Suddenly, bad African leaders are under the torch of public scrutiny: George Clooney is arrested while trying to draw attention to Sudan’s president Bashir. Former Kenyan ministers Uhuru Kenyatta and Willam Ruto are on trial at the International Criminal Courts in the Hague. Blogs and websites are teeming with criticisms of Museveni in Uganda, who is being slated for many reasons: massacres against the Bunyara and Achioli people, and generally letting his country slide into “Big Man” rule. The king of Swaziland has faced renewed criticism for siphoning off the sugar taxes for his own use, (after lobbyists demanded Coca-cola revisited their activities there, since they were effectively propping up a dictatorship). Piracy and despotic warlords in the Indian Ocean are big news. The EU is upping the resources and naval might to counter piracy in the East Coast of Africa and now considering land strikes too.

Perhaps most visible Joseph Kony.  The leader of the Lord´s Resistance Army (LRA). The short web film Kony2012 was been watched more than 100 million times in a week, (presumably mainly in the Western world, given the pathetic internet connections for most of us here). After Osama Bin Laden, Kony’s probably now the best known baddie in the world.

Millions responded to the call earlier this month to share the video, upload a personal response, or buy an “action kit”. A clear marketing success, apparently. At the same time, a Kony2012 screening in Lira in northern Uganda provoked outrage among thousands of spectators. The victims of Kony in Northern Uganda dismiss the project as humiliating and incorrect – a campaign at the expense of the people it claims to help.

This is not good. There is a real, and serious, grievance with ‘Western Paternalism’. Why were the makers of Kony 2012 not able to show it to the people it was supposed to help, before it went out on You Tube? Dialogue is wonderful, criticism, and the method of “shaming” leaders into change a valuable strategy, but there must be more equality. The conversation must be more two –way.

There’s nothing new about Kony, or the Lord’s Resistance Army, (LRA) or child soldiers. Though he’s left now, he was in Uganda for 26 years. International NGO’s (responding to work with their sister organisations locally) have been talking about these issues for over fifteen years.  Today, eight years after abandoning northern Uganda, the LRA’s depleted band of a couple of hundred barefoot fighters is now somewhere in the borderlands between the Democratic Republic of Congo, South Sudan and Central African Republic. According to the “LRA Crisis Tracker” they have killed 98 civilians in the last 12 months and abducted 477.

The reason why Kony, and other crap African leaders are suddenly interesting for media in the Global North, is frankly a bit of a mystery for those of us who live here in Africa. Do issues only become important when the Global North decides so? Or when ‘White Messiahs’ living away from the messy complexities and loyalties of African life decide they can save us? As the Kony debate shows there are already many people and organisations established, connected, familiar and good at what they do here on the ground. Support them. Don’t start up new ones.

Frank, fierce and honest debate is needed, power-crazed maniacal leaders need challenging, bad democracies and weak civil societies do need changing and improving. If we don’t know how, or are too scared to complain, monitor, or just check on our leaders, or the legal structures and public media don’t exist, we can’t do it. A well-funded independent media, and constant discussion between Africa and Europe/USA is needed, but how about responding to what we are already doing, supporting existing efforts, and not barging in with all the ‘answers?’

Listen to what the people who live here are saying, and let the Global South, Africans, steer the debate. Women’s Civil Society Groups in Uganda have launched the “Kony2012 campaign, Blurring Realities”, and issued this statement  :

” We have watched the campaign video and we believe that at the present time, it is out of context regarding the real issues of the conflict in Uganda. We therefore want to draw the world’s attention to the issues that we believe are of importance to the sufferers and survivors of this conflict.

For the last twenty six years, a lot has been done by different stakeholders in Uganda including the women’s movement, human rights organisations, academics, international development partners and bilateral agencies, in response to the atrocities of the Lord’s Resistance Army. The government of Uganda made an effort to end this war through the Juba peace process. …It is therefore not correct to say that nothing has been done in the last 26 years.

Some of the work by the civil society movement includes supporting the reconstruction efforts for the victims, and advocating to hold the government of Uganda accountable while working towards ending the conflict. …. While the idea of this campaign against the LRA leader Joseph Kony is welcome, the steam it has created overshadows the real concerns of the sufferers and survivors of this conflict in Uganda. Many former child soldiers and former abductees, women and girls, are now struggling with so many challenges such as reproductive health problems, post traumatic stress disorders, food insecurity and livelihood support among others. Due to war, there are many infrastructural challenges facing the entire population, and health problems like the nodding disease now affecting children in North and North Eastern Uganda. Capturing or killing Kony however does not put an end to the suffering of these survivors immediately.

We do realise that a lot of money has been/may be raised through this campaign dubbed Kony 2012. As the women’s movement, we believe that the biggest percentage of this fundraising should be used to support the various recovery efforts mentioned above.”

What kind of success is a film whose intended “beneficiaries” would rather do without?

As Elmi Mohammed Waare ambled through an outdoor market in the central Somali town of Beledweyne in December 2007, two casually-dressed, non-descript members of the  Al-Shabaab militia group abruptly blocked his path. He had been threatened twice before in anonymous phone calls. The face-to-face confrontation was forthcoming.

“They said ‘you know what you have done. You have insulted us. We are giving you the last warning. You must leave the city in seven days or be killed’,” Waare recalled.

As a radio journalist in his hometown of Beledweyne, Waare, now 26 years old, reported on the policy initiatives of the former provincial governor at the time that Al-Shabaab was gaining momentum. Now notorious for the brutality afflicted on central and southern Somalis for the past five years, the militant group violently muzzled dissent and objective media coverage as it accumulated power.

“Three days later I left. I did not tell many people I was leaving because I could be intercepted,” said Waare, from his temporary home in the Eastleigh district of Nairobi, Kenya. “Even when I was leaving, I left the city hiding.”

Waare’s story epitomises the experiences of dozens of Somali and regional journalists forced into exile by government and militia repression and threats posed by conflict. Kenya is the preferred destination for journalists in East Africa and the Horn of Africa region facing adverse conditions. “Compared to its neighbors, Kenya is relatively welcoming. There are fewer security issues here,” said Neela Ghoshal, Human Rights Watch Africa researcher based in Nairobi. “People also don’t have a great fear that Kenyan security is in league with security forces from neighbouring countries.”

According to US based Committee to Protect Journalists, Kenya ranks second to the United States among global destinations for exiled journalists, harbouring at least 66 members of the media. Those forced to flee are overwhelmingly from neighbouring countries such as Somalia, Ethiopia, Uganda and Rwanda. In those countries, state and militia suppression of independent and objective media is endemic.

“Kenya has a robust media. We really have to appreciate the change in media landscape since [current President Mwai] Kibaki came to power,” said CPJ Africa consultant Tom Rhodes, while conceding some press freedom issues remain in the country, mostly relating to media monopoly, political influence and isolated incidents of intimidation and violence against journalists.

Kenya represents a beacon of regional press freedom, and the majority of regional journalists are able to continue to work in the media field without harassment. Independent press, according to Rhodes, is only one of many reasons journalists flock to Kenya. “Like in any country, refugees look for their own kind. This is especially true for Somalis here.”

There is also a strong, if overburdened, United Nations presence in Kenya. They lend critical assistance to refugees throughout the region.

There are many exiled journalists currently residing here,  and Somali journalists in particular have networks to vent frustration and design a path forward.

But life in Nairobi is by no means glamorous. Waare and other exiled journalists face cultural adversity and minimal employment opportunities. The overwhelming Somali Eastleigh district where Waare resides is plagued by government neglect. Roads are derelict, property is vulnerable to intrusion and subject to skyrocketing inflation. For Waare, however, the most distressing aspect of life here is the time he wastes unemployed and inactive,  and unable to  provide for his wife and children back in Somalia.

“I haven’t paid any bills for my family. I sleep and I wake up. Then I go to mosque and I go home,” said Waare. “I do nothing else. Life now is very difficult. I’m fed up with this situation.”

After spending more than three years in Kenya illegally, Waare currently holds a UNHCR refugee mandate and a Kenyan refugee status certificate. He now shares a miniscule room with two other Somalis in a concrete slab building. His sister provides food and his $35 monthly rent from money her Somali-American husband sends her.

In Somalia, Waare was employed with Voice of America and other local media outlets. After arriving in Kenya, he had a brief stint with Frontier FM, a Somali language station that broadcasts in Nairobi and throughout Kenya’s Northeast province. Now, with no means of income, he is constantly plotting his return to Beledweyne.

That prospect is arguably more attainable now than it has been at any point since Waare’s departure. Suffering from a concerted international military and diplomatic offensive, Al-Shabaab is now at its most debilitated state in years. After an initial foray into Somalia in January, Ethiopian troops ousted the militant group from several major urban centers near the border and now occupy Beledweyne. Although the Ethiopians have imposed strict curfews and local economies are in shambles, life may be on the path towards peace.

“The Ethiopian presence there is a good thing. But the menace is still there. They are hiding,” said Waare.

Ethiopia is ostensibly fighting alongside Kenyan and African Union peacekeepers that support Somalia’s Transitional Federal Government (TFG). Tom Rhodes says stronger TFG control in southern and central Somalia may lead to enhanced media freedom.

“There was zero independent reporting under Al-Shabaab. Potentially there will be more press freedom if the TFG takes greater control,” said Rhodes. “The TFG on the surface seems more sympathetic to the press. We see signs it is investigating murder cases of journalists that took place last year.”

Nonetheless, Somalia remains the most oppressive media environment across the globe. According to the CPJ, four of the 13 journalists killed internationally in 2012 have been Somali. Fortunately Waare escaped the war-torn country unscathed and his flight was less traumatic than some. One colleague of his tried to reach South Africa overland but was detained in a Tanzanian jail for seven months for illegal entry. His health, according to Waare, was in an abysmal state upon his release.

Other colleagues tried to begin new lives in Ethiopia but failed due to the harsh conditions. As difficult as life appears to be for Waare, Kenya has  provided him the best opportunity available.

“There is no freedom of expression in Ethiopia. Some of my friends have gone to Ethiopia and they say you can’t live as a journalist there. Its not allowed,” he said. “That’s not the case in Kenya.”

Brian Dabbs is a journalist based in Nairobi, Kenya. He writes for The Atlantic, World Politics Review and Think Africa Press, among other publications.

Over 70 per cent of East Africa’s population lives in rural communities: despite the proliferation of radio stations, weekly and daily newspapers, and television stations, in Tanzania alone there are 17 radio stations, 61 national papers and 11 state and private TV stations. In Kenya and Uganda there are even more media outlets but despite this, and even though ‘freedom of information’ is being enshrined in constitutions (in Kenya and Tanzania), there are major challenges to free speech and accessing information.

Mwalimu Asya Mgongo is one of three teachers on the island of Chole Mjini, total population 950 people. Like many East Africans lucky enough to have a job, her monthly 120,000 TZ shillings (£45) teacher’s salary supports eight family members. She is listening to her phone as she sits on ‘the harbour’: a small slab of concrete overlooking the Indian Ocean, her  headscarf covering her head — this is a 100 per cent Muslim island. “For me getting the information to teach my children really is a problem — Dar Es Salaam is over 12 hours away by boat, local bus and another bus. Books! You’re joking! They’re gold here. The government gives us text books, but there’s no postal system, and the even the newspapers arrive a day late, if they arrive, so there’s little point. I do have a radio, I listen to the BBC World Service and the German one, and I try and tell as many people as possible”. She looks out to sea a bit dreamily: “Internet, being able to get BBC news daily on the internet, I would love that.”

Her sentiments are echoed by Mama Dayema and Mama Mahogo, both cooks at the local Chole Mjini eco-lodge on the island, which, over the 20 years of its existence, has single-handedly raised the levels of education on the island by building a primary school and funding up to eleven people to go to university — a first for the island. Mama Dayema is clear about what information is missing from their lives: “We tend to rely on taxi drivers (on the sister Mafia island, a ten minute boat ride away) for information on staples like maize, rice, cooking oil. We’d really like to be able to chat to the guests in English. I am the only villager on the island with solar power, which I found out about through information from foreigners. The key is education, completely: my children need to get ahead and know how the world is, even if I don’t. We are cut off, ignored actually, by mainland government, and policies, but in some ways I don’t mind. We have abundant fruits — oranges, mangoes, and real trust here, we look after each other. On the mainland (Tanzania) there’s thieves, diseases, adulterers, bad people.”

Salma Meremeta left Mafia, for work in the capital; “Honestly we are isolated and abandoned here, the government doesn’t care about us one bit — when I come home I am shocked by the lack of information here, it’s bad.”

Certainly for tourists the island is as close to paradise as it gets, and the isolation a “feature” of the attraction. However, it’s a recognised problem that rural people, particularly women, are marginalised from the creation, circulation and consumption of information. Ironically rural people are often far more critical, and vociferous about political policy issues (water and the price of basics) because they are living so close to the breadline. Yet media houses and reporters are based in capitals like Kampala and Nairobi, and infrastructure — lack of good roads and the expense of flying — makes distribution of newspapers extremely expensive (thus impossible). It is rare for reporters to get the resources, support and incentives to report on “rural” issues.

On Chole Mjini island (which is 250km south of Dar Es Salaam, Tanzania, 1.5 square km wide, in the middle of the Indian ocean) the main public space in the village is dominated by a television hooked up to one of the two electricity points on the island. Football results and news are the popular crowd-pleasers. Up to two hundred men at a time pay 200 TZ shillings (ten pence) to watch for the evening; for 100 TZ shillings they can also charge their phones. As Saidi, says “It’s not really ok for women to be in public watching television. But we are an oral culture, so for example things like health messages (recently the US government donated mosquito nets to the island) don’t get spread on tv on radio, but by word of mouth. Or by the Imam at the call to prayer. We’re extremely forgiving and compassionate here, as a Muslim culture, so our sick people, we have two HIV victims, they are looked after by us, they are not ostracised. If we feel our sheha’s (Chiefs) are being unreasonable or unfair, we ignore them, or get rid of them. The island is so small there’s a sort of democracy. Go to the mainland? Me! No, never, I love it here”.

Figures for east African internet useage are not entirely accurate, but according to survey group Afrobarometer Tanzania scores the lowest, with just one per cent of the population having access to internet, . On Chole Mjini no-one has a computer, thus there is no internet access.  Mama Dayema’s daughter, Mwana, is a striking, educated 24 year old with her mobile phone neatly wrapped in a flannel and tucked into her bra. She is ambivalent “Yes, I suppose part of me is interested in the fact that slavery was only abolished here in 1922, or the Shirazi Persians built palaces here in the past, but honestly I am more interested in modern things, like music and fashion from Dar Es Salaam, or football results, not history.”

One of the downsides of lack of information is the prevalence of gossip. People pick up snippets of news, but it gets mangled through the rumour mill. It’s telling that despite the lack of media in Swahili there is no concrete way to say “I am bored”.

On 9 January, in a bizarre move, at least 10 radio stations, including BBC Radio, Radio France International (local relay channels), and the Italian Embassy’s security radio channel were taken off the air by the police in an on-going crackdown over the alleged illegal use of equipment and facilities belonging to state broadcaster, Uganda Broadcasting Corporation (UBC). The radio stations lease relay equipment from the state’s masts, and there is considerable murkiness about how they got access, and whether they are being paid for. It may have cost the broadcaster as much as Shs 392 million (US $163 thousand). This is all amidst the scandal and confusion of the Uganda Broadcasting Companies possibly illegal acquisition of land. Smokescreen maybe?

The police crackdown, which began last year, brings the number of stations switched off the air to 11, and occurrs amidst a general tightening up of the Museveni regime. This month another journalist, Emmanuel Opio, was allegedly beaten up, his camera confiscated and the photos from his camera deleted by a senior police officer. His case has reached the desk of the Uganda Human Rights Commission (UHRC). Additionally, the new Public Order Bill, debated in parliament before Christmas, significantly limits the rights to protest. With Museveni’s increasingly top heavy cabinet of over 70 ministers, some of the lowest annual incomes in the continent, and increasingly tighter control of the country, it’s not looking good.

In East Africa, Homosexuality and lesbianism is totally taboo. At best the  the attitude is to ignore homosexuality, at worst, there are deaths, “corrective rape” of lesbians in South Africa, and communities vilifying and occasionally killing gay citizens.

‘We’ve been together for 15 years,’ says Amina*, 35, married with two children, adjusting her burkhah and niquab.  She is fully veiled; only her mobile phone, customised with trinkets and baubles, hint at individuality. ‘We knew each other from school,’ says Amina. ‘I courted her slowly,  watched her, gave her clues with my eyes, sent her SMS (text) messages, brought her gifts, oud (perfume, usually jasmine or frankinsense). It was, and is, really important it’s secret; we meet only in my bedroom, I would bring shame on my family if they knew.’

Although lesbianism is not actually illegal on Zanzibar, it’s taken over six months of Chinese whispers to set this interview up. The deal is that it has to be done in private, in a place far from any interviewees neighbourhoods, and in the middle of the day, with no real names or photos. And yet, ironically, anyone with an interest in lesbianism will happily tell you it’s everywhere here in Zanzibar, an island off the coast of Tanzania in East Africa.

At  Raju; the only gay and lesbian bar on the island, the atmosphere is staid. Everyone is seated, the atmosphere quiet and the women older, some in burkahs, many dressed to the nines in glittering dresses and low necklines. There are couples, some women in matching clothes, but no outward displays of affection. There are no exclusively lesbian clubs, bars, cafés, no social or political associations offering support, counselling and social networks for lesbians, nor gays at all in Zanzibar or Tanzania. Women and men rely on secrecy and  international internet sites for information and support. Tanzania is slightly more accommodating than our neighbour Uganda, where gay citizens risk death or imprisonment if a recently-revived Bill becomes law.

Across the African continent homophobia seems to be burgeoning: both ideologically, and violently. Barak Obama said this week he is deeply alarmed by the treatment of lesbian, gays and transgender people, and will be looking at linking aid with the treatment of  lesbian and gay citizens. This is important as many NGO’s here ignore homophobia and are actively conservative, preaching against the use of condoms in a bizarre leap of logic between abstinence and heterosexuality. Condoms, for many here. gives permission to people to sleep around, including having gay (male) sex. The reaction of the Ugandan Presidential Advisor, John Nagenda —  “If the Americans think the can tell us what to do, they can go to hell” —  is not, sadly, unique, or unusual (though Malawi did announce today that it will review it’s anti-gay laws).

And David Cameron’s sentiments, whilst worthy, do not really bear scrutiny — there are no Lesbian, Gay or Transgender projects supported by DFID here on the continent anyway.

In Nigeria, where homosexuality is already illegal,  a new bill has been approved that will imprison for 10 years “Any person who registers, operates or participates in gay clubs, societies and organisation, or directly or indirectly make public show of same sex amorous relationship in Nigeria”. Nigerian Lesbian activist Osazeme O speaks for many when she says “ The bill is a distraction. There are so many other things our government could be doing right now Nigeria, people here are concerned with, ‘Will I have light when I get home? Will I have running water?’ Things like that. If we open this gate to this kind of discrimination, what next?”

A common perception here is that it’s illegal under Islam or that gay people are indoctrinated or “Westernised”. Homosexuality is “unnatural” and a threat to social, moral and cultural values. With the exception of South Africa, where lesbians and gays are the cultural emblem of liberal, party-loving Cape Town, and global ambassadors for all kinds of radical HIV activism and arts work, much of Africa has a long way to go. South Africa is the only country on the continent that has a group of active, out HIV positive gay men, who do much to uncover the hypocrisy of the homophobia present.

The rise of Pentacostal and Evangelical churches, (with active strong  links to the USA) here in East Africa has seen a growing intolerance of gays and lesbians, which is associated with Westernism, paedophilia, sodomy, insanity and colonialism. The Muslim mosques and Christian churches in East Africa are vociferously, and often violently, against gays and lesbians. Workshops are held to “make people straight”. It’s even regarded as a mental illness. Variously associated with witchcraft, “shetani” (evil spirits), being “Kafir” (a non-believer, an infidel) or anti-culture, homosexuality is not just a sexual preference, it’s a lifestyle that can cost your life.

Anecdotally, many men and  women in Tanzania and Zanzibar are killed by the Askari Jamani (a vigilante community police force) for having same sex affairs: This is not even considered newsworthy, so accepted is it.

When a local Zanzibar radio phone-in recently tackled this thorny issue of lesbianism, only one caller over five hours had anything positive to say, and she was a Kenyan lesbian. In South Africa the “corrective rape” of lesbian women has received media attention.

But the evidence of lesbianism and gays in Africa is centuries old. The chronicles of the Ibo in Nigeria, the Kouria in Tanzania, members of the Sudanese elite — all feature lesbians. And in Zanzibar, where strict segregation of men and women is the norm, there are plenty of places where people meet illicitly for sex: hair salons, each other’s homes, after the mosque. Massage in hair salons is very common here, and one thing often leads to another…

One completely culturally specific perk of being gay on Zanzibar, Lamu and other Tanzanian coastal areas, is that an older lesbian lover brings status, security and respect.

According to Fatima*, “Older, strong women, with good jobs, salaries and status, often take younger lesbian ‘wives’. They support the younger woman with food, social connections and help getting work, and in return, there’s sex involved. But we would NEVER call it lesbianism; it’s just one of those things in Zanzibar. We were colonised by the Persians and the Omanis; lesbianism is in these Arab cultures — look at the poems — but it’s behind closed doors. Behind the veil, if you like! We are socially isolated, we are teased, talked about, but I don’t care, I am strong.”

Maryam* is a prominent artist and civil servant. She says she’s happy to be seen as lesbian when she travels abroad to America and Europe, but would never dream of being out in Zanzibar. She organises the women’s football team that plays in Zanzibar’s main football ground. It’s a place where lesbian women meet. The team are a collection of women playing football in full hijab. Only “Father” is dressed like a man: she’s an out transgender woman, and has relationships with women. “I am able to marry women because really I am a man. I know I am, they know I am, so it’s ok. It’s not wasagaji,” she explains, using the local perjorative slang term for lesbianism — it means grinding. So here’s the rub; anything goes, as long as you keep up heterosexual appearances.

Women’s sexual pleasure is a completely taboo subject, although it wasn’t in the 50s and 60s, when Zanzibar was “the Paris of Africa”. Older Zanzibari women recall the “kibuki” and “kidumbak” – highly secretive nocturnal rituals from which men are excluded. The kabuki is a spiritual invocation for sexual power and attractiveness. Over copious cups of konyagi (the local gin), women harness the mystical power of female sexuality. The kidumbak is a night-long event of overtly sexual music, seduction techniques and dances, where women mimic  explicit sexual positions with each other.

Through the grapevine, I speak to a lesbian Taarab singer, Khadija Buruma*. She tries to explain the contradiction to me. “We live in an intensely private and secretive society, where gossip is everything. If you are public about being a lesbian then you bring shame on yourself and all your family and neighbours, it’s completely un-Zanzibari. But if you do it in private, or at a Taarab, no-one really cares. You need to keep your reputation  and ‘face’ in order to function in society – deal with the government, do business. The only other people who know if you are lesbian are at the Taarab or kibuki too, and they won’t talk. They can’t take the risk of being called lesbians too.”

Uganda’s outrageous Anti-Homosexuality Bill was rejected last year in parliament, and with the death of activist David  Kato in January 2011, for a brief moment the issue hit the global press. However since October 2011 there are moves to reinvigorate it: in Uganda gay citizens repeatedly caught having sex face execution, while people “who touch each other in a gay way” could be jailed. The death penalty will apply automatically if one partner is under 18, has a disability or is HIV-positive. This punitive and regressive law seems to reflect the feelings of many in Uganda and the surrounding countries; there’s a shocking disconnect between what people in this part of the world do behind closed doors and what they will admit to in public.