The Economist February 20th 2021 Middle East & Africa 39a success, he will have to show zeal and
steel in pursuit of big-time human-rights
abusers. George Kegoro, the executive di-
rector of the Kenya Human Rights Com-
mission, an ngo, has doubts. He called the
appointment a “major reversal” for inter-
national justice and warned that it would
“break the court”. Mr Khan’s first challenge
will be to provide the necessary assurance
that the iccwill be able to protect future
whistle-blowers who testify against mur-
derous bigwigs after the killing of Meshack
Yebei, a witness in Mr Ruto’s case, whose
mutilated body was found in 2015.
It would be unreasonable to expect Mr
Khan to win over all his critics. But he
could make a start at rebuilding trust in the
iccby looking at its past failures. Some Ke-
nyan prosecution witnesses who remain
anonymous today still worry that their
lives could be at risk if they were ever iden-
tified. “Everyone involved in that process
is very worried,” says Mutula Kilonzo ju-
nior, a Kenyan senator and lawyer. Beefing
up the court’s protection programmes to
allay these fears ought to be Mr Khan’s first
step. Only by looking backwards can he
hope to ensure that future witnesses are
able to testify with confidence.
Tree trade
Coconut shy
T
he islandof Zanzibar has more than
4m coconut trees, and each one has an
owner, says Viliai Farahani, a local chief
known as a “sheha”. It is his responsibility
to remember who owns every tree in and
around his village. Standing outside his
bungalow, he squints in the sun and points
to a swaying palm in the distance. “That
one belongs to Hamishim Shamba,” he
says, “and that small one over there be-
longs to Hamisi Makami.” A man known as
Haji Mucha used to own a cluster of trees to
the east of the village, he explains, but he
died and passed them on to his daughter.
That is not unusual. In Zanzibar, the
largest island in a semi-autonomous ar-
chipelago off the coast of Tanzania, coco-
nut palms (and other fruit trees) are hand-
ed down through generations. Whereas all
land is owned by the government and may
only be leased for up to 99 years, fruit trees
can be bought and sold. A withered mango
tree on the edge of a road might well be a
family heirloom. Coconut trees are the
most plentiful and the most useful. Coco-
nuts are the second most important cash
crop, after cloves. Islanders also use the
leaves to thatch roofs.
But Zanzibaris’ tradition of passing on
trees also makes it complicated for new-
comers to lease land. Sometimes they ne-
gotiate leases that include the fruit trees on
the land, in which case it becomes the gov-
ernment’s job to compensate the tree own-
ers. If the trees are excluded, the new lease-
holders may be landed with a headache. Al-
though it is relatively easy to acquire a
beachside plot and a permit to build on it,
it can take years to identify and pay off the
owners of every single coconut tree.
“When we leased the land we started
noticing these little trees growing,” says
Joyce Nyambura Boswell, a Kenyan hotel
owner. “The girls went and sat under them,
and somebody came and said, ‘Hey, this is
my tree. The land belongs to you but the
tree is mine.’” Soon more tree magnates
turned up, each demanding payment. For
three years people squabbled over who
owned the 50-odd coconut trees on the
land. Sometimes Ms. Boswell ended up
paying three times for one arboreal asset.
Luckily they were cheap: about $30 each.
In the past 15 years the cost of land in
Zanzibar has rocketed, and so has that of
trees. “People can demand all they want if
it’s prime land,” reflects one hotel manager
in the beachside town of Bwejuu. Mr Fara-
hani reckons that a coconut tree on a
stretch of Zanzibar’s most desirable
ground could now go for up to $2,000.
Resorts are springing up near Zanzi-
bar’s white-sand beaches to cater for tour-
ists, mostly from Russia. Their number
was growing rapidly before the pandemic.
Some people grumble that these develop-
ments risk ruining a magnificent coast-
line. But in the short run, at least impover-
ished locals are making good profits off
their ransom trees. They have realised they
can get richer by selling their trees to hote-
liers than by flogging overpriced coconuts
to tourists on the beach. ZANZIBAR
Why palm trees are driving property
moguls nuts
Climbing the property ladderAngola’s economyOil, toil and spoils
J
osé eduardo dos santosruled Angola
for 38 years. During his presidency Ango-
la fought an on-off civil war that ended in
2002, just as an oil boom was starting. As
the price of black gold soared, Luanda, the
capital, became one of the world’s most ex-
pensive cities, a place where developers
imported palm trees from Miami and mel-
ons cost $100 each. Though most of the
country lives on less than $2 per day, big-
wigs in the ruling party, the mpla, stashed
billions of dollars abroad.
By the time João Lourenço took over in
2017, the oil boom was over. The former de-
fence minister pledged to clean house and
overhaul the economy. The Angolan leader
can point to some successes. But pro-
longed hardship and public scepticism
about his anti-graft efforts are raising
doubts about his ability to reform one of
sub-Saharan Africa’s largest economies.
How he fares will depend partly on Vera
Daves de Sousa. At 37 she has been alive for
less time than Mr dos Santos was presi-
dent. The youngest finance minister in
Africa—and one of just three women—
took the role in October 2019, months be-
fore covid-19 hit the fragile economy.
Hers is a monumental task. Oil ac-
counts for nearly all of Angola’s exports
and two-thirds of government revenues.
Low prices and declining production have
brought a collapse in gdp and soaring
debts. gdpper person is almost a quarter
lower than in 2014. The imfestimates that
debt repayments due in 2020 exceeded
government revenues and that the ratio of
public debt to gdpreached 134%. It is likely
that 2021 will be the sixth consecutive year
in which the economy shrinks.
Angola has, however, recently gained
some “breathing space”, Ms Daves de Sousa
says. Its key talks have been on a “case by
case” basis with Chinese lenders, she says.
From 2000 to 2018 Angola received almost
30% of all loans from China to African gov-
ernments (see chart on next page). Today
$20bn—roughly half of Angola’s external
debt—is owed to Chinese lenders; $15bn of
that is owed to the China Development
Bank. It and another large Chinese creditor
have agreed that Angola can delay princi-
pal repayments until mid-2023. These
deals will “deliver substantial cash-flow
savings” in the short term, says the imf.
The fund, which has since 2018 agreed
to lend $4.5bn to Angola, is also encour-
aged by the country’s fiscal policies. MsJOHANNESBURG
João Lourenço’s reforms please the
imf. What about Angolans?