I closed and locked the door behind me as I faced toward the wide open city. Confidently, I walked past the guard and through the gates that marked the thin line between a dangerous city and a safe compound. I thanked Francis, the guard, and stepped out into the open. By now my lungs had adjusted to the thick exhaust and honking cars that speed eternally by the busy roads. Feeling rather comfortable in my 3rd world living state, nothing could have prepared me for the culture shock that I was just minutes from embracing.

    Nearly 20 minutes later I met Bonfce and Rueben (from prison ministry) at Nakumatt Prestige (a super market) just off Ngong Road. Smiles and warm welcomes were exchanged as we shook hands. Bonfce’s face lit up like a lantern in the dark. His smile was grateful and his spirit seemed to soar as we walked together. We chatted and walked together leaving the busy street of Ngong behind us. Casual conversations convinced me that a pleasant evening would be in store--how wrong I was.

    The first thing I noticed when I descended the long ramp into Africa’s biggest and worst slum is that the mud is thick and strong. I noticed a stinging odor that entered into my brain and didn't  leave any space to breathe. I noticed that green waters filled with feces that wind their way in intricate patterns through the entire slum. Between the houses they flow making their way down streets and small alleys trying to escape the slum. As I began to soak in the atmosphere, I noticed children are everywhere. There were too many to count. Many walk barefoot or in torn shoes and almost everyone wore tattered clothes and ripped rags. I digested the scene slowly. Barking dogs, playing children, hammers falling on metal, fire licking frying fish, flies desperate for food competing with slum dwellers, torches from welding, carts flying in all directions, axes biting their way into wood, blown out speakers screaming over crowds, and goats joining in on the slum quire. It was chaos.

    After I felt that I could take no more, we arrived at Bonfce’s house. Glad for a small break from the noise, I stepped into what must have been a 250 square foot house. Shocked, I sat next to four people shoulder to shoulder. The tour of that house lasted about a minute. “Here is the kitchen.” Bonfce would say as he pointed to the corner snuggled between two beds. “And this is my stove.” He pointed to a tiny coil suspended above a very small gas canister that lit a flame for cooking. I asked about a refrigerator. My friend threw his head back and bellowed with laughter. He finally answered, “You can’t have a refrigerator in Kibera. If you try and plug it in, it would take more power than the city can supply to the limited number of houses that were lucky enough to have power!”

    I questioned how food could be stored and saved. He replied that many people in Kibera live on a day-to-day basis. It is common to forget breakfast completely, lunch too, and just aim for dinner. There are never any leftovers, and only things that last without refrigeration can survive. Bonfce’s house was one of the few that have electricity--when the city can supply it. Many times the power goes out when a rain storm rolls in, which has been quite frequent since I’ve been here--and we’re in Kenya’s summer. When this happens, not only does the power cut out, but in the slums, the drainage gets blocked and sometime overflows into houses. Feces wreak havoc in these unfortunate homes which only adds to the slum’s sanitary issues.

    We continued our journey and countless stories leaped from the mouths of these people who have lived their life in unimaginable circumstances. For example, post-election violence led to a man being slashed to death next to a rail road. I learned that if you’re caught stealing in certain parts of Kibera you will be burned to death. Then there are the countless teenage girls who have given birth to unwanted children because they were lured into traps by nasty men. I choked and silence fell on the conversation. Finally I asked what the slums most prominent need is. Bonfce replied, “Education.” We discussed empowerment to the people would give hope and establish self-worth. “We need to empower the people. Teach them things that can sustain them. Show them how to save money. Give them skills. Give them hope. Show them that they are cared for,” concluded Bonfce. The journey ended with this thought lingering in my mind.

    It was time for me to say goodbye to my friends. Heart-broken and exhausted, I trudged back to what I call home. Twenty-five minutes later I closed and locked the door behind me feeling that if I locked the door, it would somehow help me forget. Plopping down on the couch, I stared deep into the ceiling. I couldn’t get over what I saw. The sounds reverberated in my mind and choked out the stillness around me. Faces of innocent children flashed in my mind. I saw little fingers pointing up at me accompanied by big round eyes crying, “Mzungu!” which means "white person". I remembered the children’s faces lighting up like fireflies when they saw me. They ran in circles all around. Simply seeing a “white man” brightened their day.

    Since coming here, I’ve appreciated being able to live among such beautiful people. Nairobi is a culture inside itself. The slums are a much harder culture inside the city. I could go on and on; however, I believe I’ve shared enough for the picture to be drawn in your mind. Among the impossible living conditions of slum life, the people persevere. And what’s more, they have smiles to prove they appreciate life. God is at work and doing amazing things in my life. Every day I’m closer to understanding His/my purpose in life. What is more, this is just the beginning...

Moses' church compound

Tap water next to sewage

Bonfce, Ruben, and me

Huge bonfire fueled by garbage