by Wanjiku Kironyo

During one of my first few visits to Mathare Valley, it started pouring heavily.

We were sitting in a woman's living room, which was 4 by 3 foot wide. Above the room was an old sagging polythene paper which served as the roof. The paper was able to keep the house warm but didn’t realize it had another purpose.

As the rain continued pouring the paper sagged and started dripping water at one corner. The woman put a pot there to harvest the rain water. Soon the same thing happened to another corner and she put a pot there too. The water from the polythene started dripping on the table and splashed onto our faces.

It continued raining and I asked her if I could leave while it was still raining. She told me that the water was coming downhill at such a high speed it would wash me away.

The floodwater gathered and started  gushing into the house through a hole on the floor. It was dirty water carrying sewage and mud. Soon my shoes were soaked wet.

I felt too embarrassed to ask if I could stand on the table but soon we were almost knee deep in the water. The polythene paper sagged and finally dropped. Water poured into the house from the sky.

All this time, I was watching her harvest the water on one hand while on the hand her house was flooding, leaving no where to live.

The rain stopped and she saw me to the bus stop. Now frogs there were coming out and hopping about everywhere.  I tried to restrain myself from showing my fear of frogs, acutely aware of what she was going through.

All the way home I thought of her.

Where would she sleep?

Does anyone know that is the kind of life people in Mathare go through?

It bothered me a lot, especially sleeping in a warm bed that night.

I realized that the reality of life in Mathare valley can only be understood by the people who live there.

While we as a Nation are praying for rain, the people in Mathare are torn in two, on one hand, they need the clean rain water. On the other hand, the rain water will flood and ruin their homes.

I was left with a picture that I could not get over.

I could tell a lot other stories because each visit left me with images, experiences and feelings that i cannot translate into writing.