New meaning was brought to the term slumber party when I stayed over last night in the Lenana slum.
I’ve spent a significant amount of time in the settlement due to work with the orphanage, and decided that it’s about time I get to know the community a bit better, and there’s no better way than spending a night or two with the residents.
I arrived early in the afternoon and discussed some of the fundraising activities and proposed developments with the trio from the Lenana Slum Orphanage (LSO) and then, on a whim, decided to make a quick trip home, grab my things and returned in time for dinner.
My friend Lucy, who is the orphanage treasurer, was very excited at having the first mzungo, white person, to stay overnight in the slum, and we giggled as we tread stealthily through the aluminum shacks, mud and garbage to her little one-room dwelling, neither one of us particularly keen on advertising my presence.
I brought along some beef and tomatoes for dinner as we were going to cook traditional Kenyan fare. None of the little shacks in the center of the community have electricity so we had to rely on her kerosene lamp for the most part, and my little headlamp that I tend not to leave home without since my arrival (actually as I type this letter I have it on as there is a power outage in my complex)
I thought years of camping in the great North American outdoors would prepare me for most of my stay, but a few things were beyond my scope. As an example, Lucy doesn’t own a cutting board and I didn’t think of having the meat cut at the butchers, so I had to hold the piece as she sawed through it with the very dull blade of her knife.
I also am still getting used to the Kenyan system of bathing, and it was fun to watch her four-year-old son squeezed in the small plastic basin and then have her excuse herself to venture to her neighbors’ to use the same basin.
We chatted as we made dinner for ourselves as well as two of the neighbor’s kids that wanted to spend the evening with the crazy mzungo, and Lucy told me a little more about what brought her to the slum.
Lucy left an extremely abusive marriage about a year ago and moved first to Mombasa, the east coast gateway to the beaches (and where I spent last week) and then to the little settlement with her son Denzel, named after the famed Hollywood actor.
Work is scarce in the slums and although monthly rent is less than $US15, it’s a challenge to raise a small child. Her grandmother lives with them when not working in a nearby community six days of the week as a maid, and somehow they manage to get enough money together to survive.
Lucy is always smiling and brings with her an air of positivity regardless of the situation. She has transformed the 6x6 foot, partially-rusted-aluminum-shack into a very cozy little home for the three of them; gluing magazine images of starlets on all four walls and organizing everything neatly away in corners.
As we readied ourselves for bed she rearranged the room, so Denzel would be close to her and casually pushed a chair against the door to keep out any potential intruders that might be tempted to make an abrupt call on the foreigner.
Perhaps I should have been more worried, amid the blaring sound of reggae from one neighbor, the yelling of a mother as she beat her 12-year-old son two houses down, and the commentating of the first half of the Serbia vs Ivory Coast football/soccer match playing somewhere in the distance, but if I worried about such things I probably wouldn’t have come out to sub-Saharan Africa to document the activities at truck stops. (That, and after witnessing a thousand overly-energetic outhouse maggots instantly consume tissue a mere 8 inches below, just minutes prior to retiring for the evening, images of little else seemed to pervade)
The morning arrived way too soon. Having fallen asleep to Lucy translating the highlights of the football match around 10:30pm, I woke up a few times in the night, mildly disoriented and wrestling with a mosquito net that managed to consistently wrap itself around my head. Then at 6:30am the radio started again.
Denzel and I responded similarly to the blaring of reggae as Lucy performed preliminary preparations for the day.
I didn’t want to get up and go to school either!
I eventually pulled myself out of bed grabbed my camera and headed out to an accompaniment of giggling, ‘mzungo,’ and ‘hi, how are you’ from behind curtained doorframes and dark windows.
Lucy explained that they were all very amused that I’d spent the night. And the gentleman that fried us our morning mandaze (like a doughnut without the hole) was even more so. He laughed away, asked me to take his picture and threw in a couple extras for us.
(He was so nice in fact that we spent about an hour at his wooden shack in the afternoon chatting over tea, chapatti and fried beans)
For the next hour we readied Denzel for school, and accompanied him there, before returning to do dishes and laundry. Lucy put me in charge of our breakfast mess and with a small basin, bucket, a bar of soap and a child’s sock I went to work. By this time, those of the neighbors that didn’t get a laugh over me spending the night, certainly found entertainment. And it definitely broke down a few barriers.
As Lucy explained, most mzungos in the area have far too much pride to stay over, nevermind do dishes. (I really don’t see much of a difference between the slum and camping at Glastonbury music festival, or 2 months car camping around the U.S., just less people and more diversity in music)
The rest of the day was similar to past experiences I’ve had in the settlement. I usually divide my time between the LSO office, the daycare run out of the church and the sections in between. There is always something interesting to entertain and people are usually interested in talking.
Today one of the LSO organizers was showing a group of teachers and environment advocacy groups around Lenana.
The LSO is trying to become a self-sustaining organization and one of the plans devised is the creation of briquettes out of leaves, water and paper, which the kids have learned to mash into pulp and compress. These will be sold around the area and used to cook the gruel for the kids.
I believe I’ve mentioned the gruel earlier as being the main meal of the day for the majority of the orphanage children. Although the smell of it usually makes me nauseous, I got over it enough to try a small sip of it and found it surprisingly not so bad.
I spent the remainder of the afternoon speaking with the educators and then hitched a ride with them back home. The majority of them are from The Giraffe Center in Karen, literally up the road from where I am staying, and after talking with one and hearing of the programs they are implementing, decided I will visit them in the coming week prior to departing.
Despite the fact I’ve been in east Africa for nearly two months, I have yet to see any wild animals except baboons. And that will definitely have to be remedied!

Hi everyone,

I don’t know where to begin with thank yous for all the lovely letters and offers of support, so I think it best save them for when I start showing images of contributions.

Much has transpired since my last posting and I’m uncertain as to where to begin. I think I see the direction of the blog as being an amalgamation of an online journal and my desire to effect change. I think one of the things I would like to do is frequently highlight someone I’ve met that could be helped.

Today I have two women I’d like to feature.

The first is Florence. I met her in Malaba during my recent trip to Uganda. I will admit to having a few preconceptions as to what would drive a woman into the sex industry. And after this trip I really came to see how in the region, for the vast majority, there is absolutely nothing else.

Florence lost her husband within the first few years of marriage, he had AIDS as does she. She tried to return to her family, but was abused and rejected by her siblings, so ended up in the Kenya/Uganda border town. She refused to become involved in the sex industry initially, and worked as a maid for about $4/month for a couple months. What do you do in a country where 55% of the population lives below the poverty line and you have several children to support?

Two of her siblings have since passed away and Florence has adopted their kids, who have no one else. During one of her last jobs the condom broke and she is now pregnant again and due any day. Because she can’t work, she is now 5 months behind on rent, which is about $3/month and she has 6 children relying solely on her.

We spent a few days with 3 women in this small town and my heart really goes out to all of them. All have adopted kids they’ve either found on the street or from family members that are dead from disease.

There are so many children…

The other person I just met yesterday as I was on my way to the orphanage for a visit. Her name is Phoebe and she is involved in projects to empower women in the community. She has been teaching knitting and silk screening but has run out of materials. Her project is closely linked with the orphanage in that the guardians of some of the kids are looking for ways to earn a living.

I meet somewhere between 5 and 10 people a day that are in a critical level of poverty. And I will try and focus on those that are more forward thinking.

As I mentioned previously, help extends beyond financial and I would love assistance and volunteers in a few areas.

With respect to the Lenana orphanage, we are looking at getting a website together. Is there anyone out there that would like to help with editing copy? We’ll also be looking at a volunteer web designer and then a web host somewhere…