More on Nairobi

This post is much less profound than the last, it's just a few more observations...

More traffic observations:

Nairobi has no functioning sewer or drain water system.  This means that the water has nowhere to go when it rains.  It runs along the roadside in ditches or, often, over and through the roads when it rains.  Ironically, because the soil conditions are so poor (clay and sand) the roads are also dusty.  There were several occasions when we had to deal with dust and water on the road at the same time.  I experienced this in the car yesterday and again as a pedestrian today, dodging puddles while choking on dust.  It was quite bizarre.

Also, because they have no functioning drain system, they have no way of saving the rains when they come.  So, times like now (the "little rains") and in the fall ("big rains") there is nothing to do with all the extra water.  There is no way to capture it and store it for when the dry seasons come.  A drainage system would also help with the drinking (and washing) water situation.  If water could be captured and purified, it could then be redistributed.

How is water distributed now you may be wondering?  Here's one way - a cart like this is operated by a young man.  He collects water where he can find it, then distributes it all over the city to small businesses that use it for laundry or other services.  Each jug of water costs about $1.00.

 Observations about dress:

I was not sure what to expect for outfits.  My childhood images of Kenya included the Masaii tribal cultures and the large blanket-type dress they wear.  But, I also knew that Nairobi was a city, so I expected to see people in more “civilized” clothing.  That second guess was correct.  The majority of people I saw were in the same type of clothes we would see in any city in America (though I did see a few in more traditional, tribal, dress).  I also thought about buying myself a whole new wardrobe while I was there, clothing was very inexpensive.  In fact, at the shopping center I visited today you could get an entire suit for less than $10.00!  And clothing was even less expensive along the roadside.  No wonder all the pastors and other folks I met can afford to dress so well.  Of course, you could also pay a bit more and have a dress or suit tailor-made.  I considered trying to get a dress custom made from Kinte cloth, but decided against it.

Another interesting tid-bit not many Americans know:  When you donate clothing to charity for Africa the clothes do not go directly to people to wear.  In fact, if you bring a bunch of clothes and start handing them out you will make many people very angry.  This is for two reasons.  For one, even the poorest of Africans have pride and try to avoid accepting charity as much as possible, they want to pay for what they need.  More importantly, the donated clothing supports small business.  Business owners take the donated clothing and sell it for a nominal fee.  That way, they earn some money, and the people buying the clothes can keep their dignity.

Food:

You can find many kinds of food in Nairobi.  There are roadside stands with fruits and vegetables and even meat.  Many people eat nuts (boiled) and vegetables for their meals.  Rice is common in some areas, as is maize (corn – boiled or roasted as it is or ground into flour).  There are a variety of restaurants serving everything to traditional Pan-African dishes, to Indian, to fast food burgers, fried chicken, and “chips” (French Fries).  The big fast food chain around here seems to be Steer.  It reminds me of Burger King (they have "king" and "prince" burgers) with a little KFC added in.  KFC is here too, but not as common.  Prices for eating out at a restaurant are comparable to eating out in the US.  Common drinks include juice, Coke products and Fanta, and of course bottled water if you can get it.

Reflections on a day spent in and around Nairobi

 Warning - this is very long, it is my way of processing one single day in Kenya

Let me tell you about my friend Anthony. 

I met Anthony in October of 2010.  He was in Washington, DC to visit with several churches and my office, the General Board of Church and Society of the United Methodist Church (GBCS).  He was there to talk about a ministry he has with HIV positive persons in the city of Nairobi, Kenya.  We did not have much time to get to know one another on his trip as his schedule was very full of meetings and tours.  However in one brief conversation we did have I mentioned that I had always wanted to go to Africa and that I would be visiting South Africa in a few months as part of my theological studies.  He smiled politely, told me that I would enjoy that, but at some point I would need to visit “real Africa” and come visit him.  I responded as manners dictate and told him I would like that very much, thinking to myself how impossible that sounded.  When and how would I get to Kenya?  I was finishing up my seminary education and had no idea what I would do after graduation.  I certainly would not have the funds to visit Africa again anytime soon.

But God is faithful, and on that day God planted a seed.  Actually, I believe the seed was planted long before that day, but perhaps that was the day the seed finally broke out of its casing and began to sprout.  A few months later I graduated seminary and found a job, working for GBCS.  It was only part-time, but I was doing something I enjoyed.  As part of my duties, I regularly interact with people not only from around the US, but from Africa as well.

Our office was invited to join with the All Africa Conference of Churches Theological Institute for young clergy.  It was my job to coordinate the event from our side, including helping make arrangements for twenty young United Methodist Clergy to attend the institute.  During the planning stages, it was decided that I would get to Nairobi a little early.  The intent was to visit the HIV/AIDS ministry of Rev. Maiga because GBCS had given the ministry some grant funds and wanted to see how things were going. 

When I contacted Rev. Maiga I thought to myself, I know this man.  Sure enough, it was the same man I had met a year earlier in DC.  I e-mailed Rev. Anthony Maiga and asked him if he would be kind enough to show me his ministry and perhaps take me to some other churches or ministries in and around Nairobi.  He was happy to oblige and arrangements were made.

When I arrived at the airport in Nairobi late at night, the people coordinating the institute had made a minor error and as a result had failed to send anyone to the airport to pick me up.  But this was not a problem, Anthony was there to greet me with a smile and a taxi large enough to carry my heavy bags.  He escorted me safely to the guest house where I would be staying and saw me to my room.  We then made arrangements to meet again the next day to start my tour of Nairobi.

The next day, he was late arriving to meet me.  I was not too terribly concerned. This was not my first experience with “African time”.  When he finally did arrive he was very apologetic for his tardiness and explained that the traffic was bad.  Now, in the US we know when traffic is bad (“rush hour”).  We know which hours to avoid the roads if possible, and if not possible we plan ahead and leave early.  So I could have been frustrated by this. He was, after all, over an hour late.  But instead I told him it was quite alright.  I was relaxed and had set my own clock to “Africa time”, not rushing anything, just allowing time to pass on its own schedule.

We began our journey and I now understood Anthony’s comment about the traffic.  It was early December.  It was the start of the holidays (in Africa schools and some businesses take off from the end of November to the beginning of January for Christmas and for a break.  In some areas, this may have something to do with the weather as well, much like our summer vacation).  In December, during the holidays, people have time to travel, so they head to the city.  Thus, the roads are more crowded and traffic is unpredictable.

Traffic in Nairobi is difficult to explain, you really have to see it to believe it.  My first thought was, “this is like some of the stuff you see on ‘The Amazing Race’”.  But what they don’t show you on television is how many hours you can sit in a taxi.  We left the guest house around 12:30pm.  We took the long way to our first destination because it would be faster than going straight through the city.  Along the road we passed people walking, many carrying burlap sacks or other bags or boxes.  We passed people on or pushing bicycles and men pulling carts, sometimes empty, sometimes loaded with various goods and materials.  Motorcycles weaved in, out, and around everyone.  We passed small busses, public transportation, with people literally hanging out of the windows because the bus was so crowded.  We also passed larger busses such as the “City Hoppa”, and various tour busses which were slightly less crowded.  We also passed carts being pulled by donkeys, men or horseback, and even one man on a camel.  The cars we saw on the road were all in good shape for the most part.  In Nairobi, if you can afford your own car, you take excellent care of it.

Now, the next thing one needs to know about traffic in Nairobi is that there are very few street signs and even fewer traffic signals.  In fact, we drove around all day and I did not see a single stop sign or stop light until about 6:00pm when we entered the city center.  There are traffic laws and you occasionally see traffic police, but really it’s every driver, cart puller and pedestrian for him or herself.  Most of the roads do not have lines on them, so the number of lanes varies depending on how wide the road is and how many cars try to cram side by side.  In many places it’s actually easier and safer to drive on the side of the road than the actual road itself because of all the potholes and water that collected after the rains.  But the most interesting, and dangerous, aspect of traffic in Nairobi is the many, many intersections.  With no traffic signals intersections are the ultimate mix of both “chicken” and “Tetris”.  I was consistently amazed as I watched our driver navigate these areas.  I was also amazed that we only witnessed one accident at an intersection the whole day – a small bus hit a motorbike.  No one was injured, and I didn’t even see much damage to the bike.  One advantage of the intersection game is that because it’s so crowded no one is going fast enough to get hurt when a collision does occur.

I will return to the issue of traffic later, but for now I want to give you some details on my tour with Anthony.  I had asked him to show me the slums, his church, and other areas he thought I might find interesting.  Our first stop was the slums. 

About five miles outside of the center of Nairobi is Kibera, said to be the second largest urban slum in all of Africa.  Kibera is second only to Soweto in South Africa in size and population (though the exact population is up for debate).  I had read a little about the slum in Nairobi, and I had visited Soweto less than one year ago, so I thought I knew what to expect.  Except, I didn’t, not completely.  What I did not realize was how the houses were different.  In Soweto each little squatter hut is constructed of aluminum or, in some cases, plastic.  In Soweto the government has provided port-o-lets for families to share and there are communal water taps.  Each family has a couple hundred square feet to share and some even have multiple rooms.  In Kibera the only toilets one can find are the “flying” kind, or a few pit latrines which are accessible for a fee.  The owners of these businesses also often sell water, carted in from other areas in large plastic containers.  The homes are constructed from sticks and mud.  The soil around Nairobi has a lot of clay in it, so it hardens into something resembling tile between the sticks.  Most of the homes only have one room, and they are about the same size as many American bathrooms.

When we arrived I was amazed at the entrepreneurship.  I had seen something similar in South Africa with the “spaza” shops that line the highways.  Here, the shops were mingled in with the homes.  You could find just about everything, from restaurants and hotels to furniture shops, hair dressers, and even funeral homes.  That sounds very impressive, until you realize that each of those shops is also in a mud and stick building and the same size as the homes. 

We stopped the car and got out to take a walk, being careful of flying toilets and delicately stepping over ditches full of water and waste.  We wove around some buildings.  Anthony was taking me to his church, not the one he is currently serving at, but one he is in the process of planting.  This is the church my colleagues and I will worship at on Sunday.  We’re here he announced as we rounded the corner.  In front of me was an “open area” (the pathway was twice as wide as it had been) and a small, unfinished building – of mud and sticks, with barely a roof.  It was completely barren of anything, no cross, no altar, and certainly no pews.  I tried to hide my shock.  I swallowed my tears, and then I looked at Anthony.  He was swollen with pride and excitement.  This was his church, a place where he could gather people from the community and tell then the Good News.  He wants so desperately to share the love of God with the people living in the slums.  I was humbled a great deal, and I asked God to forgive me for lacking the passion for ministry that I saw in Anthony.  I cried on the inside.

Next, we drove around some more and made our way to a village outside Nairobi.  We passed factories and a slaughter house.  We passed farm land and stone quarries.  We traveled on increasingly rough roads.  Finally, after weaving through a maze of dirt paths riddled with potholes and large stones, we pulled into a small yard near a decent sized home.  This was Anthony’s next ministry he wanted to show me – the orphanage where he served as director. 

The building was cement.  It had one large room as you entered, a smaller room (about the size of the homes we had seen in the slums) which served as the inside kitchen, and an even smaller room as the pantry.  There were three bedrooms, one for girls, one for boys, and one for the woman who took care of all the children.  There were no doors on any of the rooms, only a sheet hanging down.  The bedrooms were so crammed with beds there was no room to walk.  Yet there were still not enough beds for each child to have his or her own.  None of the beds had more than a sheet on them.  Some did not even have a mattress.

Outside was a very nice pit latrine.  There was also a cistern which the children occasionally cleaned out and filled with water, given by a neighbor, so that they could do their laundry.  There was a small garden where the children were learning a little about agriculture and supplementing their limited supply of food.  There was an outside kitchen and a pile of charcoal balls.  These balls were made from coal dust mixed with mud.  Because coal is expensive, they make the balls which extends the life of the coal, helping to stretch it long enough to cook a meal.

The children at the orphanage were all dressed in their finest clothes and waiting to receive me, their “visitor”.  As is customary I was treated to a few songs, the recitation of some poetry and a few memory verses (scripture which the children had learned).  They also prepared some food for us.  I felt like a horrible guest as I had to refuse most of it due to my severe food allergies.  I only pray that they were not offended, and that the children were able to eat the food which I was not.

As each child introduced him or herself they also told me which grade they were in school.  The fact that most children were in school was impressive.  Even public schools cost money because each student must come in uniform and pay for their own text books.  Sometimes there is even a fee for exams.  Most of the children at the orphanage attend public schools, a few attend private schools.  The reason some need to attend private schools is because they have no papers to prove their birth date or citizenship.  Many of these children were orphaned after the post-election violence and displacement which occurred a few years ago.  As a result, there is no way to track down any documentation.  The oldest girl, age 15, was not currently enrolled in school because there simply was not enough money.  She had already received some education, so now it was time for the younger children to receive some.  If money comes available, she will head to hairdressing school so that she will have a skill which she can use to support herself when she is older.

All of the children also learn a craft.  They make beaded necklaces.  These are then taken to the roadside markets and sold for about $2-4 each.  This helps pay some of the expenses.  They presented a necklace to me as a gift to thank me for visiting and sharing their story with others.  I later learned from Anthony that I was the first person from outside the area to visit the orphanage.  It is his prayer that my visit will be a blessing to them.  I think he feels God has called me to be their benefactor.  I fear he may be right.

As we were leaving Anthony told me that the orphanage must pay a couple hundred dollars each month for rent.  They do not own the land or the building.  They do not have running water or access to many resources.  Most of what they receive, even food, comes in the form of small gifts from neighbors.

It is Anthony’s dream to have a compound for the children.  A decent compound is about 5 acres, fenced in, with multiple buildings and even running water.  However, it is difficult to find land.  Even though there are vast acres of open space near the village, most of it is owned by one family and they are not fond of parting with it.  The land that is available to purchase costs about $3000 per acre.  Thus, a good, 5 acre compound, would cost $15,000 for the land alone. 

As we left, and I looked out at the landscape, he told me he would love me to come back one day, to bring a team, and to help the orphans.  I asked myself if I could possibly help.  My conclusion: I wouldn’t know where to begin.  There was no way I could raise $15,000 for the land, and I would need at least that much money to bring other people over and help with building or other projects.  I prayed and asked God what I could do.  Without waiting for an answer, I decided I might be able to give (my own money, or perhaps with the help of others from my or my husband’s church) $5,000.  But I did not want to rush into anything.  This would take prayer and planning.  I pushed the thought aside for later.

When we left the village we headed to the Eastlands, the eastern side of Nairobi, where Anthony is “currently staying with [his] family”.  The area is also poor, but not quite as bad as Kabira.  Here, most of the buildings are small apartments made of cement.  We pulled up along a building that looked somewhat like a garage or warehouse.  The next thing I knew, we were at a large metal door and Anthony was inviting me into his home.  Again, I had to choke back tears. 

Anthony lives in an apartment with his wife and children.  Anthony has 5 biological children and one adopted child.  He also has some grandchildren.  The grandchildren and one of his children live outside of Nairobi, but were visiting for the holiday.  Anthony’s apartment was smaller than my hotel room.  It was a single room with no plumbing.  There were three beds and three chairs for the family to share.  There was one table and a dresser.  That’s it.  Everything their family owned was there in this space of less than 200 square feet. 

Anthony pays $100 a month for his apartment.  He said he would love to give his family a two or three room apartment, but each room costs an additional $100 a month.  This is money Anthony does not have.  Remember, Anthony is a pastor.  In the US, pastors are paid on a variety of pay levels depending on denomination.  In the United Methodist church, each annual conference sets a minimum salary requirement and pastors in full time ministry are also given either a parsonage or a housing allowance.   The congregation is responsible for paying the salary and the housing.  In Africa, this is not the case.  There is no minimum salary and certainly no housing allowance.  However, each congregation is still expected to contribute to the Annual Conference and the district (what we call apportionments).  So, from the money taken in each month, about ¼ must go outside the community to help pay for the larger church expenses.  We do this in the US as well.  In fact, if it were not for apportionments I would not have a job at GBCS.  Apportionment dollars pay for a variety of things, including general church agencies as well as Episcopal offices.  Unfortunately, Anthony’s church only collects less than $50 each month in their offering.

Anthony, like other pastors in Africa, therefore needs to work other small jobs and rely on his family working to help pay his own bills.  He gives every extra penny he earns to the orphanage.  I’m not sure exactly how his family earns money, or how much money they earn in a month… but I do know that they live on the bare minimum that they can so that he can support the orphans.  Just like Americans who visit Kenya feel guilt over their own lifestyle, Anthony could not live with himself if he spent money to have an extra room for his family while the orphans struggled to pay for food, shelter and an education.

The neighborhood where Anthony lives is the same neighborhood where he has a ministry with persons living with HIV.  His ministry serves over 100 people.  He and a few other volunteers visit the sick.  They pray with them, bring them food, and try to help them get at least basic medical care.  It was this ministry which I had originally thought we would visit.  Unfortunately, by the time we got to Anthony’s neighborhood it was getting late.  We needed to head out before traffic got worse.  We also needed to leave before it got dark because the neighborhood would not be safe.

Anthony had informed me that because of the late hour he left my guesthouse the night before (close to midnight), he had not returned home.  It had not been safe for him to try to travel to his neighborhood that late.  He had instead found somewhere else to stay and then made his way home in the morning to check on his family before making his way back to the guesthouse to pick me up for our day of touring.  Given the traffic situation, his tardiness now made sense.  Given his poverty, his sacrifice of hospitality touched my heart.  Where did he stay?  How did he pay for it?  Again, I was humbled and cried inside.

It took us about four hours to get from the east side of the city to the west side where I was staying.  The streets were more crowded than ever, including hundreds of people waiting for the few commuter busses to bring them back home to the villages.  I kept telling myself to remember this image the next time I complain about traffic in DC or getting stuck on the beltway, or having to wait an extra 20 minutes for the next bus.  So often I forget just how blessed I really am.

When we returned, I learned more of Anthony’s story.  He had told me bits and pieces throughout the day, but when we finally had a few moments to sit and chat I was able to put the pieces together.

Anthony grew up on the streets.  He was an orphan.  One day, a Catholic nun took him under his wing, “sponsored” him.  She wanted him to go to school.  In Africa the educational system is based on progress.  They don’t put you in a grade based on your age.  You don’t move on to the next grade simply because you are getting older.  You have to prove that you have learned what you were supposed to and pass your exams before moving on to the next “form” (grade).  Anthony started kindergarten at age 16.  Within 5 years he had passed his primary education and entered high school.  Within three years he was finished.  At this point, the nun moved to Germany and was no longer able to support him.  Somehow, he found a way to pay for his own education and entered teachers college.  But it was not for him.  He felt God calling him into the ministry.  So, he entered Bible college.  Anthony has had 7 years of theological training.  He lives and breathes ministry.  His church is his community, his country.  He pastors his neighbors. He cares for the widow, the orphans, and the sick.  He lives out his faith with every waking moment.  He is an inspiration.  Yet, at the same time he feels inadequate.

Anthony explained to me that there are very few United Methodist Churches in Kenya.  He told me that they need more missionaries, people who have grown up in the UMC, who live and breathe the faith tradition.  I didn’t have the heart to tell him that the faith tradition and the lived out faith in the US are not the same.  In the US, many UMC’s are no longer living as fully into their Methodist faith as their predecessors.  Far too many of us have become comfortable in our nice church buildings that we often forget to get out beyond the walls and be in ministry with our local communities.  I believe the US could benefit from African missionaries instead of the other way around.

Then, as we sat there, Anthony told me something that took my breath away.  He knows a man with a large portion of land.  He has offered to sell him 4.5 acres.  Now, using the math Anthony gave me earlier, this would cost about $13,500.  Of course, there is no way Anthony could ever afford this, not on his current salary.  But, because the man has come to respect him and his ministry, he considers Anthony to be like family.  Because of that, and because he knows of the good work Anthony is doing with the orphans, he has offered to sell Anthony this portion of his land for only $5,000. 

My tears threatened to flow more than ever.  What was that figure I mentioned in my prayer?  It was then that I committed to myself and to God to find a way to raise not $5,000, but at least $6,000 for Anthony and the orphans at Nema Mercy Center.  That way, they can not only purchase the land, but start building on it.  And if I can raise even more, perhaps each child can have his own bed, with a mattress and a blanket!  I mentioned nothing to Anthony.  As I was lost in my thoughts he was telling me how he felt God had sent me there for a reason.  He told me how his heart was warmed when I asked to visit the slums and villages, because most people would rather avoid those areas.  I cried as I realized how right he was.  God had sent me here for a reason and my heart would be forever changed by my experience.

I do not know for sure what will happen.  I will continue to pray.  I pray that I have the courage to continue to follow where God leads, even when I am terrified to take the next step.  Right now, I know that God wants me to find the money to send to Anthony to build his orphanage compound.  I think God may also be calling my family to one day come and live and work there, to perhaps help minister to the community around there.  Is it possible?  And more importantly, will we follow that call?