OAIC Nairobi Part 2

After sampling some of the food at Mama Safi's hotel, courtesy of Naomi, David and I headed back to the car to go to Kibera, in another part of Nairobi. Kibira is the largest slum in Kenya, and the second largest in all Africa. We're headed there to see another micro-business collective supported by the partnership of The United Church of Canada and The Organization of African Instituted Churches.

From Mathare David turns the car south toward Kibera. The traffic has gotten worse for mid-day Saturday, and we're at a stand still. We turn around and attempt another route, through the suburb of Eastleigh.

Eastleigh is now predominantly Somali and Muslim. As we inch our way along the main street, David tells me how the area has been bought up over the years to create a powerful Somali enclave. It's regarded with suspicion by many Kenyans, because of the vast sums of alleged illegal money brought in from Somalia. Although at the surface much more prosperous that Mathare, I feel much less safe here.

The wide street is flanked by concrete buildings that house shops and businesses at street-level, and apartments above. The boulevards are crowded with people, street-vendors, and hawkers. So much of what I've seen throughout Kenya, and especially in Nairobi seems to be about entrepreneurship, small business, and retail. If England used to be a nation of shopkeepers, Kenya is very much that today. Everyone is in the business of selling something to someone else, either in shops, kiosks, markets, on the side of the road, or hawking.

One of my best stories from Nairobi is about the self-appointed traffic warden in Eastleigh. The cops don't do much about the traffic, so he does. Walking up the lines of stalled traffic, he makes his way to the snarl at the traffic circle. Those who obey his directions move quickly; those who don't receive a lash of his eight-foot whip across the hood or window of their car or truck. He means business, and I imagine very few receive more than a single lashing before figuring it out. I couldn't get a photo of him 'in action,' but could see him at work from a distance.

David's car started to act up in the traffic jam, and the engine kept stalling. Finally, it gave out all together, and Whip Man helped us push it into a nearby juakali car repair. As mentioned in an earlier post, juakali is a Swahili term meaning 'under the sun,' and refers to any informal business operated outside, including car repair.

Within minutes, a mechanic and his budding apprentices all have their heads under the hood. I've got a fair amount of car-knowledge, and was pretty skeptical as screws, clamps, and hoses were removed and scattered on the ground. Electrical and mechanical parts were taken off, examined, and set aside. After about half-an-hour with lots of things apart, the diagnosis is in, and parts must be sent for. David and I leave the car and walk up the road in search of a taxi to continue our trek into Kibera. I wonder if the car will ever be back together again.

The taxi takes us through a maze of muddy streets and lanes, and deposits us outside a large shack, made of corrugated metal. The blackboard at the front and the rows of benches betrays it's a school. A gathering of eight people have been waiting for us since we're about two hours late because of the traffic and car problems.

There are about 30 members in the Kiambio - Deuteronomy collective, running a very similar range of businesses as in Nyeri, Kisumu, or Mathare, including hotels, or kiosks for mandazi, fish, used clothing, fruit and veg., etc. Only a few of the members come out to meet us (here, or at any of the other groups), because it means lost wages. Most of them work long hours every day; time away means lost earnings and disappointed customers. Those that have showed up have sacrificed a lot.

What's distinctive (or at least expressed more vividly here) is the solidarity of the group, both in its diversity and actions. This is the first collective I've encountered that has men in it (albeit only a few), and also Muslims (also, only a few). The other groups had been all women, and deeply Christian. The gender mix isn't as much an issue as the religious traditions. This is a deeply religious place, and typically the Christianity is fairly conservative. Kenneth is both a business owner (used shoes) and a pastor, and describes how the group meets and prays together, and how important this is as witness to the Muslims (I think he's hopeful for conversion). But the greater goal, he says, is to 'bring the people together to work for a better life and for peace.' This gets nods and murmurs of agreement from the others

The core of the Kiambio - Deuteronomy group's work is the administration of the loans and social support of its members. But, it also has bigger goals in view. Inflation is eating into the members' profits and viability, so they started to purchase supplies like charcoal in bulk. This worked for a while until the brokers and gangs that control he charcoal market threatened them. Water was expensive and distant from some of their businesses and homes, so they pitched in to get a water spigot installed, and now sell water to the members and the public. This new competition has helped reduce water prices at other spigots in the neighbourhood.

They also have see the broader political picture. It seems almost hopeless, in a way, when I'm told about the plans for a public school that were thrown up when the local politicos used the land for their own for-profit private school. The members are still advocating for a new school so the local kids don't have to walk miles to the nearest one. In the meantime, they've set up a child-care for 2 1/2 - 6 year olds, so mothers can get to their jobs.

It's gotten late, and most of the members need to get back to their shops, so only a few join David and me as we walk down a street that's barely passable for the mud and ruts. An occasional car or motorcycle chugs through the mire. Small houses on either side with open doors and windows are hosting any and every kind of business: motorcycle repair, movie rentals, maize grinding, hotels, food shops, chemists, cell-phone charging stations, and so on.

As we approach a cross street, David tells me that we're crossing into the slum! So what have we been walking through?? Well, that was actually a better area, sort of lower middle class, since the buildings are made of concrete. Beyond the cross street, the houses are shacks of metal, rough wood, and sheets of plastic. The distinction seems a small one.

We visit a few of the members' businesses, including an open air cookshop, fishmonger, a chemist (blood tests taken on site), and several houses that collective has built to rent out. Nearby, is the bright-blue Great Glory Cathedral, the very name and colour a shout of hope and optimism amongst the grey sheet-metal and muddy-brown soil around it.

After visiting the slum and the members' businesses we miraculously find the cabbie waiting for us, who takes us back to the car repair in Eastleigh. The car is ready and running like a top. The bill is 1,200 KSH, or about $14 Cdn. I'm more than a little amazed the car is together, let alone running; and I wonder what $14 buys at my Volkswagen dealer in Toronto...