Fragmentation, Cooperation and Power: Institutional Dynamicsin Natural Resource Governance in North-Western Namibia

Michael Bollig & Diego A. Menestrey Schwieger

# Springer Science+Business Media New York 2014

Abstract Contemporary theoretical accounts of common poolresource management assume that communities are able todevelop institutions for sustainable resource managementif they are given security of access and appropriaterights of management. In recent years comprehensivelegal reforms of communal rural resource managementin Namibia have sought to create an institutional frame-work linking the sustainable use of natural resources(game, water, forest) and rural development. The state,however, ceded rights to rural communities in an am-biguous and fragmented manner, creating a number ofinstances of overlapping property rights and differentlegal conditions for different natural resources.Nowadays communities grapple with the challenge ofdeveloping institutions for these resource-centered “newcommons”. This paper describes the process of local institu-tional development, focusing on the challenges arising from thenecessity to define group boundaries, the issues arising frommonitoring and sanctioning within newly defined institutions,and the ideological underpinnings of different trajectories ofcommunal resource management.

Keywords Common pool resourcemanagement .

Conservation .Water-management . Namibia . Pastoralists

Introduction

The paradigm of Community-Based Natural ResourceManagement (CBNRM) is based on the assumption that local

communities are able to manage resources sustainably and inan equitable manner if a number of social and political condi-tions are fulfilled (e.g., Agrawal 2003; Jones 2001; Fabriciusand Collins 2007). Across southern Africa numerousCBNRM initiatives have transformed governance withinsocial-ecological systems over the past 20 years (Fabriciuset al. 2004). The success of CBNRM initiatives has beenjudged differently: while some authors have highlighted theirpositive contribution to institutional development in a ruralcontext (Jones et al. 2002) and decentralized resource man-agement (e.g., Hoole and Berkes 2010), others have empha-sized their failure to contribute significantly to local empow-erment (e.g., Sullivan 2002; Blaikie 2006) or to add signifi-cantly to rural incomes (e.g., Silva and Mosimane 2013).Institutional development in the context of natural resourcemanagement has been a central aim of CBNRM, and thispaper seeks to analyse the dynamics and challenges connectedto institutional change at the local level.

The Namibian Government, probably more than any othergovernment in sub-Saharan Africa, has transferred adminis-trative rights over wildlife, forests and water sources to agentsat the local level (Davis 2008; Roe et al. 2009) with threeaims: (a) to ensure the sustainable management of naturalresources in rural areas, (b) to democratize decision-makingin rural communities, and (c) to ensure that the benefits ofnatural resources can be harvested at the local level. In manyrespects these legal reforms promoting CBNRM, informed byinternational agendas on sustainable resource management inthe post-Rio 1992 phase, reflect the design principles forcommon pool resource management of Elinor Ostrom(1990: 90). Social institutions are seen as the key to thesustainable management of common pool resources (CPR)(e.g., Baland and Platteau 1996). Recent explorations in thisfield have pointed out that institutional stability and efficiencyis decisive if resources are to be used in sustainable andequitable ways (Poteete and Ostrom 2004). Group boundaries(Ostrom 1990; Acheson 2006), group size (Poteete and

M. Bollig (*) :D. A. Menestrey SchwiegerDepartment of Social and Cultural Anthropology, University ofCologne, Koeln, Germanye-mail: michael.bollig@uni-koeln.de

D. A. Menestrey Schwiegere-mail: diego.menestrey@uni-koeln.de

Hum EcolDOI 10.1007/s10745-014-9647-7

Ostrom 2004),1 internal monitoring mechanisms (Ghate andNagendra 2005; Rustagi et al. 2010), sanctioning mechanisms(Sefton et al. 2007; Coleman and Steed 2009) and concepts oftrust and fairness (Fehr and Schmidt 1999; Barr 2003; Hooleand Berkes 2010; Sutter et al. 2010) have been emphasized asplaying key roles in explaining successes and failures in CPRmanagement.

This paper will concentrate on the institutional dynamics intwo specific kinds of “new commons” in Kunene North/northern Namibia: conservancies for the management ofgame, and Water Point Associations (WPAs) for the manage-ment of water. This semi-arid region is characterized by lowpopulation density, pastoral livelihood strategies, and margin-al integration into larger markets (Bollig 2006). Local politicshave been shaped by the long-term presence of a colonialadministration, the dominance of traditional authorities inmatters pertaining to natural resource management, and ageneral fear of being out-competed by neighbouring groupsor dominated by the state (Friedman 2011). The paper is basedon long-term fieldwork in the region (1994–2012) conductedby both authors.

A Short History of Resource Governancein North-Western Namibia

Evidence on the pre-colonial history of resource managementin north-western Namibia suggests that pastoralism was com-bined with foraging and that only a limited number of house-holds had large herds of cattle. In this setup, some wealthypastoral households “owned” specific places with relativelygood water availability, and a small, clearly defined number ofhouseholds managed dry season and wet season pasturestogether. This relation between a household and a place wasgiven a historical dimension through the presence of ancestralgraves at which rituals were conducted regularly. The heads ofthese place-owning households were addressed as oveni vehi,“owners of the earth/land.” Other land-users were relatedmatrilineally or patrilineally to these oveni vehi or were tiedto them through patron-client relationships (Bollig 2013:319).

During colonial times, the system of pastoral resourcemanagement was shaped by a hierarchical framework deter-mined by the colonial administration (van Wolputte 2007;Rizzo 2010). When the South African army started to estab-lish administrative structures in north-western Namibia in1917, one of its first measures was to install chiefs in theregion (Bollig 1998). While initially three chiefs wereappointed, the number soon rose to half a dozen in the

1930s, to a dozen in the 1950s, and finally reached 36 at theend of the colonial period in 1990 (Friedman 2011). From the1930s onwards these chiefs nominated councillors who sup-ported them, and established a tribal administration. Thesetraditional authorities were wealthy “big-men” (ovahona)and competed not only for power and influence but also forcontrol of the more productive wells in the area (Bollig 1998).While leaving decisions about resource access to local actors,the colonial administration did impact pasture management ina number of ways: mobility was constrained, and far-reachingmigrations were prohibited (Bollig 1998). Local hunting wasalso prohibited, all game being officially owned by the state.Poaching became one of the major offences for which localpeople were regularly prosecuted. In the 1960s, administrativereforms were implemented according to the Odendaal plan,guaranteeing traditional authorities (also addressed as chiefsor headmen) more powers in issues pertaining to resourcemanagement (Bollig 2013). Wrongdoers – e.g., people whotrespassed into protected grazing land or who spoiled wells –could be fined several head of livestock. Only game remained“in the custody” of the state.

The extensive borehole-drilling program of the 1960s and1970s made a great number of new water points accessible(Bollig 2013). One of the major goals of the program was tomake more grazing available and thereby increase the numberof cattle. Between the 1920s and the late 1990s the number ofcattle herded rose from c. 35,000 to about 200,000 (Fig. 1).The year-round accessibility of water in outlying pastures ledto a complete reversal of the mobility pattern. Now livestockwould be moved to distant pastures for 8 to 9 months duringthe dry season, whereas they had formerly been herded onthese pastures during the 3 to 4 months of the rainy season.The boreholes were fully maintained by the administration,and diesel was supplied free of charge to those boreholes fittedwith engines.

Due to high stocking rates and altered mobility patterns aperennial grass layer gave way to annual grasses (Bollig andSchulte 1999; Owen-Smith 2010:455ff) and wildlife dimin-ished considerably (Owen-Smith 2010:378, 404). While ma-jor droughts (e.g., in 1981, with losses of about 90 % oflivestock) and war, as well as ecological changes shaped thedynamics of the social-ecological system, the institutionalstructure buffered these challenges for several decades.

Reforms of Legislation Pertaining to the CommunalUse of Natural Resources in Independent Namibia

In 1990 Namibia gained independence from South Africa anda new administrative structure was established. The formerhomeland, Kaokoland, was abolished, and became part of thelarger administrative unit, Kunene Region, in 1992. The newNamibian constitution acknowledged traditional leaders as

1 While Poteete and Ostrom consider heterogeneity within user groups asa significant point influencing collective action, our cases are quitehomogeneous in terms of religion and ethnic affiliation; only differencesin wealth are significant.

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part of the structure of the local government system (Republicof Namibia 1990; Friedman 2011). In the second half of the1990s several decentralisation reforms stipulated thedevolvement of rights and obligations in natural resourcemanagement to rural communities. From 1996 rural commu-nities in Namibia could apply to the Namibian Ministry ofEnvironment and Tourism (MET) for conservancy status.While under the previous administration game had been“owned” and protected by the state, now such rights weredevolved to local communities (Jones 2001). This change wasdesigned to further both rural development and conservationof game at the same time. The Promulgation of NatureConservation Amendment Act, 1996, defines conservanciesand stipulates the way in which they are structured. Localcommunities are encouraged to establish corporate entitieswith a formalized membership, a well-defined territory of“jurisdiction”, representative forms of internal leadership,and detailed management plans. In return, the MET delegatesrights of game management to the conservancy (Republic ofNamibia 1996; Jones 1999; Owen-Smith 2010:540ff; for acritique of this approach see Sullivan 2002).

In regard to the rural water sector, the Directorate of RuralWater Supply (DRWS) launched a strategy for Community-Based Management in 1997, which prescribed that over aperiod of 10 years rural communities should progressivelybecome responsible for the operation and maintenance of thewater infrastructure (pumps, pipes, tanks, etc.) (DRWS 2004).Embracing the principles of the 1992 Dublin Agenda (Heyns2005), community members using a common water pointwere to form a water point association (WPA) and developregulations governing access to and usage of their boreholes,as well as means of recovery of maintenance costs. Theseregulations include the power to establish and impose sanc-tions on persons not in compliance. For the day-to-day man-agement of the boreholes water point committees (WPC) areelected (Republic of Namibia 2004). Recent accounts suggestthat the handover of financial responsibility to rural commu-nities in Namibia provides incentives that encourage them to

manage infrastructure and water resources more sustainably.However, this liability can place a great economic burden onpoorer members of the WPA (Falk et al. 2009).

Findings: Institutional Dynamics of Game-and Water-Management Through Conservanciesand WPAs

In the following we will present our findings on the institu-tional dynamics related to the implementation of these newregulations.

Conservancies: Development, Governance, EconomicDynamics

The conservancy programmet with considerable local interestall over Namibia, and in the Kunene Region in particular.Today there are a total of 76 conservancies nationally, some27 of which are in Kunene North (Map 1).

The number of conservancies has undergone an increase inrecent years. In 2011/12 alone some 14 new conservancieswere gazetted in the region. The more recent are significantlysmaller than earlier ones (Table 1), which may be the result ofa learning process: those more recently gazetted have fewerpeople to organize and shorter boundaries to negotiate, al-though of course they also have less game and less tourismpotential.

There are a number of reasons as to why communities wereso eager to attain conservancy status:

(1) many communities hoped to benefit from income fromtourism and direct aid fromNGOs, and only conservancystatus allowed access to those benefits (Jones 2001; Silvaand Mosimane 2013: 38);

(2) although legally the state did not cede land ownershiprights, but only devolved specific management and trans-fer rights to local communities, the delimitation of

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Fig. 1 Cattle numbers in theformer homeland Kaokoland/thecontemporary Epupa and OpuwoConsituencies (source: NamibiaNational Archives, VeterinaryOffice; for the missing years nodata could be obtained)

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territorial boundaries fostered the idea in these commu-nities that they had in fact wrenched land rights from thegovernment (Hohmann 2004 on perceived land rights ofSan-speaking communities; Bollig 2013 on Kunene);

(3) local communities regarded governmentally acknowl-edged boundaries as a useful way to prevent outsidersfrom intruding in the area or otherwise to force them touse natural resources according to local rules (Harringand Odendaal 2012);

(4) many community members hoped that the conservancywould also stabilize institutions governing pasture man-agement, giving them new legitimacy and providing newtechniques for monitoring and new institutions for sanc-tioning (an argument frequently voiced in interviews inKunene North).

Conservancies are governed by elected committees, eachof which consists of a chairperson, a secretary, and a treasurer,

along with their respective deputies. They are elected at fixedintervals (between yearly and three-yearly) and, in theory,report to an annual general assembly. Within the frameworkof meetings with other conservancy members, they establishcore-conservation zones (where livestock herding or agricul-tural activities are not allowed), set aside zones for tourism,and create multi-use and single-use zones. They decide howrevenues accruing from contracts with the private sector orfrom other income-generating activities connected to the con-servancy are distributed. Resource management planningtakes place at the interface between elected committees,chiefs, MET staff, NGOs, consultants, and sometimes alsoincludes private entrepreneurs from the tourism sector.

Inquiries in ten conservancies of the northern KuneneRegion in 2012 revealed that the typical committee memberis male (73.5 %), under 40 years of age (74.6 %), has attendedsecondary or primary school for a number of years (68.7 %),and is without formal employment (69.5 %) (Bollig andWirtz2012) (Table 2). Women on committees (26.5 %) frequentlyact as treasurers. It was argued that while women can besanctioned for misuse of funds it is more difficult punish theirmale counterparts. Chiefs have representatives on committeesor are placed in an advisory position, but are rarely fullmembers of a committee.

The age-structure of committees has one important impli-cation. Ownership of livestock property is concentrated in thesenior age group. In Himba communities it was found thathousehold heads younger than 40 years of age owned on

Map 1 Conservancies in North-Western Namibia

Table 1 Conservancies in North-western Namibia: size, population size

Year of Foundation Number Average no of people Average sqkm

2000–2005 9 1,412 2,122

2005–2010 2 1,150 1,406

2011–2012 14 – 760

av.sqkm for 2011–12 only for 13 conservancies; for most conservanciesgazetted in 2011 and 2012 no population numbers are available

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average only 2 % of the cattle they herded (Bollig 2006:279).The vast majority of animals in their households wereborrowed, often from “big-men” owning large numbers oflivestock. Hence, many committee members are not amongthe wealthy of their communities, and many may be econom-ically dependent on wealthier (and often more senior) mem-bers of the community.

Three major aspects of how conservancy committees gov-ern social-ecological relations and what fields of human-environment relations they address are notable: (a) the consti-tution of the conservancy and the management plan define thespatial extent of a conservancy and conservancy membership;(b) internal zoning facilitates communal land use manage-ment; and (c) the monitoring of wildlife and human-wildlifeconflicts captures the dynamics of human-wildlife interaction.

Let us begin with the boundaries a conservancy has toestablish. The territorial boundaries must be specified beforethe application for conservancy status is submitted to theMET. In most cases such boundary discussions between con-servancies take a long time, and drawn-out boundary disputesare typical. Once conservancies are gazetted and their bound-aries officially recognized, day-to-day herding takes placemainly within those boundaries. In a survey of 95households in 20 conservancies we found that in normalrainfall years most of the grazing takes place within aconservancy. This is a strong indication that conservancies –while mandated to manage game – loosely define grazingterritories. The boundaries of these grazing territories areporous. A third of the surveyed households said that theycould access pastures beyond the boundaries of their conser-vancy through kinship ties.

The zoning of a conservancy is an instrument to differen-tiate core-conservation zones from zones for touristic use, forcommercial hunting, and for subsistence herding and/or farm-ing (Map 2). Committee members were very familiar with theboundaries of zones, which are communicated to a wider

public in formal meetings. We found only one conservancy(Ehirovipuka) which actually marked zone boundaries withmarks on trees or piles of stones. While each zone is desig-nated some kind of use, only the core conservation zonerestricts all other kinds of use (e.g., herding, farming).

Many conservancies have developed efficient systems di-rected at monitoring the number and movements of game. Thefacilitating NGO IRDNC developed a simple notation systemwhich can easily be used by non-literate people. Game guardsemployed by the conservancy make notes whenever they spotgame and/or are notified of human-wildlife conflicts. Theyalso note whenever game has been hunted from the quotaallotted to the conservancy by the MET. While the monitoringof wildlife is their major task, the monitoring of herd mobilitystrictly speaking falls outside the official mandate of gameguards and does not take place in a structured way. Committeemembers interviewed reported that, while generally theboundaries of a core-conservation area were respected, occa-sional trespassing was still a problem. Management plansoften fail to suggest what should happen if individual herdinghouseholds and mobile cattle camps contravene zoning agree-ments. In several instances where households were still resid-ing permanently in core-conservation areas it was unclearwhose responsibility it was to act. In a survey of 95 house-holds in 20 conservancies, 70% voiced their opinion that onlychiefs wield enough authority to punish the mismanagementof natural resources. Committees had tried a number of waysto control trespassers, but had generally failed to convincethem to leave the core conservation zone. In all cases com-mittees had resorted to local traditional authorities (chiefs ortheir councillors) for help – as far as we could observe, withmixed success (see Harring and Odendaal 2012 for a similarcase from Caprivi).

Once a conservancy is formally registered it may engage incontracts with the private sector and lease parts of its land totourist companies. Where such private-sector contracts aresuccessfully arranged, sizeable sums of money are transferredto conservancy accounts. Staff members of IRDNC and/orstaff from MET offices in Windhoek or Opuwo are present inthese negotiations as third-party members. They are meant tosupport local committee members with their knowledge ofregulations, laws and current market prices. In fact, however,they directly introduce their ideas about public-private con-tracts into negotiations. Significant information imbalancesare typical (and perhaps inevitable) in such negotiations(Hoole 2010).

The total income of Namibian conservancies increasedtremendously from some 600,000 N$ in 1998 to c. 40 millionN$ in 2010 (NACSO 2010:3). The income of single conser-vancies differed considerably, however. Suich (2009:18) re-ported that in 2006, 32 conservancies earned cash incomeranging from a meager 7,200 N$ (Kunene River) to a high927,950 N$ (Torra). The income gap between the

Table 2 The structure ofconservancy committees

Own data

N %

Gender, Male 75 73,5

Gender, Female 27 26,5

Age, <30 25 25,1

Age,31–40 49 49,5

Age,41–50 21 21,2

Age >50 4 4,0

Education, none 30 31,3

Education, primary 26 27,1

Education, secondary 37 38,5

Education, diploma 3 3,1

Employment, none 57 69,5

Employment, local 18 30,0

Employment, non-local 7 8,5

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conservancies of Kunene Region has even increased over thepast few years, with a small number of conservancies earningmore than 1 million N$ annually (c. 100,000 €) and a fairnumber earning no income at all.

The NACSO reports (NACSO 2007, 2011) provide anoverview of the sources of income of Namibian conservanciesfor the years 2007 and 2010. Half of the income in cash and inkind is generated from joint ventures in the tourism sector (i.e.,rents from lodges and wages paid to conservancy membersemployed by such enterprises). A substantial amount of in-come is earned through trophy hunting. While these figurespertain to all Namibian conservancies, the percentages areroughly the same with the conservancies in the KuneneRegion. Game meat distribution from local community hunts

accounted for 7 % of the total income of all conservancies. Inour survey, game meat distribution was mentioned most con-sistently as a benefit conservancies bring to rural communi-ties. While meat is distributed to all conservancy members in ahighly visible and transparent way, monetary income is hardto assess for ordinary members and rarely distributed directly.

The committees decide how the revenues of the conser-vancy are invested and distributed. A sizeable part of theconservancies’ incomes are used to pay the salaries of conser-vancy staff. Conservancies decide on the number of staffmembers: while game guards are mandatory, other positions,such as field officers, financial administrators, community andbusiness coordinators, are optional. Conservancies in KuneneRegion regularly employed four to ten staff members.

Map 2 The zonation ofEhirovipuka Conservancy(source: www.nacso.org.na)

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Employment in conservancies is often offered to people whohave similar demographic characteristics to committee mem-bers: the majority are male, aged between 20 and 40, andmany have some school education. Salaries paid to conser-vancy staff are rarely large; we found top staff salaries to bearound 3,000 N$ for a month (c. 300 €), which is significantlyless than a primary school teacher. The salaries of gameguards were often below the official minimuml wage, ataround 500–800 N$. Committee members themselves do notreceive any direct financial remuneration from the conservan-cy. However, they benefit from allowances, and, unofficially,from options to use transport or to learn about forthcomingeconomic options. Nevertheless, rumors and direct allegationsthat committee members misappropriate funds are frequent.Possible culprits are openly accused in the local arena, butlegal action against them is rarely taken.

Another sizeable percentage of conservancies’ incomes isdirected towards the organization of meetings. The committeemembers decide how frequently meetings take place and howthe conservancy contributes financially to such meetings.Food and drink as well as transport to and from such meetingsare all financed with conservancy funds. In several instanceschiefs applied to the conservancy to get their own meetingsfunded; direct payments to chiefs also occur: while theNamibian state (unlike the colonial South African administra-tion) pays a salary to only three chiefs in the region, theconservancies, as local community-based organizations, now-adays provide income to a number of chiefs.

But improved conservation also has its cost. Increasingnumbers of game are linked with increasing numbers ofhuman-wildlife conflicts (HWCs). Two recent reports byBrown on human-wildlife conflict in conservancies in general(Brown 2011a) and on human-wildlife conflict in ≠ Khoadi-//Hôas conservancy in the southern Kunene Region (Brown2011b) clearly indicate substantial HWC costs in some con-servancies. Ehirovipuka, for example, has costs close to350,000 N$ (see also Hoole and Berkes 2010), and Sanitatasmore than 250,000 N$ per annum, according to Brown. Thisis substantially more than both conservancies earn.

Water Point Associations (WPAs): Establishmentand Governance Dynamics

The process of establishing WPAs, the election of the com-mittees, and the development of place-specific water pointmanagement plans are supported by extension officers fromthe DRWS in Opuwo (or by NGOs acting on behalf of and/orin coordination with them). Since the late 1990s they havebeen preparing the communities for their new responsibilities.The handing-over process is normally carried out within theframework of a community meeting between the DRWS staffand the users of a communal water point, which can takeseveral days. DRWS staff explain the principles of fairness

and equity according to which the water point should bemanaged,2 advise as to what rules should be included in themanagement plan, oversee the election of a WPC and super-vise the registration of the users as a WPA. In regard to theestablishment of the management plan, the DRWS workershave definite ideas about what rules should be adopted, as wewitnessed in a number of hearings. For instance, the DRWSworkers recommend strategies for funding the water point: tocollect the contributions according to the number of animalseach household owns; to introduce a water point membershipfee; a household levy; and special conditions for externalusers. Furthermore, the extension officers recommend thatpenalties be established for breaches of the rules (such asexclusion from the water point when fees are not paid).Once the management plan for the water point is discussedand decided upon, the corresponding rules are jotted down bya DRWS staff.

In relation to the establishment of the WPC, the extensionofficers advocate the inclusion of young men and women inthe committee, and the election of a Chairman, a Secretary, aTreasurer, and a Pumper/Caretaker, together with their respec-tive substitutes (Republic of Namibia 2000). Extension offi-cers try to persuade local chiefs not to be part of these exec-utive bodies in order to foster participation as well as genderequity. After the committees are established, those elected tooffice receive training in their respective roles (some days orweeks later) together with members of other WPCs.Adherence of all users to the water point regulations is meantto be monitored by the WPC, especially by the treasurer andthe caretaker. The treasurer is supposed to collect the moneyand to keep a written record of all payments and unpaid feesfor which they provide a simple ledger, to keep a part of thefunds in his house and to deposit the rest in a bank account inOpuwo, the regional capital. Simple writing and arithmeticalskills are required for the task. The caretaker is responsible forthe operation, maintenance and safeguarding of the waterpoint and the assets of the WPA situated thereon, and issupposed to receive a small salary from the community.

After the users have agreed upon the management plan andelected a WPC, its Chairperson, his deputy (or Vice-Chairperson) and two witnesses sign the constitution (in manycases with a thumb print) as a gesture that its contents will befollowed and the management plan adopted. Finally, the usersof the common water point are registered as a WPA at theDRWS office in Opuwo.

According to the register of the DRWS there are 58 WPAsin the wider region of Okangwati, all of which fall withineither Epupa, Okangwati or Kunene conservancy. However,there is no formal linkage between conservancy organizationand WPA. All WPAs are responsible for the basic

2 These principles are given to the communities in written form and in astandardized way; they are the basis of the “water point constitution.”

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maintenance and operation of the water infrastructure (e.g.,the replacement of spare parts and buying diesel). Majorrepairs (such as pipe replacement or re-drilling) are the re-sponsibility of the government.

In the following, based on a sample of 25 WPAs in theOkangwati region, we will describe some of the diverseinstitutional developments in the realm of communal waterpoint management (Map 3).

Since the establishment of a WPA is a relatively standard-ized procedure, communities’ water point management plansare quite similar. However, in practice, many communitiesmanage their water resources in ways that differ from theDRWS suggestions. For instance, according to the recommen-dations of the DRWS the WPAs should collect water pointfees from each household according to the number of animalsthat it owns, but the users have developed and implementeddifferent ways of collecting contributions (Table 3): flat-rates;flat rates and rotation systems. Most WPAs start monitoringcontributions after the establishment of the WPC, writingdown the amounts paid (or not paid) by the users each month,and opening a bank account in which to deposit part of thecollected money. However, the treasurer is not remuneratedand the book-keeping is often discontinued after a short whileand the bank account is left unused. Keeping the inventory ofcontributions is tiresome and frequently quarrelsome work,because many contributors pay late, or even not at all. Incomparison with the wildlife monitoring books of gameguards, who are both paid and trained to keep them up to date,the monitoring books of WPAs were often poorly kept.However, it is noteworthy that even in cases where com-munities did not accumulate savings it was only a matterof a couple of days before the pump was in operationagain.3

Themonitoring of water access and use is often done by thecaretakers, who are supposed to receive a salary from thecommunity (between 200 and 400 N$). They are meant tobe present at the well every day and to oversee the watering.They are also responsible for driving away the livestock ofowners who have not contributed. However, many caretakerscomplain that they do not receive their salary on time, orsometimes at all and some quit the job entirely. The followingtwo case studies show two opposite extremes of institutionaldevelopment.

Case 1: Ombaka – Low Degree of Cooperation

Ombaka consists of 13 households. The members of thiscommunity elected a WPC and established a management

plan for the water point (diesel installation) in August 2003.The WPC has seven members: three wealthy male elders over55 (owning between 170 and 300 head of cattle) and fouryoung men between 35 and 40, regarded as less wealthy oreven poor (owning between 20 and 150 heads of cattle). Inregard to the water point constitution, these two groups heldopposing views about how to collect fees. The wealthyherders advocated a flat-rate solution, which would assigncharges independent of the water consumption of each house-hold. The poor herders were in favor of fees based on thenumber of animals each household owned (1 N$ per cow, 50¢per sheep/goat). Although the community members hadagreed to adopt the “per animal” rule when the DRWSinstalled a diesel engine at their borehole in 2003, for about7 years fees were collected according to the flat-rate solutionfavored by the wealthy herders, who opposed the de factoimplementation of the “per animal” rule, drawing on argu-ments alluding to the cultural taboo of counting animals or tothe difficulty of bringing together all the livestock in order tocount them. At this point, the poorer herders were dependenton cattle-loans to get milk and to build up their own herds;they hesitated to contradict elders – often close relatives – dueto cultural codes of conduct; and they were afraid of verbalhostilities as well as of witchcraft. Only an external event inJuly 2011 changed circumstances in the village in their favor:a vaccination campaign made the numbers of cattle owned byeach person publicly known to the community, thusinvalidating the key argument made by the rich againstcounting their cattle. The poorer herders finally made the richpay their contributions according to the number of animalsthey owned by threatening to stop their own contributions.

From the beginning the community members had decided todeny someone access to water if that person did not pay contri-butions. Nevertheless, two households were not punished, eventhough they frequently contravened this rule: the Headman’shousehold and the household of his brother’s son. Both wereable to water some of their herds at a natural spring even duringgreat parts of the dry season. This they used as an argument fornot contributing water point fees. However, often several of theircattle would stray to the water point and drink there.

Case 2: Okapara – High Degree of Cooperation

Okapara also consists of 13 households, but is considered bythe DRWS an example of successful communal water man-agement. The WPC of Okapara was established in August2010 with the support and supervision of the DRWS. It isresponsible for the management of a new solar pump and anold but functioning wind pump. The WPC consists of sevenmembers: five young men, all relatively wealthy for their age(four with 50–100 head of cattle and one with over 100); onepoor old man with under 50 head of cattle; and one young

3 If there are no savings, in the event of an emergency such as the pumpengine breaking down, the community members make one-off contribu-tions for repairs.

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woman (38 years) belonging to a household with around 150head of cattle. TheWP contributions inOkapara are calculatedat 1 N$ per head of cattle per month per household (MHH);50¢ per goat/sheep MHH; 20 N$ per WPA member per year(WPA membership fee); and 10 N$ MHH (household levy).The members stated there were no problems with the collec-tion of the contributions. They confirmed that all water pointusers agreed to the fee assessment, and also that they couldafford to pay. Moreover, the needs of poorer communitymembers were considered: the fees for the household levywere initially set at 20 N$ but were lowered to 10 N$ becausesome members had difficulty paying. In order to be as fair aspossible, the WPC counts the cows and oxen of each house-hold every month, as the herders bring cattle from differentplaces from time to time. The revenue is collected by thetreasurer, who keeps part in his house and deposits the restin a bank account in Opuwo. The villagers want to buy a dieselengine to replace the old wind pump with the savings.

Discussion

The institutional structure for natural resource management innorth-western Namibia has undergone rapid change since theearly 1990s. While previously neighbourhoods and chieftain-cies were the largest management units and defined the com-mons, a number of “new commons” (defined through govern-mental jurisdiction and adapted to local circumstances) areestablishing parallel institutional frameworks for resourcemanagement. While Conservancies and WPAs are beingestablished throughout the region, individually they developat very different rates and with very different outcomes. Thestate delivers blueprints for local institutions (see Agrawal andGibson 1999:638). NGOs and administrations transform suchblueprints into working sets of rules and organisational struc-tures, which rarely represent original design strategies. Wenow consider the relevance of group boundaries/group size,of monitoring/sanctioning mechanisms, and of trust and

Map 3 Sample of the communities in the surroundings of Okangwati area

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fairness to the performance of emergent institutions in the“new commons.”

Group Size and Group Boundaries

There is no consensus about the effect of group size on theefficiency of CPR management (Ostrom 2002). Poteete andOstrom (2004:454) argue that while large groups “may facehigher transaction costs […] they can also draw on more re-sources than smaller groups to engage in collective action”. Jones(2001:169), reflecting on the structure of the first Namibianconservancies, predicts that conservancy size may diminish overtime and that stronger cooperation between conservancies willarise on a regional basis. Overall, discussions on (optimal) groupsize have been paid very little attention in research onconservancies.

Our data agree with the first part of Jones’ prediction thatmore recently gazetted conservancies are much smaller (appar-ently better for communal decision-making). The group size ofconservancies now varies widely, from some 2,500 members(e.g., Ehirovipuka) to around 300 members (e.g., Marienfluss,Puros). According to our observations in 20 conservancies in theKunene Region, and to information from a number of interviewswith experts from both the Ministry of Environment’s

administration in Opuwo and NGOs, the size of conservanciesin north-western Namibia is not strongly correlated with howeffectively they function. The conservancies of the KuneneRegion, however, differ somewhat in this respect from those inother regions of northern Namibia, where some have consider-ably more than 10,000 members or where a majority of inhab-itants in an area are not members of that conservancy. It isespecially in these large conservancies that disagreements ariseover benefit distribution feature prominently in the literature (deVette et al. 2012; Silva and Mosimane 2013: 39).

Similarly, there was no clear relationship between group sizeand the effectiveness of the water point management. In bothlarge and small communities, users could resolve interruptions ofthe water supply caused by technical problems relatively quickly.

In regard to the group boundaries, Ostrom considers clarityof boundary definitions to be a cornerstone of successfulCPRM (Ostrom 1990). Namibian legislation on the “newcommons” seems to have adopted this point wholeheartedly.The definition of group boundaries is legally required for bothconservancies and WPAs. In all 20 conservancies visited, wefound broad knowledge of conservancy boundaries – proba-bly because they are frequently mentioned in public meetingsand many are established along chieftaincy boundaries (Jones2001: 169). The definition of membership (i.e., the definition

Table 3 Water point contributions rules in the communities surrounding Okangwati (due to lack of space only 11 of the 25 communitiesare displayed)

Communtiy No ofpeoplea

Kind of waterpump

Date of WPCestablishment

WPCmembers

Contribution’s rule

Etengwa 75 Diesel pump 1997 4 men Rotation system: each month a different HH provides 25 L of diesel (or 200 N$).

Ohamaremba 60 Hand pump (2) 2007 4 men1 woman

Flat rate: 5 N$ per adult per month

Ohavatje 90 Solar pump,Hand pump

2010 3 men1 woman

Individualized: 1 N$ per head of cattle per HH per month + 30 N$ per HH permonth + 50 N$ per HH per year

Ohayua 248 Solar pump 2008 1 man Government assumes costs of operation and maintenance

Okapara 150 Solar pump,Wind pump

2010 3 men2 woman

Individualized: 1 N$ per head of cattle + 50c per goat per HH per month 20 N$per month per HH 10 N$ registration fee per year

Ombaka 98 Diesel pump 2003 5 men Stratified flat rate: richer HHs pay more (200 N$) than less wealthy ones(100 N$ or 50 N$).

Flat rate: every HH pays 100N$ every time diesel is needed

Omuhonga 60 Solar pump,Hand pump

2008 4 men Individualized: 1 N$ per head of cattle per HH per month, 30 N$ per HH permonth, 50 N$ per HH per year.

Oruhona 135 Solar pump,Dieselpump,Hand pump

1994 4 men Rotation system + Flat rate: each month a different HH provides 25 L of diesel(or 200 N$) + 30 N$ per HH per month for the caretaker + 10–15 N$ per HHper month in case the solar pump gets broken.

Otjozombinda 38 Solar pump,Hand pump

2009 3 men1 woman

Individualized: 1 N$ per head of cattle + 50 c per goat per HH per month + 2 N$per hut within the homestead + 20 N$ per adult per year

Ovijere 150 Diesel pump, 2002 3 men Rotation system: each month a different HH provides 25 L of diesel (or 200 N$)

Owomiwore 90 Solar pump,Hand pump

2010 3 men1 woman

Individualized: 2 N$ per head of cattle per HH per month + 20 cent per goat/sheepper HH per month + 20 N$ per HH per year.

a This amounts correspond to the number of households constituting each community at the time of the assessment multiplied by 7.5 (the average numberof persons constituting a household in the Epupa constituency according to the census of 2001). The results were adjusted upwards and downwardsdepending on the case

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of group boundaries) was more problematic, for example,whether Himba migrants to the southern Kunene Regionshould belong to conservancies there or to ones in theiroriginal areas, whether temporary membership was an option,and whether somebody could belong to two conservancies(which is not currently possible) were controversial points(see also Jones 2001).

While in WPAs territorial boundaries were not discussed,eligibility for group membership and temporary user rightswere issues that generated heated discussions. WPAs areestablished around a single resource, a water point, and noterritorial definition of grazing land belonging to such a waterpoint takes place. When a WPA is founded, each personregularly using the water point is registered, and subsequentlyeverybody who regularly contributes fees to a WPA isregarded as a member. The number of households regularlyusing one water point is small, usually less than 30. Our casestudy in Ombaka shows that irregular and temporary usepresents WPAs with certain dilemmas. Although a numberof WPAs had intricate rules stipulating how temporary immi-grants should contribute to the maintenance of the well, theserules were rarely enforced, and access was seldom denied.Often the use of other water points is necessitated when acommunity’s home borehole breaks down. Under such cir-cumstances everybody expects to be allowed to use suchwater sources. However, sooner rather than later the externalusers are asked by the local WPC to contribute to the mainte-nance of the borehole. This usually implies lengthy discus-sions about the exact amount to be contributed, since theperiod of time a newcomer will stay is not predictable. Insome cases, however, communities have excluded externalusers, making it clear that the water supply was insufficientto support more households.

Group boundaries in the case of both conservancies andWPAs are thus porous. Livestock-related mobility and thevagaries of protracted dry seasons make such flexibilitymandatory. Temporary immigrants or people with stronguser-rights in two localities, however, represent a chal-lenge to both conservancies and WPAs in terms of theextent free-access to resources will be allowed in theinterests of maintaining flexibility and solidarity in awider community, and how effective institutions are inpreventing temporary immigrants from taking too muchof a common pool resource. While territorial boundariesare readily pinned down on glossy maps (somethinggovernment agencies, NGOs and local actors are allfond of), such representations barely relate to the muchmore complex linkage between resources and differenti-ated user rights. We suggest that in both cases moreflexible group membership arrangements would possiblycontribute to lowering the number of conflicts, andwould help to adjust membership requirements to anomadic lifestyle.

Monitoring and Sanctioning

Recent contributions to the theory of CPRM have highlightedthe relevance of monitoring and sanctioning (Henrich et al.2006;Moir 2008; Agrawal and Gibson 1999more specificallyon CBNRM). It is significant that literature on WPAs does infact deal with both aspects, while in the conservancy context“monitoring” is generally tied to the monitoring of wildlifeand human/wildlife conflicts rather than to institutional devel-opment, and “sanctioning” is rarely raised as significant.

Employed game guards monitor wildlife dynamics andrecord human-wildlife conflicts in a highly efficient manner.Game guards have no official responsibility to track themovements of herding units, although previously ovapoliseorovatjevere vyomaryo (“grazing police”) linked to traditionalauthorities had exactly this function (Bollig 2006:334), andcontributed to members’ compliance with the ozonduninovyomaryo (the rules of grazing). While these “grazing police”are said to be ineffective nowadays, the more professionalgame guards have neither the incentive nor the legitimacy tocontrol the way pastures are used or others’ adherence tozoning rules. The lack of coordination between communalgame management and communal pasture management couldbe remedied by providing guards with more training and abroader remit.

One issue of concern to local people is how to effectivelymonitor benefit distribution within a conservancy.Conservancy committees decide upon the allocation ofbenefits autonomously. IRDNC, as the major facilitatingNGO, offers to oversee the book-keeping of conservan-cies, thus shifting the costs of monitoring to a thirdagent, which obtains its funds from external donors.Nevertheless, it is important to note that sizeable costsare accrued, and that the monitoring of benefit-sharingis intricate, costly and complex. Another means formonitoring income and benefit distribution is the annualgeneral assemblies (AGAs) in which committees mustexplain how income from their conservancy was spent.Th e s e AGAs , wh i c h a r e manda t e d i n e a chconservancy’s constitution in many cases take placeonly irregularly, and it is doubtful whether they canaccomplish any kind of actual control and create trans-parency. Most conservancy members lack the skill todeal with large numbers and payment procedures, whichsignificantly hampers the effectiveness of an AGA. Italso means that sanctioning within conservancies isineffective. Issues such as the mishandling of funds bycommittee members for example, may be reported to atraditional authority – but a traditional authority couldnot legitimately directly intervene in matters pertainingto a conservancy committee, nor would it have theauthority to punish. Reporting such cases to the policeseems to be widely unpopular.

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In WPAs the question of monitoring and sanctioning has adifferent character. First, it is clearer as to what issues aremonitored:

(a) Are contributions paid according to schedule?(b) Is it only those making use of the water point who have

contributed?(c) Is the water being wasted, or is the water point polluted?

Even if the records are often not well kept there is broadknowledge of who contributed and who did not, and if some-body wasted water this is often directly visible. Such issuesare discussed intensely at village meetings.

Imposing restrictions, however, constitutes a great chal-lenge for the WPAs. Our data show that there is a relativepermissiveness towards non-payers for several reasons. It iswell accepted that it is often difficult to obtain money and thatcontributions cannot be paid for this reason. Imposing restric-tions is also difficult due to norms and values condemning theexclusion of anybody from access to water. Denying water forhuman consumption is taboo, and preventing livestock fromhaving access to water is commonly referred to as “killing aperson” since the owner’s means of subsistence is therebyendangered. Furthermore, this permissive attitude was alsorelated to norms of conflict avoidance, as well as the fact thatexclusion can become a costly affair. The households consti-tuting the communities are often related to each other, main-taining networks of material and social support among them-selves, and their interactions are structured to a great extent bypatron-client relationships (i.e., cattle lending/donations fromrich to poor herders). To deny a household access to the waterpoint, therefore, would place great strain on social interac-tions, jeopardizing these relationships of support. Cases ofactive exclusion are therefore rare.

Trust/Fairness

Perceptions of trust and fairness can substantially motivatecooperation in CPRM (Smith and McDonough 2001; Songet al. 2012; in the context of Namibian conservancies: Jones2001:175; in the context of community-based initiatives inNamibia: Kirk et al. 2010). There are clearly two ideologicalframeworks at work here. While the facilitating governmentdepartments and NGOs embrace a discourse of conservationand “development through tourism” centered on communityefforts, locally discourses linked to income generation and theascertaining of communal rights with regard to natural re-sources dominate. Focus group interviews with committeesrevealed that they generally hold a positive attitude towardsconservation, but that their keen interest lies in developingoptions for local income generation. Considerations of how tospend actual or future income and how to ensure an equitableand just distribution of gains are salient points of discussion.

In the higher-earning conservancies in particular, we found agreat deal of mistrust among those who did not directlyparticipate in the decision-making.

Conservancy members reflected more openly on the ideathat the establishment of a conservancy also means increasedtenure security. They pointed out that the gazettement of aconservancy helps to control intrusions by outsiders. Whilefactually a conservancy’s status was rarely used to bar out-siders’ access to resources within the conservancy, the poten-tial use of conservancy legislation in this respect was reiteratedrepeatedly. According to Haller et al. (2008), who comparedcommunity conservation in Tanzania and Peru, such per-ceived political gains in bargaining power would explain therapid expansion of conservancies even where economic gainsare often insecure.

In regard to the WPAs, the DRWS has provided commu-nities with a standard constitution emphasizing a set of over-arching principles of fairness and equity, hoping that thesecommunities will manage their water resources according tothese principles and rules and that they will be able to solvewater supply and management problems by themselves.However, though the idea of paying according to the numberof animals each household owns is widely regarded as fair inprinciple by both rich and poor herders, we found that inpractice there is some reluctance on the part of wealthy house-holds to pay their contributions on this basis. In many casesthey feel that they are subsidizing poorer households. The richgenerally favor a flat-rate solution, while the poor favor feesassessed according to the number of animals. Against thisbackground, the DRWS only interferes through follow-upsto insist that WPA governance should ensure compliance withconstitutional requirements for fairness and equity in revenuecollection and distribution.

In other spheres of social life, wealthy herders are expectedto be generous and to support poor people with cows and/oraccess to land – something many of them actually do. Thereason that the rich are not also charitable in the realm of watermanagement lies in the exclusive characteristics of thesepatron-client relationships, which are embedded in matrilinealkinship networks. To donate diesel or to pay for an expensiverepair for the benefit of the whole community impliessupporting people beyond these kinship relations and patron-client networks, including other rich herders with whom onemight be competing. Abstract monetary payments into a com-mon fund make the contributions of the rich less visible, andthey certainly do not create patron-client relations.

Outlook: The Social and Ecological Consequencesof Modified CPR Management

Barnes et al. (2002:9) suggest that the Namibian conservancyapproach is likely to foster the emergence and/or

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strengthening of local institutions of communal resource man-agement. We seek to go beyond this suggestion and to delin-eate the dynamics of institutional change. Fifteen years afterthe gazettment of the first conservancy, manifold institutionalchanges have taken place.

We established how group size and group membershipdefinitions impact institutional development in conservanciesand water point associations. While group size in our cases isnot a pertinent issue, group membership definitions are diffi-cult and beset with conflicts. Strict definitions of group mem-bership do not fit well with the challenges of a nomadiclivestyle. We also showed that sanctioning and monitoringmechanisms are major issues in both institutional setups.While in cost-sharing WPAs some monitoring mechanismsare in place, suchmonitoring is well-developed only in respectto human-wildlife interactions in conservancies. The monitor-ing of benefit-sharing in conservancies is a much more com-plex task. Sanctioning is difficult in both institutional contexts.This is as much due to cultural standards (e.g., problems withexcluding anybody from water), as to the close exchangerelations actors maintain (which could be jeoparidized bymutual sanctioning). We also noted that aspirations of fairnessare crucial for the success of institutions. Here our qualitativeethnographic account strengthens the argument of empiricaleconomists (Kirk et al. 2010).

In a recent article on conservancies in Omusati Region,northern Namibia, de Vette et al. (2012) diagnosed elite cap-ture in Omusati’s conservancies (for Caprivi see Silva andMosimane 2013). This does not seem to be the case in KuneneNorth. The income from conservancy activities – in severalinstances sizeable sums of money – is split into salaries andfunding for meetings and other activities. This may not alwayshappen in a just and equitable manner, but apparently it doesnot lead to resource accumulation by a restricted group ofpeople. Beneficiaries often belong to a single category, how-ever: men with some educational background in their late 20s,30s and early 40s clearly gain most from conservancies; theyare more likely to obtain salaried jobs and they are more likelyto be elected as committee members, which gives them accessto small allowances and broader social networks. Often it isthe same men who steer WPCs, and who collect and controltheir funds. These processes contribute to a demise of geron-tocratic power and to changing modes of communal decision-making but they do not lead to elite capture.

One obvious change in local politics is that traditionalauthorities (chiefs, councillors) have to share rights and obli-gations with committees, and in a number of instances con-servancies have become the sole providers of a chief’s in-come. In this process the institutional power of traditionalauthorities undergoes a crisis. In a number of chieftainciescontending chiefs have set themselves up as authorities.Contenders rarely argue that other chiefs should be removeddue to lack of legitimacy; they rather campaign for the

acknowledgement of additional authorities as such, therebymaking them eligible to directly gain from a conservancy.

Is this process of rapid institutional development betterconceptualized as one of fragmentation (Galvin 2009:191–192) which challenges pastoral livelihoods, or as the prolifer-ation of an increasingly instituted diversity of responses, cre-ating more resilience in the wider social-ecological system(Leslie and McCabe 2013)? For now, we think that the usersof land and water are still in a transition process, in whichinstitutions are developed, implemented, and changed by var-ious actors with differing bargaining power in order to adapt tonew challenges. The concrete ecological consequences ofthese changes are as yet difficult to determine. There is cur-rently little data that would show that the highly complex, yetbrittle regional institutional setup accelerates degradation ofpasture and water sources, or that it might perhaps lead to apatchier landscape, with some patches being more sustainablyused than others. RegardingWPAs, it is too early to determinewhether the water sources are being managed sustainablyunder the new framework. Concerning the conservancies,however, there are some noticeable ecological trends. In theconservancies on the western fringe of Kunene North wildlifenumbers have increased significantly (NACSO 2010). Whileincreasing numbers of game have been connected to goodenvironmental conditions over the past decade, they are alsoinfluenced by the improved protection of game through newinstitutions. In both instances institutional development hasled to an intense development of (re)-coupling processesbetween social and ecological subsystems.

Acknowledgments We thank. M. Schnegg, Th. Kelbert, K. Gradt, T.Linke from the LINGS Project, and a group of colleagues from theInstitute of Social and Cultural Anthropology at the University of Co-logne for commenting on previous versions of this text. We also thanktwo anonymous reviewers whose comments helped to improve the papersignificantly. Research in northern Namibia was sponsored by the Ger-man Research Council and VW Foundation.

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