A Scenic Tour of the Kibera Slum

My last “tourist attraction” in Nairobi is a visit to the Kibera Slum where 1.3 million people live in abject squalor; where dangerous live power lines drape between rusty tin shacks, where drinking water runs next to raw sewage and children suck contaminated water from leaky pipes and get sick from typhoid, cholera, dysentery, chronic diarrhoea and parasites, where there’s no proper sanitation and people live surrounded by mountains of rotting garbage. 

When I arrive with my guides Victor and David, suddenly two huge black men appear and I joke: “Are these guys my body guards?” and everyone laughs.

We pick our way through the colourful market stalls festooned with products that nobody can afford to buy, to narrow back streets lined with hundreds of minuscule derelict shacks, trudging through squelching mud and layers of filthy rubbish, jumping over puddles and rocks, along a railway line that runs right through Kibera amongst the teeming hoards, with trains running regularly to distant places as far away as Uganda.

I am impressed by how the gangs of boys are keeping a respectful distance from me; a conspicuous blonde white woman carrying a handbag containing money and a smart phone. The adults smile and say “Jambo” while the little kids cheekily call out “Muzungu” (amused by my stark white skin) and sing out the English phrase they have rehearsed: “Hello, how are yooooo?” I respond in a musical voice: “Very fine. How are yooooo?”

As we wander through appalling conditions unfit for human habitation, I ask my guides; “How does the government allow this?” And then right here in the middle of the largest urban slum in Africa, I receive an education about the unjust politics of Kenya.

It is well known that Kenyan politicians earn outrageously high salaries. Some make $50,000USD per month when you add up their exorbitant salaries and numerous allowances for entertainment and travel expenses, acquired from the taxes of hard-working Kenyans. 
Apparently politicians have better things to do than address the horrendous problems of the Kibera Slum. 


Granted there have been some government efforts to relocate a small number of families, to provide a few schools and a community centre but these projects barely make a dent in the scale of the overwhelming problems and human rights violations.

The four men are all members of the Orange DemocraticMovement working for social justice and human rights. One of the big guys who joined our Slum Tour is standing for the county election next year to represent the neglected people of Kibera. He is an admired community leader dedicated to improving conditions for families trying to survive in this 1000 square acre wasteland and he has fierce support.

Kibera has grown into an entrenched sub-standard outer suburb offering cheap housing to many thousands of rural families who moved to the city seeking work but failed to gain employment where nepotism and tribal connections often determine who gets the well-paid jobs.

It is also well documented that President Uhuru Kenyatta, the son of Kenya’s first black president, Jomo Kenyatta, after Independence from British rule in 1963, is fabulously wealthy, owning massive tracts of land and property and many Kenyans say that his silver spoon upbringing has made him oblivious to the suffering of the poor.

One example of doing it tough is my new friend David who has cared for his four young sisters since their parents died tragically years ago. They live in Kibera and often go without food. This devoted Big Brother sometimes resorts to casual labour carrying 50 kilo bags of cement up several storeys on building sites to make $3 a day. The girls wash laundry on Sunday to make a few shillings.

However David uses the public library to study for a degree in International Relations with an ambition to become a Diplomat. His sisters are studying hard at high school to become human rights activists and lawyers and the youngest girl wants to be a doctor. They are driven to escape the slum and make a better life. Hearing his determination and discipline, I have complete faith that this family of siblings will eventually succeed.

David asks me about poverty in the UK. I stop and consider: “Well I suppose the most extreme form of poverty is homelessness where people sleep on the street or in the underground train stations and beg for money from city workers …but then I suppose the homeless in London at least have access to clean public toilets and clean water and can buy food.” I realise that poverty is measured in units of desperation for basic survival needs and dignity.

There are positive, inspirational rays of hope that shine from the bleakness of Kibera; many ingenious people here are enterprising in the ways they devise to make a living; running stalls selling all kinds of goods and services. They are truly entrepreneurial, realising they must help themselves and invent clever ways to survive every day.

The guys take me to meet their friend Jack, a talented craftsman who runs the Victorious Craft Group. He makes exquisite jewellery from recycled materials such as cow bones, wood and brass and trains young people in his unique methods to produce necklaces, bracelets, earrings, bowls, salad spoons and other beautiful items. 

When we leave the Slum after three challenging hours of having my eyes opened to true urban poverty, I realise the big guys were in fact acting as my bodyguards. Without them walking on each side of me I could easily have been mugged. I guess I’m lucky to have escaped unscathed, while the human beings condemned to living in these unhealthy, degrading conditions are not so lucky.

If you are interested in volunteering in the clinic or schools at Kibera, contact David at Jungle World Safaris

       

Meeting Beautiful Eyael

I have flown from Nairobi to Addis Ababa to meet Eyael, a little girl I’ve sponsored through Compassion for 12 years since she was eight.

Eyael is now a young woman of 20 who has travelled with a project worker over 300 kilometres on a public bus for seven hours from her rural home in Yirgalem in the southern region where she lives with her parents and three brothers and three sisters. 

This is an exciting and emotional day! I’m in the Ag Place Hotel, a pleasant Three Star hotel, waiting for Eyael to arrive with her project worker, the Visit Host and a driver, who will take us around for the day.

When I explain why I’m here, Ganet the charming hotel manager, invites us to sit in the private VIP lounge for our initial meeting.

When Eyael walks in the foyer I am blown away. She is a stunningly beautiful young woman with sparkly brown eyes, a dazzling, shy smile, wavy black hair, honey complexion and the elegant poise of a model! My eyes fill with tears, I am choked up and filled with joy and pride. We hug and look deeply into each other’s eyes with a connection that goes right to the heart.

The Visit Host, Meheretab speaks impeccable English and the national Ethiopian language of Amharic. He translates between the two of us. I ask Eyael and the project worker, Birhane about their journey the previous day and they say all was fine, despite a much-publicised, government-declared State of Emergency.

I ask if she has visited Addis before and she says only when she was a toddler so coming to the city is a big event she has been excited about for weeks.

I discover the she is soon to complete high school, where she has excelled as an outstanding student, and will then do two years of preparatory school before applying to University. When I ask what career she wants to follow, I almost fall off the chair when she says: “Journalism. I have been inspired by you to be a journalist!” I am deeply touched. I can’t believe that I’ve had such an impact on this young girl just by donating money every month.

Through Meheretab, she tells me she has an ambition to be a television presenter and I say that with her beauty and intelligence she is sure to succeed.  I tell her my own beautiful daughter Justine is an award-winning filmmaker in London with her boyfriend Andy, who is also a drummer in a rock band. She is very interested and wants to know all about my family.

 I say that when I started sponsoring her in 2004 we lived on the Sunshine Coast in Australia and how we moved to the UK seven years ago, how my son Daniel is an entrepreneur and is married to Aléna with a little son Alexander, how my husband Andrew is a business coach and trainer. She wants to know if we all still live together and I explain tht my children are grown up and live in London and how we live in the country, an hour by train outside the city, with our cocker spaniels and hens. I show her photos of the whole family.

Eyael tells me about her family. Her parents farm their land and grow avocadoes, papaya, spices and coffee. I say how I adore avocadoes! Her eldest sister is a midwife and her brothers are studying engineering at university while her little sisters are still at school.

We are building a strong bond as we get to know each other. I suggest we go clothes shopping, the universal, cross-cultural activity that all women love! We hit the mall with Meheretab valiantly trying not to get bored as us girls worked through the racks. Eyael tries on several outfits and settles on a long olive green dress and a stylish fitted skirt with a burgundy top. This girl’s got taste! I agree to buy all three items and she is delighted and plans to share the new outfits with her sisters.

Our driver Solomon takes us to a shady tropical outdoor restaurant attached to the National Museum and I get an education about Ethiopian cuisine! We all have Ingera bread made from fermented teff flour with a holey texture that looks like coral. We break off pieces and squash them in our fingers to scoop up the delicious spicy stews. Meheretab explains that Ingera is a healthy staple made in every home and eaten twice a day.

Over our meal, Meheretab shares that he was also a sponsored child from the age of seven. He has never met his American sponsors however he is deeply grateful for the financial support that changed his life. He has just completed his second degree in Public Policy and works as a counsellor and lay pastor ministering to the needy.

He says: “Education has developed in me a good heart with a desire to do good for others. I have a strong belief in God and believe that every sponsored child has a God-given purpose. I do this hosting work to give back to Compassion because of the difference it made to me and all it does for so many children.”

I ask Eyael what sponsorship has meant for her. She says: “If I was not in the Compassion program going to school would not be easy. My brothers and sisters did not get this privilege. All my needs are being provided for from the money you send. My parents have a big family. They could not afford the school registration, uniforms and books. And the money helps my whole family. It buys soap and cooking oil and grain.”

I am flabbergasted. I did not realise my sponsorship over 12 years has meant so much to this precious girl and her family.

Meheretab says there are 400 Compassion projects throughout Ethiopia. Each project supports 250 children with just four hard-working staff; a project director, accountant, health worker and social worker. They do an incredible job caring for so many youngsters, getting them through school and doing regular health checks and family support. 

The next stop is Addis Ababa University, which was formerly the Emperor’s Palace. We stroll through the beautiful gardens in the gentle sunshine and Meheretab says the flourishing, government-funded university has several campuses and student accommodation and around 60,000 students from all over the country and the best academics in Ethiopia. This is where he studied and got his qualifications and direction in life.

I immediately have a vision of Eyael attending this university doing media studies and I watch her face light up as she explores the vast academic panorama. I imagine the opportunities this first-class university would open to her.

Mehertab is an expert on Ethiopian history and culture and shows us around the university museum, eloquently explaining the intricacies of the country’s rich cultural heritage and ancient sacred sites.

He says Ethiopian is a peace-loving country with a population of over 90 million and 80 nationalities speaking 80 different languages and following the two main religions of Christianity and Islam, all co-existing in harmony throughout nine distinct regions. 

The next stop is the National Museum where I meet Lucy, the renowned fossil that dates back three million years, which was discovered in Ethiopia by archaeologists in 1974.

We stroll around the museum looking at artefacts and paintings and opulent relics from the Emperors’ era. Eyael is fascinated and loves the history and culture of her country and wants to share it with the world.

When we say our goodbyes back at my hotel, there are tears and hugs, greetings to each other’s family and my heartfelt promise that I will continue to support her through university and into her television career.

Meeting my beautiful girl has been profound. My heart is overflowing with love and respect for Eyael and her family. And I’m dreaming of her wonderful future.        

Hope for the Batwa people

I am stumbling along rocky paths weaving upward through sumptuous expanses of immaculate, thriving vegetable gardens nestled between three imposing volcanoes; Muhavura, the highest looming peak caressed by cotton wool clouds, Mgahinga, wrapped in lush forests and the baby Mount Sabyingo smouldering in the distance, in this heaven-blessed, fertile cradle of Kisoro, southern Uganda. 

A young girl and her mother are swinging long hoes as they created perfect mounds of rich, dark volcanic soil ready for planting Irish Potatoes (the Irish would be proud!)

Renowned BBC gardeners Monty Don and Alan Tichmarsh would be astonished to see such picturesque, flourishing gardens; an abundance of potatoes and yams, wheat, corn and maize fields and acres of pretty flowering peas and towering beans; enough to keep these families of mountain farmers well-fed with plenty of fresh produce to sell at the market too.

Handsome multi-coloured goats and cows munch moist grass as we pass and mobs of laughing children come running, waving and giggling, flashing their white smiles from shiny brown faces, calling “Muzunga”, Swahili for White Person, when they spot Julio and me, a strange sight, wandering through their remote village, way off the tourist track.

I became instant friends with enthusiastic, kind-hearted Julio from Mexico on our Absolute Africa tour, from the minute we stepped onto the giant yellow bus in Nairobi. Along with Merethe, a genuine, caring young woman from Norway, we recognised each other as soul mates, joining this adventure for the sheer joy and love of connecting with the local people, as much as seeing magnificent animals in the wild. 

As Merethe had to fly out early, it was just Julio and me who opted for a visit to the Batwa tribe - the “Pygmy” people - proud hunters who were displaced from the forest when it became a National Park to protect the mountain gorillas in 1991. 

The two of us curious travellers stumbling around these secluded hills are accompanied by fit and agile Kisoro men, Joseph, 29, and Godfrey, 26; knowledgeable guides who are dedicated to helping the Batwa marginalised community.

When Africans say “It’s not far” or “It won’t take long’’, remember distance and time are measured by a different perspective here! I am wearing inappropriate footwear of flimsy sandals and a light floral top, more suitable for an elegant afternoon tea in a café, rather than a marathon mountain hike in the drizzle and bracing wind.

When we finally reach the Batwa “village” I am shocked out of my own mild discomfort. We find five tiny straw huts where up to eight people sleep, hunched on narrow ledges or standing up. There are no toilets or bathrooms and the people fetch water from miles away.    

The humble huts are built on a craggy peak. Unusable for growing crops, the farmers have allowed the Batwas to live here, although they don't own the miniscule plot. The families scrounge food from the farmers’ crops, pinching a few potatoes or some maize for their evening meal on the fire.

These people are the poorest of the poor, deprived of the basics of survival; food, water and sanitation, proper housing, education, medical care and productive work.

Joseph tells the story of their past. They have a proud heritage as strong, resilient hunters who lived in caves and hunted buffalo and foraged in the abundant volcanic rainforests. However their natural, tribal way of life came to an end when the Batwa were forced from the forest to protect the endangered gorillas. Ironically the people did not hunt the gorillas, whom they revered and lived alongside in harmony.

With Joseph translating, I ask the gathering of around 20 men and women “What are your dreams? What is your vision for the future? What do you want for your children?”

One young man is quick to answer on behave of his people, saying: “We want our own land and proper houses. We want to raise chickens and goats and grow vegetables for food. We want our children to go to school and learn.”

Julio is deeply touched by their plight and spontaneously declares his heartfelt desire to support this deprived, forgotten community through regular donations.

Godfrey and Joseph explain that a NGO is currently working to help the Batwa achieve the basics of human needs and restore their dignity. We both decide we will explore responsible ways to support them, not through handouts, but sustainable, empowering projects.  

The people are keen to perform for their visitors and launch into singing and dancing traditional songs and we join in and hold hands with these incredible survivors.

The Reverend Andrew, a devoted man of God who ministers to the community, leads us in a prayer of gratitude for this unlikely meeting of Julio and me with the impoverished Batwa families on the hill. We pray for their future and hope that compassionate people around the world will care for these endangered human beings as much as they care for the endangered gorillas.