Africa's universities are in a dire state. Starved of funds, politicised, their lecturers mistrusted, their students suppressed, their libraries looted and their buildings left to rot, the once dynamic universities of Nigeria, Zimbabwe, Ivory Coast and Kenya are in ruins. As African countries became poorer in the 1980s and 1990s, they had less to spend on education. Africa's rulers had little interest in universities, suspicious of institutions that brought together large numbers of bright young people to learn and discuss. Just as they sent their stolen millions to Swiss and British banks rather than investing it in their own countries, the rich rulers sent their children to British, French and American colleges rather than to the national university. Angola, for example, was at one point spending nearly 20 per cent of its education budget on overseas scholarships—mostly for the children of the ruling elite and their friends. Meanwhile, their own universities rotted away.
The problem was compounded by changing fashions in the aid business. At one time, aid donors were happy to support tertiary education. Then, about a decade ago, poverty relief became the sole purpose of overseas aid. And then the UN millennium development goals focused on universal primary education, thus ensuring all the money was switched there. Nobody seemed to wonder how primary school teachers would be produced without somewhere to teach them.
Most of Africa's big brains have headed off to American universities. Lecturers at Ahmadou Bello University in Nigeria estimate that two thirds of the best teachers have gone. And with those who stay trying to survive on less than $100 a month, who could blame them? A friend who teaches at a once prestigious Kenyan university says he hardly ever goes into the building as there are no desks or chairs and few books in the library—which happens to be named after Margaret Thatcher. In order to teach, he buys a book with his own money and makes photocopies of relevant pages at his own expense. He lets it be known he will be at a certain place in the campus gardens on such and such a day, and then sits under the trees, leading a discussion with whoever turns up. He knows their names but has no idea whether they are registered at the university.
The thirst for education in Africa astounds visitors. Children will walk five miles or more to school and back. Crammed into classes, squeezed on to every available bench, pupils will sit sphinx-like, attentive to every word even though they will probably not eat properly until the end of the day. Discipline problems usually only arise if the teachers are not up to the mark.
In some parts of Africa, people have started private universities to fill the gap. One was set up in the diamond-mining town of Mbuji Mayi in Democratic Republic of Congo at the height of the civil war. It was presided over by the local bishop and funded by a diamond-mining company. Another was set up in Somaliland as the civil war came to an end there. In South Africa, a special institute for mathematics has been set up to promote maths and science throughout the continent. There are said to be more than ten new private universities in Nigeria. Two have emerged in Uganda.
Donors are beginning to realise that if education is the key to development, something must be done about Africa's universities. Last year's Commission for Africa report recommended spending $500m a year on them. But the temptation to rush in and reconstruct the traditional western university in Africa should be resisted. In the past, these universities had curriculums based on British or French universities and primarily turned out civil servants. Many Africans, and almost all the outsiders who have maintained links with African universities, are urging that the lessons of the bad times should not be lost. They want universities to be more responsive to local needs and embedded in local culture; less like pale imitations of Oxbridge and more like places that provide space and resources for thinking about local problems. Calestous Juma, who teaches international development at Harvard, says the idea of the university should be reinvented in Africa. African universities should concentrate on becoming development universities, "domesticating knowledge and diffusing it into the economy."
Sarcastic Somalis
Developing countries receive at least $167bn a year in remittances from their overseas migrant workers, more than many receive in aid from rich countries. But only about $8bn of this may be going into sub-Saharan Africa—about a third of what it receives in aid. It is also about a third of the amount that rich Africans are reckoned to be exporting to their bank accounts in rich countries.
Western Union has been the main vehicle for these remittance transfers but it charges some 12 per cent. Several new companies, helped by Britain's department for international development, will do transfers for half that rate. But most efficient and cheapest are the home-grown Somali phone and money transfer companies, which charge 5 per cent. Somalis, with their fierce family and clan loyalties, are also by far the most generous donors to their families. But the names of the companies embody their sarcastic wit. One is called Dahabshiil, which means "Fry Gold," but is known as Digshiil—"Fry Blood." Another is called Kaah Express. Kaah means "grumble."
