Monday, August 24, 2009
Images from Dadaab
Monday, August 3, 2009
Kibera slum
After living in Nairobi for nearly 2 months, I finally got a chance to visit Kibera. I was given a tour by Jeff and Musa, two young men who work with Children of Kibera.
The slums of Kibera are like no place I've seen before, and I don't think i'll ever forget it. The people who live there are Nairobi's poorest and most vulnerable people, living in extreme poverty. They create shacks from random scraps, and there is no water and sanitation. The muddy streets smell of garbage and sewage at every corner, and I saw toddlers playing atop mounds of garbage. There is a small stream that runs through the slum, but the water is dense and gray, and I shiver to think what could result if someone were to drink it.
After carefully walking with my guides through the narrow twisting mud paths (regretting that I wore sandals) we entered a gate and into a small courtyard. There were a few narrow buildings and we entered one of them. I found myself in front of a class of smiling primary school students in warm red sweaters. They began singing a song together, which turned into a name game. They went around the room pointing at each other as students sang their names, and finally the fingers were pointed at me and I said my name and where I came from. I also told them to keep up the hard work. What I wanted to tell them was that seeing them in a classroom, and not out in the muddy streets doing God knows what, made me feel comfort and hope for their futures.
I discovered that Children for Kibera, which funds the primary school i visited, does the kind of work that I hope to get involved with someday. This particular organization provides funding and support to three schools- two primary and one secondary. The amazing part is that the funding is mostly gathered in the US from elementary school students and other private donors. A Georgetown professor who himself grew up in Kibera does the fundraising. He also recuits American high school and college students to spend the summer teaching in the schools.
This strategy appears to be working, and it looks as though young people are the best advocates for their peers in Kibera slum. American elementary school students do all sorts of fundraisers and provide books and resources to the schools in Kibera. It astonishes me that these little kids comprehend the fact that they can make a difference in the lives of kids in Kenya. It takes a certain amount of sympathy mixed with optimism to make that happen, and it makes me regain some hope in America's culture and education system. These kids clearly know something me and many adults don't: that we can all make a difference. The pictures of some of these American kids were hanging in the office of the primary school I visited, near a shelf full of donated books.
There are 15 million people- according to Jeff- who live in this sprawling informal settlement. The Kenyan government completely ignores Kibera, as if it doesnt exist. Consequently there are no public schools or services provided to this impoversished population. I truly believe these such counter-intuitive policies are the reason slums like Kibera erupted during the post election violence in early 2008. Clearly the people of Kibera were looking for a regime change, and rightfully so.
The millions in this slum and in the slums around the world rely on good will combined with personal motivation to help them improve their lot. And I walk away from Kibera knowing I can make a difference and do something positive for them. Lets all do something positive, and learn from the example of the elementary school kids.
This is not to say we are all morally obligated to give so much of our time and money that we would ourselves be left with little- as Peter Singer proposed. But what we should do is look at the luxuries we enjoy each day, and ask whether that money may go further and be more meaningful if it were given to the millions of organizations like Children of Kibera that do great work for the world's poorest.
The slums of Kibera are like no place I've seen before, and I don't think i'll ever forget it. The people who live there are Nairobi's poorest and most vulnerable people, living in extreme poverty. They create shacks from random scraps, and there is no water and sanitation. The muddy streets smell of garbage and sewage at every corner, and I saw toddlers playing atop mounds of garbage. There is a small stream that runs through the slum, but the water is dense and gray, and I shiver to think what could result if someone were to drink it.
After carefully walking with my guides through the narrow twisting mud paths (regretting that I wore sandals) we entered a gate and into a small courtyard. There were a few narrow buildings and we entered one of them. I found myself in front of a class of smiling primary school students in warm red sweaters. They began singing a song together, which turned into a name game. They went around the room pointing at each other as students sang their names, and finally the fingers were pointed at me and I said my name and where I came from. I also told them to keep up the hard work. What I wanted to tell them was that seeing them in a classroom, and not out in the muddy streets doing God knows what, made me feel comfort and hope for their futures.
I discovered that Children for Kibera, which funds the primary school i visited, does the kind of work that I hope to get involved with someday. This particular organization provides funding and support to three schools- two primary and one secondary. The amazing part is that the funding is mostly gathered in the US from elementary school students and other private donors. A Georgetown professor who himself grew up in Kibera does the fundraising. He also recuits American high school and college students to spend the summer teaching in the schools.
This strategy appears to be working, and it looks as though young people are the best advocates for their peers in Kibera slum. American elementary school students do all sorts of fundraisers and provide books and resources to the schools in Kibera. It astonishes me that these little kids comprehend the fact that they can make a difference in the lives of kids in Kenya. It takes a certain amount of sympathy mixed with optimism to make that happen, and it makes me regain some hope in America's culture and education system. These kids clearly know something me and many adults don't: that we can all make a difference. The pictures of some of these American kids were hanging in the office of the primary school I visited, near a shelf full of donated books.
There are 15 million people- according to Jeff- who live in this sprawling informal settlement. The Kenyan government completely ignores Kibera, as if it doesnt exist. Consequently there are no public schools or services provided to this impoversished population. I truly believe these such counter-intuitive policies are the reason slums like Kibera erupted during the post election violence in early 2008. Clearly the people of Kibera were looking for a regime change, and rightfully so.
The millions in this slum and in the slums around the world rely on good will combined with personal motivation to help them improve their lot. And I walk away from Kibera knowing I can make a difference and do something positive for them. Lets all do something positive, and learn from the example of the elementary school kids.
This is not to say we are all morally obligated to give so much of our time and money that we would ourselves be left with little- as Peter Singer proposed. But what we should do is look at the luxuries we enjoy each day, and ask whether that money may go further and be more meaningful if it were given to the millions of organizations like Children of Kibera that do great work for the world's poorest.
Dadaab Refugee Camp
Last week I went to Dadaab, Africa's largest refugee camp. Its predominately occupied by Somalis but has a minority of Ethiopian and Southern Sudanese refugees as well. It was a challenging and eye-opening experience.
The conditions in Dadaab are shocking poor. Just to give you background, the camp was designed to hold 90,000 refugees but currently holds nearly 300,000. Each refugee family upon arrival is given a plot of land and sometimes a tent, but often they are left to use scraps, sticks and random material to create a hut. The camp is full but cannot expand because the government of Kenya refuses to provide anymore land, primarily because of some vocal MPs- with an unusual level of influence- from the region.
The UNHCR essentially runs the camps, registering people and administering land and food rations. The refugees get enough food to stay alive, but not many nutrients in a diet of grains and corn. The people cant work to earn money because its against Kenyan law, nor can they move freely in the country. One woman I spoke to called it an open air prison, a reference that reminded me of how Palestinians describe Gaza.
The school system in the camp is so poor that their is almost no opportunity for advancement for young people. This leaves them spending most of their day hoping and praying to be resettled in a new country- preferable in Europe, the US or Canada. Like in most of the world, unfortunately, the women in the camps have it hardest. On top of the obvious struggles in the camp, they also suffer from domestic violence, rape and FGM.
What really affected me about this trip was the chance to see with my own eyes the conditions in the camps, and hear first-hand the stories of the refugees. Hear about their arduous journey to cross into Kenya, the loved ones they lost back home and the struggle they endure each day to keep their family alive and together. It was initially very depressing because as an ethnic Somali, I saw myself in the refugees. It could just as easily have been me sitting there, recounting my harsh life to a disconnected westerner. I also saw people who could have been my family lying on floor mattresses in makeshift huts. Life suddenly became more tenuous. The people of Dadaab have beautiful faces, but when I looked into their eyes, I saw a glossed-over, depressed gaze. I saw a plea for help, and I knew I couldn't just walk away from the camp and do nothing.
Although most of what I saw was depressing, I was also surprisingly inspired. One woman named Muraya, a member of the Women Together organization, told me that as refugees, they know education is the key to escape Dadaab. She told be about the schools in the camp- how the classes are overcrowded with students who want to learn, but how the teachers often have no more than a primary school education. She told me the story of how she and a group of refugees were so upset about the lack of secondary schools in the camp, that they put together what little resources they had and created a new secondary school with an all-volunteer staff. This was inspiring, and i realized that I had no right to feel hopelessness for the refugees if they themselves had hope enough to work for their children's futures. They saw their fate as God's will, but also prayed to God for a better future for their families.
I was also inspired by the humanitarian aid workers who are living in Dadaab, with credentials that could have given them a cozy job and life in any western nation. Instead they chose to work in this desert location, providing training, working in hospitals, registering refugees or creating stoves for the women to use. I was impressed by the work done by Care, GTZ, Norwegian Refugee Council and International Rescue Committee, so much so that I want to come back someday and work with one of them. They do what they can, given the circumstances and their limited resources.
Seeing Dadaab also shed light on the reality of life in Somalia. I haven't seen the country since I was a young child, but I hear stories about it. I know about how peaceful and prosperous it once was. But going to Dadaab, and seeing that people would rather live in the horrible camp conditions rather than return to their homeland, made me realize just how dire the situation is back in Somalia. Many refugees told me of their desire to return home and get back to working for their families, but they all fear violence. I hope and pray that someday soon the refugees in Dadaab will be able to leave the camp and return home. They also await that day, but having seen Somalia recently, they seem less optimistic about how soon that day will come.
The conditions in Dadaab are shocking poor. Just to give you background, the camp was designed to hold 90,000 refugees but currently holds nearly 300,000. Each refugee family upon arrival is given a plot of land and sometimes a tent, but often they are left to use scraps, sticks and random material to create a hut. The camp is full but cannot expand because the government of Kenya refuses to provide anymore land, primarily because of some vocal MPs- with an unusual level of influence- from the region.
The UNHCR essentially runs the camps, registering people and administering land and food rations. The refugees get enough food to stay alive, but not many nutrients in a diet of grains and corn. The people cant work to earn money because its against Kenyan law, nor can they move freely in the country. One woman I spoke to called it an open air prison, a reference that reminded me of how Palestinians describe Gaza.
The school system in the camp is so poor that their is almost no opportunity for advancement for young people. This leaves them spending most of their day hoping and praying to be resettled in a new country- preferable in Europe, the US or Canada. Like in most of the world, unfortunately, the women in the camps have it hardest. On top of the obvious struggles in the camp, they also suffer from domestic violence, rape and FGM.
What really affected me about this trip was the chance to see with my own eyes the conditions in the camps, and hear first-hand the stories of the refugees. Hear about their arduous journey to cross into Kenya, the loved ones they lost back home and the struggle they endure each day to keep their family alive and together. It was initially very depressing because as an ethnic Somali, I saw myself in the refugees. It could just as easily have been me sitting there, recounting my harsh life to a disconnected westerner. I also saw people who could have been my family lying on floor mattresses in makeshift huts. Life suddenly became more tenuous. The people of Dadaab have beautiful faces, but when I looked into their eyes, I saw a glossed-over, depressed gaze. I saw a plea for help, and I knew I couldn't just walk away from the camp and do nothing.
Although most of what I saw was depressing, I was also surprisingly inspired. One woman named Muraya, a member of the Women Together organization, told me that as refugees, they know education is the key to escape Dadaab. She told be about the schools in the camp- how the classes are overcrowded with students who want to learn, but how the teachers often have no more than a primary school education. She told me the story of how she and a group of refugees were so upset about the lack of secondary schools in the camp, that they put together what little resources they had and created a new secondary school with an all-volunteer staff. This was inspiring, and i realized that I had no right to feel hopelessness for the refugees if they themselves had hope enough to work for their children's futures. They saw their fate as God's will, but also prayed to God for a better future for their families.
I was also inspired by the humanitarian aid workers who are living in Dadaab, with credentials that could have given them a cozy job and life in any western nation. Instead they chose to work in this desert location, providing training, working in hospitals, registering refugees or creating stoves for the women to use. I was impressed by the work done by Care, GTZ, Norwegian Refugee Council and International Rescue Committee, so much so that I want to come back someday and work with one of them. They do what they can, given the circumstances and their limited resources.
Seeing Dadaab also shed light on the reality of life in Somalia. I haven't seen the country since I was a young child, but I hear stories about it. I know about how peaceful and prosperous it once was. But going to Dadaab, and seeing that people would rather live in the horrible camp conditions rather than return to their homeland, made me realize just how dire the situation is back in Somalia. Many refugees told me of their desire to return home and get back to working for their families, but they all fear violence. I hope and pray that someday soon the refugees in Dadaab will be able to leave the camp and return home. They also await that day, but having seen Somalia recently, they seem less optimistic about how soon that day will come.
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