Back the Matatu Up!

I realized I should have given some background on how I came to be in Kibera....

It may be useful to give an overview of what I hope to accomplish and how I got to be in the place to begin with. I am a Master’s Student getting my master’s in global health at Duke. I chose this program almost entirely for the opportunity to go abroad for my research. At the time I hoped to return to Moshi, Tanzania but when no immediate opportunity came up I decided to stretch myself and go somewhere new. While most of my classmates are clinically focused, I am interested in organizations, policy, and programming. I was steered to my thesis mentor who was the founding board chair for CFK. After hearing the story of CFK, its emphasis on community leadership, and learning about Kibera, I  really hoped it was the right fit. As I am not going on to get my PhD or my MD I wanted a project that I could gain concrete skills and experience with an organization, while fulfilling the research aspect of the master’s program. I was curious about Kibera and also knew it would challenge me in unforeseen, but exciting, ways.  Here is some background that might help understand where I am a bit better.

The 12 Villages of Kibera

A picture from above, notice the golf course?

Kibera is the largest slum in Nairobi, and perhaps Africa. The population estimates differ from hundreds of thousands to over a million. This covers about a 3 sq km area. One thing is for certain, this area is growing. Kibera tends to attract people coming from “the village” or “up-country” to Nairobi for employment and much of the population is transient. The population is extremely diverse. However, half the population is under the age of 15. There are over 80 informal primary schools, only 3 of which get government funding. The government maintains that they own the land of Kibera, although some say otherwise. One surprising sight in Kibera is the number of makeshift antennas popping above the rooftops, some using metal plates. These are used for televisions within the houses. The electricity situation is tricky, it is estimated that about 20% of the homes have electricity. Most of the grid is stolen from the Nairobi power grid with a series of wires that create a complex web of electricity from one house to the next. I was told not to touch the metal roofs or metal siding in case of electrocution. There are open wires on the ground, in the air, and running across the sides of the houses.

There are a series of new “bio gas centers” which is a complicated name for toilets. In my observation, each of these centers is run by a different NGO.  In an effort to not waste space, “conference centers” for rent make up the space above the floor with the toilets. The residents must pay a small fee to use the “centers”. It is easy to spot the latrines because they are large, concrete, two story buildings that are round with various colored pointy roofs.  

One of my trusty tour guides. Notice the "stream" on the left.

Another thing that surprised me about Kibera (and it shouldn’t have) is the number of businesses that are around. Many houses also double as store-fronts and people sell the motley collection of goods that I see all around town. Behind one building, we met a group of men carving bones into earrings for the tourist markets. The men showed us how they worked the saws to create smooth pieces of bone. They were covered in bone-dust and told us about how they had saved a very long time to purchase the tools. I thought about a pair of earrings I had purchased while in TZ and how much of the tourist dollar actually trickles down to these men hovered over a dangerous tool, bare electric wires scattered around them, breathing in dust through a ratty turtleneck.

While walking though Kibera yesterday a man tried to sell me a giant American flag. I thought to myself “Yeah, what I need to do is show my American status even more, I should just wrap that around me”. I learned that some of these businesses are so successful that occasionally armored vehicles have to trek into Kibera to take out large loads of cash from the vendors, or to deliver the next shipment of goods. I learned quickly in my first week that Kibera is a thriving community of buyers and sellers, a place with demand for goods just like anywhere else.

The project I am doing for my thesis is to, in conjunction with CFK staff, complete a program assessment or process evaluation of the SRH program. When I knew I wanted to work with CFK, we approached the staff to find a project that would both meet my needs for a thesis and meet a need of theirs. Though I have outlined in detail my plan of attack, I am sure it will change along the way. Luckily, the staff is supportive and it is good timing at the organizational level. I am sure to detail the SRH program as I go along with this blog.

The railroad that passes through Kibera - hop on for a ride to Uganda!

Taking pictures in Kibera is tricky business. For many reasons, taking photos is not always a great idea. I brought my camera on one walk through Kibera this week and managed to find a way to take a couple of pictures when no one was looking.

Hide and Seek: Can you spot the Kitty?

                                                            

Congratulations! Its a Clinic!

June 2 cont.

The meeting continued with a trip to meet the visitors from Mombasa. This was a small delegation from a larger organization from Mombasa that sets up “container clinics”, basically a packaged hospital in shipping containers that can be easily moved and put where it is needed. They were interested in expanding past Mombasa and chose Kibera because of apparent need. They had contacted an organization in Kibera to help locate an appropriate placement, and this organization in turn had contacted the Youth Network. The members of the network had selected a space on the hill of Raila and the delegation from Mombasa was excited to see the spot.  There was a celebration to follow the presentation of the spot, with speeches from the youth leaders along with the men from the organization. They were doctors looking to serve the slum areas and they intended to send the container clinic to Kibera as an expansion of their program. I was immediately skeptical as I tend to be of the creation of any new NGO or clinic in a community like this. A few of my questions were asked of the representatives from the youth leaders. Yes, they were going to be doctors around. Yes, the organization was going to pay the doctors. Yes, there would be nominal fees paid by the community. Yes, it was their intent to stay at this site indefinitely.

However, I was still skeptical after hearing from the organization. Although the doctors kept insisting that the clinic would belong to the community, they did nothing to describe how this “belonging” would happen. Does that mean that the youth leaders were in charge of selecting management? Responsible for the outcomes of the clinic? Responsible for advertising? When asked what kind of services would be offered, the doctor said “whatever services you want!” Although this was met by applause I was not impressed as a blank slate offer for medical services was doubtful and it seemed that they had done little research into what the community wanted, the usefulness of each of the services, and the existing resources.

After introducing myself, the doctor said he had never heard of Carolina for Kibera. I motioned across the valley of houses to the Tabitha Clinic, easily spotted. “They run that clinic. There”.  The man raised his eyes. Unimpressed. “Hm. Well we will run our clinic. Here”, he said as if eyeing up the competition.  He turned and walked away. 

While I was proud of the youth leaders I had met for facilitating another opportunity for health care in Kibera, I was sending up well wishes for the outcome of the new clinic and its impact on the community, who were apparently the new, although unknowingly new,  proud owners of a clinic. 

Who's There?

June 2 pt. 1

The program that I am working with at CFK is the sexual and reproductive health program. Key to the facilitation of this program is the peer youth educators, a group of local youth leaders who give their time to the organization and make significant and impressive efforts to bring information about health to their peers in Kibera. Last year it was estimated that tens of thousands of people were touched by their work. The PYEs also provide a link into the community and are a good contact for me to get to know my way around.

My tour guide for the day was Eric, a PYE who grew up in Kibera and went to school there.  He gave me my second tour of the community, winding through new pathways and leading me over streams of refuse and waste water. This was my second tour of the community but I think I could have a tour every day of my stay here and not see the same thing twice. Kibera is split into 12 different villages, although to the untrained eye the mass of humanity doesn’t shift from one place to the next. Eric took me to a village named after the current Prime Minister, Railla Odinga. One thing that surprised me about Kibera is that it is quite hilly, making the trek all that more exciting (or tricky). We climbed to one far side of the slum to Railla to look out on most of Kibera. It is impressive, in a heart-rendering way, how big Kibera is and how it seems to stretch on and on. We were in a new area of Kibera, and Eric told me that despite efforts by numerous NGOs, Kibera is continuning to grow in population and in size.

We were standing in fields of plants, another surprising thing to me. Around me, mixed in with the houses, were large plants – yams, cassava, collards. When I asked who got to farm these lands or if anyone came and took this food when they were hungry he looked very confused. “No”, he said “you cannot steal from your neighbor. This man put the plants there and this man will take them home when they are grown”. It seemed nearly impossible to me that a large source of food so close to thousands of grumbling tummies would go untouched. When I asked if the people farming the land rented the land, or even owned the land, he reminded me (again) that the land was owned by the government. Apparently farming, and building homes, is on a first come first served basis.

We continued through the winding alleys, through houses, ducking laundry, dodging chickens, doling out high-fives to children who jumped up and down when they saw me. Suddenly Eric announced it was time for his meeting and led me to a door that was painted with blue paint “Hall for hire – all are well come”. Inside I met a truly inspiring group of youth leaders. In the wake of election violence in 2008, the youth of Kibera decided they must come together and advocate for themselves. The members of the organization explained to me that youth often feel like pawns. During election time, politicians make promises never kept in response to garner support. Significantly, the politicians also use the tensions between the tribes within Kenya to create trouble. Because in Kibera tribes mixed in extremely close places, it was a target for ignition. The Longatta Youth Network, a collection of youth leaders from many organizations within Kibera, formed to create an outlet for youth leaders and to make a platform for advocacy. Most of the people were my age, out of secondary school and attending, or hoping to attend, university.

They held a meeting that was meant to meet with another organization they were partnering with from Mombasa. Before the visitors from this organization arrived, they went through some group business. In one poignant moment, Eric, my host, told the crew of about 20 leaders to look at the door.

“Look at the door!” I didn’t catch onto the gimmick, an apparently ritualized one due to the smile on the girl next to me’s face.

“Look! Who is coming? Who is coming?” I was both curious and a little cautious about what was going to come through the door.  I also considered that this may be a Kenya-hyped-up-version of a knock knock joke. I almost thought this would end with someone saying “Aren’t you glad I didn’t say ndizi?” (ndizi is banana).

“No one! No one is coming!” This seemed a bit anticlimactic, until those around me started chanting “It is us! It is us! It is us!” And I finally got it, in slow mzungu time. These youth leaders realized that it was up to them to advocate for the youth of Kibera, to support themselves and their neighbors, and to create a sense of community within their diverse surroundings.  

"Soccer Keeps Them Safe"

June 1

The previous night I had visited Amy at her hotel and the trip home in the taxi afforded the first “all’s well that ends well” moment in Nairobi. The taxi driver was working for a posh hotel in Nairobi and I was silly to assume that would indicate competence. Long story short, he could not find my home and I was forced to call my host brother to come and find my location. Just a reminder of where I was.

The first of June is a national holiday in Kenya, known as Madaraka Day. While most people I met couldn’t tell me what the day was known for, I managed to get a brief description from my host brother. Madaraka Day is the anniversary of when Kenya was granted self-rule – not to be confused with independence. This happened in 1963. Just a few months later Kenya was granted independence. The first thought I had (sorry Mom and Dad) was Wow! My parents are older than Kenya!

Because of the holiday there was no work at the office so I spent my second full day in Kenya playing. I joined the girls’ soccer team from CFK on their team bus headed into the city center to play in a tournament. It turned out that a woman from another organization from a different slum in Kenya had created this tournament for all of the girls teams from the different slums of Nairobi. This was the second day of the tournament and the girl’s were to play in the quarter finals. CFK has four girls soccer teams split into age group and this was the senior division, girls who were 16 and up. It turns out that teenage girls in Kenya are just as rowdy as teenage girls in the US and the bus ride was a cacophony of laughter and singing along with the radio, with the occasional teasing of the coaches. CFK uses the soccer teams as a platform to create leadership and to teach health related issues and most of the girls involved have been so for some time and it was apparent they were one family.

The game was held at a very nice and very large boys boarding school in city center. I learned that the school was started by a foreigner for orphans from around the country and the program has expanded rapidly into one of the best, and biggest, schools in the whole country. When I asked someone about the person who founded this organization, the only thing he remembered was that “he died. He was a chain-smoker”. Good to know. So we played at the nice fields at the chain-smoker’s school.

The game was fun and the girls were awesome, although it was not a W. These girls were strong and dedicated. While we waited for the bus, two of the coaches who run the program took myself and Kevin (the other UNC  undergrad intern) to get a snack. We grabbed a matatu and took off down the road on my very first matatu ride. On the way there and on the way back, the drivers forced us to pay three times the normal rate of the matatu because of our mzungu status. When our Kenyan friends tried to argue with them, they told us that we all four had to pay because they were escorting mzungus. Frustrated, I felt bad for our Kenyan friends that they had to pay more on account of my citizenship. We grabbed snacks at a place in Eastleigh, chai and samosas.

                                                                      These girls are family. 

The bus was on Kenyan time and had not arrived when we returned from our adventure. The bus was about 3 hours late and the girls waited patiently under the trees while watching those who had advanced play. The down time afforded me the time to get to know one of the coaches, a girl about my age named Winnie. She had been a mentor to these same group of girls for some time and was a member of the program when it had started. It was obvious that the girls looked up to her.

I asked her about the program and what she thought the impact was in the community. Quite succinctly she said “Soccer keeps them safe”.

Winnie continued to tell me that girls in Kibera without a group like this get pregnant, then get married too young. They drop out of school and lose opportunities. Not one of the girls that were on the field, ages 16 to 23, had had a child, something that separated them from their peers not involved in the program. Besides playing football, the girls in all of the teams, aged from 10 to 23, receive training on health, hygiene, and leadership. The older girls, those who currently were giggling about someone on an opposite team with purple hair, were then trained to host health trainings for the community. In sets of four, they held meetings every Saturday for their peers in Kibera who were not involved in CFK to come and talk about health issues and any other topic that came up. This was extremely impressive to me. Admittedly, I have been skeptical about the use of sports in programming in the past but I think this one conversation alone showed me the potential.

While the girls certainly have more than their fair share of burdens, for now CFK’s soccer program attempts to keep them safe.  

First Day of Work Jitters

My window looks directly out on a large market place. During the night time (I found out) there are guards that are placed almost directly under my window to guard the market place. The vendors take home all of their goods each and every day in bags that I imagine could hold three of me and probably weigh three of me too (I’ll let the airport guy know they need a big orange tag). In the morning the first thing I heard was the call to prayer from the local temple. It is amazing how loud these can be, and how early they can be. It is the job of the person at the temple (forgive my technical understanding of the Islam temple) to call the people to prayer and wake up anyone within several miles before the sun actually rises. This was actually a handy wake-up for me because it quickly shook me out of my travel stupor and reminded me that I was back in Africa. Apparently this call to prayer is also is a handy wake-up for the guards at the market who (almost) simultaneously begin to blast their music. This is mostly reggae like music, only with a female singer singing in Swahili an overly repetitive song. As this happened again in the same sequence again Wednesday morning, I am sure this will how I will be woken up each day. No problem.

                                                The view from my room overlooking the market 

                                                 
This was my first day at the office of Carolina for Kibera. It may be important here for readers to jump over to the CFK website to see the story of the start of the organization. Very briefly, Kibera is the largest slum in Nairobi and may be the largest slum in Africa. The founders of the organization sought to use local talent and leadership to provide opportunities to those who are living in Kibera. At the outset, this focused primarily on a sports program (the only sport of importance in this context is soccer) and a small clinic. Almost ten years later, CFK has rapidly expanded into an organization with multiple initiatives all focused around utilizing local leadership and input. I will get to the part of the organization I will be working with later but it is important to note that I was already impressed with CFK before I came to Kibera, primarily because of the interactions I had with staff and also the central focus on Kenyan involvement I had cited as a reason I did not always agree with the NGO centric model of development.

Lindsey was kind enough to fetch me from my homestay and walk with me to Kibera. The walk there from my homestay is about 30 minutes, not very far. It turned out to be for the most part a fairly typical walk, busy roads, kiosks and businesses, people on their way to work, houses made of all sorts of materials. I don’t know what I was expecting I guess, some sort of “Welcome to Kibera” sign with neon flashing lights a la Las Vegas or something. For some reason I assumed that there would be a clear point that I would know that I was in Kibera. Perhaps it was how I had built up the community in my mind –the smell, the chaos, the small tin houses, the stray dogs – perhaps I assumed that all of a sudden the chaos of Nairobi would end and the chaos of Kibera would begin in a clearly demarcated way. This was why I was surprised when Lindsey said that we were now officially in Kibera. Apparently I had missed the flashing lights and the tourist information stand. Turns out CFK office is just at the beginning of the majority of the slum and I had much to discover.

We reached the organization in no time, the main office stands out from the rest of the area in which is sits because of the security wall but also because of the size of the structure. The people I met at the office were kind and it was almost a relief that they were not particularly interested in chatting with the new American to walk through their doors and were focused on their work. It was comforting though that many knew I was coming and said that they were waiting for me.  I chatted with a few of the staff a bit and waited for Ben who is my primary CFK partner, to come and meet me at the office. When he arrived, he took me for a tour of all of the CFK offices. CFK is so large that it rents a set of auxillary offices about a ten minute walk from the main office, the Tabitha Clinic also is about a ten minute walk away.

It is difficult to put my first impressions of Kibera into a cohesive paragraph or thought, or to do any sort of justice to the place. To be completely honest, the first time is so overwhelming that I was forced to concentrate on only one detail at a time, in particular securely placing my feet on the muddy path one step at a time. While our approach to CFK was on a road, this trip through Kibera was taken on the infamous alleys and pathways. Before coming to Kibera I had attempted to imagine what it would be like to be on those pathways between the houses, skipping past trash, dodging stray dogs, jumping over streams and passing people with concentrated looks on their faces. But of course I knew (and I was right) that I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be there.

The trip through Kibera from the office to the satellite office via the “scenic” route afforded a good idea of the basic idea of the area, although I was primarily concentrated on my feet. My first thought was that it did not smell as bad as I had imagined, although the occasional whiff of humanity stuffed into these conditions did meet expectations. Taking a walk through Kibera is no casual activity and requires concentration and focus. At the moment I was focusing on not making a fool of myself on my first day by slipping into a stream. There are plenty of streams to be navigated in Kibera, a small flow of liquid that contained what I could at the time not afford to contemplate.  I was intent on not making a total Mzungu of myself and falling in on Day One. Better to save that when I know enough Swahili to say something quippy as I pick myself up.

Ben gave me a comprehensive tour of all the offices and the Tabitha Clinic. The last stands out among the shacks and tin roofs, and I briefly thought of how this must be what seeing the pyramids must be like – a large unexpected thing rising out of same-same-same. We were introduced to every available staff member at the clinic and I was even dressed up in a lab coat and given the chance to bungle up a Swahili name and call out the next recipient of pharmaceuticals. I will be sure to give more of a description of each of the facilities in the future. On this first day however I was mostly struck by the impressive size of the clinic and the fact that it had the only x-ray available in Kibera.

The first day at CFK was exciting but a bit numbing. I was impressed with the expansive staff and volunteers and their willingness to learn another Mzungu name.  I was still jetlegged and trying to remember every person’s name I was introduced to. Of course they would all remember my name (more on that later).

That evening I met Amy at her hotel for a bit of American luxury and a much needed large Tusker. She was leaving in the morning for Muhuru Bay and needed a bit of encouragement. I think we both did. Although I was pretty good at pretending, I was feeling a bit unprepared for my summer ahead. After an introduction to the community, I needed a moment (and some liquid encouragement) to get my thoughts together. I left feeling ready to start, ready to learn, and ready to enjoy my summer as much as possible.  

The Road of Beginning

Someone just said "you are at the road of beginning" in regards to being married and I thought it an appropriate title to the inevitable how-I-got-to-Kenya-blog.

Saturday thru Monday

I left for Kenya on a Saturday afternoon. The plan was for a leisurely morning with Marty, time to make a good lunch of the fresh produce I was not going to be able to get for so long. Despite of almost seven consecutive days of seemingly constant errand running, I woke up early panicked about a few things almost forgotten – ranging in importance from an audio recorder for my research to Soduku for the airplane. I am almost thankful for the hectic morning as it made the time pass quickly and took my mind off of the good-byes and all the nervous energy I had.

I was lucky to travel with a friend from the program, Amy, who will be spending her time in a very small village about eight hours from Nairobi on Lake Victoria. We took a flight to Boston and were treated to dinner by two of my best friends and then took a red-eye to London. The plan was to take advantage of a day in London by trekking outside the stale walls of Heathrow. We of course were overly optimistic about the value of seeing London with such little sleep and too many nerves about our final destination. Amy and I did manage to catch the tube into the city and hit the major highlights – Westminster Abbey abundantly adorned with “Will and Kate” tributes, an over-priced hot meal and double strong latte at a Pret a Manger eaten on the stairs of the National Gallery besides a large group of smoking Germans, a trip to the free bathroom at a gigantic KFC, followed by a walk through the theater district and ending with a trip to the last Starbucks we will see in a long time. I thought it was well worth it. The trip from Heathrow to Nairobi was almost uneventful. Just as I was falling asleep, the small girl in front of me missed her aloha bag by a mile and “aloha”d all over my feet and shoes (luckily I brought six pairs with me, one down five to go). Other than that, it was nice to see the sunrise over Africa, a sight that eased my mind and heart and reminded me why I had dealt with the previous 18 hours of flights and 15 hours of lay-overs.  

Monday

Amy and I arrived to Nairobi right on time at 6:30 am on Monday and easily collected our bags after going through the customs to get our visas.  Amy was met by a person from the hotel she was to stay at for two days in Nairobi before a driver from Muhuru Bay could collect her. She was whisked away before I could really say anything, but I held a good thought for her remembering the total shock of my first cab ride in an East African country. I was met by Jeffrey, the administrative assistant to CFK and an undergraduate intern named Lindsey who was kind enough to accompany Jeffrey at the crack of dawn. I handed over my embarrassingly large bag labeled with a bright orange “HEAVY OVER WEIGHT BAG” on it thanks to the Delta employee at RDU that made me unpack my large bag twice to get rid of two pounds of extra weight before “making an exception this time” for my egregious extra two pounds.

Jeffrey, Lindsay, my embarrassingly American amount of luggage, and what really can only be called a semblance of me piled in the CFK truck and made out for my homestay. We went into traffic and I encountered my first Nairobi Jam (not traffic jam, just Jam). Perhaps this is an appropriate allusion to the fact that it is not traffic in the sense that American’s understand traffic but instead a mess of cars, buses, matatus, animals, pedestrians. Each pass by attempting to reach their destination quickest , never minding traffic signs, lane markers, or common sense.  The whole while we are sitting in the Jam I was thinking of Amy and her first time out in this sort of commotion. 

When we almost smacked into the back of Matatu I remembered that I remembered to don my “Africa” cap – which included a whole lot of patience, a quick smile, plenty of humor, and a healthy dose of “let-go-and-let-God”. I was so happy to be here, smack in the middle of a chaotic mess, headed toward a family I didn’t know and embarking on a research project as yet consisting of a single word document.

To get to Mama’s house, one must take a road through the spill-over of a large market. The road is dirt and both severely and typically pocked with holes that are surprisingly deep. During the day, this road is filled with people going to and from the market and lined with kiosks selling goods ranging from underwear to used shoes to umbrellas. It was a genuine surprise that at one point on this road there is a large security gate that leads to a very nice and comfortable compound of connected houses. Each house had a driveway, there were kids playing (in the road), stray cats, and  palm trees. It was there that I found Mama’s house.

Mama came to greet me with a warm hug and a well deserved laugh at my poor attempt at Swahili. We went into her home which is very nice. I had little idea about what to expect about a home stay. Having skipped the almost obligatory UPS study abroad option, I have never done a homestay before. I get my own room, the house has a toilet that flushes half the time (hey, I am an optimist! The toilet is half full?? Uh…), and a shower with enough hot water to take the edge off. Mama cooks dinner and breakfast for me and lunch is on my own. I was previously worried about having to cook for myself and am so happy to be cooked for. Yum!

Instead of doing the reasonable thing and going directly to bed, I decided to attempt to locate a cell phone and access to the internet. Lindsey was kind enough to walk with me to the large supermarket near the house to find a cell phone SIM card. Unfortunately, I was reminded of my mzungu-ness. The woman at the supermarket told me she needed a copy of my passport among other things to give me a SIM card for a ridiculous price. I knew full well I could buy one at a kiosk a hundred feet from the market from someone happy to take my money and not provide the red tape. The internet was a fail too because they were out of the internet-USB sticks they use here instead of having wireless routers in the houses. Many people who own lap tops instead purchase pay as you go internet. That was okay though, I was too tired to problem solve that dilemma.

The rest of the day went by slowly and mostly was filled with rest. Mama has three sons, two of which live at home at the moment. One who is older than I has a job in the city and will live here with Mama until he is married in November. The one who is younger than me is on summer break from Moi University. It is great to have company my age and to have some insight into the Kenyan twenty-something. More on that later.

Karibu!

Welcome to my blog!

I recently heard Jeff Raikes speak about his experience both within the private sector and now acting as the CEO of the Gates Foundation. Among other things, one thing that stuck is that he always aims to be on a path of continuous learning. This phrase really stuck with me. I leave tomorrow for a three month trip to Kibera, Kenya  to work with Carolina for Kibera as part of my master's research project through Duke's Global Health Insitute.

I am beginning a new path of continuous learning, this time in Kenya. This is where I will document that.