Another day in Paradise

On Saturday I went to visit the Boarding School called Joska. As we drove, I realized that I had forgotten many things about the slums. I forgot the congestion and the slight feeling of fear. The crowds and cars and life all press in so tightly. Driving is tricky on any real roads that penetrate the slums- because any space between you and the car in front is an opportunity for those crowding in their cars along side of you - to press in and take your spot. In fact, you might never move as matatus slide up either side of you and try to over take every chance. But, keeping a space is often wise - lest you find yourself in an event or activity - you want to get away from. When you are bumper to bumper and packed in on all sides - it is hard to flee a situation. While this is not "normal" life for me - it is for literally millions of Kenyans who reside in the slums and must travel in and out daily.

I forgot that everything is the color brown. The earth is brown red clay, packed down hard from millions of feet traveling over it. The buildings are mud and stick, the color of brown earth. The stone structures are brown stone cut from the ground. The tin shacks are rusty brown and the piles of garbage are brown with filth and dirt. Everything is covered with the dirt that blows and the dust that is in the air leaves a fine film everywhere. I realized, again that not one green growing thing was visible. It was as if a sepia lens had been placed over my eyes - everything is the colored by this filter. Only the filter never changes.

As we drove through we passed a small open area. It was flat and the edges were surrounded by tin shacks with rocks on the tin roofs to hold it together. Women were in clusters with their wash basins, bent over and washing their laundry. Piles of rubbish with chickens picking at it formed another boundary. In the middle were children and young men playing. I saw a girl jumping rope with a piece of twine. I saw toddlers running around barefoot and just enjoying the freedom to run. Central to this was a soccer (football) game. Close to me was a tall young man wearing a bright red and white striped knee-high football sock. It reminded me of a Christmas stocking. He only wore one - because his other leg was shriveled and bent at the knee into a queer right angle with a distorted little foot hanging off the end. He was using a stick like a cane for balance. Then I saw the most amazing thing. The ball came towards him and he put all of his weight onto the stick and with his good leg - beautifully and perfectly kicked the ball. He was GOOD! In fact, considering he had one leg, he was GREAT!

Sitting there, hardly moving I was able to watch him for a few minutes and I was in awe and humbled by his ability of live with his condition. Not just live, but play. Lee looked over and watching him said "No, special Olympics here huh?". Right, no Special Olympics here.

Life is hard in the slums. Life is very real. People work, laugh, play, cry, pray, are born and die here - it is all just a whole lot harder.