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p.i
The book has a three-part structure. The first three chapters set out
the foundations of ICT4D: the core relation between ICTs and
development; the underlying components needed for ICT4D to
work; and best practice in implementing ICT4D. Five chapters then
analyse key development goals: economic growth, poverty
eradication, social development, good governance and
environmental sustainability. Each chapter assesses the goal-related
impact associated with ICTs and key lessons from real-world cases.
The final chapter looks ahead to emerging technologies and
emerging models of ICT-enabled development.
www.routledge.com/Routledge-Perspectives-on-Development/book-
series/SE0684
If you would like to submit a book proposal for the series, please
contact the Series Editor, Tony Binns, on:
[email protected]
Information and
Communication Technology
for Development (ICT4D)
Richard Heeks
p.iv
and by Routledge
711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017
The right of Richard Heeks to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him
in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any
form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented,
including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system,
without permission in writing from the publishers.
Contents
List of figures
List of tables
List of boxes
Acknowledgements
Abbreviations
1 Understanding ICT4D
1.1. What do we mean by “ICT4D”?
1.2. What does “development” mean?
1.3. Theoretical foundations of ICT4D
2 Foundations of ICT4D
2.1. The ICT4D value chain
2.2. Technological foundations of ICT4D
2.3. Human foundations of ICT4D
2.4. Institutional foundations of ICT4D
2.5. Financing ICT4D
2.6. Digital inclusion and the “digital divide”
3 Implementing ICT4D
3.1. ICT4D strategy
3.2. ICT4D design and implementation
3.3. ICT4D adoption and use
3.4. ICT4D monitoring and evaluation
Bibliography
Index
p.vii
Figures
Tables
Boxes
Acknowledgements
Abbreviations
Introduction
Information and communication
technology for development (ICT4D)
Take a step back and think about our world. What might you list as
some of its biggest challenges? Perhaps poverty, inequality, hunger,
ignorance, tyranny, climate change and more. There are many tools
we use to try to address these challenges. One tool of increasing
importance is information and communication technology: ICT. The
aim of this book is to help you understand how and to what extent,
ICTs can help fix some of these problems.
p.2
• Then five chapters analyse the role ICTs play in the delivery of
specific international development goals. Chapter 4 discusses
economic growth at micro, meso and macro levels. Chapter 5
looks at poverty eradication and the livelihoods of those on the
lowest incomes. Chapter 6 considers social development;
specifically health and education including a discussion of
capabilities development. Chapter 7 deals with good governance;
in particular better public services, improved accountability of the
state, and increased democracy. And Chapter 8 analyses ICTs
and environmental sustainability including resilience-building.
Before proceeding, though, we should ask “why ICT4D”? Why should we give any
priority to ICT application for the poor in developing countries? There is a moral
argument. Most informatics professionals spend their lives serving the needs of the
world’s wealthier corporations and individuals – to borrow bank robber Willie Sutton’s
phrase – “because that’s where the money is”. Yet seeking to squeeze a few extra
ounces of productivity from firms that already perform relatively well, or save a few
minutes in the life of a busy citizen pales in ethical importance compared to applying
new technology to the mega-problems of the planet.
p.3
It is the poor of the world who are on the front-line of those problems. From climate
change to conflict and terror; from disease to resource depletion – it is the poor in
developing countries who suffer most. And, of course, they suffer from that other blot
on the world’s conscience – poverty – with more than half the global population living
on less than two US dollars per day.
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CHAPTER XIX
IN THE HANDS OF THE TRIBE
With one bound Bomba was across the room and looking at the
picture with all his soul in his eyes.
Yes, it was the same beautiful face, girlish and appealing, the soft
hair waving back from the broad forehead, the half-smiling lips, the
eyes that were dark and melting. And the eyes looked down at him
now as they had looked at him in the hut of Sobrinini, full of love and
tenderness, while the lips seemed ready to murmur words of
endearment.
What chords of memory did that face stir in Bomba’s heart? What
recollections, faint and dim as some far off strains of music, were
tugging at his consciousness? What vague memory told that
desolate lad that he was looking at the pictured face of his mother?
His mother! The mother who perhaps had sung to him the lullaby
that Sobrinini had crooned, who once perhaps had caressed him,
kissed him, called him Bonny, her Bonny!
A passion of tears welled to the boy’s eyes. His heart was stirred to
its depths.
But he dashed the tears away. A native might enter at any minute
and might attribute them to weakness, to fear at the situation in
which he found himself. Above everything, he must remain master of
himself.
How came that picture in the dwelling of Japazy, the half-breed?
Why had a similar picture been in the hut of Sobrinini? What
mysterious link was there between the lovely original of that picture
and Sobrinini, the witch woman, Japazy, the master of Jaguar Island,
Jojasta, the medicine man of the Moving Mountain, and Casson, his
friend and former protector? Somewhere, some time, those residents
of the Amazonian jungle had known the mysterious Bartow, his wife,
Laura, and perhaps the little child named Bonny. How had fate
brought them together? And how had fate torn them apart?
The door of his room opened, and a boy appeared, bringing a tray of
food. It was savory and abundant, and Bomba ate it with a relish.
The boy, who seemed to be about twelve years old, stood by,
watching him with black, beadlike eyes. Curiosity was in the eyes
and awe, awe of this bold stranger, only a little older than himself in
years, but vastly older in strength and experience, who had dared to
take his life in his hands and come to ask questions of the dreaded
Japazy, the lord of life and death on Jaguar Island.
“What is your name?” asked Bomba, who took a liking to the
youngster.
“Thy servant’s name is Solani,” answered the boy. “He is the son of
Abino.”
“Solani has a good father,” said Bomba diplomatically.
“Yes,” answered the boy proudly. “There is no one so wise on the
island of the big cats as Abino, except Japazy himself.”
“Has Solani ever seen ghosts or demons?” asked Bomba. “It is said
that there are many on the island.”
The boy looked about fearfully.
“There are many here,” he answered. “They keep Japazy from harm.
But no one can see them except Japazy. His eyes see everything.”
“Bomba saw some lights on the river,” said the jungle boy,
determined to draw Solani out, for he saw that he was in a
responsive mood. “Bomba did not know but what the lights were the
campfires of the ghosts.”
“The lights are burning brushwood,” explained Solani. “They are
thrown out from the earth when Tamura, the mountain, is angry and
his anger breaks great holes in the ground.”
“Is Tamura often angry?” asked Bomba.
“Many times he speaks in thunder and throws out rocks and rivers of
fire that eat up whatever they touch,” replied Solani. “Tamura has
killed many of our people. The old men say that he will not be silent
until some stranger is offered up to him. Then he will be satisfied and
make no more thunder.”
As Bomba, as far as he knew, was the only stranger at that time on
the island, there was something decidedly uncomfortable in this
information.
At this moment Abino entered, followed by several old men whom
Bomba took to be the chief advisers of the tribe.
Abino motioned to his son to take away the empty dishes and what
food remained, and then he and his companions squatted on their
haunches in a semicircle and gazed fixedly at Bomba.
They said nothing, and their stare persisted so long that Bomba
became restless and himself broke the silence.
“It was good of Abino to send Bomba food,” he said. “There was
much food and it was good.”
“The stranger must not starve until Japazy hears what words the
stranger has to say to him,” replied Abino.
“They will not be many words,” replied Bomba. “They will not make
Japazy shoot lightnings from his eyes. Bomba comes in peace and
his words are good words.”
“What are the words that the stranger would speak with Japazy?”
asked one of the most aged and wizened of his visitors.
Bomba hesitated. Would Japazy resent his confiding his mission to
any one but himself?
On the other hand, he had already gotten some useful information
from Solani. The mention of human sacrifices, for instance, had put
him on his guard, if, in the future, any such thing should be
attempted. Perhaps in conversation with these elders of the tribe he
might learn something else that might be of value to him.
Moreover they had asked him the question, and any lack of
frankness on his part might deepen the suspicion they already
entertained as to his motives.
He decided to answer.
“Bomba would ask Japazy who are the father and mother of Bomba
and how he can find them if they are still alive,” the lad stated.
Bomba caught the quick glances that passed between the Indians at
this announcement, and he was not unaware of the look that Abino
flashed at the picture of the lovely woman on the wall.
“Why does the stranger think that Japazy can tell him who his father
and mother are?” asked Abino, after a pause.
“Sobrinini told Bomba that Japazy knew,” returned Bomba.
“Sobrinini!” exclaimed one of his auditors. “She is the witch woman
who dwells on the island of snakes. To go to that island is death.
How, then, does the stranger say that he has had speech with
Sobrinini?”
“Bomba’s tongue is not forked,” replied the lad. “Bomba went to the
island of snakes and had speech with the witch woman. Then he
took her away from the island and gave her shelter in the hut of
Bomba and the good white man, Casson.”
“Why did not Sobrinini tell the stranger of his father and mother?”
asked his questioner incredulously.
“Sobrinini tried to tell, but the gods had put clouds on her mind and
she could not see through them,” answered Bomba. “But she could
see Japazy through the clouds and she said he would know. So
Bomba is here.”
The promptness and sincerity of his answers evidently had some
effect on his visitors. They looked at each other uncertainly. Then the
eldest of them spoke.
“There is much gold on the island of the big cats,” he said slowly.
“Strangers have come here before, and their words were as smooth
as the skin of the baby and as sweet as honey in the comb. But they
said one thing with their tongue and another in their heart. The
demons that guard Japazy told him what word was in the stranger’s
heart; and that word was gold. The strangers did not go away again
from the island of the big cats.”
“Bomba has not two ways of speaking,” answered the lad. “The
words from his lips are the same as the words in his heart. Bomba
does not care for the gold of Japazy. He would not know what to do
with it if Japazy gave it to him. May the gods lay their curse on
Bomba if he is not speaking from a clean heart!”
Another long pause ensued.
“Is it true that the stranger does not even know the name of his
father or that of his mother?” asked one of the group.
“Bomba does not surely know,” returned the lad. “But when Sobrinini
saw Bomba she called him Bartow. And Jojasta of the Moving
Mountain called him Bartow. They thought Bomba was Bartow or
Bartow’s ghost. So if Bomba looked so much like Bartow, it may be
that Bartow was Bomba’s father. And Sobrinini spoke of Laura. And
Casson spoke of Laura. It is in Bomba’s heart that that may have
been the name of his mother.”
Was it fancy, or did Abino again steal a glance at that picture on the
wall?
“It is well,” said the oldest of the group as he rose to his feet, an
example followed by the others. “We will think over what the stranger
has said.”
The old men went out of the room silently, in single file. But the
silence persisted only until they had gone some distance down the
corridor that led to the large hall. Then they broke out into excited
speech.
Bomba would have given a great deal to know what they were
saying, but they were too far away for him to hear them distinctly.
After they had gone out of the door of the building, however, their
way led them under his window. They were still talking excitedly,
and, as he strained his ears, these words floated up to him:
“Bartow! Was not that the name of the man Japazy killed?”
CHAPTER XXII
THE CREEPING DEATH
Bomba, his head in a whirl, staggered back from the window when
he heard the sinister words:
“Was not that the name of the man Japazy killed?”
Was it possible that the father whom he had sought so long was
really dead? Had all his search been futile?
But the despair that this thought brought him was quickly swallowed
up by another emotion. Rage, blinding rage, at the man who had
killed his father, at Japazy, the half-breed, the arrogant, heartless
monster who lorded it over this ignorant people.
If this should prove true—that Japazy was really his father’s
murderer—Bomba then and there vowed vengeance. Let Japazy
look to himself! Let him gather all his ghosts and demons to protect
him! They would be of no avail. Bomba’s arrow or Bomba’s knife
would find the black heart of the half-breed! His father’s murder
should be avenged!
Bomba knew nothing of the Christian law of forgiveness. He had
been brought up in the jungle, whose first law was self-preservation,
whose second law was vengeance for evil received. If Japazy had
taken Bartow’s life, Japazy’s life must pay the forfeit.
Oh, if Japazy were only here! Oh, if Bomba could meet him face to
face and wrest the truth from him! The lad paced the room, gnashing
his teeth with impatience.
His restless pacings brought him beneath the lovely pictured face on
the wall. He gazed at it yearningly. If she were his mother, perhaps
she still lived, even if his father was dead.
Then another thought came to him and his rage flamed up anew.
Perhaps she, too, had fallen a victim to Japazy. The hand that slew
the one might also have slain the other. In that case, Bomba would
owe a double debt of vengeance. And he would pay that debt!
Oh, if he only knew!
But there was nothing he could do until Japazy returned.
Suppose, however, that Japazy did not return? What if any one of
the thousand perils of the jungle should cut short his life? Then
perhaps Bomba could never get the knowledge for which his soul
panted. He would be cheated, too, of his vengeance—supposing it
were true that Japazy had indeed slain his father.
Even while immersed in these gloomy reflections, a gleam of hope
came to Bomba.
Abino!
Perhaps Abino knew. He was the chosen counselor of Japazy as far
as that haughty despot permitted any one to advise him. Perhaps he
was also the repository of Japazy’s secrets. Those quick and furtive
glances that Abino had cast at the picture on the wall! What did they
mean? What did Abino know?
Tired out finally by these ponderings and questionings, Bomba at
last threw himself on the floor and slept. And for this he chose a
place directly beneath the picture, where those lovely, tender eyes
could look down upon him.
It was dark when he woke, and the immediate occasion of his
waking was the entrance of Solani, bringing his supper.
The boy lighted a torch and thrust it into a holder against the wall. By
its light, Bomba noted that the boy looked disturbed and frightened.
“Solani is sad to-night,” observed Bomba, as he prepared to eat the
meal that the lad had set on the table. “What is it that makes the
heart of Solani heavy?”
The boy looked about him carefully, and when he answered, it was
almost in a whisper.