Mathare Valley is a shanty town on the outskirts of Nairobi. Even in 1982 the slum was bursting at the seams with close to two hundred thousand people resident. I saw a face of poverty that was appalling beyond comprehension. Rotting heaps of garbage had been there for months, reeking in the sweltering heat. Gutters of filthy water trickled between shanties made of old sheets of metal, cardboard, and mud. The little make-shift huts housed dozens of people. There was filth everywhere; on the paths and sideways, trenches of dark water, litter, and refuse.
What moved me as a young lecturer was not so much the surroundings but the people who lived in those shanties. They looked shattered; hopeless, resigned, afraid and tired. The children ran around in the muck looking as grimy as the gutter in which they played. There were no streets here, just narrow twists between huts and heaps of garbage.
There were no toilets and the strong stench of urine was everywhere. Drunken people staggered around looking haggard with bloodshot eyes and vain stares. Hopelessness hung in the air.
Sure, I had seen poverty. I grew up in a squatter village of Kabete, called Cura. Still that had not prepared me for what I saw in Mathare Valley that Friday afternoon. The sight that accosted me was the epitome of degradation, a treacherous act against my fellow citizens.
“Does the government know you live here?” I wanted to know.
I felt angry, devitalized and and largely disillusioned by the scope of the situation.
As a 19 year old girl, I had left Kenya for the USA, with the single minded vision to learn and return to Kenya with skills to make a difference. I had completed undergraduate and graduate studies in clinical psychology, sociology and family marital therapy and as soon as I returned, took up a position at the University.
I had lived in a culture that had some semblance of respect for human dignity and the government provided basic amenities like sanitation and food to its people. I had come to believe that it was common principle to expect that for every community. My worldview was now being challenged by this concept of life in Mathare and the people there.
My next emotion was a deep despair and grief. All my accomplishments seemed extraneous and unimportant. The situation was debilitating. All the confidence and belief I had built about society and my ability to make a difference was disintegrating. I felt lost and disheartened. The Mathare project began on that sad note.
Twenty five years later a lot has changed. With small steady steps, my disillusionment has morphed into a grand vision, to transform helplessness into hope, powerlessness into empowerment and help actualize the potential of people in Mathare Valley.
That vision is becoming a reality with four powerful programs enabling education and the development of talent, economic empowerment, mental and physical health and community development.
With the help of dynamic staff and volunteers from around the world we touch over 400 lives daily and equip people to become self sufficient. Like droplets in a pond, I see the ripples reach more and more. Maji Mazuri.
