Life in a refugee camp

New arrivals in Kakuma 3 - the most recent part of Kakuma Refugee Camp.

It is now over a month since I was in Kakuma Refugee Camp, which tells you just how far behind in my blogging I am.  And while this might sound like a mere excuse for my tardiness, I do think there is an advantage to writing about things some time after they occur.  For any experience, it takes a while for all the details to, first, sink in, and then to stitch themselves together into some form of cohesive whole or narrative.  That has certainly been the case for my visit to Kakuma.

At the time when I left for Kakuma, I had been so busy with my Nairobi field research I'd hardly had time to even build a picture of what to expect.  But when I arrived, I soon realised that the picture had been there all along, formed from years of viewing television charity commercials and the pictures on covers of refugee law text books.  I realised this picture was there because the environment I arrived in felt so familiar, but also because so much of the picture was incorrect.

My image of a refugee camp was a sprawling mass of tents, in the middle of the desert, with harsh winds and harsher temperatures and women wearing bright coloured clothes.  And to this extent, my picture was largely true to the conditions in Kakuma.  Kakuma is hot.  In the week I was there I could do little between meals and interviews but drink water or coke and lie on my bed - and this was apparently not the worst of it, the temperature in Kakuma can reach 47 degrees.  But my picture was also full of the passive, vacuous faces of refugees, arriving en masse, having walked for weeks over mountains and desserts, and being herded into what is in effect a prison.  And certainly this happens.  Had I visited Dadaab refugee camp at the height of the Somali food crisis in 2011, this is likely what I would have seen.  But at Kakuma, in November 2012, it was slightly different.  For a start, Kakuma does not have fence.  It has a nominal curfew, but both refugees and locals are physically free to come and go.  And when I asked the UNHCR field worker showing me around the camp on my first day whether most of the refugees there had arrived by foot, she laughed and said no – most arrive by bus, or taxi.  And like the Kibera slums in Nairobi, Kakuma is a place of much more activity, energy and entrepreneurship than one might at first expect.  I visited numerous clothing shops, restaurants and various repair services, and heard how the aid workers prefer to shop at the market in the camp, rather than in the nearby town, because the produce is better.

But of course this hive of activity and seemingly booming micro-economy reflects the experience of only some of Kakuma’s residents.  I also asked my guide about the conspicuously falling down white canvas tent, surrounded by hastily constructed but much sturdier looking mud-brick shelters.  She explained to me that refugees are issued with the tents when they arrive - the mud-brick shelters are built by refugees themselves, usually with materials obtained from the locals in exchange for food rations.  The lone tent was probably home to a single woman, who could not build such a shelter and had no community support to help her to do so.  Later in the day I also visited the ‘Protection Zone’, a fenced-off and guarded area next to the police station, which is home to those cannot live safely in the camp itself.  There I met three children, desperately keen for their photo to be taken.  Another refugee told me that the children were recently abandoned by their mother, who took off in frustration at the lack of assistance from UNHCR and was later arrested and jailed for abusive conduct.  The children are being cared for by other families in the Protection Zone.  At the Protection Zone I also spoke to a young man, who explained he was there with his father because the rebels who were after them in Somalia had followed them to Kenya and recently attacked them, leaving his father in hospital and him in the Protection Zone.

For my week in Kakuma, I stayed at the UNHCR compound, which is itself quite separate from the camp.  And as most of my interviews were conducted either there, at the nearby ‘NGO compound’ or the Department of Refugee Affairs’ offices next to the airstrip, beyond my introductory tour I spent little time in the camp itself.  Perhaps because of this, by the end of the week I felt little closer to understanding the place than I had been when I arrived.  Every time I thought I neared a comprehensive picture, I would read or hear something that disrupted it entirely.  For example, the legal processes for determining refugee status and selecting refugees for resettlement to third countries outside of Africa seemed surprisingly fair, professional and efficient.  Until I was told on my last day that the refugees residing in the camp are called to their interviews via weekly lists posted on noticeboards throughout the camp.  The effect of this is that those waiting to be selected to leave the camp and find a new life elsewhere, in most cases the United States, must go to the board every single week of their stay – for some, in excess of ten years – to see if their lucky number has come up.  With resettlement being the number one dream of so many in the camp, this system seems rather like a form of torture.  Similarly, I was impressed to see the many clinics and hospitals in the camp – including specialised maternity and pediatric wards – but was later informed that for the camp’s population of approximately 10,000 people, many of whom have escaped torture and trauma, there was not a single mental health professional. 

While there is indeed plenty of life, energy and entrepreneurship to be found in Kakuma, when I boarded the plane back to Nairobi at the end of my week there, I was acutely aware that in doing this, I was highlighting perhaps the most important distinction between me and the refugees who live in Kakuma – the freedom to leave.  It is now more than a month later and, while I sit in a cafe in Oxford reflecting on the refugees I met in Kakuma, those refugees are still there.  Despite the lack of fences, and a rudimentary permit system which allows refugees to leave the camp for health reasons, to visit family or to try their luck elsewhere, for most of Kakuma’s residents there is simply nowhere to go.  They cannot go home, and life in Nairobi means life without the safety net of UNHCR and other NGO services.  So while they wait for something to change - for their resettlement number to come up, or for things to improve at home - they continue to collect their monthly food and water rations and hope that their tent, or mud shack, will provide relief from the blistering sun, or survive the next bout of monsoonal rain.

Inside Kakuma Refugee Camp 

Reception Centre - here, new arrivals will be issued with basic supplies (blankets,
buckets and utensils) before they are issued with a space in the camp

Inside the Reception Centre, this board records the number and origins
of all new arrivals since the beginning of 2012 - 8,268 in total

A refugee volunteer field worker tells my guide about a family with three children whose
 tent has been flooded, forcing them to sleep on water while they wait for a new one.

Sign for one of Kakuma's health clinics 

A Kakuma sporting field.

This tent displays a very new garden.  Refugees are encouraged to use some of their water rations
 to grow food.  Some will eat the food, others will sell it to make money for other things.

Self-built houses under construction. 

The more established homes (some people have been in Kakuma for over 10 years)
have these home built fences and large trees, planted by refugees themselves

A restaurateur displays his menu. 

Selling veggies in Kakuma.  The humanitarian workers at the camp buy their
 vegetables within the camp's small markets - the water rations issued to refugees
make them better able to grow vegetables than the local population.

A sign at the entrance to the Protection Zone warns that 'non-protection [refugees] are not allowed in'.

A woman and child who live within the Protection Zone proudly show their UNHCR documentation.

Three children reportedly abandoned by their mother at the camp. 

A woman explains that while one of the older women refugees in the Protection Zone
 is officially looking after the children - looking after their ration cards and
documentation - everyone within the zone helps to care for them during the day.

My home for the week inside the UNHCR compound.

The compound is sprawling and everything looks the same - these signs are important. 

Speaking of signs - even you-know-who is here.

UNHCR Cafeteria.

The dining hall.

Going to Kakuma

A refugee camp is a very difficult place to get in to if you are not a refugee.  The preparations for my visit to Kakuma Refugee Camp, in Kenya’s northeast and about 90 kms from the South Sudan border, began long before I even left Sydney and required numerous approvals and logistical arrangements.  First there was the special permission required by my university, owing to Kakuma being located in a current DFAT ‘do not travel’ area, then the approval of Kenya’s Commissioner for Refugees then UNHCR had to agree to host me, find me accommodation and a seat on the charter flight between Nairobi and Kakuma’s small airstrip.

In fact I think these extensive controls are entirely reasonable – there is enough to deal with at a refugee camp without having to worry about itinerant researchers, journalists or tourist.  All of these controls are aimed at ensuring that anyone who visits Kakuma does so with at least the intention to make a contribution to the refugees who live there (except for the special permission of my uni, that was about insurance).

Kakuma Refugee Camp is one of Kenya’s two main refugee camps.  The other – Dadaab – is in the country’s east, near Somalia.  The current security situation there, which is quite unstable and has meant that refugee registration and status determination is not currently taking place, led me to decide fairly early on not to visit.  Kakuma, by contrast, is fairly peaceful.  Armed with my various travel approvals, a small bag, a new hat and lots of sunscreen (in Kakuma it gets up to 47 degrees) I arrived at Nairobi’s Wilson Airport at 5.45 am Monday morning for my very first UN Chater Flight (I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a bit excited).

Check in turned out to be one of the interesting experiences of my entire week in Kakuma.  I had carefully made sure to pack light and avoid any obvious signs of Western wealth.  I left behind my ipod, jewellery and safari lodge cap – this time less because of security, and more because it seemed rather inappropriate to wander around a refugee camp bearing souvenirs from a comparatively luxury holiday.  So I was staggered to watch one of my co-passengers checking in a huge, flat screen TV.  Really?  You’re taking a flat screen TV to a refugee camp?? As I wondered to myself about just exactly who I was sharing my flight to Kakuma with I struck up conversation with the small party sitting next to me in the waiting area.  They introduced themselves as evangelical Christians from the US visiting Kakuma to see the work their church was doing there.  I wondered how well the bureaucratic controls were really working.

The flight itself, on a small, relatively low-flying plane, gave a great view of the northern parts of Kenya.  As we travelled north-west from Nairobi the land got drier and rockier (the air hostess had told us that if we crashed we could use our seat cushions as flotation devices, though I can’t imagine where) until we started our descent to Kakuma itself.

The view from the plane is the view of the refugee camp that everyone knows.  Sprawling tents and shacks surrounded by barren, dusty desert.  What struck me most was not the camp itself – which looked quite established and organized – but the dilapidated dwellings made from branches, plastic and assorted rubbish, on the camp’s outskirts.  I thought to myself what a harsh life it must be for those who travel the many hundreds of miles, sometimes by foot, to refugee camps like Kakuma only to not be let in, either because the camp is full or because of delays in registration.  I later learned, however, that the dwellings I saw looking at are in fact the homes of the locals – the people of the Turkana tribe, who live and herd their cattle and goats on the land surrounding Kakuma refugee camp.

When we touched down on the red, gravelly air strip, goats ran past, a man on a bike stopped and stared, and the kids playing soccer in the dust ran to the wire fence surrounding the strip to peer at the new arrivals, as we disembarked and collected our bags (and TVs) from the rear of the plane.  While the evangelicals hopped into one of the many NGO jeeps waiting beside the airstrip, I joined the UNHCR staff and pilots on the UN mini-bus and headed off to check in to my lodgings for the week, inside the UNHCR compound.

Check in - Nairobi Wilson Airport

Airline safety, UN style

Boarding the plane - it runs twice a week between Nairobi and Kakuma, delivering
staff, visitors and supplies directly in to the camp.  The nearest airport to the camp
is in Lokichogio, a 90 km journey from Kakuma which requires an armed escort.

Aerial view of Kakuma Refugee Camp. 

View of the air strip after landing.

Entrance to Kakuma 3 - the third and most recent section of the camp.

Every NGO you can imagine has a sign in Kakuma - unfortunately I'm
not sure it necessarily means they are doing much there.

Arrival at the UNHCR compound.

Tales of a Nairobi Researcher

Yesterday was the pièce de résistance of my research so far - an interview with Kenya's Commissioner of Refugee Affairs.  The Commissioner is the Head of the Department of Refugee Affairs and reports to the Minister for Immigration, so he is essentially the top guy for refugee management in the country.  It was my third trip to the Department of Refugee Affairs - my first was for an interview with one of their Protection Officers, whose role it is to liaise with UNHCR on individual cases, visit local prisons and police stations to see if 'illegal immigrants' detained there might be asylum seekers, and assist with the government's registration and issuing of ID cards to refugees approved by UNHCR.  The second visit to the Department was to deliver my letter of request for a meeting with the Commissioner.  The Protection Officer I first met with advised me that this would be better than emailing or phoning.  So I went and found the fanciest print shop and paper I could in Nairobi, plastered my letter with as many official looking university logos I could and hand delivered my letter to the office.  And voilà, it worked!

The Department of Refugee Affairs is housed in a castle.  While I suspect it was never really a castle - more likely the play thing of some colonial official with too much money - the fortified appearance, thick stone walls and turrets leave you in doubt as to what this was intended to be.  My regular visits there have made me the subject of some interest to the staff - including the receptionist, who wears a long blue trench coat with 'Refugees are real people' inscribed on the back, and the guards at the front gate, one of whom seems always to want me to buy her tea (I'm not sure from where) and the other of whom wants me to take him to Australia!  It's interesting stuff this research business, so here is a little snapshot of just a few of the interviews I have done in Kenya.

1. Commissioner of Refugee Affairs, Government of Kenya.  Despite the official hoops I had to jump through to secure the interview, and the imposing nature of his office (think white leather padded walls), the man himself was very relaxed, candid and a great person to talk to.  His perspective on refugee protection in Kenya was extremely interesting and very different from most of what I have heard so far.  In particular, he is concerned about the impact that the monolithic humanitarian industry in Kenya has on its refugee burden - while he certainly acknowledges that many humanitarian agencies provide essential and life-saving assistance to refugees, the appeal they hold for people in neighbouring countries, combined with their interest in sustaining their own business, perpetuates the very refugee 'problem' they purport to solve.
2. Head of Refugee Status Determination, UNHCR Nairobi.  UNHCR conducts refugee status determination in Nairobi as well is in Kakuma and Dadaab Refugee Camps.  Here in Nairobi, the UNHCR office has just moved.  When I visited they were still waiting for hot water and a functioning printer.  Despite this, the head of RSD here in Nairobi has been one of the most open and helpful people I have met with so far.  Not only was she very frank about her own work and that of her team, but she even arranged for me to observe an interview with an asylum applicant from the Democratic Republic of Congo - in Nairobi with seven of her eight children - and allowed me to take copies of numerous UNHCR documents that I have not been able to obtain elsewhere.
3. Legal Intern, Kituo Cha Sheria.  As often seems to happen with NGOs here in Kenya, the request for an interview from a researcher gets bumped on to the person with the least responsibilities and (supposedly) the most time.  Having worked in NGOs, where staff do not have enough time to do their jobs let alone talk about them to researchers, I have total sympathy for this approach.  As a researcher, I think sometimes it works in my favour.  Though interns usually have less experience than more senior members of staff, the experience they do have is often fresher, giving them a more critical eye and an eagerness to talk about it.  The interview also gives them a perhaps rare opportunity to be the expert in something, so they are more than forthcoming with information and willing to share stories, perspectives and useful documents.  Possibly the most notable thing about Kituo Cha Sheria (which means Centre for Justice) was its location.  Housed in a building in Eastleigh - a predominantly Somali area - my driver George had warned me not to wear open-toed shoes.  When we got there, I found Eastleigh positively thriving with street-side business, dealing and life - this was one of the busiest and most chaotic places I have been, and that includes India!  The problem, however, is that the 'street' ranges between mud, swamp and river.  When the traffic got too chaotic (5 cars side-by-side trying to forge their way down a road which is one lane in either direction) George pulled up on the side-walk and suggested we walk.  And while I appreciated George's shoe advice, I really think that unless I had been wearing gumboots it wouldn't have made a difference at all. 
4. Justice of the High Court of Kenya and the East African Court of Justice.  This is the interview that gave me the most attire-related anxiety, owing to a Judge suggesting that we meet in one of Nairobi's poshest hotels.  A fascinating man and one who has been involved in some high profile cases here in Kenya - including a Constitutional dispute about the date of the elections which, understandably given the election-related violence of 2007-8, was the subject of considerable attention.  What impressed me most about this interview was the keen interest that the Kenya judiciary (at least some of them) has in refugee protection matters, despite them having very little jurisdiction of such matters at present.  With the assistance of UNHCR and others, they have developed a refugee law training program for judicial officers, conducting regular training sessions around the country.  While the implementation of the program still has a way to go - asylum seekers and refugees are still notoriously being arrested and convicted of unlawful presence, despite their right to be in the country - the willingness to engage with refugee protection and implement improvements was evident in both my interview with this High Court judge and in the 100-page refugee law training manual he shared with me afterwards.

On Monday I will travel to Kakuma Refugee Camp, in the north of Kenya and near the border with South Sudan.  I had initially intended to also go to Dadaab - Kenya's other main refugee camp and the largest in the world.  But owing to particularly bad security in the Somali border region at present and the fact the registration and refugee status determination is currently suspended, I will confine my visit to Kakuma.  I will spend the week in Kakuma.  It will be my last week of 'field research' proper and no doubt will prove to be one of the most interesting.  I really don't know what to expect - like the Kibera slums in Nairobi, refugee camps are mostly painted as sprawling masses of UNHCR tents, poverty, malnourishment and enforced passivity.  However more than one person I have spoken with so far has told me that Kakuma is a place where 'a lot is going on'.  I guess I'll find out on Monday.

Castle House - currently home to the Department of Refugee Affairs 

Me at the Department of Refugee Affairs.  Photos are usually forbidden at official sites,
but I must have looked suitably awestruck and innocent that one of the guards agreed
for me to pose in front of the building.  (Or maybe this was part of his campaign
to get me to marry him and take him back to Sydney....)

We had persevered with Eastleigh traffic for quite some time (including two phone
calls to the office of Kituo Cha Sheria to give an updated ETA).  But after we had been
faced this sight for about 15 minutes with no movement, we decided to walk. 

A birds eye view of Eastleigh 

Refugee Consortium of Kenya.  Along with Kituo Cha Sheria the other main refugee law NGO
in Nairobi.  Like many other NGOs, who have been pushed out of the city centre by rising
 rents, the organisation's offices are now in a former residential home in the suburbs.

A view from the back of the lecture room where I delivered my presentation
on research methods on Day 1 in Nairobi.  Not exactly interview-related
but still relevant to my research so I thought I'd throw it in!

Bandit

This is my little friend at the Nairobi Guesthouse.  One of my fellow housemates, Anneke, has named him Bandit.  Others here think that he might have previously had a different name - like Button - but I definitely think Bandit suits him much better.  He has way too much attitude for a cutesy name like Button...

Bandit is one of two kittens that have claimed territory over the Guesthouse.  Judging by the greater size and strength of the other one - Bandit is tiny - my guess is that Bandit fell to number 2 in the pecking order.  But to make up for it, he has wormed his way in with the humans.  I need only sit on the front porch with food for a few seconds and Bandit will faithfully appear and wait patiently for his share.  He approaches by stalking - crouched, very low and very slow - so that the first time I thought  there was either a mouse nearby that I hadn't noticed, or he was about to pounce on my bowl of muesli!  Bandit only eats human food.  Beans, carrots, pasta - yes please.  Tuna, beef - bring it on!  Cat food? Sniff...

Bandit won't let you touch him, and he won't come in the house (Anneke and I have secretly tried to encourage him in).  But for a cat that plays so hard to get, he is very demanding!  And if I am late with his tuna, he'll sit at the front door eyeballing me down the hall in the kitchen.  Bandit will eat pasta from my hand, sort of.  If I dangle it from my finger, he'll swipe it off with his paw.  He employs that same strategy when I serve him tuna with a fork.  I have to make sure I get it out of the can and on to the ground quick smart, if I dilly dally on the way down Bandit will take a swipe and tuna goes everywhere!

Usually I would worry about what will happen to a stray animal I'm feeding when I go.  But in this case I'm not too worried.  The night guards feed Bandit their chapatis, other housemates feed him their pizza.  Even my driver, George, knows Bandit - 'that cat will eat anything!'  Well, yes, except cat food. Something tells me that Bandit has both the charm and the smarts to make it just fine.

Nairobi Part 2

Week 3 in Nairobi and I still haven’t set foot in the heart of the city.  Nor have I been to the Museum.  I console myself with the fact that the CBD is rarely the most interesting part of any city – the quick drive I have done through the centre of ‘town’, as it is called, revealed the kinds of tall buildings, busy roads and even glittering casino one might expect in most cities.  Not that I don’t want to explore further - but I have just been so busy exploring the other parts of Nairobi that I haven’t made it there yet!

Most of my time so far has been spent walking or driving between interviews, of which I have had many (but more on that later).  One of the best things about visiting lawyers, NGO workers, UNHCR and government officials is that their offices – or alternatively, the cafes they suggest we meet in – are all over Nairobi.  I walk when I can – this is still a relative novelty after being in Jo’burg.  Nairobi definitely feels like a calmer safer to walk around in, though I would still never go out at night.  While security abounds, I am told this is not due to general crime; rather it is largely a response to the few terrorist bombings carried out in the city by Al-Shabab in the last year or so.  Perhaps I have been in Africa too long, but this actually makes me feel safer.  When it gets too hot I buy fruit salad from a roadside stall and put up my umbrella as sun protection.  When I get too dusty and sweaty I look for a shopping centre with a Java House or Dormans café to recuperate.  And when the distances are longer, or I am not quite sure where I am going, I travel with George, my taxi driver.

The streets in Nairobi’s suburbs are lovely.  At the risk of repeating myself, they are so green!  Huge old trees, grass, vines, hedges and brightly coloured flowers everywhere.  Many gardens still display a very definitely British sensibility – the house just up the road from where I am staying could be straight out of the Cotswolds.  But a lot the greenery is wild and sprawling, and it’s often hard to believe you are in a city at all.  The state of the roads themselves has the same effect.  Many look like the have not been attended to for decades, and the extent of the potholes, some of them several feet deep, makes driving in a straight line nearly impossible.

Last weekend I venture a little further afield, with a visit to Kibera.  Even if you have never heard of Kibera you will probably feel like you have seen it a hundred times.  It is the quintessential image of poor Africa – an inner city slum full of dust, rubbish, open sewerage, barefoot children, makeshift homes and a few animals.  As well as being the largest slum in Africa, it is apparently the most studied, owing to the fact that it is so close to the CBD and UN-HABITAT’s office is nearby.  Many of the homes here have neither running water nor sewerage and unemployment is apparently somewhere around 40%.

On the one hand I think it is important to acknowledge and address the level of poverty that many people in Africa live in.  In fact, getting a better understanding of what life is like under these circumstances is one of the main reasons I have wanted to come here for so long.  I’ve always believed (or hoped) that if everyone in the world was forced to come face to face with these realities they would not be allowed to continue.  But having now spent some time here and having visited Kibera, I feel less sure that perpetuating the image of the poor, helpless Africa is very helpful at all.

Certainly Kibera is a place of extreme poverty – there are single mothers there who spend their days offering to wash other women’s clothes for a sum of about 100 shillings – less than a dollar.  And there are children who will catch and suffer from diseases that could be easily prevented or treated in better conditions.  But most of the people I saw during my visit were anything but passive victims of their surroundings.  Kibera is a hive of activity and a vibrant breeding ground for small businesses and other entrepreneurial activities.  Many of the shanty-type homes in Kibera double as shopfronts, selling everything from homemade soaps to pre-paid mobile credit to chapatis.

Kibera is on the list of places to which both the Lonely Planet and Australian government advise against travel.  This is ironic – according to my guide Frankie (and verified with others I have spoken to since) Kibera is one of the safest places in Nairobi, due to the local community’s ‘people power’.  ‘People power’ is a slightly euphemistic term for describing the fact that anyone caught stealing in Kibera will be set upon by a group of locals and, more often than not, killed for their crime.   This is apparently a result of the community’s impatience and frustration with local police and justice mechanisms.  Unsurprisingly, it has vastly reduced the amount of crime, at least during the day.

The other thing that struck me about my visit to Kibera is the fact that so much of Nairobi is not like Kibera.  In many ways, it is a booming city.  There are good universities here, a growing economy and lots of development – those given the opportunity could really make a go of it.  In fact my guide Frankie grew up and still lives in Kibera.  He was sponsored by an NGO to attend school and is now studying towards an accounting degree at the University of Nairobi – he shows people around his home town as a part time job to help him through his studies.  No doubt, education is key.  That’s why on Friday I plan to return to Kibera and spend the day volunteering at one of the local primary schools.  I might just have to teach them how to sing Happy Birthday!

One of the lovely suburban roads where I spend my days walking.

Entrance to the British Institute of East Africa, my Nairobi home.

Bus stop in Karen, the suburb named after Karen Blixen (Out of Africa)

Tree signs are one of my favourite features of the African urban landscape. 

There is every kind of religion in Kenya - in the morning I wake alternatively
 to church bells and the call to prayer at the nearby mosque

Kibera - Africa's largest slum.  The apartments behind are being built as part of the
upgrade/development program, but Frankie explained to me that they are unaffordable for most
Kibera residents, costing about $30 a month (between 2 and 6 times the costs of rent in Kibera itself).

The railway line through Kibera is still used by passenger and freight trains. 

This is Modest, who works with women in Kibera to make
 jewellery and other handicrafts for sale at Pam's curio shop

Homemade soaps for sale - these soaps are made by people infected or affected by HIV/AIDS 

I now understand why everyone returns from Africa with photos of children - they love having
 their photo taken!  Kibera Tours, through whom I arranged my visit, have a quite strict photo
policy, only allowing photos at certain stops during the visit.  Frankie made an exception
in this case, after the kids begged for me to take their photos!

The kids love being photographed, but they love even
more seeing their images on the camera view screen afterwards.

I think this little fella saw himself as our mini security guide - here he is chasing off some of the bigger kids. 

The view from inside a Kibera home - the mzungu lady is an intriguing sight in Kibera.. 

Women doing their washing together at a community water source. 

Almost every second wall or fence in Kibera has an NGO's logo on it. There are
apparently over 800 NGOs working in this area, only some of the working well. 

The Bead Factory.  This factory buys cow, goat and camel bones from butchers and slaughterhouses and turns them into jewellery.  It's a remarkable use of limited resources, though the dust and smell of bones is a bit overwhelming!

It's not only the kids who love having their photo taken!

What would Workcover say about this.... The head of the factory proudly showed me the scars
on his hand, suggesting they are some kind of mark of achievement for workers.  I'm not so sure...
This worker is making little turtle shapes from the bone - you can see a pile forming on the floor.

And this is the end result! 

Toi Market - this market is all that separates Kibera from one of Nairobi's expensive, middle-class suburbs/

Toi Market 

Coal is sold here for about ten cents a bucket.  It will be used for heating and cooking.

I don't know about you, but this sign somehow just doesn't inspire confidence in me....

Most of the dogs I see or hear in Nairobi are guard dogs.  Judging by
this fella's wagging tail, he is not very good at his job.

The road home to my guesthouse at the end of the day...