A Different, Sadder Kenya in Aftermath of Elections

By Cindi Brown

Passport To Adventure

Kisumu Via Amsterdam

Getting to Kisumu from Phoenix, Arizona takes 40 hours, including a 12-hour layover in Amsterdam where Jennifer and I stole away from the Schiphol Airport to walk the canals and visit the Anne Frank House. The crowd was huge, waiting to enter the building which was Anne's father's business, a jelly making factory. It is a three story building, a row house, and sits on a canal. While the office and factory employees worked on the bottom and second floors, Anne, her father, mother, sister and four others lived in dark rooms at the back of the top floor.

The stairs are narrow and steep, but we climbed up and up with school children stomping and talking loudly. A bookcase at the end of a hall hid the doorway to the secret apartments. When we entered the dark rooms (their windows were covered in black), I felt the despair the family must have felt, never going outside for two years and only catching occasional glimpses of the sky or the canal. Back on the crowded canal streets, Jennifer and I dodge walkers, cars, bicycles and buses, all sharing the same lanes. Bicycles are everywhere and all ages ride them to work and school.

Devastation In Kisumu

Kenyan family in their home, under construction. Peter, Simon, Reverend Obondi, Anthony, Cindi and Eunice, the children standing are Doreen, Margaret and the baby is Rosemary. The goat is Gracie! Photo: Cindi Brown

Walking the streets of Amsterdam was a bit disconcerting, and it prepared us for Kisumu. I feared riding through town for the first time since 2005 and being overwhelmed by the burned buildings and other signs of recent post-election violence. We did see burned businesses in town, giant holes behind burned out walls. Some were already under repair. Others sat empty, with broken glass scattered inside and out onto the sidewalk. Locals used the post-election chaos as an opportunity to seek revenge on the Indian owners of these businesses who were perceived to mistreat Kenyans. Seeing the damage was not emotionally overwhelming, as I had feared.

Boda bodas still ride carefully through town, or sit under trees waiting for passengers to pay them for a ride on their bike. But now they share the road with motorbikes for hire, good-looking, shiny motorbikes manned by young men who have obviously progressed from a boda boda to a bike with a motor.

And there are now tuk-tuks in Kisumu. These three-wheeled "taxis" sound as though they're powered by lawn mower motors and seat three passengers behind the driver. They putter along with boda bodas and motorbikes weaving among the matatus, vans packed with too many people which will take you wherever you want to go (for a negotiated fee). There are many, many more people in the city now. It's evident just from looking, those originally from this region who had lived elsewhere in Kenya were driven from their homes to return to this region, their homeland. The land of the Luo. These young men seem tired, and angry.

The streets are hectic with traffic and hawkers and awful smells coming from everywhere; butcher shops, trash piles, burning mounds of rubbish and plastic bags, animals and sewage. It's the same Kisumu, just more intense. The long rains have arrived, but have not yet cooled the air. It is sticky hot in this town without air conditioning. And the equatorial sun enjoys licking us intently when we forget hats and long sleeves.

St. Anna's Guest House

We are staying at St. Anna's Guest House, which calls itself "A Christian Rest House." The rooms are basic but adequate. The restroom also contains a shower head in the center and a drain in the corner. There is a fan, good for disturbing mosquitoes and moving the moistened air. The single bed contains a traditional TuffFoam mattress, which is permanently sunken in the center. The pillows are two inches thick and hard. St. Anna's Guest House is around the corner from the Tropical Institute of Community Health (TICH), so we move between the guest house and university easily, and with little fear. Crime is on the increase in Kisumu, because of poverty, and having been mugged on a busy Kisumu street in 2005, I am ever vigilant. Jennifer is in my charge; this is her first visit to Africa, and I feel responsible for showing her the way and keeping her safe.

Over the weekend, there are few people on campus, but we attend church worship service Sunday morning with a group of 18. Reverend Obondi and Saul lead us in singing hymn after hymn, in English and Kiswahali, before sister Abbey officiates. Her talk is about the Lord reminding Kenyans they are the salt of the earth. She encourages everyone to remember their identity while struggling with recent violence, where communities divided along political loyalties and lashed out and killed people from other communities. There was tremendous horror and people saw things that will scar them for life. And now Abbey is asking them to recall that they, like salt, can preserve, add flavor, and heal.

No Safe Haven From Violence

While some universities in Kenya were surrounded and held hostage because they have people from all communities working within their walls, the Tropical Institute of Community Health (TICH) was spared. Well, one day during lunch, a group of men entered the student hostel yard. Armed with machetes and clubs, they began taking chairs and food. George Owino, head of security, and Dr. Stephen Okeyo spoke to them, reasoned with them, explained the purpose of the school and calmed the men, so they did not resort to violence. They did, however, take silverware and food, but they did no physical harm. Dr. Okeyo had only the week before been robbed, his car's window busted and money stolen from him. He had gone to his office at Aga Khan Hospital to see a patient and was returning, only 100 meters from his home, when he was stopped and robbed. No one was safe in town during the post-election violence, and most people remained indoors for several weeks while they listened to gunfire, most of it coming from Nyalenda, a nearby slum area.

After the worship service, we congregate in the courtyard for tea and mandazi, a doughnut like snack. Charles Wafula, head of finance, tells us how TICH eventually reached out to wounded people living in Nyalenda, those who had been shot and others who needed medication. When the Red Cross first arrived to assist the residents of Nyalenda, the residents were so untrusting, they fought the Red Cross. However, they soon realized the Red Cross was there to help, so they allowed them in. Reverend Obondi tells me people in Nyalenda are still untrusting, and no longer like to be observed or photographed without permission. This hardening of the heart, and the anger, is palpable.

On Monday, work resumes at TICH and old friends are spotted right and left, and new faces are seen, new employees. I had dreamed of seeing my former colleagues again, dreamed of sharing warm greetings with hand holding and hugs. And so it is. They are each warm and responsive and welcoming. Karibu sana, they say, meaning "you are very welcome." Jennifer's smile greets every single Kenyan she sees, and her heart is on her sleeve and I envy her openness.

I'm reminded how I no longer feel obligated to make each and every person feel special. It may sound heartless, but my approach is not without heart. Kenyans have varying reactions to whites, depending on their past interactions with whites. Not all interactions have been pleasant, and not all based on equality, and some even based on the whites sharing monies or resources. So I am more particular about the people I approach or interact with. While we greet everyone, I no longer feel obligated to look at a vendor's goods when he insists, or to respond to a request for money. But I am polite, eternally.

Dirt Roads Feel Like Home

It feels like home, being on these dirt roads, and on the broken paved roads, walking or riding. I enjoy seeing the cows again, munching grass on the road side, and having chickens peck around my feet. Yesterday, Reverend Obondi took us to visit a family who has received a new home through the donations of TICH and our non-profit, Just One Voice.

Anthony and Eunice have three children, aged one to four years. They were living in Naivasha where Anthony had a carpentry shop when the violence broke out. They had to flee Naivasha and left everything behind. They were lucky to arrive, all of five them, safe in their home place near Maseno. On our way to visit Anthony and Eunice, we stopped at a house near TICH to pick up a goat for the family, one donated by Just One Voice. We picked a sweet, black little goat with tiny horns who was climbing in a Hisbiscus bush, eating all the green leaves. Jennifer named her Gracie. Reverend put a small rope around Gracie's neck and placed in her the back of our van, where he also put branches of Lantana for Gracie to munch. She happily munched the leaves until the van started moving, which she didn't like so much, causing her to go "baaabaaabaaaaa."

Traveling Past Lake Victoria

We drove out of Kisumu about 30 minutes, with Lake Victoria to our left, when suddenly the engine starting whining, then roaring, then it died, it's last efforts forcing a giant, smelly white cloud of exhaust across the road.

Reverend called for a second vehicle and while we waited, nearly an hour, he took Gracie from the van and allowed her to munch the lush weeds in the ditches. When Vitalis arrived with two mechanics, we climbed into the back of the new truck, with Gracie, and drove far into the bush, crawling over very rutted and narrow roads as far we could drive. We parked in the yard of Simon, the village elder, whose house sits on a rise and looks over a huge valley where three districts come together. Reverend said a prayer in Simon's house, and then we began walking to the home under construction. We walked downhill between bushes, and met a woman filling her jerrican from an underground spring. Everyone in the neighborhood uses this spring water, which runs day and night.

New Home, Shiny Tin Roof

We continued walking for nearly a mile, passing cows tethered to tiny plots of land, and houses where children shyly stood against the walls and watched us pass, silently. As we moved down the side of the mountain, there was no shade, but we saw the new home, its tin roof glistening. The house walls are up, the roof is on and the door has been hung. Gutters are being installed to collect rain water for safe consumption.

A small living room with a dirt floor is separated from the tiny bedroom by a wall of boards and an opening covered with a red cloth. Now that the structure is up, they will refine it. This means cow dung and mud will be mixed and smoothed onto the interior and exterior walls. The mud floor, now uneven, will be smooth and packed down. While they have a wooden chest with doors and a drawer in the living room, along with two wooden seats with foam cushions, they will eventually add the lovely doilies typical in homes, and other niceties.

They will paint inside and out, and may even paint decorations around the door and roofline. The yard is still being cleared for plowing and planting crops. Simon, the village elder, said he will get worm pills for the children to be taken the next day. Eventually, they can add on to this home. Anthony, Eunice and their children are now established, surrounded by family and a caring community.

Anthony is a small man, and kind, and his wife Eunice is quiet, occasionally smiling. She holds their youngest child the entire time we visit, and the other children simply watch us. I feel sadness coming from them all. Even though his uncle gave Anthony this piece of land, even though donors provided supplies and the community helped construct the walls and roof, there is still sadness, especially from Eunice. Reverend Obondi says, "You must remember, Eunice once was able to do everything for herself and her family. Now, she is lost, unable to do anything." And Dr. Stephen Okeyo later reminded me of what they must have seen with their own eyes in their own yard, not just on television like the rest of us. I wonder out loud what we can give them, besides a roof over their head and a chair to sit in, that will heal their hearts. We agree the only intangible thing to assist in their healing may be to listen and let them know they are cared for. And that they are not alone.

Now Anthony and Eunice have Gracie, and she will provide milk and eventually she'll have babies. "When she has her first litter," Reverend Obondi says to me, "we will email pictures to you." Anthony and Eunice are only one of hundreds of displaced families who have nothing. There are other homes being built in rural villages, in the district's where TICH has partnerships with the villages. We will visit other resettling families this week. And on Friday, Wendy Muckle has invited Jennifer and me to visit Asemba, a village where she works with widows and orphans.

Rose, Communications Director for TICH, tells me "Kisumu is still the Kisumu you knew, Cindi." She is reassuring me that the recent chaos is over. And it is over. Now the healing must begin.

Cindi Brown, volunteer and author, reports from Kenya, for Passport To Adventure, the PBS Television Adventure Travel Show. Visit Passport To Adventure to see what Cindi and Julie Conover are up to now.

judythpiazza@newsblaze.com

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