Author: Njeri Kang'ethe
Date: February 21, 2007
Type of article: News Extra
Source: The Daily Nation - only available online by registration and paid subscription fee

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I spend Sh50 a day to feed my family and cater for my other needs. When I die, I will need Sh350 a day, which I cannot afford. I am afraid to die.

Wanjiku was the last to speak. As dictated by the traditions of our culture, the men had already spoken and her interjection was an afterthought delivered in the matter-of-fact manner typical of those whose lives have been dehumanised beyond repair. Yet the impact of Wanjiku’s statement, and the dignified manner in which it was delivered, was electric.

The reality of poverty and human degradation in Nairobi’s informal settlement areas is beyond language or speech. It takes the inner ear to hear the unspoken sigh of despair, the anguish of indignity and hopelessness and the grim whisper of death and decay.

Wanjiku lives in Korogocho, the fourth largest high-density informal settlement area in Nairobi. We were on a “meet the people” tour in preparation for the World Social Forum, as delegates of the World Forum on Theology and Liberation. Although an afternoon was too short a time to interact meaningfully with our hosts in Korogocho, Wanjiku’s story is fairly representative.

Like many of her generation, she came to the city to escape the harsh reality of rural poverty. The first few years were not too bad. Jobs as domestic workers in white peoples’ and the emergent post-independence African middle-class homes were plenty and fairly well-paying. The young, energetic, intelligent, semi-literate girl did well for herself and her rapidly growing family. But that was well over 40 years ago. Today, Wanjiku, a single mother of eight and grandmother of many, has nothing to show for her hard work.

Years of hardship have taken their toll. Five of her eight children have succumbed to HIV/Aids and left her with several orphaned grandchildren. Five of them, all primary school drop-outs, eke a living out of the infamous Dandora dumpsite. Eight are casual labourers in various parts of the city, while two help her at her kiosk where she sells mandazi and tea. 

Years of exposure to foul air and toxins from the adjacent dumpsite and unsanitary living conditions in congested quarters are beginning to show. She coughs incessantly and her once beautiful, supple, ebony complexion has taken on a purplish hue. Her sharp, intelligent eyes are clearly jaundiced. The end cannot be too far.

In other circumstances, death would be a welcome escape for the 70-plus-year-old grandmother. Yet she is determined to live, not because she has a bright hope for tomorrow, but because death would be a bigger challenge than life. The chances are that she would die at home. 

Who would pay to transport her body to the mortuary, and where would her impoverished family get Sh350 a day for the body’s “board and lodging” at the morgue? Wanjiku does not own land and tradition does not allow her to be buried on her parents’ ancestral land. In any case, the small parcel is hardly adequate to sustain her relations’ livelihood. The only alternative is the public cemetery, where purchase of a grave costs no less than Sh10,000!

Wanjiku’s greatest fear is the fate of her children and grandchildren. Upon death, she would forfeit her squatter rights in the shack that has been her home for many years. This is the unwritten law of the slums. In death, she would render her children homeless and worse, bequeath them nothing but debts, degradation, hopelessness and contempt. 

The theme of the recently concluded World Social Forum is that another world is possible. But for Wanjiku, it might be too late. We have condemned her to a life of damnation by conspiring with the forces of domination and control. We have condoned injustice and denied the truth. 

We have allowed ourselves to reel under the weight of an illegitimate national debt. We have watched helplessly as the HIV/Aids pandemic has become a gravy train for the opulent West. We have shut our ears to the cries of our street people, the landless, the internally displaced, dispossessed widows and orphans of conflicts and civil strife. 

We have turned a blind eye to those who perpetuate exploitation under the cover of the free market economy and unjust laws of the land. We have condoned corruption, land grabbing, human trafficking, excesses of power, intolerance, lawlessness and hedonistic living.

Another life is not only possible but also a reality. But we must make choices. We can remain in the status quo and die in bondage or we can choose life by repenting our indifference and turning away from our apathy. We must declare war on injustice. 

To do this, it is imperative that we undertake radical policy and legislative reforms in order to empower the people. That is why it is important that a constitution that comprehensively addresses issues of land, environment, public finances, civil, political and economic rights among other enablers, is put in place in the not too distant future.

Another life is indeed possible for Wanjiku, ourselves, and our children. Today, tomorrow or the day after…