40 Middle East and Africa The EconomistFebruary 3rd 2018
12 little interest in quelling insecurity. Fully
90% of Mali’s population is in the south, as
is most of the economy, which is domin-
ated by goldmining.
A presidential election is due to be held
this year and is occupying the incumbent,
Ibrahim Boubacar Keïta, far more than in-
security. Mr Keïta has faced protests, but
not chiefly over the war: corruption allega-
tions sting more. When the Malian army,
which is recruited almost entirely in the
south, does try to fight, it is often brutal,
which helps armed groups recruit.
As long as the state remains so ineffec-
tive, Western countries find themselves
pushing on a string. According to one re-
port by the International Crisis Group, an
NGObased in Brussels, G5 Sahel soldiers
“are spending longer in training and prepa-
ratory missions than in doing their actual
jobs”. Yet without systematic change,
Mali’s problems are only likely to get
worse. Half of the population is under the
age of 16. The average Malian woman has
six children. According to Unicef, barely a
third of the population can read, a sad sta-
tistic that is unlikely to improve soon, giv-
en that hundreds of schools have been
closed because of the fighting. Young men
without much education or chance of em-
ployment are easy recruits to jihadism.
In Timbuktu Mohammed Ag Atta, a 52-
year-old Tuareg, says that a decade ago he
made good money guiding tourists out
into the desert. But now he cannot even
feed his camels. “The problem is the state,”
he says. “Nobody notices us.” And so the
war goes on. 7N
EARLY every lamp post, rubbish bin
and brick wall in Johannesburg’s
downtown is plastered with garish ads of-
fering abortions that are “quick, safe and
pain-free”, and justa phone call away. So
when Busi, a student, unintentionally fell
pregnant while far from home in her first
year of university, calling a number from a
lamp-post ad seemed the easiest fix. Fear
crept in when the “doctor” handed her
pills in a shabby room. “I was too ashamed
to tell my family,” she recalls. “It could have
gone so wrong.”
Abortion, banned during apartheid,
was legalised in 1996, partly to stop the
dangerous backroom procedures that
were taking the lives of more than 400
women a year. But many South African
women still find themselves in the shadybackrooms and unlicensed clinics adver-
tised on the streets. About half of all abor-
tions happen outside properhospitals and
clinics. “This tells you there is definitely
something wrong,” says Shenilla Mo-
hamed, the executive director of Amnesty
International, a campaign group, in South
Africa. “People don’t feel safe to go to desig-
nated health-care facilities.”
Although South Africa’s laws and con-
stitution are progressive, social attitudes
do not always match. Women going for
abortions worry they will be criticised by
nurses and doctors, many of whom treat
them rudely. Some say they are told they
will go to hell.
Clinicians who perform abortions are
sometimes shunned by colleagues and
neighbours. Dr Eddie Mhlanga, who spe-
cialises in obstetrics and gynaecology,
used to think that abortion should not be
legalised. It took the death of a close friend
from a botched illicit procedure to change
his mind. “I opened her up and found her
womb was rotten,” he says. Now he is a vo-
cal advocate for safe abortion, but has
faced criticism even from officials in the
health department. One bigwig said:
“Now I am shaking the hand of one who is
dripping in blood.”
Some health professionals working for
the state refuse to offer abortion services
because they are against it for personal and
religious reasons. It can therefore be hard
to find a place willing to perform a legal
abortion, especially in rural areas. Only
264 of 3,880 health facilities in the country
are licensed to provide them, according to
research by Amnesty International. More-
over, surveys show that a great many
women think that abortion is still illegal in
South Africa.
For dodgy providers, this shortage is a
business opportunity. Some approach
women waiting in queues outside state-
run clinics. And for many women who
brave the queues, long waiting lists mean
that by the time they are seen they are too
far along in their pregnancies to have a le-
gal procedure (13 weeks is the usual limit
unless there are special circumstances).
“The vultures are waiting for them at
the gates of the hospital,” saysone nurse.
Visits to quacks can end very badly. Ac-
cording to the government, “septic abor-
tion” is a major cause of death for women
in South Africa, alongside cervical cancer
and diseases related to AIDS. Those who
break laws are rarely held to account.
Instead of risking dangerous backstreet
abortions, some women have babies in se-
cret and then dump them. A charity in Jo-
hannesburg runs a “baby bin” where
women can leave unwanted children in a
safe place.
“We’ve got wonderful laws, a wonder-
ful constitution,” says Edwin Cameron, a
Constitutional Court judge. “But at the lev-
el of practice, we fall desperately short.” 7Abortion in South AfricaStill in the
backstreets
JOHANNESBURG
Abortion is legal but many women seek
out dodgy providersT
HE mantle of power is so heavy in Ni-
geria that presidential candidates must
be begged to run for office, or at least give
that appearance. There was no serious
doubt that the current president, Muham-
madu Buhari, would run in 2015; that was
his fourth attempt to win through the bal-
lot box. Yet even he had to maintain the fic-
tion ahead of that vote, with allies saying
that they had pleaded with him to stand.
Now, little more than a year away from the
next presidential election in 2019, the theat-
rics are starting again.
In September 2017 the communications
minister, Adebayo Shittu, was appointed
to chair a “dynamic support group” to cam-
paign for Mr Buhari’s re-election. The
name seems over-energetic for a candidate
who was nicknamed “Baba Go Slow” dur-
ing his lethargic first few years in office. “He
has not made up his mind but...some of us
can assisthim in making up his mind,” Mr
Shittu said. A month earlier the president
visited Kano, the largest city in northern
Nigeria, where he coyly refused to accept
the endorsement of the local chapter of the
ruling All Progressives Congress (APC).
Yet before the 74-year-old Mr Buhari
can even consider winning an election, he
has to secure the full support of his party
and his allies. And that is not necessarily a
given, particularly since his approval rat-
ing slumped to 45% in December, from a
high of 80% in October2015.
In mid-January Olusegun Obasanjo, a
former president and still-powerful states-
man, wrote an open letter urging him to
quit after one term, accusinghim of nepo-Nigerian politicsBaba, please go
slow some more
ABUJA
Muhammadu Buhari’s second-term
quandary