chukudu chukudu/zambulances

Letter from Congo
In eastern Congo, handmade chukudu scooters rule the road


Handmade wooden scooters called chukudus are used in eastern Congo to carry heaps of cargo, from food to fuel to bricks. (Miguel Juarez - Miguel Juarez for the Washington Post)


By Stephanie McCrummen
Washington Post Foreign Service
Thursday, February 11, 2010

African cities often have forms of transport that reflect some facet of their character. In Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, tiny, blue, Soviet-made Ladas buzz along the wide avenues, mementos of the country's Cold War alliance. In the Kenyan capital, Nairobi, a corrupt syndicate runs a fleet of banged-up minibuses with names such as Dreams, Bombastic, Mayhem and I Feel Nothing, which weave a spirited, at times nihilistic, narrative through the traffic.

In the towns and villages of war-ravaged eastern Congo, the lumpy, lava-covered roads belong to the humble chukudu: hand-hewn wooden scooters that men ride and push across the hills, hauling towering loads of charcoal, cabbage, potatoes and other stuff of daily life.

Though the chukudus look pre-industrial, local residents say they date from the 1970s, when Congo's economy and government began to collapse under the rule of then-dictator Mobutu Sese Seko and people had to improvise services from schools to heavy transport.

Available in three models -- small, medium and large -- the chukudu is a marvel of practical engineering and endurance. It has become the donkey of eastern Congo -- a beast of burden that hauls vegetables in the good times and fleeing people in the bad. Purely utilitarian, chukudus are rarely painted or personalized. The most common flourishes are mudflaps for their wooden wheels. And unlike the minibuses of Nairobi, chukudus rarely inspire nicknames.

"I just call it 'Chukudu,' " said Bunjuru Brazira, 40, when asked on a recent morning if his scooter had a name.
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It was early, and Brazira was pushing his chukudu, heaped high with onions, along a stretch of road. He had stopped a moment to rest, had taken off his straw cowboy hat and was watching rush-hour traffic winding down the dewy green hills toward this provincial capital.

Amid villagers and schoolkids on foot and the occasional white U.N. peacekeeping truck, chukudus rolled along the gravel road, loaded with bulging sacks of vegetables, fuel, and teetering stacks of wood, metal sheeting and stones. The drivers, mostly young men wearing mud-stained T-shirts and determined expressions, clenched the worn-smooth handlebars of the scooters like the horns of bulls.

The scene was a small, perhaps temporary, sign of improvement in this corner of eastern Congo, where people have suffered through 15 years of a conflict that continues to simmer.

A little over a year ago, a river of luggage-laden chukudus, running villagers, retreating soldiers and army tanks poured off this hill as rebels advanced toward Goma. Since then, those rebels have been integrated into Congo's army. And though brutal military operations are still going on against another rebel group in parts of the east, the situation around Goma, at least, has calmed a bit.

Chukudu traffic has returned, and Brazira, who makes the scooters and refers to himself as a chukudu engineer, has taken some orders lately.

"I'm like the dean of chukudus," he said proudly, and then explained some secrets of his construction technique.

First, he said, there's the wood: He prefers to use the eucalyptus trees that are ubiquitous here and at times lend a minty quality to the air. "When you want to make chukudus strong, you put the wood in the fire, and when you're joining the wood using nails, it fits very well," he said.

He scavenges bearings and springs from old motorcycles, cars and trucks, and charges $50 to $100 for the finished product, depending on the size.

Occasionally, Brazira dreams up chukudu innovations -- extra springs, for instance, or a hammock-like seat. Mostly, though, he aims for the quality most appreciated around here: sturdiness. His best models, he says, can carry half a ton.

"I was just born with this ability," he said of his skill. "I guess it was like a talent in me."

Brazira got back on his chukudu and joined the others tottering and rolling down the hill, some toting black bricks smashed out of the lava that once spewed from a nearby volcano. The bricks were for a house, said Mbale Ndayambaje, who had extra horsepower in the form of two other men running alongside him. They helped steer and signal going downhill and push going uphill, sweat pouring from their faces.

Ndayambaje, 27, said he could expect a decent 5,000 Congolese francs, or about $5, for this trip, which is $5 more than he would have if it weren't for his chukudu.

"If you have a chukudu," he said, "you can't starve."

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2010/02/10/AR2010021003417.html

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Viaje con ALBOAN por las heridas abiertas de África. Rutshuru
La ruta de los 'chukudus'
El camino a Rutshuru refleja la desoladora realidad cotidiana en el campo congoleño, donde la inseguridad es mayor pese a la insólita presencia de soldados indios
20 de Octubre de 2009

Una familia se desplaza con su 'chukudu' (bicicleta de madera) en las cercanías de Rutshuru./ G. Elorriaga


Gerardo Elorriaga

La regla para diferenciar hombres armados resulta sencilla y efectiva. Si su aspecto es zarrapastroso, se trata de soldados congoleños. Si la indumentaria es correcta, el fusil aparece reluciente y las botas lucen lustrosas, nos encontramos ante un antiguo guerrillero del altivo Laurent Nkunda. Unos y otros nos contemplan con similar asombro en nuestro viaje por la carretera que conduce a Rutshuru, la población donde, en octubre del pasado año, la religiosa española Purificación López perdió las dos piernas en un combate entre ambas fuerzas. Hoy, según reza el acuerdo de paz, los antiguos enemigos se han integrado en el Ejército regular y la vida ha recuperado su cotidianidad en los poblados que conducen al interior de la provincia de Kivu Norte.

Pero la realidad en los Grandes Lagos nunca es sencilla y muda con las horas, sobre todo lejos de la relativa seguridad de las ciudades. Así, la mañana abarrota la vía de campesinos que, azada al hombro, se dirigen a sus cultivos, niños que portan recipientes para el agua, adolescentes uniformados camino de la escuela e, incluso, alguna familia de monos que atraviesa el asfalto. Los camiones atestados se alternan con las bicicletas de metal y las fabricadas en madera o 'chukudus', características de la región. Donde los picotazos letales de la mosca tse tse impiden el uso de caballos y burros y las distancias se miden en horas, no en kilómetros, poseer un vehículo de este tipo puede garantizar la existencia más digna.

La mirada se pierde entre colinas sembradas de café y té, plantaciones de yuca y palmeras. En el paisaje verde exultante sobresalen diminutos poblados, anuncios que revelan los peligros de no precaverse del sida o condenan la violencia contra las mujeres, y la desconcertante presencia de una bandera india. Se trata de un puesto de control de la Monuc, las fuerzas armadas desplegadas por la ONU. En el corazón de África, en mitad de la nada, unos soldados de piel cobriza revisan los permisos del auto y saludan amablemente.

Reducto de los gorilas

También recorremos un flanco del Parque Nacional de los Virungas, reducto de los gorilas. Como ocurrió con los seres humanos, algunos emigraron a Uganda o Ruanda cuando los combates se intensificaron y, posiblemente, al igual que ha sucedido con buena parte de la fauna del lugar, otros muchos perecieron a manos de las milicias.

A lo largo de varias horas conocemos varias instituciones académicas de educación primaria y secundaria. Visitamos una católica, otra musulmana y una tercera ligada a la confesión adventista. El Servicio Jesuita de Refugiados (SJR), organización aliada de la vasca Alboan, no hace distingos en este mosaico de credos y provee de medios a edificios asolados, colegios que fueron cuarteles y donde ya no queda nada.

El sacerdote Joseph Mwendanga, responsable del programa, habla del esfuerzo de los padres por recuperar la enseñanza y de su apoyo para que los hijos de 7.000 recién retornados puedan incorporarse a las aulas. Es la 'escuela evolutiva'. La entidad pone los medios para atender las necesidades imperiosas y los progenitores han de asumir la reforma posterior.

Álvaro Trincado ha sido el único 'muzungu' en esa tierra de nadie. Este arquitecto riojano abandonó un buen empleo, su casa en Ávila y una piragua para participar en tal esfuerzo de reconstrucción. «Aquí te dejas la piel en el trabajo y vuelves satisfecho a casa», alega para explicar tal cambio. Tan sólo le exaspera el coste de los materiales, la mayoría importados. «¡Un saco de cemento cuesta 20 dólares! (13,3 euros) ¿No es demencial?».

Optimismo político

Además de referirse a los proyectos para la paz, tanto los expatriados como los nacionales aluden a la sed de vivir de otra manera y del nuevo discurso gubernamental, que habla de tolerancia cero con la violencia, como un factor positivo. Pero, asimismo, mencionan la falta de mejoras en la sanidad o la alimentación a pesar de las promesas reiteradas, de que la gente se toma a broma las manifestaciones de los políticos cuando se refieren a la regeneración ética y la implantación de valores en una sociedad emponzoñada por la hostilidad.

La élite social ha abandonado Congo y la esperanza de un buen salario radica en trabajar para esa miríada de entidades humanitarias que se han asentado en la zona con los mejores propósitos y holgados presupuestos. Desde sus sedes, recintos amurallados y dotados de personal de seguridad, aportan algunos de los servicios que no facilita una Administración invisible. «Ganas más si barres en una ONG que si eres enfermera o profesor», asegura un cooperante.

Pero también la desolación puede graduarse. Al borde de la carretera encontramos un asentamiento improvisado de pigmeos, un pueblo que ha huido de las montañas donde prosiguen las escaramuzas y las guerrillas fuerzan a los civiles a trabajar en las minas bajo su control. La comunidad subsiste de la caridad en condiciones extremas carentes de todo. Son el último escalafón, los marginados dentro de un pueblo olvidado.

El conductor se impacienta. Son las cuatro y nuestra sobremesa se alarga demasiado. Tan sólo quedan un par de horas antes de que caiga la noche, temprana en la cercanía del Ecuador. Entonces, el escenario local también refleja el reverso oscuro. Los nativos mencionan los disparos en la penumbra, las venganzas a domicilio, incluidas las numerosas agresiones sexuales, y la necesidad de refugiarse en el bosque cuando la amenaza es grave. En el mejor de los casos, los cultivadores saben que habrán de 'compartir' la cosecha con los militares si no son víctimas del pillaje o la revancha.

Llegamos a Goma cuando apenas queda luz. A la entrada de la ciudad encontramos un barrio de chabolas erigido sobre los flujos solidificados de lava y, posteriormente, otro cuartel de los cascos azules, en este caso uruguayos. También observamos soldados latinoamericanos curioseando la quincalla expuesta en los tenderetes y kioscos repartidos por el centro. Rutshuru ha quedado a merced de sus fantasmas.


http://www.vidasolidaria.com/noticias/2009-10-20/ruta-chukudus-1800.html

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zambulances


These are some of the bicycle ambulances or Zambulances that are saving lives in southern Africa and especially in Zambia. Watch the video and see for yourself how these Zambulances are helping those that had no hope to get to a clinic when an emergency happened.





Meet two Azusa Pacific University alumni who started a social business in the heart of Zambia. Dustin McBride '07 and Vaughn Spethman '07 combined their love for the people of Zambia and their international business degrees to form Zambikes.

Zambikes employes and trains Zambians to build bicycles and bike trailers used for transportation, for taking goods to market, and for getting people to medical clinics. More info: http://www.new.zambikes.org


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Projects How Bikes Change Lives

Employment and Training of Assemblers

Zambikes trained over 60 bicycle mechanics in 2007 and 2008 and employed 20 of them to assemble their bikes. The employment opportunities that Zambikes provides are crucial in a country where unemployment ranges from 50 to 80 percent.
Advanced Training in Welding and Fabrication

Training provides more than just a job; it is a transferable skill for these men that no one can take from them. This is a unique opportunity for the Zambikes team to preach the Gospel to these gentlemen in a very tangible way.
Mentoring in Career and Individual Development

The Akerfa and Zambikes team seek to disciple, empower, and encourage workers within their work week.

Developing and Empowering Entrepreneurs

Zambikes incorporates Biblical entrepreneurship training in their bicycle schools. One of the success stories from this was Dennis and Patrick. After receiving some mentoring and encouragement Dennis and Patrick took a loan of $6 to move goods with their bicycle from the bush to town. In three weeks they had paid back the loan, turned it to $160 and both bought 12-acre farms. How did they do this? With a bicycle, of course.

Creating Additional Time with Families

Children benefit tremendously by having their parents around more. Time that was previously spent gathering necessities can now be spent at home.


Better Family Income

Walking to work can take 3 hours or more. Traveling on a bicycle it is only a 40 minute trip. This means there is more time spent with one’s family and more money in a family’s budget that was not spent on transportation.

Freedom and Mobility

A high quality bicycle is often the difference between making it or missing it. It is the difference between getting to work every day or often missing out on work because public transportation is unreliable or too full. When surviving from day to day as many Zambians do, this can mean the difference between eating or not eating, getting to a hospital or becoming dangerously ill. The ability to go where you need to go, when you need to go fosters an increased quality of life.

Pastors and Ministries

With a bicycle, a pastor can attend Bible school to receive training and increase the efficiency of their ministry. This allows a pastor to reach people in the bush where cars cannot even go. With a bike, pastors can positively impact many of the social ills that plague developing nations.

Medical Care

Road quality in the bush is very poor, resulting in hazardous driving conditions. Therefore, bikes have become the optimal mode of emergency transportation. This is especially true for mothers giving birth, who if given proper treatment, may avoid passing HIV on to their children. A nurse or a health care worker who has a bike can see to and treat 10 patients in one day, while on foot she can see only 3. In addition, her time is spent focused on patients, not the clock. With a bike she does not have a long walk home.

Security and Justice

At the moment, there is little to no justice in the bush. If someone catches a criminal, they can not afford to pay for a taxi for the police to come and pick up the criminal. The law enforcement officers need a good bike so they can be more effective at making Zambia a safe place to live. Akerfa is excited to partner with Zambikes in the movement to bring justice to the bush.


http://www.akerfa.org/