Every morning I walk from my house, a nice three bedroom flat in a very nice, well to do area of Nairobi. I cross the street and begin my 40-minute walk to Tumaini. As I head towards Kibera, I pass many of the same people doing the exact same thing I saw them doing yesterday, many in the very same clothes. They are unpacking boxes full of radios, earrings, socks, shoes, flip-flops, flashlights, batteries, second hand clothes, every knick-knack you could possibly imagine, and they will promise to sell it to you for a very fair price. I smell mandazis cooking and feel the pavement under my feet, usually with the splash of a puddle I am trying to dodge as the long rainy season persists with relentless enthusiasm.
As I go deeper into “Toy Market,” things begin to change drastically. Suddenly I don’t hear my feet on the pavement anymore, because there is none. I only hear the sound of my Chaco’s being drowned in inches of mud, all of this masked by a local vendor or kiosk playing, overwhelmingly loud, the latest trendy song, usually in Kiswhahili. If the sound of the squishing mud isn’t lost in music it will be lost in the local churches and mosques competing for attention while blaring either a sermon or daily prayers to Allah. I hear lorries pass by, carrying the vendors’ goods and men yelling, “kumi! kumi!” I hear people greeting each other, “Habari asu buhi?” “Njema!” I see many of the same things as before but now I see people setting up their produce on small wooden slabs, usually about three feet off the ground. These slabs are covered with plastic tarps to protect from the equatorial sun or the infamous African rains. Now, instead of the sweet smell of mandazis being fried, my nostrils catch wiffs of someone cooking omena, the staple food of the Luo people that dominate this area of Kibera. Omena is a small minnow like fish that is prepared by frying with tomatoes and onions and usually served with ugali. As the omena dies out, I smell sewage that has been sitting and I think how I can’t wait for the next rain to help wash it away. A woman, a mom, with three kids in tow passes and I can smell “Imperial Leather”, a popular soap and a welcomed relief. Her children greet me with “How are you?” A phrase I hear about every ten seconds throughout the course of my journey through Kibera. One “How are you?” is echoed by about five others. All wanting to stop and shake my hand.
As I continue my walk, I come to one of my favorite parts. I spend a few minutes talking with my “sugar mama.” Now….let me explain. About two weeks ago I passed by this old grandmother sitting under a tarp selling sweet potatoes, arrowroots, and carrots. I greeted her as usual. On this particular day she said, “wewe, kuja” meaning: you, come. So I went closer figuring she wanted me to shake her hand. She asked me for some sugar. I told her I didn’t have any but that I would come with some the next morning when I passed by. The next day when I passed and gave her the gift of the sugar, tears formed in her eyes and she just put her hands in the air and kept saying, “Bwana Asafiwe!” She was thanking our God for the simple gift, it moved me beyond words, hence how she was given the name of my “sugar mama.” After I talk with her I continue on my way. I am now on a paved road again called Karanja. Here is one of the strangest parts of my daily journey and where the most contrast exists.
On my left there are tall buildings, like apartments, three or four stories tall, many of them with shops, saloons, and cafes dominating the bottom levels. They are neat and well kept with electricity, and one even has satellite TV. On my right I can only see tin roofs, rusted. Thousands of wood and mud huts scattered haphazardly in the distance. Really, I can’t see anything but the roofs of each house as they gradually descend in to the valley of Kisumu ndogo.
Now I am about seven minutes away from work and am starting the rapid decline into the maze of rusted tin roofs, many with large rocks sitting on top of the roofs to keep the sheet metal from blowing away during the gusty, unforgiving winds. I start down a hill and see a big open field on my right, the only one I have seen throughout all of Kibera and straight ahead the homes, shops, kiosks, clinics, and livelihood of the approximately 1 million people who inhabit this area. Maize is drying on tarps on the ground, women are bent over jikos cooking chapattis, and butchers are hanging the freshly slaughtered goat in the windows of their shops. I see the homes cross sectioned by the railroad tracks of the “Lunatic Express” other wise know as, “Kenya Railways.” I cross them and search for the stream of waste that will lead me the rest of the way to Tumaini; I am here. I feel somewhat exhausted and yet rejuvenated because of how I have been fed by my brief interactions with the people and environment over the last 40 minutes. My day has just begun.
This is Kibera:
*A section of land just over 270 acres.
*Kibera is divided into four sub-divisions.
*A population of at least one million people.
*At least 3,700 people living on each acre.
*1/2 the population is under 18.
*Second largest slum in all of Africa, second only to Soweto in South Africa.
*An average home or cube is 8ftx8ft.
*Average monthly income is 3,000 shillings or $225.00
As I enter Tumaini, my interests are divided. I see about eight mothers sitting on bamboo mats on the ground of the feeding center. They are talking and laughing with one another. Each has a small, malnourished baby resting peacefully on their back or laying quietly on the floor beside them. I can’t decide if I should go and greet them or head into the clinic to see if they need my help. The former wins and I rush over to say hello. I hear Anne, the nutritionist, explaining the importance of a balanced diet and instructing the mothers on what that means. Each of these mothers has been referred to the feeding center of Tumaini because their babies showed signs of malnutrition. Most often this is due to the extreme poverty that exists in Kibera—and other times due to neglect or lack of knowledge. They come to the feeding center Monday through Friday so their baby can be given a meal of enriched porridge. At the end of the morning, they carry extra porridge with them to make sure the baby eats at least once more during the course of the day. As I make the rounds, I observe how in my short time there I can see the babies making slow but sure progress. I see them smiling and talking more, looking less emaciated and livelier. I get excited about later in the day when I get to come and just observe the mother’s interactions with each other and their children. I feel a part of this place.
I head into the clinic and see even though it is very early a line of people has formed. They are waiting to see the doctor for each of their various problems, typically typhoid, malaria, or dysentery. Soon they will come to the pharmacy where I work, and I will dispense their medicines. I enjoy this part of my work with Tumaini because of the interactions I get to have with the numerous people that come through the clinic each day. At times it is also very difficult, because I am the one who tells them how much their doctor’s visit and medicine will cost in total. Often I have mothers or fathers telling me they just can’t afford to part with 50 shillings ($.66) for their child’s medicine. They tell me they will take what they can afford today and come back for the rest tomorrow. It is hard not to want to go into the back and take the money from my own wallet to help ease the burden of these people. Instead I just stand there and pray that the Lord will provide a means for them to purchase medicine for themselves or their children.
By the time two o’clock rolls around I am exhausted but still have four hours left. My afternoon is always amazing and filled with even more “God sightings.” At three everyday, a group of youth who call themselves “Pillars of Kibera” gather at Tumaini. They are known as POK, and they are a group of youth committed to preventing the idleness of other youth in the area through dance, drama, sports, music, etc. For the month, I was asked to be the drama coach for the group that was rehearsing skits about women’s empowerment, mob psychology, spousal abuse and HIV/AIDS. It has been amazing to work with a generation of people who are excited about equality, education, empowerment, and political issues in their country. Building relationships with these youth has been the highlight of my year in Kenya, and I didn’t expect it to be so hard for me to leave after only one month. They have been a light in my life and have taught me so much about contentment and joy. They have reaffirmed my passion for work in those kinds of settings and have re-sparked gifts in myself that have been lying dormant for the last eight months.
“I am not saying this because I am in need, for I have learned to be content in whatever circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do everything through him who gives me strength.” Phil 4: 11-13
I have learned this secret over the last month from not only the people I worked with, but also the people I encountered briefly everyday at Tumaini and in Kibera. These people have touched my life in immeasurable and unexplainable ways. They have taught me a vital lesson I pridefully thought I had already learned. They live in mud houses, sometimes with eight or nine other people. They come from homes where their parents, husbands, wives, and friends may be addicted to drugs and at times may be abusive and unloving. They walk by heaps of sewage and trash everyday, most often sitting just outside their front door. They own one pair of shoes and two sets of clothing. They have almost nothing they can call their own. They live in this place, a place most of us would not even consider stepping foot in, and yet they love it; it is there home. They have the same joy and contentment that most of us have and often more than we could ever imagine. They have shown me what it means to live in community and constantly put myself third. They are the light of Christ shining in this dark place of Kibera, and they are scattered throughout that population of over one million. They have given me hope for this world and the future of this country. They have renewed my vision and restored my faith in what people’s capabilities.
Even though this little piece of the kingdom is not lined with streets of gold but, rather, piles of worn out shoes, heaps of garbage, streams polluted with waste, and houses made of mud and tin, it is still a piece of the kingdom of our amazing and beautiful Heavenly Father. It is a place where I have witnessed the kingdom in action and seen his disciples hard at work to spread his love, grace, beauty, and truth to everyone they meet. The passion and selfless love of Christ is their own. I am praising our Lord for the gift of witnessing how he works in all people and in all places in Kibera. I praise him that he felt me worthy enough to experience this community and even become a part of it. I praise him even more for how he worked in me and through me. His awesome and endless love is abounding. I am blessed to be a witness.
