Kibera

It took me several moments to understand where I was. The transition from city to slum had come too quickly. It was not until the stench of a gigantic trash heap washed over me that I could truly register my surroundings. We were walking into one of the biggest slums on the face of the earth…

A map of Nairobi shows Kibera slum as a large blank area without any roads or landmarks. A simple glance at a map makes it look like a forest or city park. Kibera is not a city park. It is a sea of ragged metal shacks stretching to the horizon. It is a desolate expanse filled with thousands of hopeless Kenyans living minutes away from a world class city. Kibera is poverty.

We walked fast. My eyes darted back and forth, trying to take in the quickly passing scenery. On my left was a small river of sewage. Gagging, I tried to focus on the other side of the street – a ten foot high wall of rusty corrugated steel. We passed tiny stalls where residents of the slum tried desperately to sell overripe fruit, hand-woven baskets, and cell phone credits. I was intensely aware at that moment of how rich and white I looked. I could feel the gaze of children staring as I passed. I was extremely grateful to whoever had suggested that I take off my tie.
On the way to the medical clinic we passed a dog standing in the middle of the road, staring at us with vacant eyes. Its mangy fur was stretched tight over much too visible ribs. A toddler with a sagging diaper and filthy t-shirt waddled out of his home, sucking on his hand. I realized with pain that this child would more than likely live in this slum the rest of his life.
We climbed a high railroad embankment that gave us a shocking view of the slum. I was amazed at how big the place was. I turned to the man leading us and asked “Is that most of Kibera?” pointing at the vast expanse of shacks that stretched over a distant hill. He chuckled and said “Oh no. That’s just a corner of it. Most of the slum lies in that direction.” He gestured behind us. I was speechless.
We were given a tour of a small Christian clinic in the center of the slum. The clinic gives very cheap medical assistance and nutritional education to the people of Kibera. I was in awe of the selfless volunteers working at the clinic. I thought for a moment about the jobs any of them could have had. With skills in medicine and nursing, these capable servants could have easily made large incomes in one of Nairobi’s bustling hospitals. Instead they choose to give up everything to help those who have nothing to give.
After meeting the clinic’s volunteers and asking them many questions about their ministry, we began walking out of the slum, retracing our earlier steps. With my mind still reeling from the enormous sacrifice these servants had made of their lives, we came across a group of children. When they saw me they all started shouting “How are you?!?” – the only English words they know. I answered “Good! And how are you?” They gave me blank stares. Instead of giving up, I greeted them in Swahili. “Habari?” Their faces lit up and they shouted back “Nzuri!” They formed a line and wanted to shake my hand. I shook each of their hands, answering when each of them asked me “How are you?” again. It took me quite a while to lose the smile on my face, but in my heart, I was sobbing. How could children like that be so joyful in a place of such desperation? It was heartbreaking.

The experience ended just as quickly as it had begun. We walked as a group out of the slum. We caught a bus and within moments we were back in the Nairobi I knew. I went home, ate a full dinner, and lay down in my comfortable bed, acutely aware of the luxuries I had been blessed with throughout my life. As I drifted off to sleep, the shocking images of Kibera played over and over in my head. Something had clicked inside of me. It was as if God had walked me through the slum, pointed at the people I saw and said “Here. These are my children. These are the ones I love. It pains me to see them suffering; doesn’t it hurt you too?”
From that moment on, I knew I would never be the same…