Yesterday, I visited the Mijango slums in Nyeri with my roommate. She
worked there two years ago with the now former Canadian International
Development Agency (tragically murdered by the likes of Stephen Harper in the
name of a “balanced budget”) and became close to who could be the last honest
woman in Kenya or at the very least Nyeri. She invited us into her home for
lunch of mikimou, my roomie’s favorite. It was refreshing and touching that
someone with very little would treat my roommate as a friend, invite us into
her home and feed us all because she was her friend and not expect anything in
return. Of course, we brought some stuff for her, energy efficient light bulbs
because she would soon have electricity and extra stuff we had no more use for.
But the best 955 shillings ($10.93) I have ever spent were on a soccer
ball for her son who recently turned six. I thought it would be fun but that
turned out to be an understatement. We threw and kicked the ball back and forth
for at least an hour while his mom discussed school fees and other projects
with my roommate. Our doctor friend wants to provide sanitary pads for school
girls in Magori and my roommate used to help run a group of women in Mijango
who made the sanitary pads. I say used to because one woman, Sekima, began to
steal money from the project once my roommate and her friends went home. She
now works for the government where she can steal ever more money for the needy.
Most of the equipment and the women trained to make those pads in Mijango are
still there so restarting the project without Sekima would have a relatively
low capital cost. Family, I will be writing some letters requesting funds for
this at some point!
As we toured the slums, we heard the news. My roommate’s friend had spent that very
morning in the hospital with a young girl of about ten who had been raped by a
70 year old relative. The family denied it and their tribe, the Kikuyu, refused
to do anything about that man which gave him time to run away (this was the
plan all along). Despite our friend’s pleas that what if that had been one of
their own children, no one wanted to even admit what had happened. Even if the
family and tribe had blamed the man and ordered him arrested, the police almost
certainly could have been paid off to let him go. The case would have almost
certainly not gone to trial or a trial in which the man would have been
convicted. The worst part was the doctor at the hospital said it had happened
repeatedly, not just that one time. Unfortunately, this is all too common in
the developing world.
We also heard about two children who had died in a fire last week. The
mother had gone out and the father was at work. The mother locked the house
from the outside because she was afraid someone would steal or abuse her
children. Both children died in the doorway, mere inches from life outside.
Seven homes were consumed by the blaze but no firemen responded. The airport
fire highlighting the abysmal and embarrassing state of public fireman in Kenya
(or lack thereof) but this incident is very common and actually impacts local
person, not just mizungos and Kenyans wealthy enough to fly.
The tour was rather interesting because the slums are on a steep valley
hill which slopes down to a small creek. We followed the creek up to a
waterfall and took pictures. It was very pretty but swimming would almost
certainly result in an infection or worse because raw sewage and other
unmentionables empty into the creek. Fortunately, there were several bridges at
strategic locations and only a few families in the slums still drink from the
creek. Almost everyone else uses it to wash clothes.
While dinner was being prepared, we played with the neighborhood
children and volleyed the new soccer ball among the kids. Even the littlest
ones would throw it back to someone and before long, more kids joined the
melee. The birthday boy became upset when he saw an older boy, Kevin, playing
with his ball. Kevin took his marbles yesterday and he was worried he would
take his new ball. We finished the game and went in for a delicious dinner of
sikima and ugali. The ball came too and kept the now tired birthday boy company
while he napped on the couch. That was a happy ending both for him and my
roommate and I, a perfect ending to time here in Kenya.
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