Are my roots Kenyan?
For the whole trip, people I met on my way have been frowning at my face and my “story” about being from London, I was regularly asked to explain myself or indeed thought I had to because, even though black people have historically being in england for centuries through the movement of people for slavery…it seems the rest of the world does not know that.
Others have stared and me and guessed where in Africa my roots are, now this is always going to be a trick. My heritage is Caribbean, we are most certainly a mix of descendants from a number of African countries, Spanish, English and others so picking my roots out of that kind of line up is nearly impossible, however Kenyan was the most repeated guess. I have no idea so I thought I would pay attention when I got there and see if there was anything in it.
Kibera – the largest slum in Nairobi
The opportunity to visit this slum presented itself to me organically. Up to this point in the trip I had decided I did not want to join any old tour that takes the “privileged backpacker” trying to “slum it” (I was flash packing darlings) to gawp at people who are in the worst situations in the society. People are not thoughtful or sensitive when they are in these situations, big expense digital SLR zooming in on some random “cool shot” right in the faces of people who could live for over a year on the value of that camera. It’s not right and I did not want to be associated with that type of tourist.
There was an American guy staying in my hostel who was living in Kibera temporarily and trying to live on a dollar a day while writing a blog on his findings. He offered, after a trip to the national park to take us in to see where he was living and meet his friends.
The ground was a congealed mound of mud, dirt, excrement and rain water. Its was a valley that stretched as far as my eye could see of Corrugated iron roofs, wood and a clay mixture for the walls which were the bedrock of this “Unofficial Settlement”.
TO BE CONTINUED…