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  • URBim | for just and inclusive cities

    Over the last 20 years, slums have experienced something of a revival in the popular imagination. A series of UN-Habitat reports on the issue of slums, media images of sprawling and heaving settlements, and a host of scholarly interventions — notably Mike Davis’ work Planet of Slums — all have served to sharpen attention on the size and growth of slums across the globe. While the word “slum” may conjure a Dickensian world, it is now proving historically malleable, making us look not only backwards, but forwards. For Mike Davis, the future holds a “Planet of Slums”; for UN Habitat, it holds “Cities without Slums.” Either way, the image of the slum has become integral to how we visualise the future of our urban spaces — and as slums increasingly shape projections of the future, two contrasting and forceful images have emerged. How has the slum come to define both an urban utopia and a crisis of modernity? Read more.

    Submitted by Holly Young — Mon, 02/04/2013 – 10:08

  • URBim | for just and inclusive cities

    هويدا كامل – مديرة وحدة القاهرة

    “كل ذنبي اني في الفقر بعيش…”

    كانت الحكومة و الناس يتجاهلون الفقراء إلى حد كبير قبل الثورة. كان الجميع يعرف أنهم موجودون في كل أنحاء المدينة، و لكنهم لم يهتمون بهم. لكن الاضطرابات السياسية والاجتماعية الأخيرة غيرت الأحوال: تم بناء الثورة على ثلاثة أهداف رئيسية وهم الخبز, الحرية، والعدالة الاجتماعية, وتم إضافة الكرامة الانسانية كركيزة رابعة. كان الجميع على قدم المساواة في هذه الثورة ، و توحد كل المصريين لتحقيق هدف مشترك. وقد أدت هذه التغييرات السياسية إلى إنتشار فن الجرافيتي في الأماكن العامة. تعبر الكتابات والرسومات على الجدران عن العديد من القضايا الاجتماعية والسياسية التي يتعرض لها سكان القاهرة يوميا, و تعرض أساليب فن الجرافيتي زاوية جديدة وثاقبة في قضايا الفقر بالمناطق الحضرية.

    “اللي نامية وفيها ثروة م الفلوس تعمل جبال اسأليني عن كـبـاري نـايمة تـحـتيـها العيال.”

    هذه الصورة تبين أول حملة من حملات “فكر في الآخرين” التي بدأها فنان الجرافيتي نيمو. يغطي فنه العديد من المسائل السياسية المختلفة، بما في ذلك شهداء الثورة، ولكنه شرح للصحف المحلية أن هذه الحملة مميزة بالنسبة له. في حديث له مع الصحفي محمد عبد الغفار، قال نيمو أنه يريد إستخدام فن الجدران للفت الانتباه إلى قضية الفقر و أطفال الشوارع. بدأ الفنان هذه الحملة ليعبر عن مشاعر الفقراء الذين لا يشعرون بأي فرق بين النظام القديم و الجديد. هؤلاء الناس لا يهتمون إلا بإيجاد ما يكفي من الغذاء ومكان للعيش يحميهم من الظروف الجوية السيئة. ولكن الدافع الأكبر هو أن هؤلاء الفقراء ليسوا مسؤولين عن حالة معيشتهم السيئة, لأنهم لم يختاروا أن يعيشوا في ظل هذه الظروف. أكد نيمو أنه يستهدف جميع فقات الشعب بفنه، ويرى أن عبر رسوماته وكتاباته، يمكنه نقل رسالته بطريقة تجعل كل مشاهد يرى قضايا الفقر ويفكر فيها.

    استخدمت أيضا مجموعة كتائب موناليزا فن الجرافيتي لتمكين أطفال أرض اللواء من النظر إلى أنفسهم بطريقة اكثر ايجابية من خلال مشروع بعنوان “عايز أبقى”. قال محمد إسماعيل أحد مؤسسي كتائب موناليزا لجريدة المصري اليوم أن المجموعة قامت بزيارة سكان الحي عدة مرات لتشجيعهم على المشاركة المجتمعية. في الزيارة الأولى، تم تصوير الاطفال، وسألهم عن تطلعاتهم و أحلامهم, وفي الزيارة الثانية قامت مجموعة فنانين الجرافيتي برسم وجوه هذه الأطفال على طول الجدران ، و كتبوا حلم كل طفل تحت صورة وجههم. إستخدم هذا المشروع فن الجرافيتي كوسيلة لإعطاء الأطفال صوتا بشأن مستقبلهم و تشجيعهم على تحقيق اهدافهم. تغير هذه الرسومات جماليات أرض اللواء، وتجعل الأطفال مفتخرين بأنفسهم و بحيهم.

    قد يكن فن الجرافيتي بادرة صغيرة في هذه المدينة الكبيرة المضطربة، ولكنه يستعمل كوسيلة مؤثرة للتعبير عن مشاكل الفقراء: الفن يتحدث باسمهم، والألوان تجعلهم منظورين، والسياسة تجعل صوتهم مسموع.

    Submitted by Howaida Kamel — Mon, 04/15/2013 – 00:00

  • URBim | for just and inclusive cities

    Carlin Carr, Mumbai Community Manager

    Clean water does not come easily to Mumbai slum dwellers. While municipal taps are now increasingly available, household tap water is reserved for a privileged few. The result is that women in slums must queue for hours at common taps at inconvenient times — many start their day at 4:00 a.m., when the city makes the water available for just a few hours. In addition, the water — often much more expensive than the prices “legalized” consumers pay in the city — is of questionable quality. The health burden adds up in medical bills, days lost from work and school, and, most concerning, the thousands who die every year due to water-borne illnesses.

    And for women, water is not only a health concern but a physical and mental challenge as well. A study from 2001 found that in some dense slum areas of the city, more than 4,000 people shared a single tap. On average, 50 slum dwellers used one tap, still making the task a daily, time-consuming burden. The long hours spent collecting water and hauling it back and forth take women away from income-generating activities and household duties. Women are forced to orient their entire day around water, and to deal with the aftermath of related illnesses.

    Dr. Armida Fernandez, the pioneering founder behind SNEHA, an NGO focused on improving the health of women and children in Mumbai’s slums, has said that providing access to clean, safe drinking water is one of the most important steps in addressing urban health issues. “The health needs of the slum dwellers are enormous and differ from those in the rural areas,” said Fernandez in a 2010 interview. “The most important health requirement for those living in the slums is that of clean drinking water and sanitation. Water-borne diseases like hepatitis and typhoid often plague slum children, who are the most vulnerable to such health hazards.”

    Accessing safe water in urban India

    Yet provision of clean water involves overcoming many obstacles in the urban context. For one, municipalities are resistant to connecting unrecognized slums for fear the steps would hint at legalization. Another issue is contamination, which is a result of outdated and mismanaged city infrastructure. Open sewage drains run alongside municipal water lines, contaminating ground water with lead, cyanide, mercury, and more. Take Delhi, for example: the capital city produces 3.6 billion tons of sewage every day, though less than half of that is effectively treated. The remaining untreated waste is dumped into the Yamuna River, which accounts for 86 percent of Delhi’s water supply. “Higher demand for water, increased pollution by humans and industry, and the mismanagement of water are most of all impacting the poorest people in the country’s towns and cities,” said Sushmita Sengupta of a Delhi-based think tank, the Centre for Science and Environment (CSE), in a 2010 article entitled “Urban Poor Suffer Water Crisis as Cities Grow.” Mumbai’s Mithi River, which runs through Dharavi, the city’s largest slum, is similarly polluted with dangerous toxic waste and human excrement.

    Given the range of obstacles, water solutions in India’s cities require new solutions, partnerships, and interventions that are adaptable to their massive and complex urban contexts. Access alone is not the answer; solutions need to be holistic and sustainable, addressing the issue with a multi-faceted approach that combines purification, distribution, education, and affordability. An increasing trend towards distributed models — off the main municipal water grid — offers the opportunity to work more locally with communities and their specific needs. Ideally, distributed models would involve the community in planning and implementing the solutions to ensure the projects meet their needs. A research paper that calls for the decentralization of the water sector in India says that this move will “facilitate participation and inter-sectoral coordination, develop and operate water supply that is more responsive to the needs of the users and to engender a sense of ownership. To work, such decentralization needs to be gradual, as this requires more comparative studies of the conditions under which users are most likely to be organized and take part in participatory management.”

    Dispensing water from ATMs

    In the absence of municipal services, private service providers have been innovating to fill the basic needs gap. Piramal Water Pvt Ltd, under the brand Sarvajal, has recently introduced distributed water solutions to urban India, many of which have proved successful in the rural areas. Solar-power ATMs that dispense not money but safe, treated water have been piloted in Ahmedabad and are under consideration by the Municipal Corporation of Delhi. The water ATMs allow 24-hour access by swiping pre-paid cards, which are easily recharged like mobile phones, or by paying with coins. Around-the-clock access provides the sort of convenience that is rarely experienced by the urban poor, who suffer irregular electricity service as well.

    Customers pay a nominal fee for Sarvajal’s water, which is kept “lower than alternatives” by purifying the water centrally. Using reverse-osmosis technology, the purification centers then supply water to the network of decentralized, “off-grid” solar-powered ATMs. Earlier this year, Piramal Water Pvt Ltd sent a proposal to Delhi’s governing boards to open 250 ATMs with 10 filtration plants that cover at least five neighborhoods in Delhi. If plans move forward, the machines would serve 50,000 customers daily by the end of this year.

    The ATMs are one of a number of solutions Sarvajal has launched across India since its inception in 2008. The social enterprise focuses on providing affordable access to safe water, but has also devised unique solutions to ensure sustainability. Hundreds of new water technologies have been tested and implemented across the developing world, but sustainability is one of the greatest challenges. Many interventions are defunct in less than five years, leaving communities in a similar position to before the water projects were launched. Sarvajal believes that longevity of the project is more likely if ownership lies in the hands of the community. For this reason, the company follows a franchise model where it recruits and trains local entrepreneurs to run the water service centers.

    Another ongoing issue with the sustainability of water initiatives is regular maintenance of the equipment and associated costs. The technologies often break down due to the community’s lack of technical capacity or required maintenance reserves. The pay-per-use model provides funding to entrepreneurs to maintain the integrity of the equipment and, therefore, the water. Sarvajal also uses real-time monitoring equipment on the ATMs to track and quickly react to any issues. The monitoring system also provides up-to-the-minute information on the water quality and how much water is being sold, as well as where and when. The data helps the company and local entrepreneur to understand behavior better and tailor services accordingly.

    Looking to the future

    While private sector models such as Sarvajal’s ATMs are providing much-needed solutions to the growing water issue, municipal governments need to be continually and actively involved in the efforts. A July 2009 report warned that in the coming years, climate change could drastically weaken monsoon rains on the subcontinent, affecting the more than one billion people who rely on the rainy season for agriculture and water supplies. “The water demand (in India) will exceed supply by 40 percent by 2030 if it’s just a business-as-usual scenario and if the government does not spend adequately on infrastructure,” said Bharat Sharma of the International Water Management Institute in the report. If governments around the region tap into the innovations happening on the ground, new partnerships can emerge with potential for wider impact. More state and local investment in infrastructure needs to happen simultaneously with private sector models. Only with this multi-layered commitment to solving the vast and complex water needs of cities around India can the problem truly be solved for the long term.

  • URBim | for just and inclusive cities

    Carlin Carr, Mumbai Community Manager

    Clean water does not come easily to Mumbai slum dwellers. While municipal taps are now increasingly available, household tap water is reserved for a privileged few. The result is that women in slums must queue for hours at common taps at inconvenient times — many start their day at 4:00 a.m., when the city makes the water available for just a few hours. In addition, the water — often much more expensive than the prices “legalized” consumers pay in the city — is of questionable quality. The health burden adds up in medical bills, days lost from work and school, and, most concerning, the thousands who die every year due to water-borne illnesses.

    And for women, water is not only a health concern but a physical and mental challenge as well. A study from 2001 found that in some dense slum areas of the city, more than 4,000 people shared a single tap. On average, 50 slum dwellers used one tap, still making the task a daily, time-consuming burden. The long hours spent collecting water and hauling it back and forth take women away from income-generating activities and household duties. Women are forced to orient their entire day around water, and to deal with the aftermath of related illnesses.

    Dr. Armida Fernandez, the pioneering founder behind SNEHA, an NGO focused on improving the health of women and children in Mumbai’s slums, has said that providing access to clean, safe drinking water is one of the most important steps in addressing urban health issues. “The health needs of the slum dwellers are enormous and differ from those in the rural areas,” said Fernandez in a 2010 interview. “The most important health requirement for those living in the slums is that of clean drinking water and sanitation. Water-borne diseases like hepatitis and typhoid often plague slum children, who are the most vulnerable to such health hazards.”

    Accessing safe water in urban India

    Yet provision of clean water involves overcoming many obstacles in the urban context. For one, municipalities are resistant to connecting unrecognized slums for fear the steps would hint at legalization. Another issue is contamination, which is a result of outdated and mismanaged city infrastructure. Open sewage drains run alongside municipal water lines, contaminating ground water with lead, cyanide, mercury, and more. Take Delhi, for example: the capital city produces 3.6 billion tons of sewage every day, though less than half of that is effectively treated. The remaining untreated waste is dumped into the Yamuna River, which accounts for 86 percent of Delhi’s water supply. “Higher demand for water, increased pollution by humans and industry, and the mismanagement of water are most of all impacting the poorest people in the country’s towns and cities,” said Sushmita Sengupta of a Delhi-based think tank, the Centre for Science and Environment (CSE), in a 2010 article entitled “Urban Poor Suffer Water Crisis as Cities Grow.” Mumbai’s Mithi River, which runs through Dharavi, the city’s largest slum, is similarly polluted with dangerous toxic waste and human excrement.

    Given the range of obstacles, water solutions in India’s cities require new solutions, partnerships, and interventions that are adaptable to their massive and complex urban contexts. Access alone is not the answer; solutions need to be holistic and sustainable, addressing the issue with a multi-faceted approach that combines purification, distribution, education, and affordability. An increasing trend towards distributed models — off the main municipal water grid — offers the opportunity to work more locally with communities and their specific needs. Ideally, distributed models would involve the community in planning and implementing the solutions to ensure the projects meet their needs. A research paper that calls for the decentralization of the water sector in India says that this move will “facilitate participation and inter-sectoral coordination, develop and operate water supply that is more responsive to the needs of the users and to engender a sense of ownership. To work, such decentralization needs to be gradual, as this requires more comparative studies of the conditions under which users are most likely to be organized and take part in participatory management.”

    Dispensing water from ATMs

    In the absence of municipal services, private service providers have been innovating to fill the basic needs gap. Piramal Water Pvt Ltd, under the brand Sarvajal, has recently introduced distributed water solutions to urban India, many of which have proved successful in the rural areas. Solar-power ATMs that dispense not money but safe, treated water have been piloted in Ahmedabad and are under consideration by the Municipal Corporation of Delhi. The water ATMs allow 24-hour access by swiping pre-paid cards, which are easily recharged like mobile phones, or by paying with coins. Around-the-clock access provides the sort of convenience that is rarely experienced by the urban poor, who suffer irregular electricity service as well.

    Customers pay a nominal fee for Sarvajal’s water, which is kept “lower than alternatives” by purifying the water centrally. Using reverse-osmosis technology, the purification centers then supply water to the network of decentralized, “off-grid” solar-powered ATMs. Earlier this year, Piramal Water Pvt Ltd sent a proposal to Delhi’s governing boards to open 250 ATMs with 10 filtration plants that cover at least five neighborhoods in Delhi. If plans move forward, the machines would serve 50,000 customers daily by the end of this year.

    The ATMs are one of a number of solutions Sarvajal has launched across India since its inception in 2008. The social enterprise focuses on providing affordable access to safe water, but has also devised unique solutions to ensure sustainability. Hundreds of new water technologies have been tested and implemented across the developing world, but sustainability is one of the greatest challenges. Many interventions are defunct in less than five years, leaving communities in a similar position to before the water projects were launched. Sarvajal believes that longevity of the project is more likely if ownership lies in the hands of the community. For this reason, the company follows a franchise model where it recruits and trains local entrepreneurs to run the water service centers.

    Another ongoing issue with the sustainability of water initiatives is regular maintenance of the equipment and associated costs. The technologies often break down due to the community’s lack of technical capacity or required maintenance reserves. The pay-per-use model provides funding to entrepreneurs to maintain the integrity of the equipment and, therefore, the water. Sarvajal also uses real-time monitoring equipment on the ATMs to track and quickly react to any issues. The monitoring system also provides up-to-the-minute information on the water quality and how much water is being sold, as well as where and when. The data helps the company and local entrepreneur to understand behavior better and tailor services accordingly.

    Looking to the future

    While private sector models such as Sarvajal’s ATMs are providing much-needed solutions to the growing water issue, municipal governments need to be continually and actively involved in the efforts. A July 2009 report warned that in the coming years, climate change could drastically weaken monsoon rains on the subcontinent, affecting the more than one billion people who rely on the rainy season for agriculture and water supplies. “The water demand (in India) will exceed supply by 40 percent by 2030 if it’s just a business-as-usual scenario and if the government does not spend adequately on infrastructure,” said Bharat Sharma of the International Water Management Institute in the report. If governments around the region tap into the innovations happening on the ground, new partnerships can emerge with potential for wider impact. More state and local investment in infrastructure needs to happen simultaneously with private sector models. Only with this multi-layered commitment to solving the vast and complex water needs of cities around India can the problem truly be solved for the long term.

  • URBim | for just and inclusive cities

    Julisa Tambunan, Jakarta Bureau Chief

    Greater Jakarta accounts for 20 percent of the country’s power use. However, with informality dominating its urban landscape, electricity is not evenly distributed across the city. Facilitating access to alternative energy for the low-income population in informal settlements thus becomes crucial. Studies show that for now, most street vendors take lighting expenditure for granted, but any reduction in the cost of energy will have a direct bearing on their profit margins. Therefore, energy diversification is needed now more than ever.

    Penggunaan energi di Jakarta masih belum mengusung asas berkelanjutan. Khusus untuk penerangan saja, kota berpenduduk mencapai 10 juta orang ini menguasai 20 persen sumber daya listrik negara. Padahal kenyataannya, pembagian listrik di Jakarta tak merata, mengingat banyaknya pemukiman informal di seluruh pelosok kota. Pencurian listrik bukan hal aneh lagi. Kabel-kabel listrik yang menjuntai tak beraturan juga menimbulkan ancaman bahaya tersendiri.

    Macam-macam Pasokan Energi

    Listrik di DKI Jakarta sebagian besar dipasok oleh Perusahaan Listrik Negara (PLN / Perusahaan Listrik Negara). Secara umum, listrik tersedia untuk semua rumah tangga di wilayah Jabotabek dan permintaan meningkat setiap tahun. Namun, layanan ini tidak stabil, karena masih sering terjadi pemadaman bergilir atau fluktuasi tegangan. Belum lagi pemukiman informal yang tentu tak mendapat aliran listrik, sehingga kasus-kasus pencurian listrik banyak terjadi.

    Sementara itu, Liquefied Petroleum Gas (LPG), minyak tanah, batu bara, dan biomassa dalam berbagai bentuk merupakan bahan bakar utama yang digunakan oleh rumah tangga Jakarta. Penggunaan batubara tak signifikan di kalangan rumah tangga, namun sangat umum digunakan oleh perusahaan komersial kecil seperti produksi tahu dan tempe. Minyak tanah bersubsidi sebelumnya tersedia di mana-mana dengan bandrol Rp 3,000 per liter, namun kebijakan subsidi ini kemudian dihapus oleh pemerintah dengan harapan masyarakat akan berpindah ke LPG, sehigga sekarang harganya mencapai Rp. 10,000 per liter. LPG pun makin banyak digunakan di Jakarta untuk memasak. Namun, LPG sendiri bukan tak menimbulkan masalah. Tabung gas sering dbilang “bom waktu” oleh masyarakat yang tinggal di pemukiman padat, karena sering meledak dan menimbulkan korban.

    Menurut data Badan Pusat Statistik, pengeluaran bulanan rumah tangga miskin untuk keperluan energi adalah sejumlah sekitar Rp. 112,280, lebih dari setenganya dihabiskan untuk biaya listrik saja. Jika demikian, artinya memang sudah waktunya Jakarta mencari sumber-sumber energi baru yang lebih murah dan berkelanjutan. Namun, siapakah pemasoknya? Jika sektor swasta diharapkan untuk turut serta memecahkan masalah ini, apakah ada pangsa pasarnya?

    Pangsa Pasar: Pedagang Kaki Lima

    Menurut data Badan Pusat Statistik (BPS), ada 92.751 pedagang kaki lima yang beroperasi di DKI Jakarta pada tahun 2005. Tak ada data pasti jumlah pedagang kaki lima saat ini, mengingat statusnya yang informal. Namun, jumlahnya dianggap terus berlipat-lipat setiap tahunnya. Pedagang kaki lima yang berjualan di malam hari membutuhkan penerangan yang baik, karena berpengaruh pada pendapatan harian mereka. Kasus yang banyak terjadi adalah para pedagang kaki lima ini akhirnya melakukan sambungan listrik liar atau mencantol secara ilegal. Tapi tak melulu seperti itu. Baterai basah dan kering sering digunakan untuk penerangan di kalangan pedagang kaki lima.

    PLN Distribusi Jakarta Raya dan Tangerang yang khawatir akan sambungan-sambungan listrik liar pun siap meluncurkan program LISKO atau listrik koin untuk para pedagang kaki lima yang siap diluncurkan dalam waktu dekat. Hanya dengan Rp. 1,000, konsumen bisa menikmati listrik berdaya 900 watt selama 30 menit. Jika habis, tinggal masukkan koin baru. Persis seperti penggunaan telepon umum.

    Sementara itu, salah satu perusahaan energi raksasa pun mulai menyasar para pedagang kaki lima untuk memasarkan produk lampu solar yang merupakan teknologi berkelanjutan. Lampu solar tersebut dinilai jauh lebih efektif dari segi biaya dan mampu menggantikan lampu neon bertenaga baterai (atau sambungan liar) yang umum digunakan para pedagang.

  • URBim | for just and inclusive cities

    “Cities that fail to harness the power of innovation will eventually become the customers of those that do.” — Lagos Governor Babatunde Fashola

    I had to make a trip to Apapa, home to Lagos’ port (one of the busiest in Africa), a few weeks ago. It was a nightmare; I spent well over an hour getting to my destination. In the absence of a functioning rail system, the goods that come into and leave Apapa have to do so via trucks. Every day Apapa’s broken roads are crammed with hundreds, if not thousands, of trucks, going to, or leaving, the ports.

    It’s the same story across the city. A combination of bad roads, too many cars (and trucks), and frequent accidents means that the city is often gridlocked. Everyone who can afford a car buys one, since what passes for public transportation is largely inhospitable — a network of tens of thousands of mini-buses known locally as danfos. In the last few years the government has introduced a bus system that takes advantage of dedicated lanes, but its capacity is a far cry from what is needed. In any case it still has to depend on the overburdened road network.

    The motorcycle taxis (okadas) that once dominated and defined the metropolis, providing an opportunity for time-challenged travellers to weave through traffic jams, have recently come under the government’s hammer. They are now restricted to plying side streets away from highways where they’re most needed. (Anecdotal evidence suggests that the traffic situation has since got worse, following the ban, since people now have to use cars where they once rode on okadas.)

    The conclusion is obvious. Lagos is in a transportation crisis. A city of close to 15 million persons, larger than London, but without a train system corresponding to what is the London Tube.

    Without radical and intelligent solutions the situation is bound to worsen, as Lagos is Africa’s fastest growing city, and the World Bank estimates that there will be more than 20 million people in it by 2020.

    What is clear is that Lagos cannot hope to make a dent on its traffic situation without forms of mass transportation that can convey large numbers of people outside of the road network.

    The solutions will lie on land — rail lines — and in the water.

    A light rail system is under construction, for the first time in Lagos’ history.

    What continues to remain underdeveloped, in my opinion, is the water transportation system. The government says it has plans to launch a network of ferry routes and build terminals, but it requires huge investments from the private sector to embark on this.

    Lagos is a city that cannot be understood outside of its aquatic context. A fifth of the city is occupied by water. It sits on the Atlantic, and at its heart lies a lagoon. It is criss-crossed by a network of canals, creeks and wetlands. A properly developed water transportation system will take a lot of pressure from the roads. I had first-hand experience of the immense possibilities last week.

    I had to return to Apapa a week after my initial trip, and decided, after that initial experience, that there was no way I was going to drive. And so I decided to go by ferry — a service that runs from the Marina across the lagoon, to a jetty that sits at the edge of a flour mill in Apapa.

    The journey took only fifteen minutes, from the Marina, to Apapa. (And it was a pretty slow-moving ferry, so cutting journey times shouldn’t be a great challenge).

    What surprised me, however, was how under-utilized the ferry service is. You’d have expected to see a fleet of boats departing and arriving by the minute. No. There was only one boat, which was not filled to capacity on any of the legs of my trip.

    It’d be interesting to know why the service is not more popular. Of course one challenge is gaining easy access to the Marina jetty in the first place. As far as I could see it had no parking facility. I had to park my car at a mall some distance away, and board a tricycle to the Marina. At the Apapa end, because of the traffic, and absence of okadas, it was a very long walk to my destination. In a city that doesn’t place a premium on sidewalks.

    On the whole no single solution will redeem Lagos. It’ll have to be a combination of innovative approaches, all connected to one another, synthesizing into an efficient whole.

    The mass transport systems Lagos requires will have to combine affordability (in a city where up to seventy percent of the population ekes out a living in the informal economy) with levels of comfort that can attract the car-obsessed middle-class.

  • URBim | for just and inclusive cities

    En esta primera entrada, se menciona el tema de la falta de planeación urbana y de logística que presentan las principales ciudades del país. Muestra de lo anterior, es la Zona Metropolitana del Valle de México (ZMVM), donde las soluciones que toman las autoridades delegacionales, municipales, del Gobierno del Distrito Federal o del Estado de México, terminan siendo más que soluciones, unas acciones “apaga fuegos” ante los problemas diversos que sufren diversos municipios y delegaciones que conforman a la ZMVM.

    Actualmente la ZMVM contribuye aproximadamente con el 26% PIB nacional, de igual manera aporta el 22.20% de la Población Económicamente Activa (PEA). De manera agregada el PIB de la ZMVM es similar al PIB de países latinoamericanos como Venezuela o Colombia, y mayor que países como Chile, Paraguay, Perú y Panamá.

    En este sentido, y con una visión de largo plazo, se debe analizar la ZMVM que se desea observar al 2030, y sobre ello trabajar. Para ello, sería prudente realizar una “Agenda del Futuro”, la cual deberá abordar temas relevantes como la movilidad social, la disponibilidad de servicios, la seguridad, la gobernabilidad y la sustentabilidad, entre otros.

    Así pues, a continuación se muestran algunas de las importantes disparidades que existen actualmente entre los habitantes de la ZMVM (ver imagen).

    Por lo anterior, es necesario diseñar políticas públicas enfocadas a atender dichas problemáticas, específicamente en el tema de acceso a servicios de salud, donde se observan más discrepancias. (En la siguiente entrada se profundizará más en el tema).

    Tabla 1: Cuadro de Carencias Sociales

    Concepto Distrito Federal Estado de México
    Rezago Educativo 9.40% 14.70%
    Carencia de acceso a servicios de salud 32.90% 39.20%
    Viviendas con carencias de hacinamiento 7.00% 10.60%
    Promedio de carencias sociales 1.3 1.5

    Fuente: CONEVAL

  • URBim | for just and inclusive cities

    Katy Fentress, Nairobi Community Manager

    On the slopes of Mathare Valley in the eastern part of Nairobi, a couple of miles from the city center, lies “Mathare slum,” the oldest shantytown in Kenya.

    Although most informal settlements in Nairobi were established in the second half of the twentieth century, Mathare has been informally populated since the city’s colonial days. According to the Nairobi Slum Inventory compiled by Muungano Trust, the birth of Mathare dates to the year 1921, when Africans began settling the area, around what was an Asian-owned rock quarry.

    After independence, Mathare’s population grew substantially and residents began to attempt to improve their surroundings by establishing their own schools, community organizations, and Nairobi City Council (NCC)-provided services. Nevertheless, according to Muungano Trust, these actions went largely ignored, and the only service the NCC provided was forced structure demolitions.

    After the 1950s, Mathare’s settlement patterns changed as more than 20 construction companies began building in the area. By 1969, the Valley’s population had reached 30,000 people crammed together on approximately 70 hectares of land. As is still the case today, most of these people neither owned nor squatted the shacks they lived in, but were required instead to pay rent to structure owners who had no clear title to the land themselves.

    Mathare is and always has been a lucrative investment for corrupt landowners and property developers, who take advantage of the perceived absence of a legal framework and are not obliged to provide any services or infrastructure to their tenants.

    An alternative research and advocacy tool

    Following the 2009 government census that tallied the population of Mathare at 80,309 — a number which Muungano Trust argues should be closer to 188,000 — a small group of researchers began to assemble photographs taken of Mathare Valley residents over the decades.

    The project goes by the name of Mathare Family Picture Archive (MFPA) and is spearheaded by Claudio Torres, a Chilean architect who until recently had an office in Mathare and cooperated with different international NGOs on development and emergency plans in the area.

    In a recent interview, Torres explained that the project started as a research tool to understand the Mathare way of life and the relationship that residents have to its land and structures.

    “We were interested in comparing living standards over the past half century and understanding how the situation has changed,” says Torres. “What we soon came to realize was that in many respects nothing has really changed; the situation today to is very similar to the one in 1960, demonstrating how the slum has perpetuated specific living conditions over a long period of time.”

    According to Torres, the MFPA is also intended to provide a permanent archive for slum dwellers: “People lose pictures in slums due to fires, flooding, and demolitions, but they do everything they can to preserve them — these are vulnerable artifacts that need to be preserved for continuity.”

    Thus the archive perpetuates memories, giving residents a shared sense of history and identity — something that, in Torres’ view, is not too easy to find in other aspects of slum life.

    Finally, though, records like those of the MFPA can serve as an important advocacy tool for residents to demand their right to adequate housing related to a specific piece of land.

    The MFPA documents the story of Mathare — which, as mentioned above, is intrinsically tied to the surrounding land. “What we wanted to prove in this particular case,” Torres tells us, “is that relocation is not a viable alternative for slum upgrading in Mathare because slum-dwellers here have historical ties to this land. We have pictures that show a mother with a baby in 1967, and then, years later, that baby grown up with children of his own. This kind of stuff proves continuity and is an anti-eviction tool, something specific that can be used as proof in a legal claim.”

    “I don’t know how this will be linked to future slum-upgrading or improving initiatives,” Torres concludes. “However, how slum dwellers are related historically to a piece of land is a global problem, so whether we can use it here as an effective advocacy tool will then prove if it can be replicated elsewhere.”

  • URBim | for just and inclusive cities

    Katy Fentress, Nairobi Community Manager

    On the slopes of Mathare Valley in the eastern part of Nairobi, a couple of miles from the city center, lies “Mathare slum,” the oldest shantytown in Kenya.

    Although most informal settlements in Nairobi were established in the second half of the twentieth century, Mathare has been informally populated since the city’s colonial days. According to the Nairobi Slum Inventory compiled by Muungano Trust, the birth of Mathare dates to the year 1921, when Africans began settling the area, around what was an Asian-owned rock quarry.

    After independence, Mathare’s population grew substantially and residents began to attempt to improve their surroundings by establishing their own schools, community organizations, and Nairobi City Council (NCC)-provided services. Nevertheless, according to Muungano Trust, these actions went largely ignored, and the only service the NCC provided was forced structure demolitions.

    After the 1950s, Mathare’s settlement patterns changed as more than 20 construction companies began building in the area. By 1969, the Valley’s population had reached 30,000 people crammed together on approximately 70 hectares of land. As is still the case today, most of these people neither owned nor squatted the shacks they lived in, but were required instead to pay rent to structure owners who had no clear title to the land themselves.

    Mathare is and always has been a lucrative investment for corrupt landowners and property developers, who take advantage of the perceived absence of a legal framework and are not obliged to provide any services or infrastructure to their tenants.

    An alternative research and advocacy tool

    Following the 2009 government census that tallied the population of Mathare at 80,309 — a number which Muungano Trust argues should be closer to 188,000 — a small group of researchers began to assemble photographs taken of Mathare Valley residents over the decades.

    The project goes by the name of Mathare Family Picture Archive (MFPA) and is spearheaded by Claudio Torres, a Chilean architect who until recently had an office in Mathare and cooperated with different international NGOs on development and emergency plans in the area.

    In a recent interview, Torres explained that the project started as a research tool to understand the Mathare way of life and the relationship that residents have to its land and structures.

    “We were interested in comparing living standards over the past half century and understanding how the situation has changed,” says Torres. “What we soon came to realize was that in many respects nothing has really changed; the situation today to is very similar to the one in 1960, demonstrating how the slum has perpetuated specific living conditions over a long period of time.”

    According to Torres, the MFPA is also intended to provide a permanent archive for slum dwellers: “People lose pictures in slums due to fires, flooding, and demolitions, but they do everything they can to preserve them — these are vulnerable artifacts that need to be preserved for continuity.”

    Thus the archive perpetuates memories, giving residents a shared sense of history and identity — something that, in Torres’ view, is not too easy to find in other aspects of slum life.

    Finally, though, records like those of the MFPA can serve as an important advocacy tool for residents to demand their right to adequate housing related to a specific piece of land.

    The MFPA documents the story of Mathare — which, as mentioned above, is intrinsically tied to the surrounding land. “What we wanted to prove in this particular case,” Torres tells us, “is that relocation is not a viable alternative for slum upgrading in Mathare because slum-dwellers here have historical ties to this land. We have pictures that show a mother with a baby in 1967, and then, years later, that baby grown up with children of his own. This kind of stuff proves continuity and is an anti-eviction tool, something specific that can be used as proof in a legal claim.”

    “I don’t know how this will be linked to future slum-upgrading or improving initiatives,” Torres concludes. “However, how slum dwellers are related historically to a piece of land is a global problem, so whether we can use it here as an effective advocacy tool will then prove if it can be replicated elsewhere.”

  • URBim | for just and inclusive cities

    Katy Fentress, Nairobi Community Manager

    On the slopes of Mathare Valley in the eastern part of Nairobi, a couple of miles from the city center, lies “Mathare slum,” the oldest shantytown in Kenya.

    Although most informal settlements in Nairobi were established in the second half of the twentieth century, Mathare has been informally populated since the city’s colonial days. According to the Nairobi Slum Inventory compiled by Muungano Trust, the birth of Mathare dates to the year 1921, when Africans began settling the area, around what was an Asian-owned rock quarry.

    After independence, Mathare’s population grew substantially and residents began to attempt to improve their surroundings by establishing their own schools, community organizations, and Nairobi City Council (NCC)-provided services. Nevertheless, according to Muungano Trust, these actions went largely ignored, and the only service the NCC provided was forced structure demolitions.

    After the 1950s, Mathare’s settlement patterns changed as more than 20 construction companies began building in the area. By 1969, the Valley’s population had reached 30,000 people crammed together on approximately 70 hectares of land. As is still the case today, most of these people neither owned nor squatted the shacks they lived in, but were required instead to pay rent to structure owners who had no clear title to the land themselves.

    Mathare is and always has been a lucrative investment for corrupt landowners and property developers, who take advantage of the perceived absence of a legal framework and are not obliged to provide any services or infrastructure to their tenants.

    An alternative research and advocacy tool

    Following the 2009 government census that tallied the population of Mathare at 80,309 — a number which Muungano Trust argues should be closer to 188,000 — a small group of researchers began to assemble photographs taken of Mathare Valley residents over the decades.

    The project goes by the name of Mathare Family Picture Archive (MFPA) and is spearheaded by Claudio Torres, a Chilean architect who until recently had an office in Mathare and cooperated with different international NGOs on development and emergency plans in the area.

    In a recent interview, Torres explained that the project started as a research tool to understand the Mathare way of life and the relationship that residents have to its land and structures.

    “We were interested in comparing living standards over the past half century and understanding how the situation has changed,” says Torres. “What we soon came to realize was that in many respects nothing has really changed; the situation today to is very similar to the one in 1960, demonstrating how the slum has perpetuated specific living conditions over a long period of time.”

    According to Torres, the MFPA is also intended to provide a permanent archive for slum dwellers: “People lose pictures in slums due to fires, flooding, and demolitions, but they do everything they can to preserve them — these are vulnerable artifacts that need to be preserved for continuity.”

    Thus the archive perpetuates memories, giving residents a shared sense of history and identity — something that, in Torres’ view, is not too easy to find in other aspects of slum life.

    Finally, though, records like those of the MFPA can serve as an important advocacy tool for residents to demand their right to adequate housing related to a specific piece of land.

    The MFPA documents the story of Mathare — which, as mentioned above, is intrinsically tied to the surrounding land. “What we wanted to prove in this particular case,” Torres tells us, “is that relocation is not a viable alternative for slum upgrading in Mathare because slum-dwellers here have historical ties to this land. We have pictures that show a mother with a baby in 1967, and then, years later, that baby grown up with children of his own. This kind of stuff proves continuity and is an anti-eviction tool, something specific that can be used as proof in a legal claim.”

    “I don’t know how this will be linked to future slum-upgrading or improving initiatives,” Torres concludes. “However, how slum dwellers are related historically to a piece of land is a global problem, so whether we can use it here as an effective advocacy tool will then prove if it can be replicated elsewhere.”