I have internet again! I’d like to apologize for the incredibly long delay in blog posts… a combination of my own lack of motivation, busy schedule, nonexistent internet connection, generosity in lending out my computer (to people who delete my things, apparently), and a variety of other factors have contributed to the last month, in which I haven’t been able to write to you. Believe me, I have tried. So, The last month of my trip will be published in a series of blog posts, for those of you whose attention spans won’t make it past a few pages at a time.
Here’s the first bit, written and re-written 4 times (yes, really), most recently written about two weeks ago:
I’ve been in Kilifi now for three weeks, and I’ve finally gotten somewhat settled, both in terms of housing and the project I’m doing here. I know I still have to catch you up on the week I spent in Nairobi before coming here, but first I have a few other things I’d like to share. In the meetings I have with the girls I’m working with for my project, we always start off by them giving me two words to learn in Kiswahili (I might as well expand my vocabulary, even if everything else we do is in English): one useful word, and one useless word. So, in the spirit of continuing the tradition (sort of), I’m going to start with two things that are currently on my mind, one that seems pertinent to my experience here, and one that you probably couldn’t care less about…
Useless: My left foot is really, really itchy. At first I just thought it was mosquito bites, because they always seem to go for your feet and ankles, but then it always seemed to be in the same places, and was just my left foot, so now I’m thinking it might be eczema… does anyone know how salt water affects eczema? Oh, maybe I forgot to mention that part of my stay here in Kilifi involves me getting my exercise by swimming in the Indian Ocean everyday… but we’ll come to that later. And don’t worry, as fantastic as it sounds (and yes, it really is pretty great), the experience is brought down a fair few notches with all of the attention I get there for being white.
Useful: In my time here, I’ve come to begin to understand the importance of culture in development. Before I got here, I just sort of assumed that everything would work itself out, and the project and I would adapt to make it all work. Then, I got here and all of the misunderstandings that I knew would exist about my project and its implementation all sort of rose to the surface, and suddenly I found out that I was to work with a group of 45 under-educated teenage moms when, in fact, there was no way that my project could handle anything of the sort. Even once this was corrected and I found a more suitable population for my project, suddenly even something as simple as organizing a group of 15 or so girls into three groups so that they could all make it to meetings, seemed suddenly impossible. Between language, accent, culture, upbringing, notions of politeness, and countless other obstacles, even getting 5 girls in one room at the same time, much less getting them comfortable talking with me/one another seemed absolutely impossible. I’ll explain this further a little later, but in the meantime, I think it is entirely useful to know that you can scoff at culture as much as you would like, but despite its potential subtlety, it will likely be that ultimate factor that makes/breaks any attempt at progress in just about any development-related initiative.
Now that we have that out of the way, let’s back up to where I last left you: at the steps of Kibera Slum. Before I tell you about my experience there, I’ll give you a (VERY) brief introduction. You hear people talk about Kibera, chances are they’re talking about the slum, even if they’re Kenyan, from Nairobi, whatever. The thing is, Kibera is a neighborhood in Nairobi. The slum (second largest in Africa – behind one in Jo-burg, and largest in East Africa) is this absolutely MASSIVE area with maybe a dozen of its own neighborhoods (don’t quote me on that… I know there are a lot, but I don’t remember exactly how many, and as I sit here writing this, my internet isn’t working, so I can’t very well check). Positioned right in the middle of the city, the slum makes it a royal pain in the ass to get a number of places, because it’s so big that driving around just part of it takes anywhere between 10 and 60 minutes, depending on traffic. So, here you have this gigantic area full of people living in incredibly close quarters, under extremely harsh living conditions. And what does the government do to help this huge number of people that live in the heart of its capital city, that are part of its workforce, and that desperately need the help of its social services (yes, Kenya does have some of those, I swear! You just need to know where to look to find them)? Oh, well, the government doesn’t acknowledge the existence of this area. That’s what it does. Yup. If you look on any official government map of Nairobi, you can observe a giant forest in the middle of the city… So next time you’re in Nairobi, do me a favor, and go to this forest, and tell me if you find a single tree.
Now, this is perhaps the most ridiculous/inspiring/stupid/evolutionarily counterintuitive dream I may have had, but when I was daydreaming back in the states one day, I started thinking about what it would be like to live in Kibera Slum while I was in Kenya. I know my circumstances are incredibly different from the slum’s inhabitants, but I still had this persisting feeling that if they can live there, I should be able to, too. And hell, even if something really terrible does happen to me there, better that something terrible should happen while I’m experiencing something as important as slum-dwelling, as opposed to getting hit by a car while crossing the street or something. (I don’t mean to brag, but after living in Nairobi, I think I may just be better than any of you at successfully crossing the street, and if you have any doubts, we can take this up later). So, even before I arrived in Kenya, I had this thought in the back of my mind. Then, on the very first day of my study-abroad program, we were informed of the two absolute “do-not”s of the program; under no circumstances were we to get married or live in the slum. So, the program ended, the other students got ready to leave, and I went to live in the Mashimoni neighborhood of Kibera Slum with some friends of mine that live there.
While there, I stayed with my friends Katonya and Mercy in Katonya’s house, which consisted of a room big enough to hold a bed (this became one of two rooms, when you let the sheet down that divides the room, should you need a two-room house instead of a one-room house), a small tv/tv stand, three small chairs, and a freezer for the juice business. Think of the smallest college single you’ve seen, and now shave off the end of that. So, for my week in Kibera Slum, the three of us stayed there, which was a little cramped for three people, but was quite manageable. Katonya coaches a number of soccer teams for kids/youth in the slum, and as a result, is quite well-respected throughout the community. He runs a business selling juice (generally mango) and coffee, which earns him anywhere from 20 to 200 shillings per day (the exchange rate generally hovers around 86KSH/$US). Though rent for a room in a mud (or maybe even cement) structure may be cheaper than the rest of Kenya, one small pouch of milk costs 35 KSH (every family generally uses a few of these each morning to make tea) and a loaf of white bread (the other breakfast staple for everyone that can afford it) costs around 50 KSH.
Mercy is Katonya’s sister, and perhaps the most sincere, positive person I have met in my life. When I first came to Kilifi and I was a little sick, as soon as she heard, she started to make plans to come out to Kilifi to take care of me. This is someone who has never been to Kilifi, much less anywhere on the coast. This is someone who often takes her tea without white bread because she can’t afford, who was ready to search for 1000 KSH to take her to an unfamiliar place just to make sure that I was okay. She wants so badly to go to nursing school, but again, can’t afford the tuition.
Katonya has survived off of his business selling juice around the slum, which makes him 200ish KSH on a good day. Katonya is the coach for a number of soccer teams in Kibera (this is how we met), which not only eats up his time, but also his money. How does he afford to both live and buy his players uniforms, balls, and shoes? I have absolutely no idea. Walking through the slum with them, though, made it very clear that these two people are well respected in the community, which definitely helped solidify my positive perceptions of them and their family, and made me more comfortable staying with them, considering the extent to which it decreased the likelihood that anything would happen to me or my things. Indeed, when I was hanging out with some of my little kid neighbors and taking videos of them, apparently some boys saw me with my camera and decided that it would be better off in their hands, when one of the neighbors heard them talking and explained that I was Katonya’s guest, which made them change their minds.
After talking with Mercy and Katonya throughout my stay with them, we came up with the idea of taking one of the vacant nearby structures and turning it into a hotel (aka eatery) in which Mercy and Katonya could sell not only juice, but all the regular dishes (most Kenyans don’t like to branch out from ugali so much), in addition to a few new items here and there, like French toast. So, in the hopes that a loan will get everything going, I have offered to lend them enough money to put together the newest, classiest place to pick up a snack in Mashimoni neighborhood of Kibera Slum. According to the latest budget sheet, the hotel name will be Tasha Russman Gloom Hotel. Why “gloom”? No idea.
