the village and go on.
19 Many deportees have to cope with gossip and mistrust alongside being grateful for
their health and life. One be called fa den sago, in Bambara, as the neighbor of one
explains; literally translated as “the capacity of one’s will, desire or aspiration has
stopped.” The missing success in migration may thus be equaled with laziness which
demonstrates a literal threat to one’s masculine personhood, narratively describing
social death.
20 The young men’s narrations depict “returning with empty hands” as the major reason
for their suffering after deportations, which is expressed as an individual defeat. One
was not able to find the money aimed at, “one has not made it” as it is usually said.
Kleist calls returning empty-handed the “epitome of failure,” which should be avoided
by all means (Kleist, 2017a, p. 184). It may imply a considerable loss of status for the
entire family (Koenig, 2005), and the danger of not being respected as a man for the
individual deportee as one cannot reimburse the money socially and economically
needed and expected. Bredeloup (2017) terms the “anguish of returning empty-

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handed” with “the anxiety of facing others and their views of humiliating one’s
relatives because of one’s failure” (p. 147). Schuster and Madji (2015), for instance,
discuss deportees’ social situations post return with the concept of stigma, which is
produced in social interactions, “as a way of punishing those who have failed to repay
the family’s investments and as a way of holding on to the dream of a better life in a
distant destination, a dream challenged by deportation” (p. 648). Indeed, Boureima as
well as Karim describe being ashamed of returning involuntarily and without money.
21 According to Scheff (2003), shame appears in the moment one does not apply to the
expected role, as when “seeing one’s self negatively from the point of view of the
other” (p. 247). Deportees such as Karim or Boureima are far from applying to the
obvious expectations of returning “successfully” and fulfilling the role of the adult son
taking care of the family. Worse than that, one may be left debated, traumatized and
impaired of honor and dignity. Deportees often use maloya to describe their sensation
of shame. The Bambara expression maloya, usually translated with shame, but also with
being shy or embarrassed, is one of the most important principles in Mandé societies to
indicate correct behavior (Brand, 2001, p. 16). First of all, it has a socially preserving
function and also positive connotation. As central sentiment to keep society together,
shame may prevent from returning to save one’s face, but moreover the reputation of
the entire family.
22 Particularly the deportees I encountered shortly after their deportations were indeed
restless, anxious, delusional and urgently searching for something in a rather
desperate “stress, between hyper mobility and waiting” (Streiff-Fénart & Poutignat,
2006, p. 137). Madou (31 years old), from the same village as Boureima and Karim,
retrospectively described his feelings after the ship he had been travelling on wrecked
crossing the Atlantic: “At that moment, the idea of a journey had taken over my mind.
Either I went on an adventure or I would die, because there is so much poverty in Mali,”
he recalls (Madou, personal interview, October 31, 2015). Flown back to Bamako, he re-
emigrated directly with some of the money his brother had obtained, even if his uncle
who spent him refuge was neither in favor nor aware of the plan. The nephew did not
care; his individual and collective expectations had to be satisfied.
23 Such stress appears to be a logical consequence of the primary expectations related to
the notion of adventure. Many want to avoid such hardships at all cost. Lucht (2017)
depicts deportees stranded in Niger as preferring to die rather than returning empty-
handed and facing potential social death. More than that, he frames it an “eternal
existential unrest” in the “human struggle that migration represents in the globalized
world” (p. 155). Hence, as long as the adventurers keep going and try to make it, they
see value in their lives as they can still achieve something better for themselves and
their kin.
Integration of deportations in circular mobility livelihoods
24 For generations, family economies have played and continue to play an important role
in southern Mali, particularly as a survival strategy in times of crisis. Even if decisions
to migrate are often taken individually, they contribute to the generational and
circular family migration system, which is so economically functional that deportations
and migratory restrictions cannot break it. Mohamed, from Seku’s village, who was
deported from the Libyan border to Algeria in 2010, illustrates:

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My elder brother left on an adventure in 2000 and was deported in 2001. He

recommended that I stay as he would not want me to confront the same difficulties.
I said I would leave because everybody’s chances differ: It’s possible that I would
not encounter the same difficulties as him. Later, I was also deported. I handed the
same advice to my little brothers: They equally did not accept. The one who comes
right after me is in a gold mining site. He has been there in Senegal for two years
(Group discussion, November 7, 2015).
25 The difficulties his elder brothers had experienced did not prevent the others from
leaving. This meets established conceptions of sharing economic responsibilities and
diversifying risks: “One of the brothers shall always be abroad,” Karim’s mother
asserts: “They cannot all be here; somebody needs to look for money abroad” (Bintu,
informal conversation, November 1, 2015). Currently, Karim’s elder brother is
financially taking care from Bamako. His own son is in Spain, despite Karim’s
recommendations that he shall rather stay at home. Karim is, nevertheless, also a bit
proud of him. The migratory adventure remains the hegemonic foil. In all these cases,
deportation is included in the process of circular migration. It becomes a sort of family
re-emigration, though not necessarily to Europe. At the same time, deportation is
somehow normalized within this process which contributes to an ambivalent
perception of failure.
26 Even if the adventurers’ decisions to leave were taken individually in most of the cases
described here, and parents were only asked for their consent and benediction, they
are deeply socially embedded. Boureima financed his journey mainly through farming
and other work during travel; conversely, Seku received help from his elder brother.
Often family members report that they contributed to the adventurer’s travel budget
whenever they could. Even if the families were not necessarily experiencing high-levels
of financial family debt, Seku’s brother, for instance, was indeed unhappy that he
returned without financial support. Still, he accepted and welcomed the returnee.
27 As highly individualized endeavors (also Dougnon, 2012), migratory adventures relate
otherwise to the collectively accepted conceptions of becoming an independent and
autonomous man, the hazardous experiences and perceived failure may often be
internalized and silenced towards the family after deportation. “I did not say anything”
or “we did not talk about what has happened” are often heard accounts. On the one
hand, this allows maintaining respect for oneself as well as the broader family, not
giving reason for the broader village surrounding for “punishing those who have
failed” (Schuster & Majidi, 2015, p. 648). More than that, such internalizations may
eventually allow upholding the collective imaginary of a better life through migration
as one is not explicitly confronted with what actually occurred.
28 Eventually, the relatives’ reactions to the son’s potential failure in adventure are torn.
Boureima explains that his family was very grateful to have him back healthy and alive,
although his desire to make a better life through adventure still persists. Failure and
shame thus appear very complex and ambivalent phenomena. Despite of financial and
emotional suffering, the families take their sons back. Exclusions from the village
society are very rare. Some family members and acquaintances may have experienced
deportations themselves. In Seku’s village, a large part of elder and younger men has
been deported or repatriated previously. Villagers seem to exchange about what has
happened, much more than in the village of Boureima and Karim, where much fewer
have been forcefully returned. Forced return can become a collective experience (cf.
Plambech, 2018, for the case of Nigeria), even memory. This certain normalcy (Galvin,

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2015), particularly due to the increased inner-African deportations, may allow

balancing the pressure. It is this tension between the gratefulness of being back healthy
and alive and the shame about the loss of money or not obtained, which illustrates the
term “failed” adventure in light of the danger of being called fa den sago. The
collectivity of deportations still creates a particular form of coping and going on as I
will shortly explain.
29 For the deportees in Kita, the question of staying or leaving again is involuntary, and
difficult to strategically plan, since adventures are unexpectedly interrupted. A new
departure may never come; sometimes only after many years. Life and family situations
have to adapt to this unexpectedness. In Karim’s case, his involuntary immobility after
deportation results from his family’s will:
If my father had not told me to stay, I would have returned on adventure. Money is
the solution for everything. My elder brother cannot take care of his family there
and the expenses here. Therefore, I had to search for money so that I can take care
of my family. That was my objective, but my father told me to stay. I did not have
another choice.
30 Karim stayed in light of the perceived defeat, accepting his father’s authority. He
experiences, however, inner conflict between the individual demand to financially
support his family, which is only possible if he leaves, and his father’s expectation that
he would support them by remaining in the village. His mother had greater difficulties
after the son returned involuntarily. It took some time until she could accept it. This
may also relate to the social standing of the mother intrinsically connected to the
migratory success of the son and expectations of sons taking care of their mothers in
particular (cf. also Nyamnjoh, 2010, p. 134 and Brand, 2001, p. 17). It seems that people
need “to become conscious of this new era of forced return and new types of
immobility” as Drotbohm (2012, p. 137) states. Still, these young men want to go and
experience their own adventure as some of their elder brothers in the village openly
complain. In the end, they finally accept and support them while the parents agree. The
migratory adventure receives a particular place and value in memorizing, collectively
sharing as well as imagining.
Memorizing, sharing and imagining adventures and suffering
31 In all this, deportees, their families and the broader surrounding give often little
thought to the fact that the disruptions that hinder the adventurer’s journey are the
results of physical borders as well as political and structural hurdles. Instead, the
“failure” is rather related to the individual adventurer. As, for example, Alpes (2017)
concludes, death, hardships, and deportations do not frighten. The suffering of the
adventure rather contributes to one’s growing and learning. As Seku explains, “a man
that has not known the suffering, you can never know how the others have succeeded.
Somebody, who has suffered a lot, that’s also an apprenticeship. Suffering is an
apprenticeship.” It contributes to becoming an honorable man. The former or future
adventurers, young and elder, have very clear ideas about how to go abroad. They are
experts explaining their ideal journeys and migratory projects, and the dangers they
may face: “If you go on an adventure you have be aware that you might die. But you
will die anyway” (Group discussion, November 1, 2015). Risk and suffering are implied
in the concept of adventure and consciously accepted (Dougnon, 2013).

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32 In situations after deportations, suffering is omnipresent in the deportees’ narrations

and moreover receives a particular value. It is “always the same suffering,” Mohamed
complains in light of the expectations failed, the hardships experienced and his
struggle to go on. In fact, references to “suffering” are very common in everyday
conversations in Mali (Diawara, 2003, p. 70, as quoted by Gaibazzi, 2015, p. 72),
particularly for illustrating agricultural work. According to Gaibazzi, who worked in a
Soninke village in Gambia, going on adventure builds on having been trained on
agriculture and having proved to be a real man. Knowing how to suffer is thus a part of
it. A certain hardship in the education of children is widely practiced (pp. 74-89).
Former deportees thus describe their experiences with the socially recognized codes of
suffering while conditions after deportations may become a form of everyday suffering,
which can have an approving as well as normalizing effect. In this sense, also the
learning through adventure can be met and recognized: “I feel different than the
others since I have been on adventure,” Boureima and others explain. His mother
exemplifies how her son is grown up and taking responsibility now.
33 Heroically talking about an imagined new adventure, like talking about the previous
one are acted out in group discussions and informal talk. Therein, “just talking is far
from being without aim,” Schulz depicts in “the world is made by talk” where Malian
youth are trying to perform worldliness, consumption values, and adulthood through
listening to and talking about music culture in Bamako (2002, p. 812). Schulz speaks of a
“discursive mode of imagining,” that is the combination of debate and imagining,
rather than uncritical consumption. Herein, talking serves as a performative,
establishing, and self-ensuring act (p. 822). In this sense, talking and exchanging about
adventures are deeply agentic acts, which go beyond the migratory adventure as a form
of consumption demonstrating collectively reflecting about its hazards as potentials for
personal transformation. Not least this may add to restoring one’s masculine
personhood. It is not that people pretend to be worldly and knowledgeable, but they
are recognized as such even as deported adventurers (cf. also Maher, 2015, p. 59).
34 The immobility people are potentially forced into, before or after a deportation, may
also result in unconvinced and relativizing accounts. Another young man from
Boureima and Karim’s village, for instance, explains: if he were to leave again, he would
rather go by airplane, which seems hardly realistic. He continues: “If I do not find
enough money, I may also go by land. But if I find the money, I would rather stay and
use it to establish something here” (Group discussion, November 1, 2015). Such vague
argumentation and incertitude may be interpreted as a sign of disorientation, which
has been described as rather characteristic for this generation in Mali and other
African countries, where young men are sitting, waiting, and searching (e.g., Schulz,
2002). Contingency and indeterminacy are integrated parts of the everyday, of this age
group in particular. Furthermore, it could be seen a strategy to keep options to leave
again open. This uncertainty is accepted and constructively embraced. It is not a
passive waiting, but a meaningful activity.
35 These deportees’ narrations perfectly reflect how Streiff-Fénart and Poutignat (2006)
describe the ambivalence of the adventure as “a career in which one enters with more
or less trumps, that one accomplishes with more or less success and thus one finishes
one day or the other, to leave in a more or less honorable way” (p. 131). In Mali, there
are numerous popular songs that depict the positive and negative sides of the
migratory adventure. Following these relativities, failing, the related shame, and feared

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lack of dignity can be part of the same project in which the passage to Europe
represents only one of many possible outcomes. In contrast to some of the literature
(e.g., Dünnwald, 2012; Schuster & Madji, 2015) that depicts deportees who directly re-
emigrate or remain in the capital, my research shows that although informants may
talk about potentially re-emigrating, they eventually remain – sometimes after
experiencing several failed attempted adventures – with their family in their village of
origin, while others stay in Bamako. The “failed” adventure becomes part of suffering
as a condition of life. Talking and imagining creates dignity, and become coping
strategies themselves, and as also Kleist (2017b, p. 337) suggests, potentially enable the
deportees to restore their masculinity. Silencing the hazards lived through, collectively
sharing one’s experiences or imagining new ones receive a socially preserving function,
while opening up new allies to go about. Against this background, a supposed failure
can be integrated and become a productive category towards social adulthood,
becoming a man and courageously going on (cf. Maher, 2015, p. 33). Hence, the former
deportees’ waiting is rather active and the experience of hardships may turn out to be
productive. Indeed, there seem to be multiple ways to cope with the situation beyond
notions of waithood, as the following section describes.
“Back to the soil” and re-integration? Important is to

go on
36 Some (finally) decide to stay and engage where they are. “We’ve all been deported,”
Madou asserts recalling his second deportation, and describing how he sat together
with his brother and decided to stay because there was “nothing better than the soil on
which they were born” (Group discussion, October 30, 2015) 5. The two brothers do well.
Madou has managed to establish a small fish-culturing project through a family friend
who has a contact in an NGO. Little by little, he can contribute to the family from where
he is. The youth in the village now talk about his project, and that they want the same.
It has become a new source of envy, one not earned through migratory success.
37 During the village stays, Birama and I find ourselves frequently in situations where we
discuss the small projects that allow the young men to invest, build up a small garden,
or organize animal breeding. In the case of Madou, his family also convinced him to
stay, as they need his responsibility and engagement where they are. Boureima, in the
same village, was married shortly after his second deportation, which served, as he
infers, “to give an additional reason to stay and an obligation to take care of.” Three of
Boureima’s brothers have been abroad – in Equatorial Guinea and two at the margins of
Europe in Mauritania and Algeria – for years without sending money and without
returning home. Notwithstanding, Boureima asserts: “If I were to have the money for
the transport, I would still convince them to leave again. This is between the parents
and a child; they will not refuse” (Group discussion, October 30, 2015). The focus abroad
persists in light of potentially recognized immobility. There is still so much to learn and
achieve and the family economy needs to survive.
38 Personal feelings of defeat may last despite staying. “It’s so long that I’ve not talked and
thought about all this” (Ibrahim, personal interview, January 27, 2016), Ibrahim, Seku’s
father, reflects when we speak to him one evening. He had also gone to Libya in 2001,
and was deported several years later, caught in the street like his son. “You cannot be
satisfied when you return with empty hands,” he recalls, and concludes, what is often

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the final sense-making: “But it’s God who decides, so you have nothing about which to
complain.” Ibrahim did not want his son to leave and was particularly against him
crossing the Mediterranean. He had almost died on the way when he had tried to get to
Europe. Seku should have continued school. Now neither their adventures nor Seku’s
schooling worked out. Upon return, Ibrahim re-started his agricultural activities, which
he continues until today. He has married twice in the meantime, has eight children,
and is established in the village community. His age and distance from the deportation
may help him to cope and digest the unmet expectations. Still, he seems to have
remorse: “It helps that there are other deportees, but you cannot forget what you’ve
lost.” He wants his son to stay now – “I’m becoming old” – although he is aware of the
small profit one gets. “A good education is crucial,” he depicts, to realizing a better life
here or there. For Seku, such information is too late, but maybe not for the ones to
come.
39 Migratory attitudes and perceptions of the adventure may be in a process of change.
That is, alternative concepts of learning and staying may coexist with the established
adventurous ways (e.g., Daum, 2014). Whether it is the restricted mobilities, a growing
self-consciousness of where people come from, seniority or desperation, (young) men
engage locally and thus may overcome the presumed defeat through deportation, or
even use it productively. “Back to the soil” is what the first socialist president of Mali,
Modibo Keita, preached in the 1960s. Today, the hazardous conditions in agriculture
meet certain ambiguity in young people’s perception.
40 Seku and his friends express their criticism of how little they get from their
agricultural work. One conclusion the young men draw is: “We need factories!” The
Malian state is explicitly criticized: “There is no support, no possibilities here,” they
complain (Group discussion, November 7, 2015). It is a structurally induced “negative”
suffering, which creates peoples’ feeling of marginalization and is thought to be
overcome. Support and possibilities are rather linked to international experts and
NGOs. Their discourse about creating alternative income opportunities for the youth
and of valorizing agriculture has long been vivid. In the meantime, the prospect
entered the new Malian migratory policy, even if it remains largely unfunded until this
day. It is under the EU Trust Fund, which, as a consequence of the European “refugee
crisis”, majorly finances to fight “irregular” migration, the reintegration of deportees
as well as providing alternatives for the youth. As if leaving for a better life would be
something unusual and disregarding that each departure already implies a return (also
Dougnon, 2013). Interestingly, the young men’s engagement toward staying and
searching out alternative opportunities not only seem to reflect the current political
discourse; some successful voluntary returnees or transnational family members, in
France or Spain, have claimed a “back to the soil” for the youth as well, and engage in
community initiatives and alike. At once, these families often self-evidently reintegrate
the failed returned son despite of their disappointment, the economic loss and of
reputation against the other villagers as above shown. It is questionable whether these
prospects are equally attractive for the youth in light of the prestigious established
adventurous ways towards social adulthood, worldliness and becoming an autonomous
as well as contributing man.
41 Eventually, prestige can equally result from going to Bamako or one of the increasing
informal gold mining sites in the Malian southwest or in neighboring countries. These
possibilities of income generation build on established paths of internal or regional

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mobility, which since centuries have secured livelihoods by cultivating peanuts, cola
nuts or doing little business (Gary-Tounkara, 2008). Seasonal, but also yearlong
informal gold mining, has become established alternative and complement to
agricultural work, and above all for constrained international mobility. Even if it serves
for major conflicts about potential dangers and benefits, especially between
generations (Hilson & Garforth, 2012). The narratives from there appear similar to
those of the adventurers. Still, the adventure is the more desirable – and in the long-
term, promising – path; at least once in a lifetime.
Conclusion: post deportation, mobility and making a

better life beyond waithood and involuntary immobility
42 This article has presented a spectrum of potential coping strategies and going on
activities of former deportees in their villages in the Malian south. These question the
concepts of waithood and involuntarily immobility, which serve rather as a critical foil
to discuss young men’s narrating, imagining and engaging after deportations. It has
become clear that the implicitness of mobility and the self-evident connection of
success through mobility and thereby making a better life, particularly as a man, are
still fundamentally established in the youths’ narrations. At the same time, the EU’s
expansive externalization of border controls and deportations, in addition to the
Libyan crisis, have been producing the phenomenon of mass deportations, increasingly
collectively experienced, shared and memorized. Instead of reflecting on these
structural aspects, I have shown how former deportees describe the glamor of the
personal adventure and multiple sufferings involved in the memories of experienced
hardships on the journey and through forcefully returning with empty hands. The
latter of which in particular results from facing one’s expectations of success and self-
perception as a man falling apart in a globally connected world that suddenly seems
inaccessible and the social repercussions accompanying. Some may try to re-emigrate
immediately, while others prepare to leave later or only talk about re-emigrating in
order to at least discursively follow the predetermined ways to making a better life and
becoming a man. The sublimation of adventure, talking, memorizing and imagining
about re-emigration have become central coping strategies.
43 Although an unsuccessful returnee has difficulties in complying with the expected role
as a man in Mandé society, the social reactions and support presented here vary at the
level of the family and in the broader village context and expectations for the forcefully
returned are not unidirectional and necessarily excluding. The deportees’ friends, their
brothers as well as those that have been deported themselves, including their own
fathers or other men in the village, play a particularly important role. The
omnipresence of massive (post) deportations in everyday village life is recent and may
contribute to changing perceptions of and ascriptions to (im)mobility. As this article
has developed, the concept of the migratory adventure is ambivalent, involving more
than economic success. The self-determination of leaving abroad and surviving
hazardous situations – even when the final “El Dorado” was not reached – appears to
help the deportees in being accepted, growing up, and becoming a man (though not in
economic terms). Upon return, young men try to create opportunities so they can stay,
searching value in the soil where they are born, enduring the sufferings of agriculture
or engaging in seasonal livelihood mobility to another city or informal gold mining

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sites. All this contributes to regaining dignity and renegotiating alternatives for going
on.
44 The realities presented clearly go beyond the concept of waithood, when returned
young men may be married as soon as they get back and engage in the family economy
and take over responsibility. There is accordingly a number of alternative ways to
social adulthood despite all constraints and setbacks. The actors in these cases cannot
be called involuntarily immobile, when they prefer to stay where they come from
regardless of structural obstacles such as border restrictions. More than that, many
take multiple forms of internal and regional mobility.
45 Despite their potential hardships and silent reproach, young men continue to employ
themselves and courageously search for new ways to make a better life for themselves
and their families, every day and everywhere they go, even though if it may mean
occasionally sitting, waiting, and exchanging. As Conlon describes, waiting can be
“actively produced, embodied, experienced, politicized and resisted across a range of
migrant spaces” (2011, p. 355). This active sense of waiting is even more important as
immobility might be perceived as threat to hegemonic masculinity (Gaibazzi, 2015) or
rather as a female characteristic. While the elder’s time to leave again has passed, the
younger ones are still in the age of mobility including new chances for leaving, but also
multiple forms of going about and becoming. Eventually, such reinterpretation of
waiting and staying link in with discussions about young people’s tactical strategizing,
navigating, hustling, or active sitting in African countries today (e.g. Gaibazzi, 2015;
Vigh, 2006). Even if some deportees have a feeling of complete standstill, an “active
waiting” defined as a constantly incorporated mode of being can be seen as a “motion
within motion” (Vigh, 2006, p. 14), which is trying to make the best out of the possible
choices. This article has shown that deportations in the Malian south do not necessarily
lead to social death, as predicted by others (e.g. Bredeloup, 2017; Kleist, 2017a). Even if
potentially physically stuck, former deportees seem to form (re-)integral parts of their
societies, eking out a living as many of their contemporaries do. Rather this
demonstrates a continuation of the complex negotiations of (constrained) social
mobilities and becoming.
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NOTES
1. The Libyan uprising in 2011, though forming part of the so-called Arab Spring in the region
(e.g., in Egypt or Tunisia), was essentially a movement against the leader of the country, Colonel
Muammar Gaddafi. In the course of events, it “rapidly spiraled into a protracted civil war, with
the aftermath posing challenges quite different from those experienced in other countries,
including a migration crisis” (Aghazarm, Queada, & Tishler, 2012, p. 8).
2. During this time, I met former deportees, potential (re-)migrants, their families, and their
close acquaintances. The methods used were informal conversations, semi-narrative interviews,
and group discussions as well as ethnographic (participant) observation. I also interviewed
governmental and other institutional representatives from NGOs and embassies.
3. Similar ways to adult- and manhood building on rites of ‘initiations’ can be found in Cameroon,
for instance, where bushfalling commonly refers to going abroad against all obstacles and

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returning successfully (Alpes, 2017), while in Sierra Leone the civil war became means of
initiation of young men by joining rebel groups (cf. Jackson, 2005).
4. Many of the quotations included are originally in Bambara and then translated to French in
collaboration with my colleague, Birama Bagayogo. For the purpose of this article, I have
translated them into English.
5. This relates to the idea that Gaibazzi (2015) refers to in terms of those who remain in their
Gambian Soninke village, where one should always keep one foot in poverty and never forget
“where one comes from” (pp. 72-73), with the difference here that the early return and staying
were not chosen as such.
ABSTRACTS
This article offers insight into the unfulfilled expectations of young Malian men, who sought a
better life in Europe, and to contribute to their families, only to be forcefully returned. Tracing
these men’s trajectories and daily life representations, it explores their experiences and
narrations, and how these contribute to scholarly debates on youth, migration, and work. Based
on cases from Kita, southern Mali, the article questions whether these men are thrown back into
“waithood,” prevented from obtaining the status of social adulthood. The data indicate potential
coping strategies. Many may talk about re-migrating, but ultimately remain in their village.
While some are held in “involuntary immobility,” others cope with the presumed failure and
make a better life where they are.
Este artigo oferece uma visão das expectativas não atingidas de jovens malianos que procuraram
uma vida melhor na Europa, e ajudar as suas famílias, e acabaram por serem repatriados à força.
Traça as trajetórias e representações da vida quotidiana destes homens, explorando as suas
experiências e narrativas, e como elas contribuem para os debates académicos sobre juventude,
migração e trabalho. Com base em casos de Kita, no sul do Mali, o artigo questiona se estes
homens são reenviados para a “idade de espera”, impedidos de obter o estatuto de adulto social.
Os dados apresentam potenciais estratégias de adaptação. Muitos falam em emigrar de novo, mas
finalmente ficam na sua aldeia. Enquanto alguns mantêm-se em “imobilidade involuntária”,
outros enfrentam o suposto fracasso e constroem uma vida melhor onde estão.
INDEX
Keywords: Mali, young men, post deportation, (im)mobility, expectations, re-migration
Palavras-chave: Mali, jovens, pós-deportação, (i)mobilidade, expectativas, reemigração
AUTHOR
SUSANNE U. SCHULTZ
Bielefeld University
Graduate School of History and Sociology

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Universitätsstraße 25
D-33615 Bielefeld, Germany
susanne.schultz@uni-bielefeld.de

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Articles
Artigos

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Reflexões sobre o Modelo de

Desenvolvimento Rural e
Cooperação no Corredor de Nacala
Reflections on the model of rural development and cooperation in the Nacala
Corridor
Natacha Bruna
NOTA DO EDITOR
Recebido: 30 de setembro de 2016
Aceite: 02 de janeiro de 2018
1 Em Moçambique, o grande boom de penetração do capital no meio rural na última

década coloca o país como um dos principais destinos de aquisição de terra no mundo e
em África1. Moyo, Jha e Yeros (2013) chamam a este período “the new scramble for
resources” e em particular dos recursos em África, que difere da era colonial por
envolver especulação e a participação de atores “não ocidentais”.
2 A massiva penetração do capital em Moçambique exacerba a dependência da economia
em recursos externos, em particular do Investimento Direto Estrangeiro (IDE). O
modelo de crescimento económico verificado assenta na presença de grandes projetos,
os quais determinam a evolução das variáveis macroeconómicas e sociais, como por
exemplo a taxa de crescimento económico, a balança comercial e de pagamentos, o
índice de desenvolvimento humano e pobreza. Paralelamente, verifica-se o
envolvimento de elites políticas e económicas moçambicanas que desempenham papéis
de facilitadores e intermediários, de entrada do investimento e aquisição de terra
(Borras, Fig, & Suárez, 2011; Bruna, 2017; Fairbairn, 2011; Mosca, Bruna, & Mandamule,
2016).
3 As consequências da ação capitalista sobre o sector familiar remetem-nos para a
necessidade de análise dos conceitos básicos da questão agrária, principalmente no que

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se refere a concentração de riqueza e expansão da pobreza, através da usurpação e

capitalização do recurso terra. Ao analisar o contexto africano, alguns autores (Moyo,
Jha, & Yeros, 2013; O’Laughlin, 1996, 2002) referem-se à adoção de uma multiplicidade
de estratégias de modos de vida ou multi-ocupacionalidade, incluindo uma combinação
de agricultura de sobrevivência com diferentes formas de emprego e outras atividades
comerciais.
4 Adotando uma posição epistemológica de realismo crítico, este trabalho foi baseado em
análises de dados primários qualitativos (através de entrevistas e observação direta em
períodos não contínuos de trabalho de campo entre 2014 e 2018) e dados secundários
quantitativos (dados macroeconómicos). O principal objetivo deste trabalho é o de
abordar criticamente o modelo de desenvolvimento rural existente em Moçambique
com enfoque no Corredor de Nacala através da análise das dinâmicas, atores externos e
internos, estratégias e políticas de desenvolvimento rural na região. A análise inclui
dinâmicas de investimento externo (agronegócio e mineração), cooperação e
financeirização (enfoque no ProSAVANA) e alianças locais e externas presentes ao
longo do Corredor. Adicionalmente, devido à grande participação de atores do Sul
global ao longo do Corredor (Brasil, Índia, China e África do Sul) analisa-se também a
aplicabilidade da classificação “cooperação Sul-Sul” existente entre alguns dos BRICS
(Brasil, Rússia, Índia, China e África do Sul) eMoçambique através da análise dos
princípios característicos deste tipo de cooperação: colaboração, solidariedade e
similaridade.
5 Devido à grande dimensão do Corredor e ao grande número de atores que nele operam,
este trabalho tem como limitação o facto de não incluir todos os investimentos e
programas de cooperação da região, mas sim um grupo mais restrito de investimentos
com implicações mais visíveis e reconhecidas que, porém, permite uma análise lógica e
coerente.
Breve enquadramento teórico

6 Nas últimas décadas, a economia moçambicana tem sido dinamizada maioritariamente
pela penetração de capital externo nas zonas rurais. O modelo de desenvolvimento
existente no Corredor de Nacala, incluindo os projetos piloto do ProSAVANA,
investimentos no sector da agricultura e outros investimentos no âmbito da indústria
extrativa, seguem a mesma tendência. Este facto remete-nos a recorrer a
enquadramentos teóricos que incluam discussões sobre a questão agrária e as
implicações em termos de estratificação do campesinato e intensificação da pobreza
rural.
7 Este trabalho pretende usar a economia política como perspetiva de análise do
problema em questão. A abordagem de Marx no contexto de acumulação primitiva de
capital sublinha a separação dos camponeses dos meios de produção, em particular da
terra, transformando-os, deste modo, em uma reserva de trabalho (Marx, 1889). A
expropriação dos meios de produção referida por Marx remete-nos a relevantes
discussões posteriores sobre a questão agrária, tendo como contribuintes Kautsky e
Lenin, mas também autores mais recentes como Bernstein (1990) e Byres (1991).
8 Procurando explicar as mudanças que ocorrem no campesinato como resultado da ação
capitalista, Byres (1991, p. 9) refere que a questão agrária se caracteriza pela existência
de obstáculos ao desencadeamento das forças capazes de gerar desenvolvimento

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económico no campo, tanto dentro como fora da agricultura. Alguns autores adicionam
ao debate o facto de aação capitalista destruir a autossuficiência do campesinato na
medida em que este se torna cada vez mais dependente do rendimento para aquisição
de bens de consumo básico (Banaji, 1976; Felício, 2014; Fernandes, Welch, & Gonçalves,
2014).
9 Por sua vez, analisando dinâmicas em África, Moyo et al. (2013) referem-se ao
aprofundamento da multi-ocupacionalidade e/ou da semi-proletarização do
campesinato nos últimos 30 anos, na medida em que os agregados familiares se
engajam em mais de uma atividade económica para além da agricultura de subsistência.
10 No contexto de transformação do campesinato é relevante abordar as questões ligadas
à diferenciação de classes dentro do campesinato através das contribuições de Lenin em
relação às desigualdades e àpropriedade. Lenin (1982, p. 131) argumentou que os
antagonismos de interesses criam vantagens para uns e desvantagens para outros.
Portanto, ao invés de diminuir os níveis de desigualdade dentro do processo de
desenvolvimento, criarão crescentes diferenças económicas, resultando, deste modo,
em classes distintas dentro do campesinato: (1) trabalhadores rurais sem posse de terra
e que são “livres” para vender força de trabalho; (2) camponeses pobres ou camponeses
de pequena escala; (3) camponeses médios que têm uma quantidade suficiente de terra
para subsistência; e (4) camponeses ricos que possuem área cultivada, produzem
excedentes e contratam força de trabalho.
11 Os contributos de Lenin ainda são uma ferramenta útil no processo de caracterização da
diferenciação do campesinato, embora algo simplista quando focado em contextos ou
realidades mais recentes e mais complexas, especialmente no caso de Moçambique,
onde o campesinato é caracterizado pela diversificação de estratégias de subsistência
resultante de um processo de adaptação e resistência às diferentes fases históricas do
país (O’Laughlin, 1996, 2002).
12 Fernandes (2008) relaciona a questão agrária com as conflitualidades à volta da terra
como resultado da expropriação do campesinato. Este autor aponta como possíveis
resultados da formação do capitalismo as conflitualidades, na medida em que estas
transformam territórios, paisagens, comunidades, empresas, sistemas de produção,
modos de vida através dos diferentes modelos de desenvolvimento promovidos pelos
capitalistas.
Metodologia e métodos
13 Para a construção dos argumentos do corrente trabalho, assumiu-se uma posição
epistemológica de realismo crítico na medida em que a pesquisa corrente, para além de
solicitar factos e as observações empíricas para responder à questão de pesquisa,
necessita também de recorrer a análises mais aprofundadas para compreender a
complexidade de interações e das relações de poder (Bhaskar, 1975; Downward &
Mearman, 2006; Wynn & Williams, 2012; Yeung, 1997). O realismo crítico foi
primeiramente abordado por Bhaskar (1975) como uma posição epistemológica que se
classifica entre o positivismo e o interpretativismo. Esta posição capacita o
pesquisador/a de ferramentas para fornecer explicações causais mais detalhadas de um
determinado fenómeno com base em interpretações de atores relevantes assim como

144
nas estruturas e mecanismos que interagem na produção dos fenómenos em questão

(Wynn & Williams, 2012, p. 788).
O realismo crítico está emergindo como um paradigma filosófico viável para a
realização de pesquisas em ciências sociais, e tem sido proposto como uma
alternativa aos paradigmas mais prevalentes do positivismo e do
interpretativismo... Sob o realismo crítico, uma explicação causal para um dado
fenômeno é inferida pela identificaçãoexplicita dos meios pelos quais as entidades
estruturais e as condições contextuais interagem e geram um dado conjunto de
eventos (Wynn & Williams, 2012, p. 787).
14 Em linha com a posição epistemológica, recolheram-se dados quantitativos e
qualitativos. A pesquisa baseou-se em dados quantitativos secundários recolhidos
diretamente nas instituiçõespúblicas ou emwebsites oficiais das respetivas instituições.
Estes serviram de complemento e sustentação da análise qualitativa.
15 A recolha de dados qualitativos foi feita na base de métodos de observação, análise
documental e entrevistas semiestruturadas realizadas em momentos distintos: (1)
fevereiro e março de 2014; (2) novembro de 2014; (3) abril de 2015; (4) junho de 2016; e
(5) setembro de 2018. Foram visitados os distritos de Ribaué, Malema, Gurúè, Monapo,
Muecate, Ile, Namarroi e Meconta, com objetivo de entrevistar atores envolvidos no
âmbito da implementação do ProSAVANA, assim como compreender a dinâmica das
atividades decorrentes ao longo do Corredor. As entrevistas e as visitas ao campo
também tiveram como objetivo analisar a dinâmica dos investimentos, em especial do
agronegócio, ao longo do Corredor de Nacala e suas consequências a nível de conflitos e
usurpação de terras.
16 Ao longo destes períodos foram realizadas entrevistas aos seguintes atores: (1)
representantes do governo provincial, distrital e local das duas províncias visitadas
(Zambézia e Nampula); (2) representantes do sector privado (empresas de agronegócio);
(3) líderes comunitários; (4) camponeses; (5) trabalhadores das empresas de
agronegócio; (6) representantes e membros da UNAC; e (7) representantes e membros
de organizações da sociedade civil e movimentos sociais.
17 Os dados qualitativos foram processados através da documentação de todo o processo
de entrevistas e notas de campo, a fim de acompanhar e construir uma estrutura lógica
dos dados coletados. Esse processo permitiu eficiência no processo analítico e na
identificação de padrões, explicações e causas relevantes, e responder às questões de
pesquisa. Trabalhando de forma complementar, os dados qualitativos foram analisados
através do rastreamento de processos.
18 Abordado por George e Bennett (2005), o rastreamento de processos visa acompanhar
os elos entre as causas e os resultados observados. Além disso,
em processo de rastreamento, o pesquisador examina histórias, documentos de
arquivo, transcrições de entrevistas e outras fontes para ver se o processo causal
que uma teoria tem como hipótese ou implicação em um caso, é de facto evidente
na sequência e valores das variáveis i ntervenientesno mesmo (George & Bennett,
2005, p. 6).
19 Mais especificamente, este método de análise de dados qualitativos foi ajustado à
pesquisa, na medida em que permitiu identificar inferências causais com uma dimensão
temporal de eventos.
20 Para validação, além de comparar as principais descobertas com estudos similares e
relevantes, outras questões devem ser levadas em consideração. Miles e Huberman
(1994) mostram que o desenho e a verificação das conclusões fazem parte do modelo

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interativo de análise de dados, incluindo o processo cíclico de retorno e

retroalimentação da fase de coleta. Segundo Collier (2011), essa ferramenta é
fundamental para descrever fenómenos políticos e sociais, bem como para avaliar as
causas, alavancando a análise e as conclusões de dados quantitativos.
Modelo de desenvolvimento rural em Moçambique:

enfoque no Corredor de Nacala
Questões gerais de caracterização do desenvolvimento rural em
Moçambique
21 A dinâmica dos preços internacionais de commodities, em particular de alimentos,

resultou no aumento de investimentos transnacionais virados ao agronegócio e outras
áreas viradas ao mercado externo, como por exemplo a indústria extrativa (Borras et
al., 2011; Okada, 2015). É neste contexto que se assistea uma tendência de penetração do
capital em Moçambique e, em particular, no Corredor de Nacala, área com alto
potencial produtivo agrícola. O capital referido aparece em forma de multinacionais
que alavancam a procura de terra de modo a concretizar os seus objetivos. De acordo
com o Land Matrix, Moçambique constituiu, desde o ano de 2000, um dos principais
destinos de aquisição de terra no mundo, sendo o sétimo país no mundo e o terceiro em
África, com mais de 2,5 milhões de hectares adquiridos nas últimas décadas 2.
Similarmente a outros países africanos, este facto pode justificar-se pelo baixo custo
dos fatores de produção, nomeadamente mão de obra e terra ou, por outro lado, devido
à posição geoestratégica de Moçambique relativamente aos mercados asiáticos.
22 Sendo assim, a economia de Moçambique tem verificado transformações em variáveis
macroeconómicas (estrutura de exportações, estrutura dos sectores contribuintes do
PIB, entre outros) resultantes da entrada de grande volume de Investimento Direto
Estrangeiro (IDE), que totalizou, de acordo com o Banco de Moçambique (vários anos),
pouco mais de 32 mil milhões de USD no período compreendido entre 2001 e 2017,
apenas para o investimento direto estrangeiro. Este volume de investimento apresenta
grande concentração3 nos sectores agrícola e extrativo (recursos minerais e energia),
representando em conjunto mais 50% do investimento aprovado de acordo com os
dados do CPI.
23 Para abordar o modelo de desenvolvimento do Corredor de Nacala de forma particular,
é necessário que haja uma contextualização e compreensão da dinâmica de crescimento
e desenvolvimento económico em Moçambique nas últimas décadas 4. O modelo de
desenvolvimento em Moçambique é baseado em grandes fluxos de entrada de IDE assim
como donativos, refletindo a dependência crónica do país na exportação de commodities
como uma continuação do modelo colonial. Atualmente, Moçambique constitui um
importador líquido de alimentos, bens de consumo e de capital, sendo que grande parte
das suas exportações pertencem a grandes projetos com acumulação no exterior. É
notável a influência dos grandes projetos nos diferentes indicadores macroeconómicos,
desde altas taxas de crescimento e superavits na Balança de Pagamentos. No entanto, o
crescimento económico registado e louvado a nível internacional não se tem traduzido
na melhoria do índice de desenvolvimento humano (180ª posição em 189 países
avaliados, com uma classificação de 0,437, indicando baixo desenvolvimento humano
sem melhorias significativas ao longo dos anos5) ou numa diminuição significativa da

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pobreza – de acordo com o último inquérito do Instituto Nacional de Estatística (INE,

2016), mais de 46% da população está a viver na pobreza. O
número de pessoas que vive na pobreza aumentou para 11,8 milhões, em comparação
com o
inquérito anterior de 2009.
24 Como resultado destas dinâmicas atuais, mas também do percurso histórico, político e
económico de Moçambique, e em forma de resumo, Monjane e Bruna (2018) identificam
três grandes clusters ao analisar a dinâmica do sector rural e agrícola em Moçambique:
(1) a existência de uma política neoliberal de desenvolvimento rural e agrícola
fracassada, acompanhada do colapso da agroindústria e níveis mais baixos de emprego
rural, bem como a estagnação dos níveis de eficiência e competitividade do sector e a
incorporação adversa do camponês; (2) um conjunto de opções políticas agrícolas de
desenvolvimento que estão aparentemente dentro de um discurso de regime “social-
democrata”, mas se materializam através de um regime autoritário de caráter populista
que permite ao partido governante consolidar a relação patriarcal com a população,
outrora construído pela imagem de uma força revolucionária e libertadora do país; (3) a
existência de forças e estímulos externos originários das instituições de Bretton Woods,
investidores externos, das organizações humanitárias e de outros atores da
comunidade internacional, desde a adoção do programa de reabilitação económica após
o declínio do regime socialista até à recente onda de investimento direto estrangeiro
que transformou Moçambique em fornecedor de bens primários (commodities agrícolas
e minerais).
25 Transversalmente, o governo de Moçambique é conhecido como promotor de práticas
de usurpação de terras por acolher grandes investimentos estrangeiros através de
concessões de terra, com o objetivo de gerar produção, receita fiscal, reduzir a pobreza,
aumentar o emprego e aumentar a segurança alimentar (Borras et al., 2011; Clements &
Fernandes, 2013). O processo de obtenção de terras em Moçambique é muitas vezes
facilitado pelas elites políticas ao nível do governo central 6, com o apoio de
intermediários a nível do governo local e líderes comunitários 7, que são, para além dos
próprios investidores, os maiores beneficiários destes acordos.
26 Adicionalmente, nas últimas décadas, as políticas públicas dos BRICS (em particular
Brasil, Índia, China e África do Sul) tiveram como objetivo a adoção de alianças e
cooperação Sul-Sul, estabelecendo como importantes parceiros os países africanos
lusófonos. Com suporte do Estado brasileiro as multinacionais extrativas
impulsionaram e expandiram o seu investimento (Nogueira et al., 2016).
27 O Corredor de Nacala, alvo de vários investimentos dos BRICS, detém uma localização
estratégica que responde aos interesses iniciais referidos. O Corredor engloba três
províncias de bastante potencial agrícola, faz a ligação entre a província de Tete (com
todo o seu potencial de carvão mineral e outros minérios) e o porto de águas profundas
de Nacala e encontra-se próximo à província de Cabo Delgado (com potencial de gás e
petróleo).
Figura 1: Localização do Corredor de Nacala

147
Fonte: MASA (2015).
28 O estudo focará algumas das principais vertentes do modelo de desenvolvimento

existente ao longo do Corredor: financeirização e políticas de desenvolvimento rural
(com foco no ProSAVANA); dinâmicas do agronegócio e ocupação de terras;
desenvolvimento da indústria extrativa e suas implicações; papel das elites, alianças e
cooperação. Para uma melhor compreensão das interações e intersecções, o sector de
infraestruturas de suporte é transversalmente analisado.
Financeirização e expropriação de terras: ProSAVANA e os projetos-

piloto
29 Como demonstra Ikegami (2015), o governo japonês manifestou, na última década, um

grande interesse em Moçambique, tendo como principais áreas de investimento o gás
natural, carvão, madeira e refinaria de alumínio. Neste âmbito, alinhado ao Plano
Estratégico para o Desenvolvimento do Sector Agrário (PEDSA), surge o programa
triangular ProSAVANA, o qual constitui a principal política pública de modelo de
desenvolvimento da agricultura para o Corredor de Nacala.
30 Como resultado da cooperação entre os governos de Moçambique, Japão e Brasil, o
ProSAVANA tem como objetivo o desenvolvimento agrícola da savana em Moçambique,
em particular o Corredor de Nacala. A área de estudo compreende uma extensão de
107.002 km2, que representa aproximadamente 13,4% do território moçambicano,
abrangendo três províncias (Nampula, Niassa e Zambézia) e no total dezanove distritos.
Habitam nesta área aproximadamente 4.287.415 pessoas, as quais representam
sensivelmente 17% da população, pois é sabido que as províncias de Nampula e
Zambézia são as mais populosas do país.

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31 O programa é constituído por três principais projetos (MASA, 2015): (1) ProSAVANA-PI
com objetivo de melhoria da capacidade de pesquisa e transferência de tecnologia; (2)
ProSAVANA-PEM para criação de modelos de desenvolvimento agrícola comunitários
com melhoria do serviço de extensão agrária; e (3) ProSAVANA-PD. O Plano Diretor (PD)
deste programa, publicado em março de 2015, é um documento que contém todos os
princípios orientadores e pilares em que o programa se sustenta para o
desenvolvimento agrário do Corredor de Nacala, incluindo as atividades no âmbito dos
projetos PI e PEM.
32 O ProSAVANA foi considerado por muitos autores (Clements & Fernandes, 2013;
Fingermann, 2013; Funada, 2013; Mosca & Bruna, 2015; Shankland & Gonçalves, 2016)
assim como por organizações da sociedade civil (OSC) dos três países como uma
possível réplica do PRODECER8, não só pelas similaridades estruturais e conceituais,
como também pelos atores envolvidos (Brasil e Japão). Embora existam resistências em
assumir esta similaridade por parte dos governos, esta expressão foi oficialmente usada
pelo ministro da Agricultura de Moçambique, José Pacheco, em dezembro de 2012
(Funada, 2013) e foi inicialmente uma insistência da JICA em incorporar as experiências
do Cerrado em Moçambique (Ikegami, 2015). Estes dois factos sustentam as
preocupações e questionamentos das OSC em relação à transferência dos impactos
negativos registados no Brasil para Moçambique.
33 Os impactos negativos do PRODECER foram abordados por diferentes autores. Funada
(2013) por exemplo, aborda as questões ligadas à conservação da biodiversidade,
poluição e a invasão de monoculturas de rendimento e, principalmente, sublinha as
questões ligadas à perda de terras. Por sua vez, Clements e Fernandes (2013) indicaram
aspetos como desflorestação, deslocamento de produtores rurais e comunidades
indígenas e contaminação da água devido à intensificação do uso de químicos. Em
resumo, Clements e Fernandes (2013) referem que o Brasil, através do ProSAVANA,
possivelmente exportará para Moçambique um modelo de desenvolvimento rural com
insucesso no que se refere à promoção de segurança alimentar e sustentabilidade.
34 Neste contexto, Okada (2015) refere que, apesar de os discursos públicos em volta do
ProSAVANA incluírem referências sobre desenvolvimento nacional ou segurança
alimentar global, na realidade as estratégias do ProSAVANA estão inclinadas a servir
elites políticas locais e agronegócios estrangeiros, deixando de lado os grupos sociais
mais vulneráveis. O trecho seguinte, retirado de um comunicado de duas OSC, confirma
essas abordagens:
Famílias camponesas das comunidades rurais do Corredor de Nacala vivem sob
permanente ameaça de invasão e expulsão de suas áreas. A usurpação de terras dos
camponeses neste corredor logístico de escoamento de carvão mineral de Moatize,
cuja linha férrea é operada e controlada pela empresa brasileira Vale e japonesa
Mitsui, agravou-se depois do lançamento do ProSavana, em Abril de 2011, da Nova
Aliança para a Segurança Alimentar e Nutricional em África, em 2013, e da
Companhia de Desenvolvimento do Vale do Rio Lúrio, em 2014 (CajuPaNa &
ADECRU, 2016, p. 1).
35 Verificam-se algumas evidências da exportação deste modelo para Moçam-bique no
âmbito das primeiras atividades realizadas ao longo do Corredor como parte do
ProSAVANA-PD. O PD teve como um dos projetos-piloto o financiamento agrícola a
pequenas e médias empresas denominadas Quick Impact Projects (QIP) através da
empresa público-privada GAPI - Sociedade de Investimentos. Estes financiamentos
tiveram implicações relacionadas com o acesso à terra e conflitos em volta da mesma. O

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caso da empresa Matharia Empreendimentos mostra como um financiamento do

ProSAVANA despoletou um conflito de terras entre a empresa e a população local.
Agregados familiares que viviam nas tais áreas por um período superior a 10 anos
foram expulsos e deslocados para dar lugar às atividades da empresa. Sublinhe-se que
tal período de tempo, de acordo com os direitos consuetudinários em Moçambique, dá
plenos direitos de propriedade a estes agregados.
36 No entanto, segundo as entrevistas realizadas e visitas às respetivas áreas, verificou-se
que esta comunidade foi expropriada sem nenhuma ação corretiva do governo local ou
provincial. Apontam-se, como principais implicações do processo de expropriação de
terras e reassentamentos, o aumento do risco de insegurança alimentar e a
intensificação do nível de pobreza devido à perda de terras para a pr ática da
agricultura tanto de subsistência como para comercialização.
Investimento externo em forma de agronegócio: conflitos e

usurpação de terras
37 Tem-se verificado ao longo do Corredor a implantação de investimentos que

respondem às atividades eobjetivos propostos pelo programa ProSAVANA, mas que
assumem não estar ligados ao mesmo. Empresas de capital estrangeiro, ou parcialmente
moçambicanas, têm-se estabelecido ao longo do Corredor com inclinação para o
fomento e/ou produção de soja, milho e/ou culturas consideradas prioritárias pelo PD,
como por exemplo: (1) Mozaco e o Grupo Espírito Santo, com capital português,
adquirindo mais de 2 mil hectares; (2) Alfa Agricultura, com capital sul-africano,
adquirindo aproximadamente 1.000 hectares; (3) AgroMoz, que constitui uma joint
venture entre o grupo Américo Amorim de Portugal, Intelec Holdings, com ligações a
Salimo Abdula e ao ex-presidente Armando Guebuza, e à companhia brasileira Pinesso,
os quais adquiriram mais de 3 mil hectares; (4) tendo adquirido mais de 20 mil hectares
a Hoyo-Hoyo, empresa moçambicana pertencente ao grupo português Quifel Resources;
(5) Rei do Agro, estabelecida pelo grupo de capital americano Aslan Global
Management, adquiriu 2,5 mil hectares.
38 Adicionalmente, verifica-se a tendência de emergência de investimentos em plantações
florestais ao longo e em zonas transversais ao Corredor, como por exemplo: Portucel
Moçambique (173 mil hectares na Zambézia sem consulta comunitária e sem
reassentamentos) e Green Resources/Chikweti (mais de 180 mil hectares no total ao
longo do Corredor, com várias reclamações em relação ao processo de indemnização e
compensação das famílias). Este conjunto de empresas, tanto as de plantações florestais
como as mencionadas anteriormente, esteve direta ou indiretamente relacionado com
conflitos de terra e, por conseguinte, usurpação de terras ao longo do Corredor de
Nacala (UNAC & GRAIN, 2015). O termo “usurpação de terras” implica a perda de
controle sobre a terra das populações rurais, em que no processo de aquisição da
mesma tenha havido o desvio da legislação (incluindo a de reassentamentos) e em
particular o desrespeito dos direitos consuetudinários. Nos casos acima descritos, pelo
menos um destes foi verificado.
39 Consequentemente, em conjunto, verificou-se uma massiva deslocação involuntária de
um grande número de famílias ao longo do Corredor e zonas transversais. No caso da
Portucel Moçambique, até ao ano de 2017, mais de 2.000 agregados familiares viram
suas terras ocupadas pela empresa9, e grande parte deles não passaram por nenhum

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processo de reassentamento nem de compensação/indemnização suficiente para

manutenção ou melhoria da qualidade de vida (Bruna, 2017). A empresa Hoyo Hoyo
expropriou cerca de 836 famílias no distrito de Guruéque tiveram que ser retiradas das
áreas que hoje pertencem à empresa para áreas circunvizinhas, com claros desvios à
implementação da Lei de Terras (Mandamule & Bruna, 2017). A implementação de um
outro investimento na fronteira entre o distrito do Gurué e o distrito de Malema,
AgroMoz, resultou na deslocação forçada de aproximadamente 1.000 famílias sem a
realização de consulta comunitária (Mandamule & Bruna, 2017). Um outro
investimento que adquiriu aproximadamente o mesmo número de hectares no distrito
de Malema, a Mozaco, também forçou a deslocação de cerca de 1.000 famílias (UNAC &
GRAIN, 2015). O que significa que grande parte dos agregados familiares ou perderam
suas terras, ficando assim privados de exercer a prática de agricultura de subsistência e
transformando-se em mão de obra barata para tais investimentos, ou foram
reassentados em locais com menor acesso a recursos como fontes de água, solos férteis
e serviços públicos (educação, saúde e transportes).
Indústria extrativa: boom de investimento, redistribuição e conflitos

de terra
40 A dinamização do Corredor de Nacala como um corredor logístico surge

maioritariamente em resposta aos investimentos de extração de carvão em Tete. De
acordo com Selemane (2010), o renascimento da exploração de carvão mineral em
Moçambique começou em 2007, quando uma das maiores empresas de extração de
carvão do mundo assinou um contrato de exploração com o Governo, a Companhia Vale
do Rio Doce, com sua filial local, a Vale Moçambique.
41 Posteriormente, muitas outras grandes empresas, como a Riversdale e a Rio Tinto,
começaram a operar neste sector causando transformações sociais e económicas em
regiões distintas da província de Tete, sendo posteriormente considerado um dos mais
importantes polos de desenvolvimento regional de Moçambique. Aproximadamente 600
milhões de USD foram investidos em Moatize (Província de Tete) apenas em 2009, para
que as multinacionais de mineração iniciassem a exploração e extração de carvão.
42 Como resultado destes investimentos, surgem as aquisições de terras em grande escala
que, consequentemente, levaram à desloca ção e reassentamento dos agregados
familiares residentes nas áreas com potencial de carvão para outras áreas. Vários
estudos (Büscher, 2014; Jone, 2014; Mosca & Selemane, 2011; Selemane, 2010, entre
outros) comprovam que a população reassentada sofreu transformações desafiadoras
dos seus meios de subsistência, como a falta de acesso a mercados, maiores custos de
transporte e menor rendimento agrícola. Até hoje, a insegurança alimentar continua a
ser um problema para as comunidades reassentadas.
43 Apesar de um dos principais discursos do governo moçambicano relativamente à
acomodação de elevados fluxos de IDE e ao aumento do emprego local, verificou-se que
a Vale Moçambique e a Rio Tinto empregaram diretamente 7.500 trabalhadores desde
2008 (Kirshner & Power, 2015, p. 68), incluindo estrangeiros e pessoal administrativo,
que não foram recrutados localmente. O reassentamento significou menores
probabilidades de serem empregados, uma vez que as áreas de reassentamento estavam
localizadas longe da área de extração.

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44 De acordo com Büscher (2014), a comunidade reassentada nesta nova área, chamada
Cateme, sofreu transformações desafiadoras da sua subsistência, como a falta de acesso
a mercados e outras instalações, maiores custos de transporte e menor produção
agrícola. Muitos estudos (Feijó, 2016; Jone, 2014; Selemane, 2010) enfocando Tete,
mostram as mesmas tendências em relação às mudanças nos meios de subsistência dos
camponeses: acesso a áreas com menor fertilidade; redução da produção de alimentos e
culturas de rendimento para subsistência; diminuição do acesso a mercados rurais e
serviços públicos; e instabilidade social, como aumento do número de protestos:
bloqueios ferroviários, greves, tumultos violentos após o processo de reassentamento
envolvendo camponeses e não camponeses.
45 O cenário verificado na indústria de mineração em relação aos reassentamentos
mostrou que o governo de Moçambique foi incapaz de garantir a aplicação da lei e a
imparcialidade durante todo o processo de reassentamento, a fim de fornecer
segurança de posse de terra para os camponeses afetados. Consequentemente, a
capacidade de produção de alimentos ou culturas de rendimento para fins de
subsistência e comercialização ficou diminuída, embora uma pequena percentagem
beneficiou-se ao longo do processo de negociação e aquisição de terras (líderes locais e
outras formas de elite rural).
46 Por outro lado, a nível macroeconómico verificou-se, em média, uma alavancagem nas
exportações do país como consequência da comercialização do carvão mineral no
mercado internacional. A exportação do carvão teve início em 2011, valorizada em
aproximadamente 21,2 milhões de USD, no entanto, atingiu em 2016 os 719,2 milhões,
tornando-se assim no produto mais exportado de Moçambique depois do alumínio.
Alianças e elites políticas
47 Diferentes estudos (Besseling, 2013; Bruna, 2017; Chivangue & Cortez, 2015; Harrison,
2010; Mosca, Abbas, & Bruna, 2016; Mosca, Mandamule, & Bruna, 2016) abordam o
envolvimento de governantes em posição privilegiada pelo acesso a informações
importantes (áreas com potencial agrícola ou mineiro)10 ou pela influência na
legislação. Por exemplo, Besseling (2013) afirma que os ex-presidentes Armando
Guebuza e Joaquim Chissano, entre outros membros do partido Frelimo, influenciam a
indústria do gás e que Armando Guebuza detém ligações, interesses e participação na
empresa Intelec Holdings (com ações na SASOL, empresa exploradora de gás) e na
Insitec11. Neste contexto, Castel-Branco (2008, p. 44) afirma:
Investidores nacionais, particularmente os que investem em grandes projectos, ou
pedem empréstimos bancários (o que é registado como empréstimos e não como
IDN), ou investem com “capital político”, isto é, com a sua capacidade de controlar o
acesso a recursos naturais (água, terra, recursos minerais), influenciar decisões,
organizações, instituições (incluindo políticas, leis e pacotes de incentivos fiscais e
outros), antecipar projectos de infra-estruturas associados à exploração de recursos
naturais, e de “facilitar” o acesso dos investidores estrangeiros aos recursos
naturais. Esta é uma forma específica e concreta de acumulação capitalista
primitiva em Moçambique […] A acumulação primitiva não começa com poupança
mas com o controlo sobre os recursos, o Estado e o trabalho, e das rendas que
provêm desse controlo (Marx 1983 e Fine & Saad-Filho 2004). No caso moçambicano,
este processo de reestruturação da propriedade dos recursos e do trabalho é
acompanhado com a aliança e dependência das novas classes capitalistas nacionais
com o grande capital estrangeiro.

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48 Ao nível local, percebe-se que as alianças entre os investidores e elites locais

(representantes de governos locais e líderes comunitários) não são de forma alguma
favoráveis aos trabalhadores rurais e camponeses, pois permitem desvios à legislação
(em termos de cálculos de indemnizações e outras questões ligadas à compensação às
famílias) e intensificam os níveis de estratificação rural. Fairbairn (2011) aborda o papel
das elites locais/distritais em Moçambique, argumentando que elas se posicionariam
como intermediários em aquisições de terras estrangeiras ou se apropriariam das terras
em resposta à alta demanda externa de terras.
49 No caso da Portucel Moçambique, verificou-se, ao longo do trabalho de campo, uma
concentração de benefícios para os líderes comunitários (oportunidade de emprego
permanente, aumento do número de machambas, aumento da produção agrícola para
comercialização, acesso a mercados, casas melhoradas e acesso a bens como
motorizadas e bicicletas). No entanto, a grande maioria dos agregados encontrava-se
em situação de perda de terras, diminuição da produção agrícola e caso tivesse
oportunidade de emprego, seria sazonal ou pontual. De acordo com o levantamento
junto aos camponeses, em média a produção agrícola diminuiu para cinco das oito
principais culturas produzidas na região (amendoim, feijão, mandioca, milho e arroz),
manteve-se para batata-doce e mapira, e aumentou em proporção menor para soja
(Bruna, 2017).
50 Face ao elevado interesse em investir no Corredor de Nacala como resultado da
integração económica de sectores de elevado potencial económico (indústria extrativa,
agricultura e infraestruturas), adicionado à localização geoestratégica do Porto de
Nacala, a procura de terras para a implementação de investimentos em ambos sectores
tem sido elevada. Neste cenário, criam-se alianças entre o capital (externo e interno)
juntamente com os governos locais e líderes comunitários, como forma de facilitar o
processo de obtenção de terras pelos investidores estrangeiros.
Cooperação, alianças externas e interesses económicos em volta do

Corredor de Nacala: infraestruturas de suporte ao capital
estrangeiro
51 No contexto do surgimento dos BRICS e os discursos em volta das potencialidades de

cooperação entre atores Sul-Sul, verificaram-se grandes entradas de investimento
brasileiro, indiano, chinês e sul-africano ao longo do Corredor, incluindo para a
indústria de mineração em Tete especificamente para a extração de carvão mineral. No
entanto, verifica-se uma cooperação entre os BRICS e alguns países do Norte global
como o Japão. Por exemplo, a empresa brasileira Vale Moçambique recentemente
vendeu 15% das ações à empresa japonesa Mitsui & Co, a qual também participa no
corredor de desenvolvimento estratégico (Corredor de Nacala), que inclui uma linha
férrea de Moatize (Tete), através do Malawi, terminando num terminal de carvão no
Porto de Nacala. Adicionalmente, a Agência Japonesa de Cooperação Internacional
(JICA) está financiando muitos quilómetros de construção e reabilitação de estradas em
todo o Corredor de Nacala, altamente integrado à reabilitação e construção das
ferrovias conectando o Porto de Nacala, financiado pela Vale Moçambique e Mitsui &
Co. Adicionalmente, países como Portugal e Dinamarca financiam programas
relacionados com a construção de infraestruturas, incluindo pontes e estradas.

153
52 Coincidente com a região de implementação do ProSAVANA (que também envolve a

JICA como protagonista), o Corredor de Nacala tem sido alvo de construção de algumas
das infraestruturas de apoio dos principais megaprojetos, incluindo aeroportos, portos
e até reabilitações rodoviárias, as quais estão a ser lideradas por construtoras
brasileiras.
53 O Governo acredita que o ProSAVANA e os investimentos ao longo do Corredor sejam
um ponto de viragem para o sector da agricultura e seus respetivos níveis de
produtividade em Moçambique através da intensificação da agricultura e o aumento do
uso de fertilizantes. Coincidentemente, na mesma região, a Vale Moçambique estudou a
possibilidade de adquirir uma mina de fosfato em Monapo (Evate) que poderia
potencialmente alimentar a demanda de fertilizantes ao longo do Corredor 12.
54 Portanto, tendências recentes mostram que ao futuro do Corredor de Nacala reserva-se
uma exploração integrada do território em resposta aos planos do governo
moçambicano que estão, diretamente, alinhados aos interesses dos investidores e
cooperação internacional, que inclui desenvolvimento do agronegócio (monoculturas
de exportação, plantações florestais, entre outros), indústria extrativa (carvão mineral,
areias pesadas, energia e outros) e infraestruturas (em particular vias de comunicação
para escoamento de produtos agrícolas e minerais).
55 Okada (2015) refere que a estratégia do Japão, considerado um país “resource-poor,
finance-rich” investindo em países “resource-rich, finance-poor”, baseia-se no esquema de
ajuda ao desenvolvimento (ODA) com objetivo de facilitar e legitimar a exportação do
investimento japonês que reproduz estruturas dependentes nas economias recetoras.
Sendo o Japão um dos países mais dependentes da importação de alimentos (Okada,
2015),o país opta por investir em países ricos em recursos.
56 De acordo com Nogueira et al. (2016) a empresa brasileira Vale Moçambique, que
atualmente explora o carvão mineral na província de Tete, financiou o primeiro
zoneamento do potencial agrícola de diferentes regiões em Moçambique no âmbito do
planeamento do ProSAVANA antes de este ser lançado. Verifica-se também o
envolvimento da empresa japonesa Mitsui como parceira da Vale Moçambique no
âmbito da reconstrução da linha férrea. Foi reconhecido que ambos projetos (Vale
Moçambique e ProSAVANA) beneficiariam da linha férrea a ser construída que liga Tete
ao Porto de Nacala, não só pela profundidade do Porto (permitindo o manuseamento de
grandes tonelagens) como também pela proximidade do mercado asiático (Nogueira et
al., 2016).
Figura 2: Mapeamento dos interesses japoneses e brasileiros no centro e norte de Moçambique

154
Fonte: Nogueira et al. (2016)
Implicações do modelo de desenvolvimento rural do

Corredor de Nacala
57 Como foi verificado, as alianças (de agentes externos) estratégicas procuram
proporcionar benefícios multilaterais, excluindo principalmente as classes mais baixas
que representam a maior parte da população rural, como se tem verificado em casos
específicos do Corredor. Estas alianças são estratégicas para todos os parceiros
estrangeiros envolvidos pois têm o papel de exercer um efeito multiplicador das mais-
valias das empresas, como é o caso da exploração de fosfatos pela Vale Moçambique,
com procura garantida de fertilizantes no âmbito das empresas de agronegócio do
ProSAVANA. Neste contexto Garcia e Kato (2016) referem:
Isso torna o Corredor de Nacala, no nosso entendimento, área privilegiada para
identificar e analisar a sinergia entre os investimentos e as iniciativas
implementadas pelas empresas brasileiras, em particular do setor de mineração e
agropecuário, e as políticas de cooperação. Os investimentos e a cooperação
convergem para ampliar e favorecer a consolidação de cadeias globais de valores
minerais e agropecuários, interligadas aos mercados internacionais. Moçambique se
insere, assim, na órbita do capital transnacional (incluindo o brasileiro) como
território para maior acumulação global (Garcia & Kato, 2016, p. 82).
58 Questiona-se, portanto, se estes interesses coincidem com os interesses dos
moçambicanos e se os mesmos promovem um crescimento e desenvolvimento
sustentável para a economia moçambicana e bem-estar dos seus habitantes como o
promovem nas economias de origem dos parceiros de cooperação e investidores.
Portanto, o desenvolvimento agrário e rural irá coincidir com o modelo de
desenvolvimento desenhado pelo investidor, caracterizado por uma ação capitalista de
origem estrangeira com intencionalidades viradas ao resource seeking, muitas vezes em
alianças com elites políticas.
59 Sendo assim, este modelo suporta a acumulação primitiva de capital virado a
necessidades do mercado internacional, sustentado por um modelo de aquisição de
terras que não respeita os direitos consuetudinários, que marginaliza as necessidades e
aspirações dos camponeses e promove maiores níveis de vulnerabilidade das

155
comunidades. Esta situação resulta num aumento de desigualdades económicas e

sociais e de conflitualidades.
60 Adicionalmente, os níveis mais baixos de industrialização suportados pelo modelo
extrativista das empresas de mineração em Tete como também dos investimentos de
agronegócio ao longo do Corredor – fornecem matérias-primas aos mercados asiáticos
emergentes –
não permitem a criação de emprego num nível significativo. Deste modo, este conjunto
de investimentos não fornece condições
para criação de emprego dos camponeses expropriados, portanto, verifica-se uma
crescente rural surplus population, ou seja, um conjunto de pessoas sem terra (ou com
menos terra) e desempregadas (ou com oportunidades escassas de emprego).
61 Neste contexto, Castel-Branco (2014) refere que, embora Moçambique tenha crescido
aproximadamente 7,5% por ano, é ineficaz na redução da pobreza e no fornecimento de
uma base social e económica mais ampla para o desenvolvimento. Este crescimento é
principalmente sustentado pela entrada de recursos externos no país, em particular do
Investimento Direto Estrangeiro em forma de megaprojetos. Este conjunto de
investimentos e projetos em agricultura, indústria extrativa e infraestruturas ao longo
do Corredor tende a beneficiar apenas uma restrita elite rural, verificando-se, portanto,
um desenvolvimento não inclusivo. Assim, apenas as classes que têm relações diretas e
vantajosas com o capital se beneficiam, o que resulta numa intensificação da
diferenciação de classes dentro do campesinato.
Questionabilidade dos princípios de cooperação Sul-

Sul
62 Devido à massiva presença de atores e investidores pertencentes ao grupo dos BRICS ao
longo do Corredor, e também transversalmente, é importante analisar os princípios que
supostamente guiam este tipo de cooperação entre países do Sul global. Sendo assim,
esta secção pretende questionar até que ponto os princípios de cooperação Sul-Sul
estão presentes na materialização dos investimentos e projetos ao longo do Corredor e
de que forma esta está ligada a atores do Norte global.
63 Para melhor compreender os discursos à volta da chamada cooperação Sul-Sul, explora-
se de forma sumarizada os conceitos e princípios da mesma. De acordo com o UNDP
(2016) existem três importantes características que distinguem a cooperação Sul-Sul da
cooperação Norte-Sul: (1) a nível conceitual e de princípios a cooperação Sul-Sul baseia-
se em solidariedade e guia-se por princípios de soberania nacional, envolvendo
interesses comuns e benefícios mútuos; (2) em termos de modalidade de cooperação,
este tipo de cooperação não envolve transferências unilaterais (como donativos), mas
sim baseia-se em trocas comerciais, de investimento, de tecnologia e até migração; e (3)
mais importante, este tipo de cooperação deve ser baseado numa relação horizontal e
inclusiva.
64 A Comissão das Nações Unidas para a África (UNECA, 2013) apresenta várias
“diretrizes” sobre a cooperação África-BRICS em relação ao engajamento do continente
com este conjunto de países e como África pode aumentar o crescimento económico, o
emprego e a transformação estrutural através desse engajamento. Seu foco principal é
reduzir a pobreza por meio da criação de emprego e maximizar a oportunidade por

156
meio da assistência ao desenvolvimento fornecida pelos BRICS. Importa referir que

Moçambique, estando integrado nos Millennium Development Goals, tem como principais
objetivos a diminuição dos níveis de pobreza, o aumento dos níveis de alfabetização,
questões de género e outros grupos vulneráveis, luta contra epidemias e
sustentabilidade ambiental.
65 A cooperação Sul-Sul inclui também programas triangulares (UNDP, 2016) tal como se
percebe na cooperação Brasil-Japão-Moçambique no que se refere ao ProSAVANA.
Adicionalmente, o texto procura salientar aspetos ligados em particular
às relações existentes entre Brasil e Moçambique ao longo do Corredor, procurando
refletir sobre a autenticidade desta considerada cooperação Sul-Sul. As implicações e
características deste programa de cooperação foram descritas anteriormente e
certamente verifica-se que não só diverge do conjunto de prioridades da região como
também pressupõe implicações negativas ao desenvolvimento rural.
66 Olhando para a emergente procura e aquisição de terra por alguns atores BRICS ao
longo do Corredor, nota-se que esta promoveu a redistribuição de recursos naturais
(incluindo terras para fins agrícolas) que reformulou a posse de meios de produção e a
capacidade de criação de riqueza a favor dos investidores. Pelo facto de estes serem
intensivos em capital e sem o desenvolvimento de industrialização, esta cooperação não
proporcionou emprego rural suficiente e, consequentemente, altos níveis de
desemprego rural são verificados. Embora Moçambique tenha atingido altos níveis de
crescimento económico, as implicações da implantação destes investimentos divergem
dos objetivos prioritários de Moçambique referidos anteriormente. Portanto, está longe
de ser considerada uma questão de benefício mútuo e solidariedade.
67 Os discursos sobre benefício mútuo e solidariedade implicam o reconhecimento das
necessidades de cada um dos países. Deste modo, as estratégias de desenvolvimento
devem responder às necessidades e prioridades de ambos os países, o que não acontece
no processo de negociação de contratos do Governo e megaprojetos. Estes últimos obtê
m excessivos benefícios fiscais a custo do aumento de programas sociais para a
população local, como por exemplo: (1) reduções fiscais de 25% na Vale de Moçambique;
(2) Isenções a SASOL (IVA e importações). Este facto responde claramente a interesses
unilaterais das grandes multinacionais e não às necessidades internas do país, as quais
não incluem o desenvolvimento de uma indústria extrativa mas sim o aumento da
produção alimentar e o melhoramento dos serviços públicos, a educação e a saúde.
68 Adiciona-se à análise o suporte financeiro ao sector de infraestruturas, proporcionado
não só pelos BRICS, mas também por alguns países do Norte global como o Japão. Estes
recursos são estrategicamente direcionados ao suporte de reabilitação e/ou construção
de infraestruturas que respondem diretamente aos interesses dos seus respetivos
investimentos principalmente relacionados com o escoamento de commodities para
exportação pelo Porto de Nacala.
69 Por outro lado, a economia de Moçambique aumentou a sua dependência externa não
apenas de empréstimos e doações, como também em relação à dinâmica do comércio
internacional na medida em que Moçambique entrou em um esquema de fornecedor de
matérias primas com vista à industrialização de outros países (em particular BRICS)
sem que haja desenvolvimento da industrialização nacional.

157
Considerações finais
70 O crescimento da economia moçambicana tem estado bastante dependente da entrada
de capital estrangeiro, com um enfoque no IDE, com ações capitalistas de acumulação
primitiva de capital, que é feita maioritária ou totalmente no exterior, sem apresentar
melhorias na qualidade de vida para a maioria da população. O envolvimento de elites
políticas é feitocomo forma de facilitar a entrada e atividade destes investimentos em
particular na aquisição de terras.
71 No entanto, o crescimento económico registado e louvado a nível internacional não se
tem traduzido na melhoria do índice de desenvolvimento humano ou numa diminuição
significativa da pobreza. Conforme referido por Lenin (1982, p. 131) num contexto de
capitalismo e relações capitalistas, estes antagonismos de interesses implicam
vantagens para alguns e desvantagens para outros e criam novas classes de população
rural como resultado da desigualdade de propriedade. Portanto, ao invés de diminuir os
níveis de desigualdade dentro do processo de desenvolvimento, o modelo verificado em
Moçambique e no Corredor de Nacala induz ao aumento das diferenças não só entre as
classes de camponeses (ricos, médios, pobres e sem terra), como também noutros
domínios da sociedade.
72 Através da análise das dinâmicas específicas do Corredor de Nacala, verificaram-se
algumas tendências e implicações do modelo de desenvolvimento existente na região:
(1) land grabbing e apropriação de outros recursos naturais, permitindo assim
acumulação primitiva de capital de agentes estrangeiros e elites; (2) migrações
involuntárias, deterioração da qualidade de vida e intensificação de níveis de pobreza
das classes mais pobres, em particular dos camponeses; (3) intensificação da
estratificação rural pela disparidade de ganhos e benefícios por classe; (4) presença de
alianças estratégicas que alimentam essa acumulação de riqueza de forma
desproporcional entre as diferentes classes sociais; (5) emergência de investimentos e
cooperação de atores do Sul global com alianças estratégicas com atores do Norte
global, que embora tenham um discurso de promover formas alternativas de
desenvolvimento, constituem não mais que uma continuação do modelo dos atores do
Norte global, que se baseia na exploração de recursos com relações de poder e ganhos
desequilibrados; (6) intensificação da dependência económica de Moçambique na
medida em que se aprofunda o papel do país como fornecedor de matérias primas que
alimentam a industrialização de outros países, sem alimentar o desenvolvimento da ind
ústria nacional.
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environmental transformations: Perspectives from East and Southeast Asia, 5-6 de junho, Chiang Mai
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Pública.
Shankland, A., & Gonçalves, E. (2016). Imagining agricultural development in South-South

cooperation: The contestation and transformation of ProSAVANA. World Development, 81, pp.
35-46.
UNAC & GRAIN. (2015). Os usurpadores de terras do Corredor de Nacala. Uma nova era de luta
contra plantações coloniais no norte de Moçambique. Maputo: UNAC & GRAIN.
UNDP (United Nations Development Programme). (2016). Scaling-up South-South cooperation for
sustainable development. Nova Iorque: Autor.
UNECA (United Nations Economic Commission for Africa). (2013). Africa-BRICS cooperation:
Implications for growth, employment and structural transformation in Africa. Adis Abeba: Autor.
Wynn Jr., D., & Williams, C. K. (2012). Principles for conducting critical realist case study research
in information systems. MIS Quarterly, 36(3), 787-810.
Yeung, H. W. C. (1997). Critical realism and realist research in human geography: A method or a
philosophy in search of a method? Progress in Human Geography, 21(1), 51-74.
NOTAS
1. Land Matrix: https://landmatrix.org/en/
2. https://landmatrix.org/en/get-the-idea/web-transnational-deals/ (consultado a 22 de
novembro de 2018).

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3. Mosca, Abbas e Bruna (2013) constatam que aproximadamente 90% do valor dos investimentos
aprovados concentra-se em, aproximadamente, 6,7% dos projetos de investimento.
4. Para uma melhor compreensão das conclusões seguintes, consultar Mosca, Abbas e Bruna
(2013, 2016) e Castel-Branco (2008).
5. UNDP: http://hdr.undp.org/sites/all/themes/hdr_theme/country-notes/MOZ.pdf (consultado
a 22 de novembro de 2018).
6. Para uma melhor compreensão do envolvimento de elites na obtenção de terras, ver Chivangue
e Cortez (2015). Dá-se como exemplo as ligações existentes entre o ex-presidente da República
Armando Guebuza, através da Intelec (Bruna, 2017; Chivangue & Cortez, 2015; Nogueira et al.,
2016), e uma das maiores empresas (de capital brasileiro) produtora de soja envolvida em
conflitos de terra e deslocações forçadas no Corredor de Nacala (Mandamule & Bruna, 2017).
7. Um conjunto de entrevistas às comunidades afetadas por diferentes investimentos ao longo do
Corredor de Nacala indica o envolvimento de líderes comunitários e membros do governo local
nos processos de aquisição de terra.
8. De acordo com o site http://www.campo.com.br/proceder/, consultado a 27 de setembro de
2016, PRODECER (Programa de Cooperação Nipo-Brasileira para o Desenvolvimento dos Cerrados)
“teve início em um comunicado conjunto assinado pelo primeiro-ministro japonês Kakuei
Tanaka, e pelo então presidente do Brasil, Ernesto Geisel, em setembro de 1974, que estabelecia a
relação entre os dois países sobre o desenvolvimento agrícola, com objetivos de (1) estimular o
aumento da produção de alimentos; (2) contribuir para o desenvolvimento regional do país; (3)
aumentar a oferta de alimentos no mundo; e (4) desenvolver a região do Cerrado.”
9. Relatórios cedidos pela empresa no ano de 2017.
10. O serviço de partilha de informação nº 1/2013 do Centro de Integridade Pública (CIP, 2013)
lista um conjunto de nomes de distribuição de licenças de prospeção e pesquisa mineira sem
transparência, resultante do acesso privilegiado de informação sobre a localização dos recursos
naturais em Moçambique no seio das elites, incluindo locais no Corredor de Nacala e áreas
próximas.
11. Para mais informações, ver www.intelecholdings.com
12. https://macauhub.com.mo/pt/2012/06/11/portugues-vale-mocambique-inicia-estudos-para-
explorar-fosfatos-no-monapo/ e https://portugaldigital.com.br/brasileira-vale-estuda-reservas-
de-fosfatos-em-nampula/
RESUMOS
O principal objetivo deste trabalho é abordar criticamente o modelo de desenvolvimento rural
existente em Moçambique com enfoque no Corredor de Nacala através da análise de dinâmicas,
atores externos e internos, estratégias e políticas de desenvolvimento rural na região.
Verificaram-se algumas tendências e implicações do modelo de desenvolvimento existente na
região como usurpação de terras e apropriação de outros recursos naturais, resultantes em
migrações involuntárias e deterioração da qualidade de vida e intensificação de níveis de pobreza
das classes mais pobres, presença de alianças estratégicas que alimentam uma acumulação de
riqueza de forma desproporcional entre as diferentes classes sociais, emergência de
investimentos e cooperação de atores do Sul global com alianças estratégicas com atores do Norte
global e uma resultante intensificação da dependência económica de Moçambique.

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The main objective of this paper is to critically address the existing rural development model in
Mozambique focusing on the Nacala Corridor by analyzing the dynamics, external and internal
actors, rural development strategies and policies in the region. Some trends and implications of
the region’s development model were identified: land grabbing and appropriation of natural
resources, resulting in involuntary migrations and deterioration of the quality of life and
intensification of poverty levels of the poorer classes, presence of strategic alliances that
disproportionately allow accumulation of wealth among different social classes, the emergence
of investment and cooperation of actors from the Global South with strategic alliances with
actors from the Global North and a resulting intensification of Mozambique’s economic
dependence.
ÍNDICE
Palavras-chave: Corredor de Nacala, ProSAVANA, agronegócio, indústria extrativa, recursos
naturais
Keywords: Nacala Corridor, ProSAVANA, agribusiness, extractive industry, natural resources
AUTOR
NATACHA BRUNA
Observatório do Meio Rural
Rua Faustino Vanombe, 81, 1º andar, Bairro da Sommerschield
Maputo, Moçambique
natachabruna89@gmail.com

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From Peripatetic Anthropology to

the Ethnography of Roads and
Motorisation in Africa
Da antropologia peripatética à etnografia das estradas e a motorização em
África
Gerard Horta
EDITOR'S NOTE
1 From the late 1990s onwards, there are plenty of references made to the role played by
roads and motor vehicles in African societies, but its invisibilisation during the
previous period is obvious1. If the journey is the ethnographer’s object of observation,
and also the object of his or her reflection as an anthropologist (Augé, 2007, p. 71), then
what is the reason for this invisibilisation? The implicit multiplicity of approaches to
the journey resides in the journey itself, since any journey is at the same time a
movement in space, in time and – depending on the departure and arrival contexts – in
social hierarchy (Lévi-Strauss, 1955/1969, p. 79).
2 Even though the twentieth century is the century of motorisation, the use of motorised
land vehicles by anthropologists in Africa does not usually appear in their accounts,
neither past nor present. Concepts such as “car”, “road”, “mobility”, “motorisation”,
and even “transportation”, are missing from analytical indexes and accounts 2.
References to the presence of cars and trucks in African roads have been late to appear
in the anthropological literature. Kuklick (1991, p. 151) mentions cars only once when
dealing with the 1929 expedition of archaeologist Caton-Thompson (when the
Rhodesian Transportation Department lent her a car). There are no theoretical
reflections on the social dimensions of roads and cars. Nevertheless, the history of

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Africa is closely tied to social processes stemming from the development of

motorisation and roads. From May 1931 to February 1933, Marcel Griaule, Michel Leiris
and other European ethnographers carried out the Dakar-Djibouti Mission from the
Atlantic to the Red Sea. The mission unfolded as a gathering of objects for museum
collections as well as a fruitful ethnographic exploration. They travelled by foot, boat,
canoe, train, truck, mule, donkey, camel, cart... and by car, with the sponsorship of the
Citroën company3. Michel Leiris became the first anthropologist to mention roads and
cars in his field diary.
The journey and the road as social process

3 In his diary, Leiris (1934/2007, p. 795) wonders: “Why travel? This way of seizing things,
will it prevent us from being unarmed on the occasions in which it is written that we
should be unarmed?” (27-XII-1932). The ethnographer travels by car through bumpy
roads, and for the first time he succinctly describes what happens in the course of the
journey. What happens to the car, to the people inside, to the people who they run into
and interact with, and to the road itself. If this first peripatetic anthropology is
indebted to “travel literature” (Delgado, 2012), then the anthropology of mobility and
the emerging anthropology of traffic should not be alien to it.
4 The anthropology of roads shares with the anthropology of traffic its focus on the
culture of traffic, the culture of risk and accidents, the social construction of the
regulation of the traffic of wheeled vehicles, and the development of the processes and
systems of transportation of people and commodities. Aside from this closeness –
always verging on the edge of incest –, roads embody a social process in which the
collective life of any society emerges to the surface through movement. Every society
flows onto its roads. Perhaps the roads express the paradoxical confirmation of the
triumph of sedentism, since they work as a means of communication between points
inhabited by people on a permanent basis (tellingly, the hunter-gatherers don’t need
roads to assert their never-ending mobility).
5 As pointed out by Estevan (1996, pp. 208-209), within the terminology of transportation
the concept of “mobility” is a quantitative parameter that refers to the movements
performed by people and commodities in a specific socio-economic domain. It is
expressed in individual terms, such as the average number of journeys or km travelled
per person, or in aggregate terms, such as the total number of journeys or km travelled
by the inhabitants of a specific place. On the contrary, the concept of “accessibility” is a
qualitative variable, since it indicates the ease (I would add the ability or possibility)
with which people from a specific place can cover the distance to other places where
they will find the means to satisfy their needs or desires. According to Estevan, the
standard view of transportation understands the improvement of accessibility as the
facilitation of movement (the efficiency of the transportation system). This entails an
emphasis on the constant reinforcement of infrastructures, vehicles and the system of
transportation as a whole. All of which facilitates the increase of motorised mobility
and transportation. On the other hand, a different point of view links accessibility with
proximity: spatially or geographically speaking, the less movement required to satisfy a
need or desire, the more accessible they will be. Different models – with different social
consequences – are developed depending on how each society constructs or asserts its
interpretation of transportation and accessibility. This is why we must remember

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Hannerz’ claim – cited by Juan, Largo-Poirier, Orain and Poltorak (1997, p. 25) –
regarding the fact that physical accessibility does not guarantee social accessibility.
6 Penny Harvey (Khazaleh, 2013) claims that roads include different sorts of spatial
dynamics due to the great variety of social relations which are developed within them.
How are the urban strands – villages and cities – fused together other than through
these traffic routes called roads? Augé (2007, p. 33) argues that urban projects are
conceived with respect to the relationships between the urban “interior” and
“exterior”. This implies that the design of roads, highways, airports, train stations, bus
lanes, taxis – Hiace vans –, and motorised vehicles in general is shaped by the model of
social relations intended to be established. Where can we find, then, in the universal
megalopolis, the “empty” and “porous” zones (Augé follows Philippe Vasset’s
terminology), the dark side of universalisation? How much intensity, how much life, is
born, grows and dies in these “porous” zones so acutely impoverished under
colonization?
7 In the context of the process of motorisation in Africa, Gewald, Luning, & Walraven
(2009, pp. 1-18) highlight the wide range of transformations caused by the introduction
of cars in the twentieth century: cultural, economic, political, military, urban, medical,
educational, religious, ecological, communicative, and regarding interpersonal
relationships4. However, the study of these transformations has been – up to a certain
point – very limited, even if in vast African regions transportation depends entirely on
motorised vehicles. Out of the more than 1,000 papers presented at the meetings of the
African Studies Association (ASA) between 1990 and 1997, only one dealt with the
impact of motorised road vehicles in Africa. The paper by Chilundo (1992) for the ASA
meeting was based on research on motorised traffic in which the economical aspects
had the utmost relevance.
8 Gewald et al. claim that the ground-breaking scholarship on this topic has more distant
origins. According to them, it starts with the classic work by Hill (1963) on the use of
vehicles by the cocoa farmers in Ghana, which was followed by the ethnographies by
Lewis (1970) on the transporters’ association of the Ivory Coast, by Silverstein (1983) on
the local strategies of transportation in Nigeria, and by Stoller (1989) on the
importance of the regulation and structuring of road transportation. We must add the
ground-breaking studies by Margaret Field (1960) on the rural drivers in Ghana from an
ethnopsychiatric point of view; by Jordan (1978) on the daily behaviour of truck drivers
in West Africa; and by Peace (1988) on mobility in South-West Nigeria.
9 The real boom of scholarship in this field took place in the beginning of the twentieth-
first century. According to Gewald et al. (2009, p. 5), the construction of African roads
did not uniquely respond to the aim of transporting goods and people since, of course,
the mining and agricultural products of colonial plundering had to be transported
through somewhere. Historically, roads have played a pivotal role in the control,
repression and imposition of colonial discipline over African societies by means of the
transportation of military troops and arms. Moreover, roads represent a key factor of
modernisation for African state bureaucracies, both before and after the formal
processes of independence5.
10 As communication and transportation devices, roads and their vehicles have been
useful to the revolutionary or anti-colonial causes as well, thus turning back against
their own promoters. This is the case of the Kikuyu taxis during the Mau Mau
revolution in Kenya, between 1952 and 1960, under British colonial rule. The

166
organisational structure of the taxi drivers’ associations and trade unions was essential
for the articulation of the movement, and the vehicles of the Kikuyu were used both for
carrying and hiding their leaders and for moving information around (Ference, 2011).
Walraven (2009) offers a similar example concerning the uprisings in the French Niger
between 1954 and 1966, in which drivers offered their vehicles – and their lives – to the
revolutionary cause.
11 In turn, Graeber (2004/2011, p. 64) refers to the Tsimihety in the west coast of
Madagascar and to their rejection of the Sakalava monarchy’s authority when arguing
that a collective project lies behind every social group. Under French colonial rule, the
Tsimihety accepted to meet with the representatives sent by the Administration, whose
goal was to obtain an adult workforce in order to build a road next to a Tsimihety
village. But when the team in charge of the construction works returned to the village,
they found it abandoned. Its inhabitants had fled to other places to live with their
relatives, rejecting participation in the colonial program of forced labour that was to be
imposed on them.
12 Writing on the Bakoya in Gabon, Soengas (2009, p. 189) points out that the opening of
roads by the French army in the 1930s caused major changes in the social and spatial
organisation of the communities, which from then on came in contact with “the white
people”. The construction of roads and the beginning of motorised traffic entailed a
rise in inequality within rural populations, as happened in Ghana and Nigeria (Porter,
2012), in a process that began in the colonial period but extended beyond formal
independence. In this context, a mysticism of speed and modernity linked to motorised
vehicles was developed, and was immediately inscribed in representations of
masculinity.
13 The introduction of vehicles in Africa also entailed the visibilisation of several racial
and class contradictions, inherent to the same colonial system that had imported roads
and motorisation into African societies. The work by geographer Gordon Pirie informs
us of the complaints that both whites and blacks addressed to the South African
authorities in charge of the public bus system, a set of reasons in which the conditions
of transportation, the segregation and racial abuse, as well as the class differences
within the black population in the rural public buses between 1925 and 1955 are made
explicit (Pirie, 1990). The same author offers us an overview of one of the favourite –
and exclusive – activities of the white social classes in African colonies: motor racing
clubs. Maps and guides of African roads that included lodgings and supply points for
motor vehicles multiplied from the first decade of the twentieth century onwards. At
the same time, literary fiction linked to the exotic journey was in all of its splendour,
stimulating colonial representations (Pirie, 2013). In the 1920s and 1930s, the motorised
expeditions across the whole continent – sponsored by the manufacturing companies
themselves – brought to the rural parts of Africa a strange blend of scientists, travellers
and colonists (Pirie, 2011). In the context of the colonial political rule of European
societies over the African continent, a new sort of journey defined by a taste for
adventure became established: dangerous trails, treacherous topographies and harsh
weather appear as the main “attractions” of the rallies that from then on race through
Africa6. Around the 1960s, in the new political contexts that led to the independence
processes – and also due to the takeoff of the aeronautical industry –, the motor racing
clubs gradually abandoned the cross-border routes and focused their activities within
the sphere of the state and on the promotion of road maintenance (Pirie, 2013).

167
14 The wide variety of dynamic processes in African societies is reflected in the social
universe of the development of transportation and motorisation. The anthropological
and sociological approaches to the culture of road transportation, the motorised
vehicle, and the several dimensions of its impact on social life have defined very
specific research fields. This has enabled both an increase in comparative analysis
(Miller, 2001) and the development of anthropological and sociological scholarship on
urbanisation processes, land transportation routes, risk, safety, or traffic (the list is
endless) beyond the explicit references to Africa.
15 Ritualities, processes of technologisation, “moral geographies”, “informal” economies,
or motorisation as agency, are central issues in the boom of scholarship regarding
Africa from the late 1990s onwards. Alongside the overviews on urbanisation and
interurban mobility in the continent as a whole, a schematic bibliographical
territorialisation of the wide variety of topics dealt with by this scholarship (such as:
commerce and transportation; construction of roads under colonial rule; interurban
transportation of passengers; urbanisation processes; relationships between vehicles,
drivers and “entrepreneurship”; relationships between drivers and power or status;
relationships between vehicles and pedestrians on the roads; the symbolisation of
vehicles; accident rates; etc.) encompasses a big portion of Africa 7.
16 Regarding the ethnographic references on mobility in African roads and the role of
motorised vehicles by anthropologists writing in the first two thirds of the twentieth
century, we must recall some aspects and situations which in later decades will become
explicit topics of study. However, we must take into account (Dalakoglou & Harvey,
2012, p. 462) the scarcity of references to interurban mobility, roads and motorised
transportation in African urban anthropology – with exception of G. Wilson in Zambia,
E. Hellmann and B. Sundkler in South Africa, and by the Manchester anthropologists
affiliated to the Rhodes-Livingstone Institute (Hannerz, 1980/1993, pp. 162-163 and
179-187). This is an area in which research needs to be undertaken, and it cannot be
spared by referring to the long list of anthropological studies about nomadic and cattle-
breeding societies in Africa, as Dalakoglou and Harvey (2012) do. On the whole, it
results difficult to trace the consideration of roads and motorised transportation in the
ethnographies written throughout the best part of the last century.
The first references to roads

17 Beyond describing the day to day of his almost two-year-long research during the
Dakar-Djibouti mission, Leiris includes in his narration the events which occurred on
the road whilst traveling by car. In L’Afrique Fantôme [Ghostly Africa], he deals with
fundamental contexts for the study of roads as social phenomena. The changing
caravan of anthropologists, translators, chefs, assistants and an endless list of
companions rarely travels by van or by car. We will focus our attention on the car.
Leiris writes in his field diary the situations in which the car takes part. In his account,
the car appears as a means of business for the indigenous (8-VI-1931); as a place of
weariness due to the discomfort of the journey (30-VI-1931); as a victim of the
deplorable conditions of roads and bridges, as well as of harsh weather (8-VII-1931); as
a sign, by means of the horn, of an imminent announcement (14-VII-1931); as
protagonist of crashes with animals which cross the road, as well as a moving device for
hunting them (25-VIII-1931).

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18 In other occasions he describes how the presence of the vehicle on the road provokes
unexpected encounters (a sick man lying down on the way) (15-XII-1931). The car also
appears as a factor of accidental deaths (30-XII-1931); as grounds for argument under
the pressure of a social environment demanding that ethnographers assist them with
the vehicle to transport them to other locations (15-I-1932) – see below the testimony
of Rabinow in Morocco, 40 years later, as protagonist of the forced end of a journey due
to a non-fatal accident in which the vehicle and its load are left destroyed (17-I-1932);
as a container of long trips – a day-long journey of 100 km along precarious roads (22-
I-1932); as a vehicle which has suddenly broken down and finds itself dependent on a
greater vehicle (a truck, in this case) (17-IV-1932); as a method of transportation that
sometimes relies on a drunken chauffeur (30-IV-1932); and finally, as a means of
transportation for animals, who like humans are also prone to vomit (22-XII-1932). In a
final note regarding the 8th and 9th of December, 1931 (p. 835), Leiris reflects on the
social exceptionality of the profound happiness of an administrator who has found a
faster way to construct roads and bridges, which would save the people he
administered “a significant number of days of service” – that is, forced labour.
19 These situations form part of any ethnography of roads. To the extent that Leiris’ field
diary is significant for the analysis of the observed social relations and his role in them,
the fact that he considered necessary to leave written testimony of what happened, and
how it happened, when travelling by car, makes him the first ethnographer to
acknowledge the usefulness of cars and roads as elements of anthropological reflection.
20 Soon after the return of the mission directed by Leiris, another mission left for Brazil:
the “French University Mission”, in which Claude Lévi-Strauss participated. From his
time in the University of São Paulo, Lévi-Strauss undertook, between 1935 and 1939,
various trips to Mato Grosso and the Amazon, where he studied the Kadiwéu, Bororo,
Nambikwara, Aikanã and Tupi-Kawahib societies. Of course, he comes across very few
cars, but tells that the land which spans the road from Santos to São Paulo is one of the
first exploited terrains in the country. He refers to the place as an “archeological site
dedicated to a deceased agriculture”. In the valleys, the vegetation reclaims possession
of the soil again: what is found now is no more “the noble architecture of the primitive
jungle”. The European landscape is ostensibly subjected to mankind, hence the
bewilderment experienced when he is confronted with something that does not fit
within our traditional categories (Lévi-Strauss, 1955/1969, p. 89).
21 From field work carried out in Zululand at the end of the 1930s, Max Gluckman (1958)
records the European domination and explains that groups of equal social status are
not separated. Whereas the Zulu cannot venture into the reserves of the white group –
except as domestic servants – Europeans can move freely amongst the Zulu, observe
them and at times take photos of them.
22 Gluckman understands that the schism between the two groups of colour is in itself the
pattern of their integration in a community. In a given moment, he tells of the
inauguration of a bridge in order to describe the supposed formal reason for its
construction (to facilitate the mobility of the magistrate) and its immediate social
effects (the access to a hospital by Zulu women). He makes almost no ethnographical
references to the experiences lived on the road, but three observations can
nevertheless be noted: firstly, he describes how, during a trip to Nongoma in his
automobile, he stops to pick up an elderly man; secondly, he narrates another journey
by car together with the Zulu king, whose car is responded to by the Zulu with the royal

169
salute; thirdly, he mentions the automobile as an object of social status only accessible
to Europeans and few Zulu.
23 In his writings based on field work undertaken in Africa in the late 1940s, George
Balandier (1955, 1957/1962, pp. 191-224) makes no mention of automobiles. Instead, he
outlines the segregating character of the planning of urban spaces by the colonial
power, as well as the anomic uprooting of rural immigrants in growing cities such as
Brazzaville, Lagos or Dakar. Both are reflections of colonial capitalism’s opulence and
speculation, greatness and precariousness of the material and social conditions of the
majority of the population. Reflections of the immense explosions of urban colonial
societies, the emergence of incipient labour unions which in fact collaborate with the
colonial power, the new heroes of Western cinematic mythology, the changing contexts
of the commodification of sex and love, the submission to the tough and implacable law
of “working without happiness”, the effervescence of Saturday nights and Sundays, the
imposition of names on streets and squares, the construction of an illusion to “our”
image and convenience, the gap between reality and hope.
24 All these processes have been historically parallel to the expansion of roads and traffic
as a means of colonisation and transportation of goods and people. The reference to the
fact that the construction of roads has brought to an end the supposed isolation of
certain human groups, as Lévi-Strauss writes (1955/1969, p. 125), has become a general
principle, although in his work we do not find the reflections of social life on the roads.
Beals and Hoijer (1965, pp. 405-449) devote a section to the transportation of animals
and vehicles throughout history, focusing their attention on the Baganda of Eastern
Africa, who they describe as the builders of an elaborate system of roadways used for
walking, human strength being the only means of transportation. And Knutsson
(1969/1976, p. 124), when referring to the polyethnic village-market in Mecha
(Ethiopia), links the high mobility, the creation of commercial villages and the growth
of existing populations, and points to the fundamental role played by the construction
of roads in order to understand this development. The expansion of motorisation in
urban spaces throughout Africa has been recent (Hannerz, 1993/1996, p. 14), and even
more so with regard to interurban transportation. Whereas generic comments
regarding the poor quality of road infrastructures – in comparison with the Western
standard – span decades of anthropological research, the attention given to the car and
the road is very uncommon.
25 This potential anthropology of roads has been dismissed for decades to the waste bin of
the social sciences. In anthropology textbooks, introductions to the discipline and
dictionaries, the references to the processes of construction of roads and motorization
in relation to colonial expansion are in general inexistent, or to a certain point
disparaging of a concept – “road” – stripped of the social universe which it signifies and
in which it is inscribed. Peacock, in his introductory anthropology textbook, defines the
entrance into field work in these terms (1986/2001, p. 129): “But neither is it a simple
adventure which ends in itself; one is not simply ‘on the road’, but ‘on the field’, and
must mobilise himself to find his place in it and, afterwards, to understand it”.
26 In his field work in Sefrou (Morocco), Clifford Geertz states the centrality of the car in
saving time while travelling (“I hired a car. No more buses. No more waiting”, as cited
in Slyomovics, 2010). And the amalgam of images that Paul Rabinow offers us
(1977/1992), also from his field work in Morocco, points towards new dimensions. He
describes tracks, trails, paths without asphalt, curving, empty or tortuous roads with

170
potholes dangerously close to ravines, night-time journeys by car while arguing with
an angry informant who gets out of the vehicle and condemns himself to walking the
remaining 8 km. Rabinow (1992, p. 112) tells of the relief he feels when his car explodes,
because it spares him from the unbearable pressure he suffers by way of a village
demanding to be driven here or there, for this and that: “I stopped the car in front of
the hospital. No, they told me, go a little further up the street, to the market. But didn’t
you tell me that you were dying? Yes, she replied, but I have to do some shopping” (p.
88).
27 In his first field work in the Dowayo land, Barley (1983/1989) describes how his car is
used as a taxi and ambulance by the community. Half of the references regarding the
vehicle concern its repairs and the tremendous cost that they imply. On another
occasion he tells of the local interpretation of the arrival of a car (p. 65): “There were
fields on both sides of the road. The people who worked them stopped their tasks to
watch us as we advanced laboriously. Some fled. Later I realised that they believed we
were sent by the sous-prefet”. The uneasiness caused by the bad condition of the roads
appears regularly (p. 103): “The old maps still indicate a roadway running through the
valley, but nowadays it is found to be in a pretty sorry state”. The first page of the book
(Barley, 1986/1993) based on his second field work with the Dowayo, some years later,
contains a map which distinguishes three types of roadways: official roads, passable
roads for vehicles and mountain trails. Screeching breaks under threatening storms,
illegal transportation of beer and the figure of the anthropologist as the community
chauffeur accompany the references made to the vehicle.
28 Other examples of the generic attention paid by anthropology to roads and motor
vehicles as social phenomena can be found in the work of Marjorie Shostak (1990, pp.
23 and 349). In her field work with Nisa, the !Kung woman from the Kalahari desert, she
describes the situation in the !Kung village as follows: “Roadways with transport
trucks, shops, schools and even a clinic exist today in the Dobe land...”. She also
narrates the night-time arrival to a !Kung village located beyond the road on which she
has driven the Land Rover. In turn, Jean and John Comaroff (2002) mention roads in
contextual terms in their account of the incendiary apocalypse witnessed in South
Africa’s Cape Peninsula. The roads are described as victims of this great fire (since they
are closed to traffic), as the object of pyromaniac desire (it is the case of a rural
roadway), as space for the establishment – in its margins – of camps of settlers from the
rural interior areas (it is the case of the main roads), and as a place for the sale of small
packages of braai wood to mostly suburban, white, and middle class travellers.
Centrality of the vehicle in African social life

29 Gewald et al. (2009, p. 10) address the obvious impact of motorised vehicles in almost all
aspects of African daily life. This makes it all the more intriguing why anthropologists,
during the twentieth century, have disregarded cars and roads as a research focus.
Every social scientist in Africa has experienced being on the streets and roads, waiting
for the bus, a collective taxi, or a Hiace van. In his pioneering work, Kopytoff (1986)
suggests the need of considering the motorised vehicle as a central element of African
social life.
30 As Geest claims, perhaps anthropologists, in their anxiety to discover “the exotic”, have
overlooked those material elements – like the car – which come from the West and are

171
too familiar to their eyes, considering them for this reason little worthy of
anthropological attention. Or perhaps, we might add, motorisation evokes dimensions
of the colonial process that are too terrifying8.
31 Whatever it might be, anthropologists have only recently treated the car in Africa as an
object deserving of their attention. Peace (1988) mentions this absence in his
ethnography about the organisation of transport, the owners of vehicles and the
drivers of a Nigerian village in the north of Lagos. At the same time, he laments that the
analysis of transportation and its economic, legal, and political dimensions, remain
relegated to the domain of economists and geographers.
32 More recently, Klaeger (2009) has claimed that an anthropology of roads must go
beyond the functional perspective (the social impact of the infrastructures, their causes
and the political corollary of their construction) in order to address the
representational aspects: “The study of the semantics of symbols, metaphors and
narratives” (p. 216)9. It results paradoxical that, the car being a means of transportation
as well as a force of power and prestige on a global scale, it has been neglected by
anthropologists in their research. Some years ago, Verrips and Meyer (2001, p. 156)
made a compilation of anthropological literature on cars and motorised driving when
they began their study in this area. They found little material regarding Africa (the
already cited Field, Jordan and Peace), mostly focused in social networks and contact
with passengers, thus confirming the lack of research on the material dimensions of
the car as an object10.
Conclusion
33 Roads condense the global circulation of a society to the extent that they unite one
point with another. At the same time, roads are found between us and between those
two points, allowing for physical and social connections and disconnections. The
presence of roads tends to transform the relations and life of a social group, and all
class of economic, political and cultural processes converge on them. The role of cars
and vehicles for the transportation of people and goods is, in this context, fundamental
to the general history of Africa. In fact, the development of colonisation itself is
inseparable from the development of motorisation and overland communication.
Although Africanist anthropologists and sociologists have not deepened their research
about cars and roads as social phenomena, some of them (beginning with Michel Leiris
in the 1930s) deal with the different dimensions of this phenomena. What has been put
forward, therefore, is a brief overview of those pioneering studies and their
descriptions and representations of the relationships between road, automobile and
society.

172
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The Journal of Imperial and Commonwealth History, 32(1), 1-18.
NOTES
1. This article is the result of a research on the social universe of the Hiace vans in Cape Verde
and how they relate to urban planning, mobility and the anthropology of traffic itself (Horta &
Malet, 2014). Field work was undertaken during the autumns of 2009, 2010, 2011 and 2014.
2. For an analysis of the wide set of social phenomena which transportation encompasses, see:
Ward (1996, p. 52).
3. Previously, the 1923 “Citröen Mission” had crossed the Sahara (Touggourt-Timbuktu) in 21
days. The cars, the wheels of which were reinforced with chains, covered the 1,100 km stretch

179
between In Salah and Tin Zeuaten. In 1924, three cars from the Renault company travelled from
Bechar to Burem, by the river Niger, in six days (Costa Morata, 1978, pp. 94-95).
4. Their survey is almost systematically limited to the literature written in English. This practice
applies to most publications in the Anglo-Saxon context. The Francophone literature shows the
same endocentrism.
5. For an analysis of the motor vehicle in Africa as a generic symbol of colonisation, see: White
(1997) and Alber (1998). There were no cars in the Sahara until 1916, but in 1920 there was
already a remarkable number of cars in Tamanrasset, which played a vital role in the military
subjugation of the population in the Hoggar (Costa Morata, 1978, p. 94).
6. The first major racing championship in Africa – the Méditerranée-Le Cap rally (16,000 km from
north to south) – took place from 1950 up to 1961. From 1953 onwards, several rallies took place
as legs of the world championship: Coronation Safari, Safari, Morocco and Ivory Coast.
7. For a first approach to Angola: Lopes (2009, 2011); Algeria: Boesen & Marfaing (2007); Benin:
Beauving (2004); Burkina Faso: Luning (2009); Cape Verde: Grassi (2003), Dias Furtado (2007),
Malet (2011), Horta (2010, 2013) and Horta & Malet (2014); Ivory Coast: Luzón (1988) and
Wrangham (2004); Ethiopia: Ramos (2010) and Alem (2013); Gabon: Soengas (2009); Ghana: Field
(1960), Dickson (1961), Date-Bah (1980), Geest (1989, 2009), Grieco, App, & Turner (1996),
Akurang-Parry (2001), Verrips & Meyer (2001), Lyon (2007), Asiedu & Agiey (2008), Chalfin (2008,
2010), Klaeger (2009, 2012a , 2012b, 2013), Hart (2011), Ntewusu (2011), Porter (2012) and Stasik
(2013); Kenya: Wainaina (1981), Munguti (1997), Chitere (2004), Kimani, Kibua, & Massinde (2004),
Carrier (2005), Mungai & Samper (2006), Mutongi (2006), Melnick (2010), Ference (2011), Chavis
(2012) and Lamont (2012, 2013); Madagascar: Cole (1998) and Thomas (2002); Mali: Fiori (2010);
Mauritania: Godard (2002), Retaillé (2006), Chenal, Pedrazzini, & Vollmer (2009), Chenal,
Kaufmann, Cissé, & Pedrazzini (2009a, 2009b), Choplin (2009) and Alonso & Nucci (2011);
Mozambique: Chilundo (1992, 1995), Agadjanian (2002) and Nielsen (2012); Namibia: Gewald
(2002); Niger: Masquelier (1992, 2002) and Chilson (1999); Nigeria: Hannerz (1979), Okpala (1980),
Berry (1983, 1985), Afejuku (1988), Lawuyi (1988), Peace (1988), Masquelier (1992, 2002),
Fourchard & Olawalle (2003) and Porter (2012); Senegal: Bredeloup, Bertoncello, & Lombard
(2008), Lombard (2006), Chenal (2009) and Green-Simms (2009); South Africa: Lee (2011, 2012);
Tanzania: Liebnow (1971), Banyikwa (1988) and Rizzo (2002); Zaire: Poutier (1990); Zambia:
Hansen & Vaa (2004), Hansen (2010) and Kalikiti (2010); Central Africa in general: Fairhead (1993),
Giles-Vernick (1996), Fourchard & Olawalle (2003), Hansen (2010), Simone (2004), Coquery-
Vidrovitch (2005), Elouga, Nga Ndongo, & Mebenga Tamba (2006) and Freed (2006), Díaz Olvera,
Plat, e Pochet (2008 and 2010) and Dibwe Dia Mwembu (2009).
8. Evoking the centrality of the canoe among the Trobrianders studied by Bronislaw Malinowski,
Geest (2009, pp. 258-259) highlights that, following the same logic that signifies it (object of
desire and beauty, aimed at the domination of nature, decorated, and an inspiration for stories
and ballads), the car would be the means of transportation that would occupy centrality in Ghana
(and maybe all over the world), claiming the “honour” (we would add) of rising as the central
object of the representations of the global culture (Miller, 2001).
9. As examples of this kind of approach, he mentions the ethnography by Masquelier (2002) in
the Niger’s Route 1 and several articles of a special issue of the journal Theory, Culture and Society
(2004, 21 [4-5]).
10. Verrips and Meyer study the interurban taxis in Ghana – which are called tro-tro and act as
minivan or minihiace – by following the existential trajectory of a driver named Kwaku, in which
we will recognise some parallel features with the social universe of the Hiace vans in Cape Verde:
the little police monitoring of road transportation, the symbolisation of the vehicle by means, for
example, of the slogans written on its front and rear parts, the social respectability of the
business, the mechanical problems of the vehicle, the “lack of sophistication” widespread

180
amongst the repair shops, or the aspiration of many young men to work as drivers because of the
social status that this implies.
ABSTRACTS
This paper is based on 10 months of field work between 2009 and 2014 in Cape Verde, and
provides an overview of the anthropological literature in which motor vehicles and African roads
are studied as social phenomena. Until the end of the twentieth century, most ethnographies
have failed to focus on the countless social processes linked to the development of mobility by
road and the motorisation of transportation in Africa, or on the role played by cars and roads as
symbols of a globalised modernity. The paper reviews the research by authors who, from the
1930s onwards, mention African roads and the use of motor vehicles as spaces in which social
situations and processes take place. The several symbolic and instrumental dimensions of the
motorisation of road transportation in Africa are discussed as well.
Este texto é baseado em 10 meses de trabalho de campo entre 2009 e 2014 em Cabo Verde, e
fornece uma visão geral da literatura antropológica em que os veículos a motor e as estradas
africanas são estudados como fenómenos sociais. Até finais do século XX, a maioria das
etnografias não se focaram nos inúmeros processos sociais ligados ao desenvolvimento da
mobilidade rodoviária e à motorização do transporte em África, ou no papel desempenhado pelos
carros e estradas como símbolos de uma modernidade globalizada. O artigo analisa a pesquisa
realizada por autores que, a partir dos anos 1930, mencionam as estradas africanas e a utilização
de veículos a motor como espaços em que têm lugar situações e processos sociais. São também
abordadas as várias dimensões simbólicas e instrumentais da motorização do transporte
rodoviário em África.
INDEX
Keywords: anthropology of African roads, African mobility, motorisation in Africa
Palavras-chave: antropologia das estradas africanas, mobilidade africana, motorização em
África
AUTHOR
GERARD HORTA
Universitat de Barcelona
Montalegre, 6-8
08001 Barcelona, España
gerardhorta@ub.edu

181
Book reviews
Recensões

182
Augustin Ramazani-Bishwende, Le
Kivu Balkanisé. Miroir d’une
Mondialisation Mafieuse. Paris:
L’Harmattan. 2017. 58 pp. ISBN:
9782-2-343-11796-6
Carlos Alberto Tello
REFERENCIA
Augustin Ramazani-Bishwende, Le Kivu Balkanisé. Miroir d’une Mondialisation Mafieuse.
Paris: L’Harmattan. 2017. 58 pp. ISBN: 9782-2-343-11796-6
1 La obra que se reseña nos presenta, en cinco capítulos condensados (Introducción, El

Kivu y sus Múltiples Retos, El Kivu y sus Múltiples Recursos, Reconstrucción del Kivu
sobre una Base Ética en un Contexto Global, y Conclusión), un panorama de actualidad
sobre la situación que la población local, inmersa en un conflicto inmoral que atenta en
contra de la dignidad humana y su desarrollo social, económico y ambiental,
experimenta.
2 En Introducción, este libro nos proporciona una detallada descripción del magnicidio
que diversos grupos armados nacionales y/o foráneos realizan en contra de la
población local (“les kivutiens”) principalmente en mujeres y niños, con la complicidad
del gobierno congoleño de Kinshasa. El objetivo es la ambición de obtener una rápida
riqueza por parte de las compañías extranjeras que ahí trabajan. El pillaje de los
recursos como los mineros (oro, zinc, estaño, manganeso, uranio, cobalto, diamante,
gas metano, etc.) de la República Democrática del Congo – RDC es altamente
escandaloso en provecho de grupos minoritarios nacionales e internacionales. Este tipo
de acciones daña gravemente a la población y a la economía del país. El autor se
pregunta: ¿qué clase de provincia es la que se les va a heredar a las generaciones

183
futuras, si las actuales no reaccionan a tiempo y solo permanecen cruzadas de brazos

ante tal situación? ¿Una región que bien puede terminar anexada por países vecinos?
3 El Kivu se enfrenta a un desafío importante para su futuro desarrollo según el capítulo
I: el abuso en curso que Ruanda, Uganda, y otros países del área realizan con la
asistencia del actual gobierno del Congo así como de las diferentes facciones rebeldes
que operan dentro de la provincia. En su lugar, esta obra aboga en un primer inciso por
la unidad y prosperidad del Kivu para que este mismo viva en un ambiente de
cooperación y solidaridad con los países citados. Asimismo por un Congo unido que
trabaje conjuntamente con ellos para reforzar la capacidad económica y comercial de
toda la región de los llamados Grandes Lagos así como de la paz. La población del Congo
sufre todavía el peso de un conflicto crónico desde su independencia en provecho de
otros (las poderosas compañías neoliberales). Esta situación exhibe la nueva
recolonización del África subsahariana que pone al descubierto una “mafiáfrica”. El
segundo inciso de este capítulo cuestiona si las oscuras alianzas establecidas con los que
se llevan todas las riquezas de la RDC así como con los asesinos de gente inocente van a
poder conducir finalmente a la liberación de la provincia. Un tercer inciso nos habla del
latente peligro de ver el espacio territorial “kivutien” ocupado por grupos originarios
de Uganda, Ruanda, Burundi para progresivamente terminar anexado por estos países,
perdiendo Kinshasa el poder de soberanía sobre su propio territorio. Todo ese
panorama, aunado a los crímenes perpetrados de tipo sexual, impacta de una forma
muy grave al desarrollo local al reducir la densidad demográfica de la población activa.
El cúmulo de crímenes de origen sexual que se practica en contra de las mujeres golpea
al sistema social y económico, feminiza la pobreza, y arruina a fin de cuentas a todos los
estratos sociales más desfavorecidos de la provincia dado que son precisamente las
mujeres las que mayoritariamente en un 70% se encargan ahí de la agricultura
(economía rural). Esto ocasiona, según el autor, un déficit alimentario de consideración.
4 En el capítulo II se establece que el Kivu no es solamente una región en conflicto sino de
muchas oportunidades de progreso también. La provincia es un lugar de recepción de
corrientes migratorias más positivas dado que es una de las más ricas de la RDC. En ese
sentido el primer apartado dice que desde el siglo XIX se desarrolló un tipo de
economía inter-lacustre (lagos Mobutu, Kivu, y Tangañica), esto es, una economía
agrícola en un espacio comercial integrado que permite procesos de trueque a los
distintos pueblos del área. El Kivu es fértil a causa de su suelo volcánico. Un intenso
comercio se ha dado en ese orden, entre los mismos congoleños y entre ellos y los de
Uganda, Ruanda, y Burundi hasta hoy en día. Igualmente sería muy fácil de
industrializarla dado la existente riqueza mineral, pesquera, y agrícola-ecológica. Bajo
ese panorama, el autor señala que lo único que la provincia necesita es de un apoyo
técnico para luchar en contra de los problemas que la acosan, los cuales destruyen su
cultura, de un apoyo económico para la compra de sus productos. El segundo apartado
informa que en el Kivu existe un pueblo que se identifica como diverso en la unidad de
la cultura bantú-árabe-swahilófona. Esta cultura caracterizada por la unidad, la
solidaridad y el respeto a la vida, es una cultura marcada por un sentido de humanidad
y de lo sagrado. Los “kivutiens” han vivido en su provincia de forma mucho más
pacífica y segura a los crímenes que ellos viven actualmente. Este capítulo indica en un
tercer apartado que su verdadera y auténtica riqueza no se encuentra sin embargo solo
en sus recursos materiales sino en su población. La provincia ha formado y aún forma
grandes intelectuales que han jugado un papel de primer plano en la lucha por la
independencia de la RDC. En el contexto de la globalización actual, las guerras del siglo

184
XXI se ven como guerras de conquista como en los tiempos del Imperio Romano por
recursos de todo tipo.
5 El capítulo III toca al proceso de reconstrucción. En el primero inciso el autor dice que
si bien esta provincia es rica, es también pobre ya que ha sido abandonada por sus
propios hijos. Las personas no solamente se van de ahí por razones de inseguridad y de
conflictos armados sino para buscar mejores oportunidades en términos de empleos,
inversiones, y estabilidad social. La solidaridad social entre los “kivutiens”, el amor por
su lugar de origen, la reconciliación de todos en función del desarrollo, y la justicia son
una alternativa ética y posible para hacer progresar económicamente al Kivu. El
segundo inciso habla de la palabra africana. Según el autor, la palabra africana debe ser
considerada sagrada en los bantú. Por una parte, ella es como una obra de arte que debe
ser utilizada para la coexistencia pacífica; es una fuerza vital para los bantú. La obra
indica que la reconstrucción de la provincia no se hará a base del proteccionismo sino a
base del respeto a los valores éticos de la cultura bantú como lo es la palabra. El autor
en ese sentido afirma que si las compañías multinacionales trabajaran realmente por el
progreso de la humanidad, serían más ricas. Pero es por intereses egoístas y por el
capital, por lo que ellas trabajan. El tercer y último inciso dice que el problema de la
RDC y del Kivu es un problema básicamente de justicia y defensa. La justicia se presenta
como uno de los paradigmas políticos capaces de salvar a la RDC, permitiéndole así
renacer de sus cenizas. La justicia debe entonces integrarse a la dinámica de la política
general de la RDC como un instrumento capaz de guiar la acción del gobierno.
6 En conclusión, el libro que aquí se reseña sostiene que mientras el gobierno no se
renueve con hombres políticos responsables, el Kivu seguirá siendo un campo de
batalla y solo depósito de recursos reservado exclusivamente a otros países. Usando la
invaluable expresión de la palabra, la obra narra de una manera fiel la situación que
prevalece actualmente en la RDC y el Kivu. El autor, con conocimiento de causa,
relaciona apropiadamente dicha situación confrontándola con los valores culturales y
éticos de los locales. Describe de una forma muy fiel el sufrimiento que un capitalismo
neoliberal todavía le impone, con el beneplácito y complicidad del gobierno central de
Kinshasa por medio de una serie de intereses transnacionales, a la población local. Es
un libro en donde el lector puede obtener una imagen rápida del tipo de “desarrollo” si
así se le puede denominar al estatus prevalente de esa región (así como a muchas otras
en África) en la actualidad.
AUTORES
CARLOS ALBERTO TELLO
Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México (UNAM)
Avenida Universidad 3000
Coyoacán, C.P. 04510, Ciudad de México
México
carlos_alberto_tello@hotmail.com

185
Review of the book Of hairy kings

and saintly slaves: An Ethiopian
travelogue, by M. J. Ramos Kaian
Lam
1 Ramos, M. J. (2018). Of hairy kings and saintly slaves: An Ethiopian travelogue (C. J. Tribe,
Trans.). Canon Pyon: Sean Kingston Publishing. 214 pp. ISBN 978-1-907774-19-5
2 Of Hairy Kings and Saintly Slaves: An Ethiopian Travelogue is not what one would expect,
even after attending a book launch1 at which Manuel João Ramos presented an English
rendition of his original Portuguese research2. It is certainly not the typical
anthropological work that younger researchers are familiar with.
3 Ramos’ most recent book is a 4-in-1 symphony, combining excerpts from his travel
diary, letters to a Portuguese weekly, transcriptions of Ethiopian legends from the
Gondar and Lake T’ana region and his very own sketch. The author is careful not to
cause excitement. He adds pepper of self-critique for extra caution. Accordingly, his
sketch is “irrelevant by-product”, “fixer of what is seen” (p. 3), mere “ethnographic
illustrations” that are “not intended to illustrate any particular passage of the text” (p.
6). Nonetheless, the resulting recipe gains new flavours despite its seemingly ordinary
ingredients.
4 As such, readers immerse in Ramos’ travelogue thinking that they are to revisit the so-
called Portuguese heritage in Ethiopia and come out laughing quietly at their own
ignorance. Whether the Portuguese did use eggs to build long-standing churches,
palaces and bridges is secondary; what is fundamental is how royal stories continue to
be told, in what manner, for what impact, by whom and for whom. These narratives are
rich in affirmative sentimentalities in the context of a fragmented Ethiopian society (p.
167), contoured by symbolic appropriations (p. 170) amid religious rivalries (pp.
177-178, 196). Such is the pleasure of reading at ease an academic “text” in disguise.
5 There are several other characteristics that make Of Hairy Kings and Saintly Slaves stand
out. To begin with, Ramos should be complimented on the ingenious title. Finding the
“hairy kings” on the one hand and the “saintly slaves” on the other generates curiosity

186
in someone new to Ethiopian motifs, who finds the solutions in the second half of the
book (pp. 127, 176). All around the world, collections of oral traditions tend to be
published in a similar fashion – thick, black and white volumes with little to no
explanatory note. Ramos’ book is different in that it contains different versions of
several stories of major Ethiopian figures, reinterpreted and reinvented. For this
reason, it is tremendously rewarding to compare the oral history of generations of
kings as told by Ato Wale (p. 119), Liqa Hiruyan (p. 125), Qes Asmeche (p. 128), etc. More
than just repeating and recycling old epics (pp. 180, 187), they reimagine and repower
the lore of Ethiopia. The author suggests possible explanations for the paradoxes and
inconsistencies, helping readers to understand Ethiopian oral tradition. Instead of
simply transcribing what tradition keepers transmit, he compares, instigates and
juxtaposes the information, and he explains the discrepancies and implications for
Ethiopian studies. We aim to demystify the complex world of words and the complex
words of the world, for “[w]hat is important is that we can remember (and then forget)
that reality in Ethiopia is often merely a secondary function of fiction” (p. 49).
Appreciation is needed for sem-na werq, meaning “wax and gold”, or “poetry and
metaphor” (p. 69). People recount their stories so as to understand and assign meaning
to their heritage. It should also be mentioned that the book is well-translated,
evidenced by the select vocabulary and brightness of tone. This is the result of the
collaborative work of a group of language workers (p. 7). In the process of translating
old epics, legends and folktales, a lot of the original expressions and local concepts are
maintained3. Following normal editing practices, the pages containing drawings are not
numbered because of their secondary, illustrative nature. The drawings are inserted
afterwards. In this case, though, it is felt that the sketches are an integral part, without
which the book would be very different. Meanwhile, it is difficult to review visuals
because, first, one is not taught to do so in graduate school and, secondly, it challenges
some of the “scientific” and “positivist” assumptions held by academics. Through
Ramos’ sketch, people come to life, with radiant faces, accentuated expressions, agile
movements and captivating mannerism. The depicted scenes are not only alluringly
nostalgic, but also provocatively modern.
6 Despite the above-mentioned merits, this Ethiopian travelogue has some room for
improvement. For starters, as Ramos himself readily admits, there is no direct
connection between the sketch and the text. This may not be a problem for an expert
reader; however, someone who reads in order to begin to learn about Ethiopia will
enjoy the sketch but will not be able to understand the subtleties and, perhaps, humour
and satire (pp. 58, 60, 72). Exceptionally, the illustrations could have been numbered
and arranged in a way that is more reader-friendly, for example, by subject or theme,
with adequate labels and titles. If there were more internal coherence and dialogue
between the different parts of the book, the reading experience would be significantly
enhanced. It should be pointed out that the textual-visual combination involves
interlingual and intersemiotic translations simultaneously and compensates for some
of the losses in translation. Considering the short conclusion, in the form of a final note
(pp. 195-198), it is felt that more could be said about anthropology at a time when this
discipline is facing serious identity crises. In the current competitive academic
environment, be it cultural anthropology, social anthropology or visual anthropology,
the concern is that anthropology faces competition from other disciplines, which
recruit more young talents, publish more intensively and seem to respond to
contemporary challenges more eloquently. Of Hairy Kings and Saintly Slaves swims

187
between the social sciences, humanities and the arts. While today’s students are taught
to view anthropology as a scientific pursuit, scholars used to work on broader
humanistic bases. Agreeing that sketch forms part of anthropological work, Ramos
demonstrates a more humanistic way of conducting research. Can some of these
practices be recuperated, and what are the implications?4 And if visual methods relate
to our understandings of the place, people and interaction in fieldwork, can we be
creative and participatory without forsaking the very essence of anthropological
studies? Additionally, it would be interesting to know what audience Ramos had in
mind when preparing his book for publication. He could have thought of his academic
colleagues – especially in anthropology, history, oral tradition and religious studies –
but neither the language nor the style is typically academic. The author could have
considered urban/cosmopolitan Ethiopians and those in the diaspora who wish to learn
about their heritage. Or did he mean to introduce Ethiopian studies to a wider
international public with little prior knowledge but an eagerness to learn about
Ethiopia?
7 By and large, Ramos’ latest book strikes the right balance between scholarly quality
and popular appeal. It is a welcome addition to the current corpus of literature.
8 1. This English version of the book was presented at Leituras do Mundo, on 10 December
2018, in the library of ISCTE - University Institute of Lisbon (https://cei.iscte-iul.pt/
eventos/evento/leituras-do-mundo-7/).
9 2. A Portuguese edition was published some years ago – Ramos, M. J., Histórias Etíopes,
Lisboa, Edições Tinta-da-China, 2010.
10 3. For Christopher J. Tribe’s own description of his translation strategy, read, for
example, “Notes on the English Translation” (2011), in I. Boavida, H. Pennec, & M. J.
Ramos (Eds.), Pedro Páez’s History of Ethiopia, 1622, Vol. I (trans. C. J. Tribe), London,
Hakluyt Society, pp. 53-55.
11 4. Ramos, M. J., & Azevedo, A. (2016), “Drawing close: On visual engagements in
fieldwork, drawing workshops and the anthropological imagination,” Visual
Ethnography, 5(1), 135-160.
12 Kaian Lam
13 University Institute of Lisbon (ISCTE-IUL)
14 Lisbon, Portugal
15 Ka_Ian_Lam@iscte-iul.pt

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Cadernos de Estudos Africanos, 37 | 2019

Street children: the loving family’s other?

Cadernos de Estudos Africanos, 37 | 2019

Cadernos de Estudos Africanos, 37 | 2019