On the Ropes: Hanging with the CFK Sprinters

The clock in the office reached 4 PM, marking the end of the CFK workday. Normally, I would pack up my things and begin walking back towards the stone buildings of Ayany. This Thursday, however, I changed into athletic clothes and waited outside the gate for my companion to arrive. Soon enough, David showed up at the office, wearing shiny dress shoes and a suit that was about three sizes too big. He is one of the coaches with CFK’s sports association, the organization’s longest-running initiative, and he was taking me to see firsthand how the program is run.

Kibera is a breeding ground for tribal conflict, with many different groups living in close proximity to one another. The most infamous intertribal conflict is that between the Kikuyu and Luo tribes, which reached a breaking point following the 2008 Kenyan elections. For weeks, Kibera was swept up in post-election riots and violence, killing many and ousting even more people from their homes.

In an effort to combat the tribalism that plagues Kibera, the CFK sports program runs an annual soccer tournament in which every team must consist of members from different tribes. Furthermore, instead of paying a registration fee, each team must participate in a community clean-up with the Taka ni Pato program in order to be eligible. This further helps build community pride and a sense of intercultural understanding, with members of different tribes working towards a common goal. A few years ago, another addition was made to the Sports Program. A CFK intern from the States was a champion jump-roper, and wanted to implement a skipping program within Kibera. As a slum activity, it made sense: it didn’t require much equipment or much space, and was fairly easy to learn. So CFK started the CFK Sprinters program, which was an instant success.

We were a little early for practice, so David took me on a quick detour around Gatwakera. He greeted friends and relatives along the way, exchanging firm handshakes and warm smiles. Soon we reached a little fruit stand where a middle-aged woman with a kanga draped over her shoulders was selling mangos and bananas. David introduced the woman as his mother. She welcomed me to Kibera, and invited me to come visit their home, motioning towards a little gate to her right. David led me through the gate and into a small courtyard, then beneath a small doorway. “Welcome to my home,” he said with a smile.

The home had a higher ceiling than I was accustomed to seeing in Kibera, but was otherwise a pretty standard slum dwelling: about ten by ten feet, made out of mud and corrugated iron, with large pieces of lace and other fabrics draped around to cover up the walls beneath. I met his little sister, who had just arrived home from school. I also met some other inhabitants of the home: David’s chickens, which lived in a coop right outside of the front door. He explained to me that he raises rabbits and chickens as a small business, selling them to local people in the community. “The pigeons I just keep for fun,” he said.

Soon it was time to head over the Kibera Primary School for practice. We swam upstream through the school’s mass exodus of students, all dressed in forest-green uniforms and heading home for the day. The sounds of soccer balls being kicked around and coaches yelling in Swahili floated over towards us. As we rounded the corner, a dusty school field emerged, with dozens of young men running drills and maneuvering soccer balls around orange pylons. On the other side of the field, a group of younger kids were grabbing jump ropes, getting ready to start their own training session. Feeling more comfortable with my ability to jump rope than to kick a ball with accuracy, I headed over to join the skippers.

It quickly became clear that either the children of Kibera are incredibly fit or I am just ridiculously unfit – or maybe it was a combination of both. As the practice began, I found I could barely jump for thirty seconds without my heartbeat ringing in my ears. Meanwhile, most of the kids performed the various tricks with ease, jumping from side to side, alternating legs, skipping backwards, and crossing their arms while barely breaking a sweat. While it was a little embarrassing to be out-jumped by nine year olds, the practice was a ton of fun and I was happy to see firsthand what the sports program does for the community.

This after-school practice was just another example of how the people of Kibera will jump (literally) at any opportunity that is given to them. By providing children with a physical outlet, the sports program has kept many young people from joining gangs or engaging in other counter-productive activities. It has also instilled a sense of hope and ambition in the children, showing them that if they work hard, opportunities will open up for them. Some of the CFK soccer players have gone on to play at the national level, and the jump rope team has competed in and won several competitions in far-flung places like Florida and Brazil. This goes against the conventional idea of slums as sad, depressing places with a pitiable population. To quote a wonderful article in the Economist: “Slums are far from hopeless places…but rather reservoirs of tomorrow’s winners.” And the kids I met at Kibera Primary, along with David with his chickens, are definitely tomorrow’s winners.

On the Ropes: Hanging with the CFK Sprinters

The clock in the office reached 4 PM, marking the end of the CFK workday. Normally, I would pack up my things and begin walking back towards the stone buildings of Ayany. This Thursday, however, I changed into athletic clothes and waited outside the gate for my companion to arrive. Soon enough, David showed up at the office, wearing shiny dress shoes and a suit that was about three sizes too big. He is one of the coaches with CFK’s sports association, the organization’s longest-running initiative, and he was taking me to see firsthand how the program is run.

Kibera is a breeding ground for tribal conflict, with many different groups living in close proximity to one another. The most infamous intertribal conflict is that between the Kikuyu and Luo tribes, which reached a breaking point following the 2008 Kenyan elections. For weeks, Kibera was swept up in post-election riots and violence, killing many and ousting even more people from their homes.

In an effort to combat the tribalism that plagues Kibera, the CFK sports program runs an annual soccer tournament in which every team must consist of members from different tribes. Furthermore, instead of paying a registration fee, each team must participate in a community clean-up with the Taka ni Pato program in order to be eligible. This further helps build community pride and a sense of intercultural understanding, with members of different tribes working towards a common goal. A few years ago, another addition was made to the Sports Program. A CFK intern from the States was a champion jump-roper, and wanted to implement a skipping program within Kibera. As a slum activity, it made sense: it didn’t require much equipment or much space, and was fairly easy to learn. So CFK started the CFK Sprinters program, which was an instant success.

We were a little early for practice, so David took me on a quick detour around Gatwakera. He greeted friends and relatives along the way, exchanging firm handshakes and warm smiles. Soon we reached a little fruit stand where a middle-aged woman with a kanga draped over her shoulders was selling mangos and bananas. David introduced the woman as his mother. She welcomed me to Kibera, and invited me to come visit their home, motioning towards a little gate to her right. David led me through the gate and into a small courtyard, then beneath a small doorway. “Welcome to my home,” he said with a smile.

The home had a higher ceiling than I was accustomed to seeing in Kibera, but was otherwise a pretty standard slum dwelling: about ten by ten feet, made out of mud and corrugated iron, with large pieces of lace and other fabrics draped around to cover up the walls beneath. I met his little sister, who had just arrived home from school. I also met some other inhabitants of the home: David’s chickens, which lived in a coop right outside of the front door. He explained to me that he raises rabbits and chickens as a small business, selling them to local people in the community. “The pigeons I just keep for fun,” he said.

Soon it was time to head over the Kibera Primary School for practice. We swam upstream through the school’s mass exodus of students, all dressed in forest-green uniforms and heading home for the day. The sounds of soccer balls being kicked around and coaches yelling in Swahili floated over towards us. As we rounded the corner, a dusty school field emerged, with dozens of young men running drills and maneuvering soccer balls around orange pylons. On the other side of the field, a group of younger kids were grabbing jump ropes, getting ready to start their own training session. Feeling more comfortable with my ability to jump rope than to kick a ball with accuracy, I headed over to join the skippers.

It quickly became clear that either the children of Kibera are incredibly fit or I am just ridiculously unfit – or maybe it was a combination of both. As the practice began, I found I could barely jump for thirty seconds without my heartbeat ringing in my ears. Meanwhile, most of the kids performed the various tricks with ease, jumping from side to side, alternating legs, skipping backwards, and crossing their arms while barely breaking a sweat. While it was a little embarrassing to be out-jumped by nine year olds, the practice was a ton of fun and I was happy to see firsthand what the sports program does for the community.

This after-school practice was just another example of how the people of Kibera will jump (literally) at any opportunity that is given to them. By providing children with a physical outlet, the sports program has kept many young people from joining gangs or engaging in other counter-productive activities. It has also instilled a sense of hope and ambition in the children, showing them that if they work hard, opportunities will open up for them. Some of the CFK soccer players have gone on to play at the national level, and the jump rope team has competed in and won several competitions in far-flung places like Florida and Brazil. This goes against the conventional idea of slums as sad, depressing places with a pitiable population. To quote a wonderful article in the Economist: “Slums are far from hopeless places…but rather reservoirs of tomorrow’s winners.” And the kids I met at Kibera Primary, along with David with his chickens, are definitely tomorrow’s winners.

Services for Cervixes: Thursdays at Tabitha Clinic

“You white people, do you have these problems in your country?”

A 23-year old woman was lying down on the examination table, legs splayed with a pillow propped under her bottom to help with visualization. Adah, one of the Tabitha Clinic nurses and my teacher for the day, was sitting on a chair between the woman’s legs, a Black Diamond headlamp mounted on her head as she examined the patient’s cervix.

This woman was asking about cervical cancer, for which she was presently being treated. Cervical cancer is a large problem in developing countries that unfortunately doesn’t get much attention, due to the public’s general aversion to talking about lady bits. It is the third most common female cancer in the world, with over 90% of cases reported in developing nations. Kenya has an alarmingly high incidence rate of 22% in females age 15-40, but many cases go undiagnosed, or aren’t discovered until the cancer has metastasized.

“Oh yeah, we’re at risk for cervical cancer, too,” I said, explaining the Canadian government’s HPV vaccination program and the controversy surrounding it. “All bodies are the same on the inside, they can all get sick with the same things.”

Adah nodded in agreement, the light on her headlamp momentarily bouncing around the room. “It’s only the colour that’s different.”

The cervical cancer screening process is astonishingly simple and low-tech, taking only a few minutes for the women to receive their results. First, a cotton swab covered in acetic acid (yes, just your typical grocery store variety vinegar) is wiped on the cervix, which makes abnormalities turn white. Then, iodine delineates the borders of the lesion, making it stand out in yellow against the otherwise brown solution. The clinician can then say with certainty whether pre-cancerous lesions are present, giving the results in less than 10 minutes.

If there are no signs of lesions, the woman is instructed to come back in three to five years for another screening – unless, as I found out later, you are HIV-positive. Women infected with the HIV virus are immunocompromised, and as a result have a reduced capacity to fight off an HPV infection. Cancer can develop rapidly in these women, necessitating more frequent screening.

If the hallmarks of cervical cancer are found, the woman undergoes cryotherapy. In this procedure, an extremely cold, highly pressurized gas is applied to the lesion, effectively freezing all the abnormal cells to death and leaving a mark on the otherwise pink cervix that looks like a large cigarette burn. Within six months, this mark is completely gone, and the cervix is as good as new.

Of the ten women who came in for screening that morning, more than half of them showed precancerous lesions. Others had some other sort of infection, including a particularly brutal yeast infection that covered the entire cervix in a white goop. Despite this being a relatively small sample size, I was astonished at the prevalence of cervical cancer in the Kibera community. It just wasn’t an issue that I had thought much about before coming to Kenya. HIV and malaria, yes. Cancer, not so much.

This goes to show that when thinking about health issues in the developing world, cancer and similar chronic illnesses are often neglected. Infectious diseases, most recently ebola, often take centre stage in the media, dominating the western world’s view of health in developing nations. However, there are many chronic illnesses lying beneath the surface, some of which can be equally deadly. Cervical cancer is one of the most treatable cancers in existence, but due to a lack of services and education, many women often do not receive the help that they need, and even when they do it is often too late. It is important to recognize that cancer and similar illnesses are not unique to the developed world – after all, bodies are all the same on the inside.

Weekend Adventures: Amboseli National Park

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Most people don’t realize that when they picture stereotypical Africa – savannah as far as the eyes can see, giraffes picking leaves off acacia trees, majestic lions stalking antelope in the tall grass – they are actually picturing Kenya. Each year, hundreds of thousands of people head out on safaris in this country, hoping to get their quintessential East African experience. This past weekend, I decided to join them, embracing my inner tourist with a safari* to Amboseli National Park.

Unfortunately for my wallet, safaris tend to be expensive. Luckily, though, Otto just so happens to have a cousin who works for a tour company (It seems like Otto has a relative in just about every line of work) and who was willing to give us a good deal. So, bright and early on Saturday morning, my friend and I met Saidi, the famous cousin, and climbed into his 10-seater safari van. Saidi reminded me a lot of Otto – they have the same smile and some of the same mannerisms. “I could never work in an office, man,” he said, telling us about his former job selling used cars. “I had to wear a suit and tie to work every day. Here I get to wear what I want!”

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Our safari chariot

After a five-hour drive to the southern end of Kenya, we arrived at our campsite, just a kilometer or so away from the park’s main gates. The camp was a series of little wooden cabins and tents, spread out amongst the yellowed grass of the savannah. I was pretty impressed with our cabin’s amenities, which included a double bed, running water, and even a hot shower – much more than I had expected on our budget safari. Saidi was relieved that we were pleased with the accommodations: “People often get mad at me when they see it here!” he said with a laugh. I found that hard to believe – but then again, there was a safari camp with an Olympic-sized swimming pool right up the road, so I guess there’s some demand for safaris in style.

The best times for animal sightings are in the early mornings or in the late afternoon, so we had a little bit of time to kill before heading into the park. I sat on the cabin’s porch for a while, reading in the breeze. Then we ate dinner in the dining area, an open-air building with Masai blankets used as tablecloths. After our bellies were full of spaghetti and sukuma wiki, we hopped into Saidi’s van for our evening game drive. Almost immediately after entering the park, the wildlife began to appear: herds of zebras, antelopes, and wildebeest, getting in some grazing before the sun set. We also spotted baboons, dik-diks, buffalo, and more types of birds than I’ve ever seen in my life. But the highlight came when we made our way through the wetlands of the park – dozens of African elephants were wading in the water, drinking and cooling themselves off with their impressive trunks.

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The next morning we awoke bright and early, eager to see more animals in the park. I downed a cup of terrible instant coffee to wake myself up, and we headed back towards the park. As soon as we headed out on the road, a fellow tour guide’s voice began excitedly speaking in Swahili over the radio. “A cheetah!” translated Saidi excitedly. “Oh man, we’ve gotta make it.” He stepped on the gas and we accelerated through the park gate. Only a kilometer or so into the park, we saw it – a spotted cat lounging elegantly in the shade of a bush.  We even got to see a quick burst of the cheetah’s famed running when a hyena got a little too close. It was a pretty awesome start to the day, and made getting out of bed at 5:30 worth it.

The day got even better from there. Later on, another broadcast came over the radio: “Simba! A lion!” We careened through the park at high-speed, crossing our fingers that it would still be there by the time we arrived. It was in this lion-chase that I realized just how huge Amboseli really was – our circuit the previous night had barely scratched the surface of the park’s terrain. Eventually, we reached the spot where the original sighting had occurred. “There it is!” Saidi exclaimed. My friend and I both craned our heads out of the top of the van, but were unable to see any roving lions out in the grass. But then, I saw it – a female lion, lying casually on the side of the road, less than ten feet away from our open window! She didn’t seem to mind us much, although she seemed mildly irritated that we were giving away her position to the zebra herd she had been watching.

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Throughout the rest of the day we saw many more animals, even closer up than the day before. Elephants and zebras passed right in front of our van. Hippos snorted at us from the water. Ostriches pranced along in the bushes. Baboons prowled across the road. I even saw some flamingos bathing in the small lake in the middle of the park. In the afternoon, we hiked up a dirt hill offering a panoramic view of the entire park – although the hill didn’t look quite as impressive with Kilimanjaro looming behind it.

We finally headed back to Kibera, exhausted and exhilarated from the weekend and with ridiculously full memory cards. The weekend was awesome, and not just because of the various animals. In total, the whole thing only cost about $250, which was definitely worth it. I also got to make a new friend in Saidi, who I bonded with over our mutual love for Shonda Rhimes shows. (The animal sightings were pretty awesome too, though.) Now, after more than seven weeks in Kenya, I can finally say I got the quintessential safari experience – even though my campsite didn’t have a swimming pool, it was still pretty amazing.

*Technically I’d already been on a safari in the true sense of the word, since “safari” actually just means “journey” in Swahili.

Slow But Steady: Doing Business in Kenya

The midday sun was sweltering as Cathrine and I neared the end of our hour-long journey – we had walked from the Carolina for Kibera office to Lindi, one of the more distant villages of Kibera.  Lindi looked like most of the other villages I had visited, save for the impressive paved road that was being upgraded by the Kenyan government. Up ahead, a slim, short woman appeared, her wavy black hair pulled back into a ponytail and a white smock covering her front. This was Joyce, a twenty-something hairdresser, a Lindi resident, and the reason for our visit today.

Joyce is the cervical cancer champion of Lindi. Over a year ago, she went for screening at the Tabitha Clinic and discovered that she had precancerous lesions on her cervix. Luckily, they were caught early, and she received treatment that greatly reduced her risk of cancer. However, she became concerned about how many other women might have these lesions without even knowing it, and began passionately advocating cervical cancer screening to her salon’s clients. Each week, she leads a group of women across Kibera to the clinic, spearheading the reduction in cancer prevalence in her village.

We had come to Joyce’s salon to try and convince her to become a Community Health Worker (CHW) with CFK. The organization is currently working on an expansion, which will allow the current programs to reach several other villages in Kibera, including Lindi. For this expansion to proceed, passionate and respected community members must be recruited to be a part of the process. Joyce, with her concern for the health of fellow women in her community, would make the perfect choice. For a little over an hour, Cathrine discusses the role with Joyce, making sure to answer all of her questions and allay any of her concerns. They also discuss a myriad of other topics, including various new hairstyles and Joyce’s children. Joyce even ends up doing Cathrine’s nails for an upcoming wedding.

This slow-and-steady approach to business was one of the things that I found most frustrating when I first arrived in Kenya. I am so used to having every moment of the day scheduled, and to trying to maximize the efficiency of every meeting. This, however, is just not how things work in East Africa. Time is less of an issue here, and often takes a backseat to interpersonal connections. Extra care is spent ensuring that a rapport is built, that the other person understands what is being asked of them, and that all of their concerns are addressed. Building a relationship is the most important part of any business transaction, and if you end up being a little late to your next commitment in the process, so be it.

Right before we left the salon, Joyce had agreed to become a Community Health Worker. She walked us out of her tiny workplace into the bright sun, and gave us both a warm handshake before we headed out. As we began the long stroll, I contemplated whether the same outcome would have been achieved had the conversation taken place over the phone. Somehow, I doubted it. It had taken some effort, but I was starting to understand the Kenyans’ way of doing things.

Valentine’s Day in Hell

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Last weekend’s excursion was to Hell’s Gate National Park, whose terrain had been the inspiration for the Lion King. I had started off the day bright and early, meeting my friend Joshua in Ayany before beginning the journey to Hell’s Gate National Park. Joshua is a volunteer at Carolina for Kibera, who works with the scholarships program. He’s been involved with CFK for several years, and lives in the Kibera village of Kianda with his family. He recently graduated from high school, and is currently awaiting his standardized test results that will determine what he can study in university; he is hoping to become a civil engineer, which will require top marks.

Once downtown, we met up with Scott, our fellow intern at CFK, who hails from Washington, DC’s American University. He is a charismatic and talkative guy who is passionate about healthcare in the developing world. Together, the four of us hopped on the same matatu I had taken the previous weekend to Lake Naivasha, and settled in for the winding journey into the Great Rift Valley. Once we arrived in Naivasha, we were greeted by the town’s many street touts, all of them desperately trying to get their hands on our tourist cash. Adamant about avoiding the over-charging that had plagued our previous Naivasha trip, we got Joshua to negotiate a fair price in Swahili with our potential cab driver.

Our cab driver dropped us off about 2 km away from the road, where a friend of his ran a small bike rental shop. For 500 Kenyan shillings (about $7 Canadian), I got a yellow Giant mountain bike with a bright blue seat for the entire day. After rigorously testing the brakes and buying another liter of water, we started riding off towards the gate of the national park. The road was hot, dusty, and bumpy – the dry season was in full swing, and the land was looking parched from the sweltering Kenya sun. We were sweating already by the time we arrived at the park’s front gate. There, we paid our park entrance fees, which were quite a bit cheaper than we’d anticipated: since I have a student visa for the next six months, I am considered a resident and receive heavily discounted prices for all national parks. Thanks, UBC! Then we hopped back on our bikes and set off into the midday Kenyan heat.

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Joshua, Scott and I with our new zebra friends.

Not even five minutes after entering the park, we spotted our first sign of wildlife: a pack of zebras, grazing in the grass by the roadside! A coworker had told me I’d be bored of seeing zebras by the time my stay in the park was over, but staring at these gorgeous animals only a few feet away from me, I found that hard to believe. They stared at us with cautious curiosity as we edged closer for a photo op.

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 Spot the rock-climbers…

Next to the munching zebras, a huge rocky tower jutted up towards the sky, looking out of place in the wide savannah. As we approached, I realized that this was a rock-climbing site – for 500 shillings we could scale the jagged rocks to the top. Being a huge adrenaline junkie with a sometimes-dangerous love for heights, I signed up immediately, and convinced Scott to come along with me. Within minutes, I was harnessed up and climbing towards the sky. Having only ever experienced rock-climbing at an indoor gym, this was quite a different experience: my eyes darted around constantly, trying to find my next foot- or handhold on the crag, and I was extremely conscious of the lack of padded mats on the ground below. After about 10 minutes of struggling, Scott and I made it to the top. We snapped a couple of victory shots, giving cheesy thumbs up, before belaying to our friends down below. Once we made it back to solid ground, completely elated from the experience, we convinced Joshua to climb up as well.

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Whatchu lookin’ at, bro?

We continued along the winding, dusty road further into the heart of the park, with the goal of finally reaching the famous Hell’s Gate Gorge, about 11 km away from the park’s entrance. The road was mercifully flat, giving us time to enjoy the amazing scenery around us. We passed by zebras and giraffes rehydrating at a watering hole, antelopes jumping around in the tall grass, and beautiful, colourful birds flitting around between the acacia trees. On either side of the road, huge red-brown rock formations reached towards the blue sky, looming hundreds of feet in the air over the grassy plains.

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A stroll through hell.

Finally, we reached the famous Hell’s Gate Gorge. Unable to head into the gorge without a guide, we reluctantly handed over 2000 Kenyan shillings to a young man named Francis, who led us down deep into the earth. Since it was nearing the end of the dry season, the water levels within the gorge were extremely low, with only a trickling stream running along its rocky floor. However, during the wet season the gorge swells with powerful flash floods that can be up to 10 metres deep – ominous signs warning about the dangers of these floods adorned the gorge’s walls. We hiked over boulders and climbed ropes as we travelled through this geological wonder. Occasionally we would pass some hooks that had been used in the filming of the Tomb Raider movie; “Angelina Jolie,” Francis said with a nod. We saw the “Devil’s Bedroom”, a large, circular “room” carved out of the gorge by water, passed by tall waterfalls, and alarmingly hot springs emerging from the gorge’s walls. “I wash my face with this water every day,” Francis told us, praising the healing properties of the mineral waters. “That’s why I don’t have any pimples.”

Unlike our ride towards the gorge, which was filled with chatting, our return trip was mainly silent due to our exhaustion from rock climbing, biking 13 km, and hiking for two hours throughout the gorge (without lunch, I should add). We were able to add a few more animal sightings to our list, though: we passed a massive herd of buffalo and their companion white birds, and had a family of about 10 warthogs dash across our path. After what seemed like hours of cycling, the park gate appeared within our view, and we left the animals and the gorge in the dust behind us.

Know Your Status: HIV Testing in Kianda

A chorus of school children on a primary school’s second floor balcony called out to me as I walked along the streets of Kianda.”Mzungu! How are you!” They were all leaning up against the railing, looking sharp in their uniforms of dark blue sweaters and khakis.

“Sasa?” I called across the corrugated iron rooftops, turning the heads of a couple of nearby women washing their clothes in plastic buckets. In reply, I received a deafening, “POA!” Laughing and waving, I stepped across a ditch carrying waste down towards the river and continued along on the day’s door-to-door campaign.

This past week, CFK’s Sexual and Reproductive Health program carried out its quarterly HIV screening campaign, and I was invited to tag along to see how it’s done. I was sent off with Daniel, a trained VCT counsellor who is training to be a nutritionist, and Ali, a Youth Peer Provider (YPP) who grew up in Kibera but is currently an international relations student in Turkey. We walked out to the very edge of Kianda, where the cramped houses give way to open fields with children kicking soccer balls around. There, we began our door-to-door testing campaign. The process was pretty simple: Ali would knock at the door and say, “Hodi?”, the phrase for “May I come in” in Kiswahili. He would then start to explain who he is and what Carolina for Kibera does, before asking them if they are willing to take a 5-minute test for HIV. If they agreed (all tests are completely voluntary) Daniel would step in, donning gloves before pricking the patient’s fingertip with a tiny needle. He collected a couple of drops of blood in a capillary tube, transferred the blood onto a little plastic slide, and added some buffer to make the reaction run. Within a couple of minutes, the result would appear in a little circular display: one band for negative, two bands for positive.

As Daniel carried out the tests, Ali and I had plenty of time to chat. He is the same age as me, 21. He received a full scholarship to attend a Turkish secondary school and subsequently university. He loves his schooling in Turkey, and spoke excitedly about the places he had visited during his university years. Each summer, when he is on break from school, he comes home to Kibera and works as a Youth Peer Provider, feeling that it is his responsibility to give back to the community. He has been offered a job at the Turkish embassy in Kenya once he graduates, and while sad to be leaving Europe he looks forward to coming back to Nairobi.

Ali also told me about the changes he had seen in his years in the slum, which was absolutely fascinating to me. I recently read It Happened on the Way to War, the memoir of one of the three founders of CFK, and had been shocked by how dangerous Kibera had been in the early 00’s. Ali told me that things had been getting much better in the years since he left for school. “When I was growing up, I wouldn’t go a day without seeing someone getting attacked for stealing,” he said, referring to the “mob justice” that used to be common practice for punishing thieves. “Now things are a lot better.”

He credited the new president, Uhuru Kenyatta, and his wife for many of the positive changes the slum has seen. “This president, he actually cares about the poor,” Ali said passionately. “He has built roads into the slum and put in lights.” Ali also sung the praises of the First Lady of Kenya, who had begun a campaign called Beyond Zero to battle urban poverty in Nairobi. The program had installed small clinics in each village in Kibera, and created community police stations to help maintain security. I had seen the presence of this initiative in Kibera: one of the clinics sits next to CFK’s main office, and a community police station is visible from my front doorstep in Ayany.

About halfway through the morning, I decided to take my own HIV test. I did so partially because I wanted a woman who was nervous about the needle to feel more at ease, and partially since I felt like a hypocrite encouraging people to get tested without ever having done so myself. Within four minutes, I saw my result show up on the slide: one band. Shortly after, the woman who I was testing with received her own negative result with relief.

The campaign occurs every three months over the course of five days, in which five pairs of counsellors and YPPs knock on doors in Kianda, Gatwakera, and Soweto West. The quota for each day is 20 people tested per pair, so in total 500 people participate in VCT over the course of the week. The program isn’t perfect, though; many people are too scared of the results to get tested, despite them likely being the ones who are the most at risk. Ali also tells me that in the past, things have gotten ugly when people have received positive results: “Once a man tried to attack a female counsellor because he was angry with his result. So now we try to make sure the women don’t go out alone.”

That being said, the people we met were extremely friendly and welcoming. I used my broken Swahili to chat with them as we strolled through Kianda, which definitely helped. My Swahili is slowly improving – I bought a Swahili grammar e-book and dictionary upon my arrival, and have been spending most of my evenings dutifully studying noun classes and conjugations. However, despite my growing knowledge of the language I still find myself getting nervous and self-conscious when the time comes to speak in a public setting. Mama Mary says that I am afraid of getting things wrong, and I completely agree with her, but have decided not to let that stop me. Mistakes or not, it shows I am making an effort to get to know people, which others really appreciate.

I am truly beginning to feel at home in Kibera, and to feel comfortable with my place in the community – or lack thereof. As I walked through Kianda, I didn’t have an internal monologue raging in my head about how I wasn’t “contributing to the community” in the way I had imagined. Instead, i just took the time to learn and to take in life in Kibera. When I walk to work each day, I no longer feel uneasy about the stares directed my way; instead, I meet them with smiles and Swahili greetings. I comfortably clamour into packed matatus, introduce myself using my African name to new acquaintances, and adeptly bargain prices with cab drivers. By opening myself up, I feel like I am just now being able to see true Kibera, and even though I can’t believe it took me this long, I’m happy to finally be okay with not fitting in.

Weekend Adventures: Longonot and Lake Naivasha

IMG_2462Mount Longonot presiding over the Great Rift Valley

The matatu drove along the winding highway, shaking from both the bumpy road and the loud Swahili music blasting from the speakers. A friend and I sat cramped in the second row of the minibus with our belongings creating a little fort around us, watching out the windows as the billboards of the city gave way to the countryside. Street vendors selling Masai blankets and cobs of roasted maize blurred as we passed by.

We were off on our first trip out of the city, bound for Naivasha, a little town an hour and a half north of Nairobi. Naivasha, however, was just a quick pit stop as we headed towards our final destination. This destination appeared to the west as the matatu crested a large hill, standing out impressively amongst the parched grasslands of the Great Rift Valley. Mount Longonot, a long-inactive volcano with a crater a kilometer in diameter at its peak, was beckoning us. By the end of the day, I thought excitedly, we will have seen the view from the top.

Getting to the mountain proved to be a bit of a challenge. Since there were no matatus that would drop us off directly at the park gate, we opted for a cab ride with a friendly yet alarmingly pushy driver named Sammy. He offered to wait while we climbed the mountain and to take us to our campsite on Lake Naivasha afterwards, and while the price was a little steep, I agreed for the sake of convenience (and because it meant I wouldn’t need to carry my camping gear up the mountain).

The hike was much tougher than I had anticipated. The dusty trail leading up towards the crater had very little traction, and was on a steep incline. I found myself breathing heavily within a few minutes, my legs burning with effort and my face dripping with sweat in the Kenyan heat. Along the way, I found some more hiking companions in a school group. They were a group of girls climbing Longonot to prepare for their trek up Mount Kenya at the end of the year. Many of them were more out of shape than I was, which I must guiltily admit made me feel relieved.

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A tiny area of Longonot’s massive mountaintop crater.

After losing half of my body’s water content in sweat, I finally reached the summit. The crater was even more impressive than I had imagined, tracing an almost perfect circle out of the mountain’s rock. In the forest far below I could see tree branches rustling, hinting at the presence of animals in the enclosed mini-ecosystem. Beyond the crater’s edge, the Great Rift Valley stretched out in all its yellow-green glory. I stood there at the top for a while, beaming with awe and endorphins, and exchanging high fives with my high school climbing buddies. My friend and I sat with our legs dangling into the crater, snacking on Chex Mix and looking down at the forest below. We contemplated making the two-hour walk around the crater rim, but since I had run out of water I was hesitant to spend any longer in the sweltering heat than I had to. We snapped a few top-of-the-mountain victory shots and descended back into the valley.

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Lake Naivasha, where hippos are sneakily hiding out of sight

Sammy dropped us off at Carnelly’s Camp, an adorable campground on the shores of Lake Naivasha filled with expats and British vacationers. Exhausted from our trek, the first thing we did was gorge ourselves at the campsite’s restaurant. I scarfed down a massive pile of pasta with the signature Lake Naivasha crayfish, in a way that made me thankful the restaurant was empty. After dinner we pitched our tent and took a walk along the shore, spotting monkeys playing in the trees, blue herons standing elegantly in the shallows, and massive hippos peeking out from beneath the lake’s surface. It was the perfect place to end the day, and that night we fell asleep to the sounds of hippos snorting just feet away from our tent.

This weekend was a much-needed escape from the urban chaos of Nairobi. In Kibera, there are people absolutely everywhere – walking down the narrow dirt streets, crowded onto tiny matatus, calling out at you from storefronts. Even at nighttime, the slum doesn’t sleep – the sound of music, barking dogs, and rumbling trains can be heard through my open windows. Spending some time outdoors gave me a respite from the city’s chaos, which I hadn’t realized how much I really needed.  It also gave me the opportunity to see more of this wonderful country – a place with which I am slowly but steadily falling in love.

Another update on this past weekend’s adventure at Hell’s Gate National Park (the inspiration for the Lion King) coming soon!

Belonging, New Friends, and Angela’s Care Group

Mzungu, mzungu! How are you, how are you!”

I am walking along the street behind CFK when I pass by a group of schoolchildren, standing outside their school’s gates in their forest-green uniforms. As I stop to greet them, they swarm me, hands outstretched, all very insistent on finding out how I’m doing. I laugh and say, “Sasa?” the Swahili word for “now” that is often used as an informal greeting in Kibera. “Poa!” the children reply, looking both surprised and delighted that I was speaking their local slang.

After handing out a few more handshakes, I am able to extricate myself from the mob of children and continue down toward the railroad tracks.  I passed by the same huge garbage pile that I had seen on our journey to Taka ni Pato. Today, a couple more garbage fires are burning, and I sputter as the smoke fills mt lungs. The children walking by don’t seem to notice the smoke (potentially because of their proximity to the ground), nor do the dogs picking their way through the smouldering trash.

I am headed to Soweto West, a village in Kibera that I have not yet visited. Were I alone, this would not bode well for me – there are no street signs in Kibera, or even street names, for that matter. The dirt paths wind around in a seemingly never-ending maze, with mud houses sometimes packed so close that there is barely room for one person to squeeze through. If I ever got lost in Kibera, I would probably never find my way out. Luckily, I have Cathrine today as my guide.

Cathrine is a project worker with the Sexual and Reproductive Health department at CFK. One of the program’s main focuses is maternal health – teaching mothers in Kibera how to take care of themselves and their babies throughout their pregnancy. This is done through a system called care groups, which are weekly meetings of 10 to 15 women, run by a Community Health Worker. We are on our way to one of the many Soweto care groups now.

We reach the road dividing Soweto West from Kianda, and soon spot a middle-aged woman in a long green short-sleeved dress waving at us. She has crow’s feet that are intensified by her warm smile, and her graying black hair is pulled up into a tight bun. She introduces herself to as Angela, shaking my hand. “Karibu, you’re welcome,” she greets me. She then leads Cathrine and me to a bright blue building on the main road, which consists of one very tiny, very dark room. Inside, a pregnant woman named Rose welcomes us to her daycare.

Eight children are taking a nap, lying widthwise on a twin bed in the corner. Another little girl who couldn’t be more than six holds a sleeping baby in her arms. She smiles at us curiously as we walk in. We take a seat on one of the two benches set up along the walls. Within a few minutes, the pregnant women begin arriving – about eight of them in total. Cathrine introduces me and another intern in Swahili. I am able to pick out the word wanafunzi – students. “Jina langu Campbell”, I say in broken Swahili, immediately wishing I had used my Luo name instead. After the introductions are completed, Angela sits on a chair in the middle of the room and leads the discussion. Today they are discussing warning signs of pregnancy. Cathrine quietly translates the rapid Swahili in my ear.

Rose is the first to speak. She has issues with her cervix remaining open, and has had three miscarriages as a result. She’s now worried that it might be happening again. While I didn’t understand her words, I could see the pain in her eyes as she spoke about losing her children. Angela recommends she go to Tabitha Clinic to get some medical attention. Another woman is concerned about the baby always lying on one side. She says she hasn’t felt it move in a day or so. A more experienced mother tells her not to worry, that the same thing had happened to her. Then one day, the baby shifted and before she knew it, she was in labour.

I feel uncomfortable being in this room. It wasn’t the heat, or the children staring at me, or the details about womens’ cervixes. I felt like I didn’t belong there – and, really, I didn’t. I’m not from Kibera. I don’t know anything about pregnancies. I don’t even speak the same language. This unease was compounded by the fact that the other intern was snapping pictures of the group throughout the meeting. Cathrine had asked her to take photographs of the care group for the CFK website beforehand. Even though the women had consented, it felt wrong, almost voyeuristic, taking photographs of them as they shared the fears and struggles of their pregnancies. I tensed up every time I heard the shutter click.

As we leave, I shake everyone’s hand. Rose, the young mother who owns the daycare, clutches my hand with both of hers and looks up at me. “I am so happy you are here,” she says, as though she had been reading my mind throughout the entire meeting. “Asante sana.” I thanked her, blinking back the tears stinging my eyes, and stepped back out into the Kibera heat.

Angela insists on us visiting her home before we return to the CFK office. She guides us through a street behind the daycare, and opens a small gate into an even smaller alleyway. She gestures to a door on the left, and I duck beneath the low doorway to enter my first real Kibera home. Angela’s entire was about the size of my first-year dorm room. Pieces of white lacy cloth draped the walls, presumably to cover the mud walls lying underneath, and another piece of cloth hung towards the back of the room, partitioning the space into a bedroom and a living room. I sat down on one of the two small couches, whose cushions were as solid as a rock. There was no kitchen, just a small charcoal stove used for cooking. A large jerry can in the corner provides the water for the home. A miniscule TV sits on a shelf in the corner, upon which Angela’s youngest daughter, Lucy, is watching a wedding show. Angela introduces us warmly as her “new friends”. We stay for chai, milky Kenyan tea, and Angela tells us about her family. When we finally leave to go back to work, she urges us to come back anytime.

Rose’s genuine welcome and Angela’s hospitality made me realize that much of the insecurity I felt about not being wanted in Kibera was coming from myself, not from the people around me. My fear of being judged or of people thinking I don’t belong had been keeping me from really integrating into the community, from getting to know the people of Kibera – the reason I came here in the first place. Truth be told, I will never fit in completely. It’s time for me to accept that and move on.

I am a mzungu, always have been always will be. I will never completely understand the lives of those who live in Kibera. They see the world through a totally different lens than I do, filled with experiences and memories and tribalism acquired in a world far away from my own. But still, I’m realizing, the fact that I’ll never understand shouldn’t keep me from trying.

First Expedition to Nutrition

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Children at the Lishe Bora Mtaani Nutrition Centre
Image via Carolina for Kibera

It is Friday morning, and I am walking an unfamiliar route along the Kenya-Uganda railway that bisects Kibera. A big, jovial man named Francis is acting as my guide this morning, chatting with me and stopping to greet various friendly faces along the way. Francis is a Community Health Volunteer with CFK, who goes out into the village of Kianda and educates households about proper hand washing, hygiene, and maternal and child health. He was chosen for this role because he is a prominent and well-respected member of the local community – “I’ve lived in Kibera for 30 years,” he tells us proudly. The Community Health Volunteers also assess the nutritional status of children under five, and refer those who may be malnourished to the CFK Nutrition Centre, where we are headed now.

The building is a one-story wooden building with two offices, three playrooms, and a kitchen around the back. We walk into the closest playroom, where about fifteen young children between the ages of six months and three years are waiting for me. A nutritionist named Esther, wearing a large CFK logo-emblazoned apron, is setting up a scale to begin the children’s weekly weighing. She invites me over to help out. Many of the children are unable to stand, either because they are too young or because their developmental milestones have been delayed from malnutrition. Esther has me stand on the scale and hold the child in my arms. Meanwhile, Esther takes the child’s left arm and measured their mid-upper arm circumference – a tool that gives a good idea of how thin or “wasted” the child is. The information is recorded in a little notebook, and the process is repeated with another child.

The children spend the majority of the day in this little playroom, most of them napping away on large spongy mats strewn about. Other more adventurous ones go for strolls around the rest of the centre, or watch the educational children’s videos playing on the television. The day is interspersed with snack times, wherein the children are fed various therapeutic foods including Plumpynut, a peanut butter and sugar concoction to help them gain weight. They also get a big delicious Kenyan lunch of ugali, spinach, and chicken.

After lunch, a little girl named Isabella* who had been napping for most of the day woke up. Veronica, one of the centre’s early childhood educators, asks me to give her some porridge. I pick her up, and am amazed by how light she is. Her arms and legs are so small that I can wrap my entire fist around them. She looks like she’s about six months old, but to my shock, Veronica tells me that she is nearing her first birthday. Stunted growth is a very common effect of chronic malnutrition, and many of the children in the centre look much younger than they actually are. Isabella has a good appetite, though – she wraps her tiny hands around the cup and eagerly drinks all the porridge without any complaint.

Isabella’s mother stopped feeding her breast milk after two weeks, because of a pregnancy with another child. (In the mother’s culture, breastfeeding while pregnant is believed to be detrimental to the developing fetus.) Instead, she started feeding Isabella warm water and cow’s milk, which has led to her becoming underweight and suffering from multiple nutrient deficiencies. The hope is, though, that after the prescribed eight weeks in the in-patient program Isabella will be back at a normal weight. Furthermore, her mother will have a better idea of how to take care of her and her future sibling – the parents of the children enrolled in the program receive training sessions, where they learn about young child nutrition and how to keep their babies healthy.

The Nutrition Centre is a relatively recent initiative by CFK, having recently celebrated its one-year anniversary. Although the program has been touted as a success so far, they are still in need of a lot of help – mainly, with organizing the massive piles of data they have accumulated since the centre’s opening. That’s where I come in. Over the next few months, I will be organizing the data in the centre and tracking individual children’s progress, as well as creating documents outlining the procedures of the centre. These documents will help ensure the long-term success of the centre, and allow the CFK staff to more effectively care for children along their road to recovery.

Alright, and maybe I’ll end up playing with adorable babies sometimes, too.

*Name changed to respect patient’s privacy