Kibera

             Over the last two weeks David and have tried various times to write our experiences of Nairobi so far.  We have written blogs and then, in defeat, deleted them.  How is it possible to capture our experiences?  My only comparable experiences is to relate the poverty similar to my experiences in  Haiti, the generosity of the people to my experiences in Appalachia and the beauty cannot be even compared to top-of-the-line travel magazines. How can we do Kenya justice?

We have experienced many highs in our last two weeks.  We have some snorkeling on a beautiful reef where we saw dolphins, an eel, and hundreds of beautifully colored fish.  We have fed giraffes, monkeys, ridden camels, held baby goats seen crocodiles, baboons, zebras, buffalo, and much, much more.  We have learned so much of the history of Kenya.  We had gone to numerous lectures and our knowledge grows with everyday and every question.  The people here are amazingly friendly and generous, even when they do not have much to give.  They help me extend my little Swahili and give me thumbs up as I run past looking ridiculous in the morning. Today David and I met a bishop and I knew without a doubt that Jesus was in this man. 

            We have also had many lows; felt anger at God, government, and ourselves.  We have had so much trouble processing the misery we are seeing among the poor.  We have a lot of poverty in the USA but it is segregated into certain areas of cities or towns and therefore easier to ignore or deny.  Here poverty is inescapable.  (Maybe if it were this way in the US, we would have done more to help our brothers and sisters.) 

Today, we visited Kibera, the third largest informal settlement, (or slum) in the world and my own world was shaken.  We visited a school in the settlement.  Since I am not finding the words to describe the few hours I spent with those children, here is my journal entry for today:

I will not forget you.

I will not forget your little head peeking in at the children eating.

Or your tummy, extended in hunger,

You grasping her hand in hope of a meal.

I will not forget you.

Little eyes looking at me among the dust, waste, and darkness of your school.

Hope among hopelessness, smiles and laughter among desperation.

I will not forget you.

Jesus is in you, working though you.

I can see Him clearly through you; this is where He would choose to be.

Your hands are His.

You humble and honor me.

I will not forget you.

Voice so soft, words so slow.

Father dead, hope dwindles.

Sweet, smart, cherished child- God loves you!

I will not forget you and I will not forget your words.

The informal settlement, as I said before is the third largest in the world.  The government has no programs, schools, or charities helping the 1.3-1.6 million people who live there.  These people make an average of less than one dollar a day and some, no more than five cents a day.  Every election the government promises help, taxes the people heavily, and does nothing.  The churches, mosques, and NGOs help where they can, building schools and health centers but the life, as you can maybe imagine is very hard.  A dollar will get you a loaf a bread, not too much more. 

Today, as I saw a piece of life in the settlement I was, and am, mad.  How are we allowing people to live this way?  Are we not all children of God?  God’s children are not meant to go hungry?  More than anything- WHAT CAN I DO??? Why am I suppose to see this?  Why can I not DO anything?  In this case I conclude I CAN do something.  I will tell you what I saw as honestly as I can.  I will post pictures of what I see both good and bad.  Perhaps, together, we will at least open our eyes to the plight of people in Kenya and hopefully also much closer to home in the US. 

 

“…But the poor person does not exist as an inescapable fact of destiny.  His or her existence is not politically neutral, and it is not ethically innocent.  The poor are a by-product of the system in which we live and for which we are responsible.  They are marginalized by our social and cultural world.  They are oppressed, exploited, proletariat, robbed of the fruit of their labor and despoiled of their humanity.  Hence the poverty of the poor is not a call to generous relief action, but a demand that we go and build a different social order.”

                                                        Gustavo Gutierrez, The Power of the Poor in History

Thank you (asante sana) for reading, I promise the next post will not be of the pipeline explosion, or the informal settlements, but of something lighthearted and fun.  Perhaps we will blog of our time in Mombassa!