Kenya: (Un)Final Reflections

As I sit on the plane to Chicago reflecting on my time in Kenya, a variety of emotions and thoughts that have surfaced.  Some are obvious.  Some are trivial.  Some are unfinished.  Here are a few words/phrases that I leave with…

Obamaland.  Finding out your from America gets you added props these days in Kenya.  Finding out your from Chicago goes even further.

How are you? As mentioned earlier, the most frequented phrase to Westerners is… “How are you?” Like crickets chirping in unison, every time we pulled into the slums, the children would chant the greeting with an anticipated handshake in return.

Nairobi Traffic. Chicago has nothing on Nairobi traffic.  It is seriously the worst I have experienced.  Multiple times, it took us 2 hours to travel 15-20 miles.  Two words: mass transit.

Nissan Taxi Van. I have never seen a vehicle pack more people, play transformer (roof pops), and get the hell beat out of it more than the most frequented vehicle in Nairobi… I want one.

How to Think. The common (hopeful) theme that reared its head throughout our trip was grounded not so much teaching people how to do (though appropriate and necessary), but how to think.  For more discussion on the matter, read my friend Justin’s writeup on “A Changed Mind.”

Mazungu! The origin of the word comes from the notion of “the traveler.”  But these days, it simply means the (crazy) white man.  “Mazungu!  Mazungu!” never got old.

Poverty is complex. Where is the problem?  Better yet, where isn’t the problem?  Poverty isn’t perpetual because it’s simple.  It’s a government problem.  It’s a knowledge problem.  It’s an opportunity problem.  It’s a (global) community problem.  It’s a health problem. It’s a minimum wage problem.  Speaking of…

Kenya Needs a Better Minimum Wage. While there is no one fix that will solve the entire problem, bumping the minimum wage would certainly help.  With the average worker (not speaking of non-workers) are pulling in anywhere from $2-3/day, there is not much room for growth and sustained health.

Community. For the most part, life in the slums is difficult to watch; but not everything is all “bad.”  The rest of the world could actually learn a thing-or-two from the social constructs of the slums – particularly the way community functions.  If someone needs to work, a neighbor is there to help with the kids.  If you don’t have money for food, a neighbor is there to lend a meal midst their own scarcity.  If someone attacks your home, the community aids in rectifying.  The list goes on…

M-Pesa… or “mobile money” (in Swahili). This is by far the “coolest” thing I witnessed in Nairobi.  Basically, commerce in the slums happens via mobile phones (and yes, the majority of the poor have mobile phones).  The concept was originally funded (partially by Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation) as an attempt to spur micro-financing options via making it accessible for micro-transactions.  You can transfer, buy, sell, withdrawal via mobile phone – all in small increments.  Brilliant.  I can’t figure out why the rest of the world has not adopted.  (More info here.)

Beauty. Midst what is seemingly “ugly” compared to wealthy standards, both Kenya and its people are beautiful.  Whether you catch a glimpse of the vast Kenyan landscape or encounter what I can only describe as “pure humanity” – beauty is experienced.

LIA. I walked away with a greater respect for “Life in Abundance.”  I like that it was started by Africans.  I like that it is operated by Africans.  I like that they operate wholistically.  I like that that they understand the complexity of poverty.  I like that they are empowering people how to think.  (Consider supporting here.)

As many have suggested, Africa will change you. It seems evident that it already has.  As much energy is being put in changing the mind of the poor, it seems each of us could benefit from the same pursuit.  As I reflect on what this is – what it means – I am certain that these thoughts are not final, but only beginning (as cliché as that might sound).

Kenya Day 8: Tears

Over the last two days, we have been scrambling to get our final footage.  We have interviewed more than a dozen people in some form or another and I’m currently a bit fried and ready to be home.  Over the last few hours in Nairobi, we interviewed the security guard of our apartment, Alouis Oduor  – the one we followed home a few days prior.

He described his life in Nairobi.  He had come to Nairobi from rural Kenya (like almost every other slum resident we had interviewed) in hopes of a better life.  In at least one way, he had accomplished what he had set out to do – get a job – a job that he was undoubtedly grateful for.  It was here that I became humbled by his posture, his gratitude, and his ability to articulate reality.  Here Alouis’ story…

He came to Nairobi about 8 years ago.  He found work as a security guard for the wealthy.  He lives in Kibera slums (again the 2^nd largest slum in Africa).  He awakes each morning at 4:30 a.m. to walk an hour to an hour and half to work (in the suburbs).  He told us that he is unable to eat breakfast each morning due to the uncertainty of whether or not there will be enough for his four children.  He then works 12 hours straight – typically not eating until he returns home at around 7:30 p.m.  He makes roughly $65 dollars a month, and gives about 20% of it to his in-laws and parents.  When we asked how he felt about the contrast of living in Kibera and working in a wealthy area, he described his daily thoughts and said something to the effect of this…

“I am grateful for my job, but working for the wealthy is what has to happen – the poor work for the rich.  Here, the residents of the apartments pay their dues each month for my services, and therefore have no duty to recognize me.  They past by each morning not understanding my life… not understanding whether or not I’ve had enough food… but this is how it is.”

It was evidently getting to him as we proceeded with the interview; however, the interview had already gotten to me.  I don’t know if it was realizing how absurd it was that I had 3x his monthly salary sitting in my pocket, or understanding that he frequently stands for 12 hours each day going hungry, or the basic notion that he goes unnoticed as a human being each and every day, or that he is one of thousands of individuals experiencing the same thing… either way, the tears finally came.

It felt right.

Kenya Day 6: Day Off

We decided that everyone needed a break today, so we took the day off.  LIA surprised us all with a trip out of Nairobi to the Rift River Valley and Lake Nukuru, where we spent the day on a Safari.  It was quite an odd contrast to the rest of the week…

Just minutes from one of the most densely populated areas I have ever been in to the vast Kenyan landscape – the idea of space became relative.  There is no doubt, Africa is beautiful.  But rather than simply telling you about it, I’d rather show you (the better one’s likely came from Brian by the way)…

Kenya Day 5: Facebook Friends?

Ah… quite tired today.  We awoke early and headed into Mathare again.   After having spent a few days fully immersed into rather depressing stories, we decided to talk with a few slum residents that have been a part of a holistic program (such as what LIA implements) and that have experienced some form of transformation midst their current reality.  After residing to feelings of hopelessness throughout the week, this was quite refreshing.

It was here that I realized there seems to be a consistent thread in the inevitable What to do? question…. Change the way people “think” (will reflect on more within next few days).

We shot a bit in the rain and then headed back into the Mathare Valley to grab some additional night shots (we had obviously not learned from our experience the evening before).  While we waited for the sun to set, we witnessed the early evening action of the slums – the marketplace was just be getting started, some teenagers were playing volleyball in the street, and a few were doing some hustling via mini-pool.  Mazungu (the crazy white man) stand out considerably in environments such as this.

Obviously, I was one of them.

I quickly got approached by a couple of teenagers to play some pool (for money of course).  I told them I wasn’t stupid – that there is no way any of these locals are paying 50 shillings to play some pool.  However, I loved this particular kid’s personality and persistence – and to be honest, being in the slums the past week, you’re just dying for an excuse to throw some money into the local economy.  I gave in.

Unfortunately, right before I was about to play, we had to run shoot due to losing our “dusk light.”  I told Boni (the 15 year old pool shark) that if I returned and they were still there, I got to play.  If they were gone, he could keep it.  He was game.

Then, I had one of the most bizarre experiences I’ve had yet.  We had just decided to draw MORE attention to our Mazungu-selfs (again, John Cusack style with a spotlight) when one of the pool hustlers approached me again.  Now, at this point, we are in a dark alley packed between two rows of shanties.  I’m trying not to kill myself avoiding the muddy stream, trash, and human waste when this kid taps me on my shoulder.  I turn and he’s holding up his cell phone…

“Bob,  Can we be Facebook friends?

What!?  I’m standing in one of the poorest, most dangerous, non-technical (literally hardly any electricity) places I’ve ever been and some 16 year old is trying to FB-friend me.  I put my equipment down.  We searched on his cell for me. We’re now friends.  (More on the cell-phone phenom in the slums/Africa soon.)

We continued on our night journey… which seemed to go okay until we made it back onto the main drag.  A few guys began to get a bit aggressive and one (who was drunk) came at us.  Fortunately, we were smart enough to bring a few local guys with us and they stepped in.  In fact, the “commissioner” (of the neighborhood), which seemed to me more like a respected gang leader, saw what was going in and stepped in to give his blessing.  This calmed everything down.  However, we figured we’d pushed our luck enough already and packed it in.

Shot for a good 13-14 hours today.  Day off tomorrow.  Looking forward to it.

Kenya Day 4: Juxtaposition

We were about to head out after breakfast for a full day of interviews with various local “experts” (on the slums in Nairobi) when I ran into a familiar worker cleaning the stairs of our guest house.  (FYI: In contrast to the slums we have been visiting, we are staying on a much “nicer” side of Nairobi).   Many of us had begun to inquire about the various workers around our apartment complex.  The janitor… The security guard… where do they live?  How do they feel about serving this community?  I asked our local guide-of-sorts (Gus) if he thought we could interview one of them… or better yet, could we follow one of them home from work one day?

Gus inquired with the security guard and he agreed.  We actually didn’t know what neighborhood he was from, but there was about a 75% chance (according to Nairobi’s demographic breakdown) he lived in one of the neighboring slums.  He did.

So, after a long day of the expert” interviews (which were great by the way), we headed back to our guest house.  Our apartments are in a gated area – a gate that is controlled by the same security guard we were going to follow.   We unloaded a few things and then grabbed our gear to follow the guard home.  We asked a few questions along the way…

How long does it take to walk home?  “About an hour.”

What time do you get to work?  “6 a.m.”  (It was currently 6:15 p.m. by the way.)

I was taken back a bit… he walks an hour both ways and works a 12 hour shift, 6 days a week and makes anywhere from 3-6 dollars a day.   Unreal.  And… I’m officially an ungrateful bastard.

The closer we got to his home, the greater the juxtaposition was.  I mean, we are not staying in some crazy nice place, but it has a gate… it has parking… it has groomed landscape… and well, as we headed into the Kibera slums (again, the largest slum in Kenya) – it seemed to be the complete opposite.  It was crammed with people.  It was pitch black.  It was the worst road I’ve ever seen.   It was piled with trash and human waste.   And it smelled horrifically.

We grabbed a few shots as we entered the slums, but soon realized we were standing out quite a bit – I mean… if you are curious how to draw attention to yourself in one of the most dangerous neighborhoods in Africa… you hold up a 1×1 LED light system above your head like John Cusack (Say Anything) and carry a nice DSLR rig on your shoulder (which resembles a shotgun btw).  Needless to say, we kept moving.  And turn after turn – we headed deeper into Kibera.  To be honest, I was not that nervous until I missed a turn at one point.  And I realized I couldn’t see any of our team (4 of us).  Finally, one yelled out for me and was able to locate.   Sigh…

About 10 minutes later we arrived at the security guard’s home.  As is most any home in Kibera, it was a 10×10 room made out of mud and iron sheets.  He had a family of 6 living in there.  His kitchen was the size of a side table and there was obviously no options for sleeping other than sleeping together.  Obviously, the juxtaposition was quite harsh to our apartment in Nairobi, but the contrast to my own home – in my ridiculously safe neighborhood was absurd.

He was INCREDIBLY nice and humble and welcoming.  We stayed for a few minutes to meet his family.  And then Gus (our Kenyan friend) told us we’d better pick up and move (as the word travels quick who’s “visiting”).

I laid my head down perplexed.  Frustrated.  Humbled.

Kenya Day 3: “How Are You?”

Didn’t have much sleep last night… ended up in a long theological discussion with my friend Justin Narducci, one of the director’s of LIA.  It was good, but definitely felt the tiredness today.  After some Chapatti yumness for breakfast, we headed back to the Valley.  As we weaved through the Mathare marketplace, we (again) encountered a familiar saying… and a predominant piece of the story I have realized I’ve left out.

While we have had some general thoughts regarding the story, due to the nature of the story/documentary (and its locale), we have had to show up with significant pieces unresolved.  We didn’t have any subjects to follow.  We didn’t have any experts to interview.  And for that matter (as mentioned yesterday), we weren’t even sure “where” we were shooting.  All this said, we knew there were plenty of stories here… but wanted to simply see what showed up.  (Loving this piece of it by the way for those who know me.)

Enter the kids of the slums.

“How are you?”

…they would say in unison – almost rhythmically.   “How are you?  How are you?  How are you?”  It has been unbelievable how often we’ve encountered the phrase – somewhere between (literally) 300 and 400 times a day.  So often… it rings in my ears at night.

And the more we thought about it… the more profound it seemed.  Here we are… a bunch of white folk entering the middle of Nairobi being asked the same monotonous question that is asked in America.  We ask it to others every day.  And we never seem to care about the response.  And here, obviously one of the first English phrases taught to primary school children, it shows up again.  But this time, it’s said midst such odd circumstances.  With the backdrop of utter poverty, we are greeted…

“How are you?”

How am I?  Me?  Relatively speaking… “I’m fine…”  I think…  To be honest, it’s left us all perplexed.  When we turn the question upon the children… their response?

“I’m fine.”

Really?  Are you?  It’s the question we’ve been exploring through a variety of inquiries.  We interviewed about five different folks from the community today, attempting to capture a raid by the local police, and spent a few hours with Jackie (again) this morning.  It was with Jackie that we quickly realized quickly her passion and ability to articulate their reality would render her the primary character in the documentary.  She felt strongly about speaking “on behalf” of her community and that – she did.

We ended the day attempting to grab some environmental shots of our location soon to realize we had maxed out all of our capture cards.  108 GB of footage shot today.  Full day.  Headed home.

Kenya Day 2: The Forgotten Valley

We had scouted the Mathare slums late yesterday and immediately realized this would be the area in which we would focus the documentary.  It was bad.  Real bad.

Due to the amount of NGO attention the adjacent Kibera slums gets, Mathare often goes unnoticed.  And even when Mathare gets a little love, the “Mathare Valley” gets ignored.  In fact, (as has been told to me), most of the Nairobi residents are not even aware the Mathare Valley exists.  In many ways, it has become East Africa’s forgotten valley, forgotten people.

Tucked behind the seemingly more predominant and better positioned (relatively speaking) Mathare slums, the homes (i.e. compact rooms built out of rusted iron sheets) in the Mathare Valley have a different vibe.  Maybe it’s the isolation from the marketplace, maybe it’s the naked children, maybe it’s the lack of men, maybe it’s the magnitude of the trash (and smell), and maybe it’s the reality of the Valley’s commonplace (the river)… one way or the other – this place is different.  The poverty is too pervasive.  The realities are too complex.  The “fixes” are too numerous.  Honestly, it feels hopeless.  It is the closest thing I’ve experienced to hell.  And it’she definition of that which ought not be.

I have numerous images stuck in my head that are not translatable to word (or really even image), but I’ll attempt to convey… We made our way through a tight alley that was obviously built on a steep hill – attempting to step my way through the enormous amounts of trash.  We encountered various women and children – many of which were (maybe) partially clothed.  Once we emerged from the alley, it was obvious how the valley got its name.  There was an endless sight of iron roofs that formed a V-like shape towards the river that ran through the valley.  The river caught everyone’s attention.  It’s a somewhat steady stream of thick deep brown water filled and flowing with an enormous amount of trash.  It did not take long to discover why.

One, the make-shift outhouses rest on the edge of the river with outlets pouring straight into the river.  Two, it’s the Valley’s “trash system.”  We watched countless women and children haul the morning’s trash (and personal waste) down to the river and simply dump the entire bucket into the local waste system.  This wouldn’t seem SO awful until we realized that not only were kids playing in the river, but the seemingly “clean water” pipes were immersed in the river’s edge – full of holes and leaks.  The sewage system and water system had become one in the same.

Speaking of… As I walked the river line to figure out where we might establish ourselves for the morning, I realized I had been stepping in human defecation along the way.   It was overwhelming.  It was (again) complex.  Sadly, it felt hopeless.

But then we randomly ran into a woman named Jackie.  She wanted to talk to us.  She had thoughts.  She had frustrations.  She had hopes.  We felt good about spending some time with what showed up in front of us…

More on tomorrow.

Kenya Day 1: Dream Killers

Tuesday Evening

A few of us headed out at 6 a.m. to do some location scouting.  As the sun arose over Nairobi Skyline, we watched the mass exodus of residents pour out of the Kibera slums, the largest slum in Kenya (2^nd largest in all of Africa).  It was quite an amazing site.  Thousands upon thousands hurried down a hill emerging from one of the slum entrances – heading into Nairobi for a hopeful day of work.  As I talked with Gus – my new Kenyan friend and local LIA staffer – I learned that there are roughly 700,000 living in what is basically equivalent to 250 acres of land.  The daily exodus we were witnessing happens each day as the majority of the men (and some women) leave for work (or the “hope” of work).

We spent the entire morning walking through Kibera.  The predominant encounter of the slums is the smell.  I’m not sure I can describe the smell…. but understanding how the slums are built and managed would help.  Basically, the slum housing is built upon an old garbage dump.  You feel as if you are smelling decades of waste (methane) midst the “fresh” odor of the morning’s trash (resident upon resident would walk out of their homes and pitch their trash on the side of the street as they walked to work.)

I could write for pages on this entire experience, but our home visit with a woman named Rosa was the highlight.  She told us what has become the “common story” of slum residents – born in rural Kenya and moving into the city for hopes of a better economy and better life only to find themselves settling into what is often a more difficult and harsh situation than where they left.  As my friend Gus has stated, it’s the infamous “Dream Killer.”  Rosa was not shy in describing the difficulties of making rent each month ($12/month) and feeding her 6 children.  She enlightened us about the dangers of the rain storms and how the water finds its way into their home with the rising streams – rendering the door step a death trap for their children – as if any chose to open the door during such a storm, they would be swept away and drown.  She described the evenings in Kibera – where they go to sleep with not only a fear of the rain, but of rape, violence, and theft.

Yet in the midst of these harsh realities revealed by Rosa, we encountered what I have long “heard about”… the African hope.  While I sat there pissed off at God’s ability to allow such a thing, Rosa simply anticipated God’s redeeming reality.  While my frustration grew towards the systemic injustice of the landlord system, she was thankful that she had just been given a month extension.  While I wondered what the hell these kids were going to do with their life, her 5^th grade son, Stephen, tells us he wants to be a pilot with a confident smile.  My paradigm began to shift…

We left Kibera to head to the second largest slum in Eastern Africa… the Mathare slums.   I’ll save the description for tomorrow.

Kenya Arrival: Welcome to Africa

Monday (Morning) 5:30 a.m.

We arrived in Nairobi last night around 8pm.  I have to admit, I had not processed the fact that I would be traveling for 24 hrs straight to get here.  I was advised to try and sleep around 5pm Chicago time to try and get a head start.  That didn’t happen.  Justin and I watched God Grew Tired of Us (again) to spur some documentary-ish discussion.  Had some bad airplane food.  Tried to go to sleep.  Watched Pirate Radio (which was surprisingly more interesting than I anticipated).  Tried again to Sigur Ros myself to sleep.  Finally dozed for about 8 minutes when the airline crew decided it would be a great time to awake me for breakfast.  I was thrilled.  Felt drunk for the next 3-4 hours as we landed in Amsterdam awaiting our flight to Nairobi.

Got 2 hours of sleep on the Amsterdam to Nairobi leg and was fortunate to find Amadeus (an April Into the Dark pick) as a movie option.  Had never seen and appreciated the window into the world of “Wolfie” (Mozart) – as he was called by his wife.  Soon enough we landed in Nairobi at roughly 8pm local time.

I stepped off the plane realizing how odd it felt to be a gagillion miles from my family.  At the same time, it was quite memorable to step foot onto African soil for the first time.  It did not take long to get a front row seat to the “African Way” of doing things as we sat for about an hour in the Visa line… I watched a government official talk the guy handling my Visa to “throw back” some $125 of the Visa money that had come through the last half hour (which is $25/person).  A local that was joining our group seemed to have known someone at customs as our entire group of (8 traveling) with roughly 16 bags of video equipment and personals got waived through in about 15 seconds.  Was really quite amazing.  We stepped outside into what felt like San Diego weather (about 60 degrees with a nice cool breeze) and soon headed to the guest house we would be occupying for the next 10 days.

I am now typing somewhere around 5 a.m. after being woken by a chorus of snoring for the last hour.  Awesome.  Look forward to the first full day ahead.

Kenya

For those unaware… I’m heading to Africa.  Here’s the rundown.  As you may or may not know, I have been dabbling in the “visual” storytelling world over the last few months/years.  And to make long story short, few friends were asked to film a documentary for an organization called Life in Abundance, which is an NGO that was started out of Africa by Africans.  This is a wholistic ministry that primarily focuses on the orphaned and vulnerable in some of the poorest areas of Africa.  Although there are a variety of slums/villages that LIA are involved with, we will be spending our entire trip in Nairobi, Kenya – specifically in the Kibera and Mathare slums.

The hope for this documentary is to do general advocacy and education on the reality of the slums (i.e. Why they exist… The perpetual poverty… and Hope for assimilating out of such a scenario…).  At the same time, we will be looking at a number of women who are attempting to emerge out of this reality via tools such as “micro-finance” programs.  As with any documentary, while there is some general direction to a story – you never know what will show up.  I will be co-directing this piece alongside my friends Brian, Justin, and Justin (producing), SO…. well, we’ll see soon enough…