The most traumatic aspect about life in Kenya is the poverty.
Kenya is one of the most unequal poor countries in the world. Half of the population lives below the poverty line, with conditions worsening, while the tiny elite live beyond even Western standards of luxury. The emerging middle class is being squeezed on all sides, and the quality of life of the average Kenyan has deteriorated over the last decade. Corruption, reliance on cheap agriculture exports(agriculture employs 80% of the population and is regularly hit by devastating droughts), low domestic and foreign investment and poor infrastructure, have all contributed to historic economic stagnation. While the economy is slowly improving, a lack of clear policies or discussions around poverty alleviation have ensured that equitable growth is still far off.
Perhaps perversely, it’s not the visible poverty that upsets me most. My walk to work takes in the dirty child with a fake sponsorship form, the old toothless woman waving at me and clanging her cup of change, the middle-aged man scraping a living by hawking bracelets of poor quality, the gang of feral kids molesting me for change, and the man lying face down on the grass by the road wearing a pair of shorts. Don’t mistake me – it’s definitely harrowing. But actually, this type of poverty I’m prepared for. It’s on TV and it’s in newspapers and it’s the subject of charity poster campaigns. But this has in some way desensitized me. This level of poverty is so squalid, so unrelated to my life and everything I know that it is almost surreal; I’m looking at it through a screen. And what’s more, I don’t know anything about the drunk in ragged clothing slurring for my hand in marriage – so I feel able to trot on by, headphones firmly in ears, and chirp ‘no thank you!’ I’m detached from it.
What I haven’t got used to is the feeling that, save the uber-rich, no one is really ok. Even if they look ok. Even if they are well dressed and educated and engaging. Everyone has a story and a desperate desire to drag themselves up, but no support to do so. Your waiter, your aerobics instructor, your piki piki driver, your taxi driver, your colleague – when you start enquiring, they all tell you things about their life which challenge your assumptions. Think the night-watchman looks ok sitting by the fire, occasionally opening the gate for a car? Think again – he’s only on KSH5,000 (£38) a month and works the graveyard hours six days a week. Which would arguably be ok, if his family and children weren’t relying on him for food, medical care and education, meaning he must decide which of his children can go to school (even though primary education is technically free, most schools charge admin fees, and you need to buy books and school uniforms before you can join). Think your colleague has an interesting job? Think again – she has a Masters degree and doesn’t actually get paid. Think your Kiswahili teacher is doing well, with kids in private school? Think again – everything he earns go on those school fees because the state schools are so under resourced, and he’s desperate for me to take more lessons. Think your neighbour is fine? Think again – women have no rights to property in Kenya, and on the death of their husband often must choose between marrying his brother, or being thrown out of the family home. Said neighbour was dumped by her husband, who took everything with him – including the kitchen fridge (the sink was fixed) – and swanned off with a floozy. Her children haven’t seen him or his money for three years.
I know generalisations and assumptions are dangerous. I know that many people are wealthy in other ways – they have large friendship and family circles, which they can call upon at any time. I know I can’t begin to know or judge how they really live their lives, away from my nosy questions (one Masaii guard got a bit indignant when I asked if he drank blood and killed lions and stuff, and why he didn’t have holes in his ears ‘like the rest of them’). But there seem to be so many stories of struggle, and so many educated, willing people struggling to find a decent job in Kenya. The unemployment rate is 40%, one of the highest in the world, and affects mostly the young (although, in a country where 56% of people are below the age of 19 and a further 24% are aged 19-35, you could argue that this means everyone). So the youth are forced to find employment in the informal sector, which is unregulated, and where they are forced to accept low earnings, long working hours, and no formal contracts.
What am I going to do about it? I don’t really know what I can do. But maybe talking to people and sharing their stories helps? Maybe a few more people will realise that Kenya’s not quite the tranquil, exotic land of safari they imagine it to be? (I’m not judging, but Tara did ask if I lived in a mud hut). So here’s a second story, after Aerobics Steve. Here’s Albert.
Albert the piki piki driver
Albert is my motorbike driver. I fancy him more than I fancy Aerobics Steve (I’ve gone off Steve actually. He dragged me to some dodgy suburb in my sweaty gym kit and everyone stared). Albert speaks brilliant English and knows a lot about the world – he started a debate with me about Tony Blair’s politics on the way to PC World – and it got me wondering: what’s his background? How did he come to be a piki piki driver? What sort of life does a piki piki driver lead?
A small bribe later, comprising a Nairobi A-Z map (see annoying Kenyan habit #99: emphatically claiming to know where you’re going when you have no clue) and the promise of a slap up lunch, Tom and I were strapping ourselves on the back of two motorbikes for a Saturday tour of Nairobi with Albert + Friend. The real deal, I said. No tourist sites. Where you like to go at the weekends. Like, the ghetto? he asked. Yes, Albert! Take me to the ghetto! I want to go there!
After an initial misunderstanding, in which we drove many miles to a large roundabout (admittedly very nice) and then a massive detour to an animal testing site (They’re nice cows! Are they for milking? No. We test chemicals on them and then we sell their semen), we headed to Albert’s home. He lives in Kawangware, a slum in the west of Nairobi which borders Lavish Lavington, host to the most expensive school in Kenya, palatial houses and, from 5-12 March 2011, 10 apprehensive VSO volunteers undergoing training. (As mentioned in Nairobbery, the message bludgeoned home each day was ‘if you must leave the guest house, do NOT turn left. I repeat, do NOT turn left. Left is bad things. Right is good things.’ Left was poor old Kawangware).
Albert took us to his favourite place for lunch. It was, of course, a nyama choma joint. A small shack with corrugated iron walls and ceiling and concrete floor, swarming with flies, led to the best mbuzi choma (goat) I’ve eaten in Kenya. Not that I got my fill. ‘Please, please, eat!’ Albert + Friend implored as they scoffed down mbuzi, ugali and kachambari with nimble fingers faster than I could chew one piece. ‘You’re not eating!’ It’s a dog eat dog world here…
***
I’ve lived in the same house for my whole life. I live with my mother, who has a grocery stall in the nearby market, my four younger brothers – my sister died in the 1980s – my wife and my seven year old daughter. I’ve been with my wife for 12 years, since I was 16. I know this is unusual; people don’t normally see Nairobi as ‘home’. Instead, they come here to earn money before returning to their home village. But I know many people who come to Nairobi, struggle to make a living and have to borrow money to send back home because they don’t want to feel shame. It is the dream of many to earn enough money in Nairobi to return to their home village, buy a plot of land and build a house.
I’ve been a driver for two years, since I saved enough money to buy my motorbike. Before that, I sold charcoal from outside our home. My wife still sells for me. I earn maybe KSH 500-1,000 a day (£3-9), from a mixture of people. But business is slow. I can wait here for a long time before getting anyone. People in Nairobi are not used to piki pikis. Especially women; I had a woman last week, she wanted to get to town fast and there was lots of traffic. She kept screaming!
On Saturday nights I love to chew miraa (a leaf containing stimulants) with my friends and talk about business and politics. On Sundays, I go to church of course. I’m a Rasta Catholic. The church is not too impressed with my dreadlocks, but they accept me. And my wife is a staunch Catholic so we must attend every service. I also love to eat nyama choma whenever I can. I normally eat meat once a week, but I eat a lot of chapatis and sukuma wiki during the week.
My primary school was in Olympic, Kibera <the biggest slum in Kenya, host to a very good school>. I like English and I speak many languages; my tribal language, Gikuyu, as well as Swahili, English and other local languages. So I am educated, but in Nairobi it is very difficult to find jobs. I think for now, I would like to be a courier driver to earn more money. Every day is difficult, with my family to look after. Of course, I love Kenya. it is my country. But I don’t like the politicians. They divide us along ethnic lines. My friend here, he is a Luhya. I could have called any of my fellow Kikuyu friends to do this tour, but I rang him. I just want to live in peace. But things are getting better. There was a lot of corruption under Moi <President 1978-2002>, but Kibaki <current President> has tried to stop some corruption. It’s still not enough, though. In England I think your Parliamentary system is good, because MPs are scrutinised and there is transparency. Here, people go into politics just to make money. It’s sad. It doesn’t help the people.
Listen to that, chaps! Albert doesn’t think our MPs are all that bad. He’s actually one of many Kenyans who feel a new surge of optimism about their country. The UN has ranked Kenya above the Sub-Saharan average for the Human Development index, which measures well-being according to health, education and income. In August 2010, the Government adopted a new, progressive Constitution which tossed women a few more rights. It has also published Kenya Vision 2030</, a long term plan to ensure sustainable economic and social recovery, with increased employment. Let’s hope their optimism is founded. In the meantime, I’ll keep my stories coming…
Sources:
Central Intelligence Agency, The World Factbook
VSO, Kenya Country Strategic Plan, 2005-09
Wilsoncentre.org
The Proposed Constitution of Kenya, 6 May 2010
International Monetary Fund, Kenya: Poverty Reduction Strategy Paper
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