I spent the summer of 2006 serving in Kibera, the world’s second largest slum – a landmine of grease, mud, trash and human waste – that is home to an estimated 1 million people in Nairobi, Kenya
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Entry into Kibera comes with an onslaught on your senses – the mixture of smells, the monotony of color, the rows of corrugated tin roofs, and the high-pitched calls of “how are you!” from rambunctious children whose little hands grab your fingers. You amble along the muddy alleys and weave through the human traffic and the open markets, careful not to land your feet in the trenches and “potholes” of grime. And you wonder how such a place could exist.
I learned from Kenyans that the place was originally a gift to a group of ethnic soldiers, who, unfortunately, never received the title deeds to their new land. Thus, they became squatters, with no legal rights. Eighty years later, Kibera is still not officially recognized by the Kenyan government, although it hosts one-fifth of Nairobi’s population. The residents are denied basic services like running water, sewage, electricity and infrastructure. Hence, the temporary housing, lynch mobs, inflated prices and “flying toilets.” This is how Kibera came to be. But this is not why Kibera exists today. I realized that Kibera – and other such places of extreme poverty – exists as a result of my own indifference and poverty.
The first time I walked through Kibera I vowed to never get used to the foul smells and ugly sights. For how easy it is for some of us to become jaded and to acclimate to even the foulest of odor – whether it comes from a slum far away or from within our own dirty hearts. How effortlessly we sidestep trash – even when it belongs to us – when we know we ought to pick it up. How instinctively we create boundaries to keep ourselves at a safe distance from the putrid smells, rusty tin homes and sticky little fingers.
My glimpse into Kenya did not curb my idealism nor answer my countless questions about God, poverty and my role in this world. Instead, it galvanized a passion in me to personally engage in this stench-drenched world. Not in the name of idealism or development, but in obedience to a God whose sweet fragrance permeates a decaying world with justice, reconciliation and love.
Esther Hsu studied journalism, community development and tourism at Arizona State University. Currently employed at Food for the Hungry’s office in Phoenix, Esther works on special writing projects on behalf of Academic Programs and the President’s Office. She enjoys learning new things, dining on ethnic foods, traveling and picking flowers.
