Nairobi is the capital of Kenya and the urban center of East Africa. The busy roundabouts, shimmering skyscrapers, and thousands of jay-walking pedestrians offer both an intimidating and rushing experience. For many hours each day, the city is locked up in “jam.” The concept of lanes seems to evaporate and is consumed by a highway free-for-all. Travelers are in a metal and fiberglass jungle where only the aggressive survive.
After busting out of the city center and whipping around the roundabout near the large hospital, the traveler finds himself on a two-lane road leading to the suburbs out of town. Massive shopping centers – China Center, Nakumatt, Adams Arcarde, and The Junction – are concentrated on this long strip of road. Within a stone’s throw of the spotless food court at Prestige Plaza lies one of the most unsanitary living conditions on the planet. Kibera – said to be Sub-Saharan Africa’s largest informal settlement – hides politely behind the colossal walls and mopped isles of that which represents a “developed” Kenya.
At the Steers burger chain just outside of the slum, Kenyan parents are seen buying their children ice cream cones. Just a short walk away, parents struggle to feed their children. Worse, children struggle to feed themselves. The difference between “developed” and “developing” is stark. Those witnessing the transition are often surprised and speechless. The speed at which the neighborhood goes “bad” is like a punch in the gut. The ice cream cone we just licked dry is an unthinkable luxury for the thousands who dwell nearby.
Kibera is a 1.5 square mile area that tightly sleeps one million people. Perhaps rivaling an avalanche, the Kibera slum has the power to consume those who visit. Roads are too narrow for many vehicles and paths can suddenly end, dip, narrow, or wind endlessly. Before you know it, you are at the mercy of an iron sheet maze that can intimidate even the well travelled. Visitors better not venture in without someone who knows their way around. Interestingly enough, Kibera is below the threshold of neighborhoods that deter visitors and has instead developed into a poverty icon. After being featured in award-winning main-stream movies (The Constant Gardener) and independent films (Kibera Kid), Kibera has become a “must see” stop when visiting Nairobi. The controversial practice of poverty tours, deemed “poorism” by its detractors and “community tourism” by its supporters, is alive and well in Kibera. While walking around downtown Nairobi, I realized that I saw more wazungu (white people) in Kibera than in the city center.
Cameras ready, well-meaning tourists snap away at smiling children who are so used to having their picture taken, they automatically assume the thumbs up position that they think tourists love. Accustomed to visitors with digital cameras, most demand to see the picture you just snapped and will ask for another if they think they look funny. Some love the attention. Tour companies don’t say Kibera is “the world’s friendliest slum” for no reason. The people smile, wave, and welcome you to their shops. Children are always shouting when they spot a mzungu. “How are you!? How are you!?” Most wazungu continue saying, “I’m fine” until they are out of the children’s view. Others feel like a spectacle; they believe the wazungu will just show all of their friends back at home how they helped the poor black people. A resident of Kibera who works at a car wash is quoted in one of the country’s leading newspapers as saying, “They see us like puppets, they want to come and take pictures, have a little walk, tell their friends they’ve been to the worst slum in Africa.” Despite the complaints, numerous projects that benefit the community exist because of the people who take those pictures and share the stories.
Those who take the pictures are dealt a difficult hand as far as how to portray Kibera to those at home to whom we show the pictures. Is it a place of misery, sorrow, and helplessness? Or is it a place of kindness, community, and fellowship? Is it a place where danger reigns? Where girls fear rape? Where alcohol and drugs are the tools of survival? Or is it a testament to the resilience of people who may have little material possessions, but big dreams and even greater faith? Is it a notch in our belt that we “survived” our visit to Kibera? Is it just another mission opportunity? Is it a storybook version of what it means to be poor? Or is it just more poor Africans who need our help? Is it a place where you walk away a changed person, not knowing whether to appreciate or loathe what possessions you have? Or is it just another place on the planet? Is it an excuse to protest or a reason to fundraise? Is a just a good experience; a stop on the trip?
For others, the questions have a personal twist. Is it the boy who prayed the Lord’s prayer, and concentrated extra hard on Give us this day our daily bread? Is it the place you were able to share in the Lord’s Supper with people suffering from HIV/AIDS, and even though you knew you couldn’t relate, you knew you were connected through the blood of Christ. Is it a little girl who held your hand? Is it the family that takes in orphaned children even though they have barely enough resources to provide for their own?
When you show the pictures of the sewage flowing through the road and the children walking barefoot, is it a story of hope or a story of desperation? When you show pictures of abandoned children in orphanages, do you talk about adoption, or do you talk about disease? When you show pictures of those the world labels “impoverished,” do you talk about their hardship or their happiness? A picture is worth a thousand words, but in order to determine what those words are, the photographer must answer some of these questions.
To others, Kibera means something more academic or political. Kibera is the result of African urbanization. The pull of urban opportunities and the push of rural poverty leads to chronic housing shortages. The shack settlements offers a place relatively free from government control and cheap living accommodation, many paying KES 500 – 1000 ($6.50 – $13.25 USD) for monthly rent.
Those who migrate into the urban area also migrate daily into the city. A sea of people gets ready for work and walks to their nearest matatu boarding location. The masses who haven’t found jobs seek out an existence in the informal economy, operating small shops or performing daily labor. Still, a middle class exists in Kibera who decide to stay even after they find some success. Thousands of “experts” devote their time to slum upgrading strategies and eradication plans. In September of 2009, the government began relocating small numbers of residents to housing complexes which loom large over the Southern border of the slum. The reaction to these removal plans is mixed.
But – you may ask - Does it really matter what those who take the pictures say? To some extent, yes. The interpretations and feelings of visitors ripple across the world to the homes and communities of the picture-takers. A child wearing tattered clothes and a smile is a nameless star in stories of people in far-off lands. They appear at fundraiser slideshows, in photo albums, and within frames on the wall. They accompany stories – those of “flying toilets,” garbage-lined streets, or community schools bursting with children. Running a google search of Kibera would lead to a wealth of blogs from both organizations and individuals, offering their interpretation or experience in Kibera.
The interpretation that derives from experience and memory shapes the attitude and response of those who desire to help. Is Kibera a primitive form of existence that Westerners are all too ready to attribute to Africa? Is it a community of people who deserve our pity and can only escape with the help of our illuminating presence? Is it a problem that only requires more money and resources thrown in its direction? Is it a blank slate waiting for the writing of those who want to help? Is it a place where the people are to be helped, not listened too? Or is it so much more?
Perhaps the weakness in analysis is the desire to generalize. Kibera is many things. The reality of Kibera transcends the interpretation of outsiders. Regardless of what I think or say, what the movies show, or the consensus in the countless interpretation of pictures, life goes on for the people of Kibera. I often ponder whether or not we have it all wrong. When I talk to my friends in Kibera and count down the days until I get to return to visit so many people I have grown to love, it seems like it is just another place on earth with people of all kinds of personalities, talents, and dreams. People I admire, miss, and love.
An East African travel guide warns “…‘Nairobbery”, as it is often called by residents, is commonly regarded as the most dangerous city in Africa…[and] the majority of problems happen in the slums.” The place has its share of con-artists, violent criminals, rapists, drug addicts, and gang leaders. Tragically, the area has before fallen into ethnic violence. Children tell of their experience being tear-gassed by police. Disease is prevalent; sanitation is not. Death is an everyday reality. You better not go out at night. It smells bad and it is loud. Walking in Kibera is no walk in the park. However, the pictures of endless shacks, garbage, and sewage rarely display the beauty I find in Kibera. Perhaps this explains why people do not understand my desire, and the desire of so many others, to return.
Kibera is a confusing place that invokes weird emotions. Perhaps the phrase “It’s complicated” would work best. Visitors do not know whether to feel confused, angry, inspired, heart-broken, appreciative, energized, or a combination of them all. HIV/AIDS is prevalent and the living affected and infected are everywhere – orphans, widows, and families who have lost loved ones.
I stopped taking pictures, because I still do not know what to say or how to answer the questions.
(Updated Version. Originally posted on the CSCM website, June 1, 2010)
