Three miles from the bustling heart of Nairobi, I stumbled upon a profound contrast that etched an indelible tableau into my mind. Kibera. It was an epiphanic moment that laid bare the transformative power of travel – a power to rewrite the narratives of my own childhood. Until that point, I thought I had a grasp of what growing up in poverty meant, owing to my own upbringing. But Kibera shattered that narrative. It made my childhood seem like an extravagant reverie. Kibera, often lauded as the largest "slum" in Kenya, and by some accounts, the grandest in all of Africa, if not the world – though, who's really counting? Having watched "Slumdog Millionaire," I believed I had a semblance of understanding when it came to slums. However, nothing, absolutely nothing, can brace you for the raw, unfiltered authenticity of witnessing Kibera in person. The experience hits you like a sucker punch to the gut, fundamentally reshaping your comprehension of life's profound injustices.

**Aerial View** of Kibera with the lush posh neighborhoods on the outskirts

Kibera, unlike in the US where income inequality often remains something of an abstract concept often academic - something I discuss with my liberal friends while drinking cocktails in a speakeasy in Cambridge - lays bare the brutal reality of disparities. It manifests as the absence of sewage systems and running water (heck absence of water in general whether running or not), the crowded brown rusted corrugated roof shanties stacked upon each other, with narrow paths marred by sewage rivers and heaps of garbage. It manifests as the absence of electricity - most people use wood or charcoal for cooking and lighting, where sleeping on dusty floors is the norm. Brick homes are a rarity, with most shacks constructed from corrugated sheet metal and mud – structures that seem like they could collapse at any moment, especially considering the constant threat of floods. If one is fortunate, their shack might have a concrete foundation. The slum lords control the rent and constant fear of eviction is always looming, as rent often surpasses $40 US per month – an insurmountable sum for those earning less than $1 US per day. The scarcity of toilets forces residents to venture to the outskirts of the "slums," and if they choose to use one of the few toilets – well, let's just say these have seen better days after serving countless people. Potter potties which we runners are always thankful for are 5 stars resorts compared to Kibera toilets. There is poor – and there is the poor of the poorest which makes "life is unfair" take on an entirely new meaning.

But here's the paradox – amidst this seemingly dire situation, you won't find people sitting around. No. Even those who seem to be sitting around have something to do. There is so much movement and so much change and yet no change at all. Everyday seems the same but also not the same. You'll see kids playing in the sewage-filled narrow paths, adults selling fresh vegetables on makeshift stalls crafted from wood and scrap metal that appear on the brink of collapse. People are hustling, moving, selling, fixing, striking deals, music is blaring, afrobeats here, RnB there. The zest for life is so infectious, it's as if the local economy in Kibera depends on it. And it does.

NOTE: All images on my blog and website are my own. However, due to the challenges of navigating Kibera, the images used here are stock photos. I typically blend into new environments with ease, but Kibera proved exceptionally difficult.

Kibera | Kenya

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