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Kenya: The beautiful faces of Kibera and room to dream
Walking through the Kibera neighborhood of Nairobi, the largest slum in Africa, not everything is as it seems: amidst the overcrowding, health issues, and crime, residents welcomed us with smiles, displaying their pride and identity and sharing their stories of hope.
By Guglielmo Gallone, Nairobi
The smile, the warmth, and the pride with which Grace welcomes us to Kibera are immediately striking and apparent. She could have told us about the hardships of life in a slum specifically, the largest slum on the African continent.
She could have spoken of the pungent odor of open sewage as we walked past piles of roadside trash, narrow alleyways, corrugated iron sheets, and the mud clinging to our shoes.
She could have mentioned the lack of water, poor sanitation, poverty, drugs, and crime. The statistics, after all, speak for themselves.
Kibera’s population
The United Nations estimates that between 200,000 and 250,000 people live in this neighborhood of Nairobi, across an area of 256 hectares or 2.56 square kilometers. However, initial World Bank estimates placed the population at 500,000 within an area of approximately 250 hectares.
Estimates continue to vary, but this is undoubtedly a stretch of land where there are only about a thousand public toilets for hundreds of thousands of people, where raw sewage still flows openly in front of homes, and where even human waste is not properly disposed of.
It is a neighborhood where less than 10 percent of the waste collection or disposal points surveyed by UN-Habitat were found to be in good condition. While only 51 percent of Nairobi’s total population is connected to the sewerage system, reliance on latrines and septic tanks is far greater in informal settlements.
A welcome into a corrugated-iron home
Grace could have started with all of this. Instead, as soon as she saw us with our guide Jack Matika, a worker with the Koinonia Community, she approached us, greeted us with a dance, and did the most hospitable thing imaginable by welcoming us into her home.
Almost all houses in Kibera have corrugated iron roofs, this means enduring intense heat during the hottest hours, the noise of the rain, and—quite often—leaks when the roofing begins to deteriorate.
Electricity, when available, comes through unsafe and illegal connections. The living spaces are cramped, poorly lit, and frequently overcrowded.
Grace’s home is no different, it measures about ten square meters. There is a small living area with a two-seater sofa and an old television, followed by an even smaller room containing two beds, hanging shoes, scattered notebooks, and strewn clothes.
“Seven of us live here; five children sleep on that bed,” she begins to explain as soon as we enter.
Grace invites us to sit on the mattresses. That is where she shares her story with us. “I have eight children and fifteen grandchildren,” she explains. “My children are educated all of them. But as for my grandchildren, some have stayed home because I don’t have the money to send them to school.
“I used to have a small shop selling food, but it was demolished,” she says. “I haven’t yet found a way to reopen and start over. So, right now, I sell chang’aa so the children can have food.”
Then Jack Matika explains what chang’aa is: “It is a potent, artisanal, and often illicit spirit. Essentially, it is a traditional liquor made by fermenting grains and sugar. However, this type of alcohol is illegal in Kenya because it incorporates substances unfit for human consumption. Some people even use HIV medication to increase the alcohol’s potency. Others use ingredients that are unhealthy or not intended for human consumption. That is why we call it illicit alcohol.”
At this point, however, Grace turns her attention to her family: “This little girl here, for instance, is my niece.”
We ask her why she isn’t in school at nine in the morning. “Because I was sent home from school due to unpaid fees,” she replies. “I have significant arrears. Right now, I need to pay about 8,500 shillings (approximately €56). I don’t think we’ll be able to.”
So, when we ask if she has a message for our readers, she answers with the innocence of a child: “If someone could help me with even a little money for school fees, I could go back to school and continue my studies. I have a future I want to build. I would love to be a dancer and a singer.”
“I have many dreams and many things I would like to do,” says the little girl
Future and dreams
But what does it really mean to speak of the future in Kibera? How does one envision it?
How distant can tomorrow be when everything hinges on a school fee of 56 euros, or when an elderly woman is forced to sell illicit alcohol just to survive?
Questions multiply, yet it is heartening to realize that they arise precisely because there are people here who are nurturing their dreams.
However, it is still possible to dream in Kibera, even as the future offers challenges, along with the past.
This fact is evident in the enthusiasm with which Ahmed Nasour, a young man, welcomes us a little further ahead.
“I am Nubian. Our ancestors came here from the Nuba Mountains in Sudan during British colonial rule. They were brought by the British,” he says. “Some were soldiers, while others worked on railway construction. That is why, even today, many Nubian settlements in Kenya are located along the railway line.”
The name “Kibera” derives from the Nuba language and means “forest.” Originally, this was a lush green area filled with trees. The area began to take on its current character in the early twentieth century.
In 1912, the British colonial administration granted former Nubi soldiers who had served in its military forces temporary rights to settle on this land. They were primarily men from Sudan who had served in British colonial units, including the King’s African Rifles.
Kibera became one of the main settlements for the Nubian community in Kenya that would come to be synonymous with a slum was, for the Nubians, a place of ownership long before that.
However, their ownership remained without full legal recognition for a long time. The rights granted by the colonial administration were precarious, and the issue of land tenure would persist throughout Kibera’s subsequent history.
It was only in 2017, after decades of claims, that the Kenyan government granted the Nubian community collective ownership of 116 acres of land.
Issue of overcrowding and population growth
This is also why Ahmed emphasizes, regarding the generations that came before him: “Where we are now is called Makina. The other side, where you can see the wall, is the Kambimuru area. I was born here. My grandparents were born here. My father was born here. This is a land we are proud of. Many of our traditions and Nubian culture in Kenya originate right here in Kibera, on our 288 acres of land.”
Ultimately, Ahmed acknowledges: “It is not easy to say, ‘This is our land.’ There are many problems here. Above all, there is the problem of overcrowding and population growth. People come from all over Africa because Nairobi is a major city. Consequently, Nubian culture and the community are now heavily squeezed and have very limited space. But this is our home. And we love living here.”
An art space serving as a vehicle for education and social growth
Hope and a positive outlook also shine in Patrick Otheono’s eyes: “Everyone here calls me Patu,” he begins, welcoming us to the Hof Art Space, one of the venues within the Kibera Art District.
This is a movement that unites various artists and seeks to use art as a tool for education and community development. There are many artists, yet spaces remain limited. However, for Patu, the greatest challenge is ensuring that the project does not outgrow the very people it aims to engage.
Kibera continues to produce art
And it is a community that Pato is actively engaged with. “The goal isn’t to turn everyone into a painter, but to equip young people with tools that are valuable far beyond the workshop: the ability to communicate, collaborate, think critically, and solve problems.”
A prime example is Santana Sino a portrait artist, curator, and writer. His work, he tells us, explores “identity, love, rejection, and acceptance.”
These themes, when discussed here, inevitably take on added significance. After all, they mirror the very lenses through which the outside world views Kibera a place often defined by what it lacks, rather than what it creates. Yet, Kibera does produce; it creates art.
An environmental pollution management company
We catch a glimpse of work taking place when Pato takes us to Victorious Kenya, a company founded eight years ago by Jack Nyawanga with the specific aim of tackling two of the neighborhood’s challenges: “unemployment and environmental pollution.”
The people proposing real solutions to Kibera’s problems are, first and foremost, its own residents. “In reality, this is a wonderful place where a strong community thrives,” explains Jack, our guide. “People look out for one another and deal with their poverty. I live here, and I know that the people of Kibera are truly remarkable.”
45% of Kibera’s population is young
“Nearly 45 percent of Kibera’s population consists of young people, and many of them are unemployed. Often, they are left to drugs and idleness, and that is not a good thing at all,” notes Jack.
Jack eventually takes us to Ndugu Mdogo, one of the three Koinonia Community centers in Kibera.
“Established in 2005, the center primarily provides opportunities for homeless children living on the streets while also welcoming children with disabilities,” he says. “For street children, we have a well-structured program that addresses, among other things, detoxification. Many children living on the streets use drugs. When they are found on the streets, they are brought here, where our social workers and psychologists help them break free from the substances they have been using for so long.”
Support from the Koinonia Community
Beyond drug abuse, Jack adds, “These children often bear scars or are traumatized by the many things they have witnessed. There are very young children as young as four who have faced sexual violence on the streets. Experiences like these cause severe psychological trauma. That is why we have counselors who help them heal from the pain and suffering they endured while living on the streets.”
Matika concludes, “Once the rehabilitation process is complete, if a child wishes to return to their family and circumstances allow, the Koinonia Community facilitates their return home. For children who have nowhere to go, or whose families remain in extreme poverty or struggle with severe addiction issues, the Koinonia Community takes responsibility for their care and protection. They are then welcomed into our children’s homes, such as the Kivuli Centre, Tone la Maji, and Anita House.”
In this context, the same applies to the three boys we meet at the Ndugu Mdogo center Rovine—Charles, and Deric—as they prepare to move to Tone la Maji. They, too, have lived on the streets and used drugs; Charles tells us he lost both his parents just a few months ago.
Yet, at Tone la Maji, they will join many other children. They will share a dream and the capacity to imagine something that does not yet exist and seems impossible.
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