Friday morning we were planning to head out early to Mathare to volunteer with the mission’s soup kitchen, but because of new plumbing piping being laid as part of the missions renovations, they were unable to prepare food to serve. So Curt came by to pick us up at ten am and take us for a tour of Nairobi. We journeyed out of the city center to the Westland suburbs, where the rich live. We drove past beautiful sprawling estates, large American style shopping malls, and lots of common laborers working the wealthy Kenyans’ land. We drove past the United Nations offices, a private international school, and through the wealthiest section of Nairobi, where the even servants quarters were plush. This was in stark contrast to the slums that Father Curtis and his fellow priests serve. On the way to Mathare, we pass a large country club and golf course. Large walls of trees block the view of the slums just across the street.
There is an unpaved road full of bumps and potholes that lead you into the slums. This main road is littered on both sides with tiny shops offering fruit, drinks, roasted corn and barbershops. Tiny storefronts that serve the community in the valley. About half way down the road there is a small turnoff road that leads to the entrance of the mission. The mission has grey stone and metal gates surrounding it. Once we entered the compound you could see the progress, as the mission is undergoing a major addition. We walked through a new chapel that is close to completion and toured the additional apartments that are being added as a second and third story to the building that currently houses the soup kitchen. The main house has a small entryway that leads to a hall with a prayer room, library, and offices. As we toured the main building we had an opportunity to meet the other priests working at the mission with Curt as well as several of the men on their journey to be part of the order of the Missionaries of Charity.
I feel incredibly fortunate to have had the opportunity to spend the day with Curt in his community. After we met the other members of the mission, Curt took us into the valley to meet the people they serve. The slums are a place of almost unimaginable poverty. The main unpaved road leads you into an entire shantytown of tiny houses made of scraps of tin, wood and metal. Doors were covered with scraps of cloth and held on the house by metal soda bottle caps. As we walked down the street, women and children lined both sides of the street cooking, washing clothes, watching children, or resting. There were chickens and roosters and goats roaming freely on the main road as well as groups of men. Curt had spent the past few months in Tanzania, and there was real joy from people to see him return. He is a little like the pied piper, as he walks down the main road all around him you hear the children calling “
Father! Father!” running to touch his hand. The children’s eyes would light up when talking to him and there was such a sense of joy for both Curt and the kids in their exchanges. Curt is both gentle and firm with the kids, asking those that normally attend school why they are at home today or taking the time to ask them how they are feeling. It seems like such a small offering, but because of the sincerity with which it is given you can tell that it is treasured.
Once you turn off of the main road you are on a very narrow footpath with a flowing stream of sewage that cuts through the center. The footpath leads down hill further into a sea of shacks connected by other equally slender, sewage riddled walkthroughs. These tiny connected paths form a maze that leads you through the shanty community. It is easy to get lost maneuvering the tiny trails, and there were times in our journey where the sewage cut off the pathway and so we were forced to turn around and head back up to try another side street. Maneuvering the pathways was a feat itself, as you had to constantly watch your step, lest you end up ankle deep in human waste. There were places where the stones were wet and slippery or so narrow you needed to brace yourself against the tin walls of the shacks. Laundry hung on lines across the rooftops and part of the maze was ducking under and around the hanging wash.
We walked through the shacks to the Mathare River, which was essentially the output for the sewage streams that flow through the walkways of the slums. There were so many young children in the streets, many barefoot, passing the day away playing. My heart broke for the families that deserve so much more from the government.
We met Emme on the main road after we walked to the river. She is a smart and sweet woman who invited us to visit with her in her home. The shack was small and dark. It was one room with two couches on adjoined walls and a small coffee table. A sheet separated the bed from the sitting area. When we first arrived there was a small round pot that held hot coals on the floor between the bed and the coffee table. She had a plate of Ugali (hard grits) and bowl of guacamole prepared for her grandchildren to eat when they came home for lunch. Her eldest was home when we arrived. Nelson was quiet and reserved, I’m not sure if it was because of the strange unexpected company or if it is just his nature. His parents have both passed away from Aids and he and his sister now live with his grandmother along with a young cousin. Emme is a widow who gave birth to seven children and worked for most of her adult life with an educational organization. During our visit Emme spoke of her village in western Kenya where she owns a home and acres of tea and of her desire to take her grandchildren and leave the city for her village. In her village she has a network of family and it seems like a more peaceful existence. She shared with us a news clipping from a month ago that highlights Emme speaking out about the police attack in the slums that killed 22 innocent people. A gang called the Mungiki, who extort money from the shopkeepers, matatus, and people of the Mathare, rules the slums. The police needing to appear in control swept through the slums accusing people of being Mungiki. Emme said the police beat even grandmothers like her during this raid. During our visit her younger grandson came home for lunch. She told us that after all of the children have eaten their fill she will eat what is left. Emme took off his good school shoes, helped him unzip his jacket and made his plate. Watching her you could see the love and time she is investing in really raising her grandchildren. Listening to her I was touched by her quiet dignity and pride. There are times when you meet someone and you just know that in meeting them, you have been blessed. I feel that way about Emma. There is such honesty to her… I feel like I have been given a gift by spending time with her. I hold her family in my prayers and hope she is able to take her family away from sewage filled slums to her home and extended family in Western Kenya.
There is no excuse for that extent of poverty to exist in a country whose economy is growing. These are working people, laborers scraping to get by and pay rent for the shanty tin shacks they have built in the valley. Seeing the conditions it is hard not to be angry at the politicians whose campaign sign are tacked on tin walls with metal soda bottle caps.
There is so much work to be done for humanity.
