“Life here is hard, I haven’t been able to get used to living life like this, sitting idle the whole day, not working, not having money in my pocket, eating the same kind of food all the time.”  James Kamau describes how difficult it has been adjust to life at the Nakuru ASK showground IDP camp. 

Visiting families at the camps is like visiting a family in many rural parts of Kenya, though of course there are obvious differences. They live in tiny tents, airless and hot during the day but cold and damp at night.  Instead of welcoming their guest to sit on a chair, they borrow benches or pails and their limited food rations limits hospitality from extending beyond a seat to the usual cup of tea. However, the most obvious difference is the visible presence of the man of the house.  Without jobs to keep them busy, they, as well as the women, are glad to share their opinions with a newcomer.

One common concern is health, especially that of the young children.  Caleb Ngaria, from the Afraha camp, explains, “It’s especially hard for the children.  The water gets inside the tent, there is a lot of cold especially at night and it really affects us.  You find people who weren’t sick but now they are here they are sick.” For Kamau, his concern is his children’s diet, “there is food here but it is just one kind either maize flour or maize, while lentils are used for vegetables.  There is no milk for tea.  The children are losing weight because they aren’t eating well.”

Not only are children as well as adults suffering from the external conditions, internally they are struggling.  Most of those living in the camps, especially at showground, have been traumatized.  Edward Amani, a counselor at the camp’s VCT, has seen the affects of the trauma first hand, “There were many rape cases and you couldn’t blame the people because of the trauma they had gone through.    There was one case where a young man had climbed at tree for safety but his parents didn’t make it.  They were slashed to death as he watched.  By the time he was brought for counseling, he had already beaten up two men.  We found out about the trauma and realized he felt so hopeless he just wanted to commit suicide.”

The trauma doesn’t affect just adults and youths, it affects small children as well.  A single mom, displaced from Kipkelion says her children, aged seven and five, are dealing with trauma as well, “They were at our home when people were being killed and house burned all around them.  Now when there were problems they cried and said, ‘they’ve found us here.’  Even when I told them it was just the police guarding the camp, they couldn’t sleep. “  

According to Amani, the youth have found ways to fill their spare time and drown their pain, “We find so many young people are involved in drugs.  We even have brothels, and people brewing illegal brew.  So many of them are being pulled into these things.”  He says a youth centre has been set up to combat these trends.  At the centre, the youth have access to counseling, indoor and outdoor games and can “interact with other young people so they pass their time positively.” 

With such conditions, the approximately 14,000 people living at the showground and 1,000 at Afraha are anxious to leave.  However, the idea of resettlement and its possible conditions worries some of them.  Martha Waithera, a diabetic grandmother caring for her granddaughter, declares she can’t go back to Burnt Forest, “Yes I can tell God I forgive them, but to look them in the eye and say I forgive you would be very hard.  I can’t go back.” 

Kamau shares her sentiments, saying, “People are telling me to go back and stay with those people but since I left I haven’t talked to them.  If I go back, they might finish me completely.  I don’t know what is in their hearts or what they are thinking.  If instead the government could compensate me, I can do something for myself.” 

In Afraha, where many lived around Nakuru, some like Joash say, “this issue of postponement is a waste of time because we are ready to move,” but others are concerned about how resettlement will work.  Ngaria is one who is concerned, “As long as they visit and talk with us it will bring people together.  If they just tell us to go back, it’s like they are throwing or pushing us and where will we go.  Many people lost their things when they ran away so even if you are given a house you will still need things for the house and food.” 

No matter their story, their opinions or their worries, there is a common bond shared by the IDPs and the rest of Kenya.  A young women displaced from Kipkelion summed it up well, “they [Kibaki and Raila] must ensure peace can return to Kenya.  It was because they failed to agree that peace disappeared and if it weren’t for that, we wouldn’t have seen the problems we saw.  But if they can agree, we can continue with our lives. ”

Jane and her Mother

The Molo tanker tragedy hit a little closer to home today.

Last night my best friend, Jane, talked to her mom, who lives in Londiani (where I lived for 6 years).

Mama Jane traveled to Nakuru on Saturday to get false teeth. She traveled back to Londiani by matatu (a public transport van) late that evening. About halfway through their journey they happened upon the over-turned lorry. When the driver of the matatu realized what was happening he also stopped take advantage of the free gas. Soon the driver and conductor were busily filling every available container with siphoned gas. When the annoyed passengers complained about the delay they were told to wait.

Finally, the two ran out of containers and the passengers quickly offered a solution. “Take us to the next junction and refund us the remainder of our fare. You can borrow more containers and come back to collect more gas.” So the driver agreed and they left the accident scene behind.

Later that evening after Mama Jane arrived home; she watched the news and discovered that not long after her matatu traveled on, the tanker exploded. Had the containers not run out, Jane’s mother would have been among those lying in a mortuary somewhere, or writhing in pain on a hospital bed.

Brother David with displaced children

Located in Rift Valley along an invisible Kalenjin-Kikuyu boundary line, Londiani experienced unrest and violence starting within hours of the election results announcement.  Because Londiani is small and isolated, there was minimal media coverage of the violence there.  This meant the people of Londiani received little external aid or even transport to help them flee.  Instead, a makeshift camp was set up at St. Kizito’s Catholic Church.

St. Kizito’s is a long-standing institution in Londiani.   It is under the care of Father Martin and Brother David, who both came from Ireland to serve the people of Londiani.  Together they help the people in town and the surrounding villages. 

On 30 December, after a night of horror, people from surrounding villages started making their way to Londiani town.  Because St. Kizito’s is located next to the police station, most felt it was the safest place to take refuge.  Those fleeing their burning homes quickly turned it into a makeshift camp as they were internally displaced within five kilometers of their homes.   

Father Martin and his colleague opened the church gates and welcomed these desperate people.   The church compound soon overflowed as four lorries arrived filled with women and children seeking refuge.  By 4 January, Father Martin estimated that more than 2000 people had sought refuge at the church.   

The priest risked his life to travel out to the villages to access the damages.  He was called upon to preside over hurried funerals for those killed in the conflict and to help carry victims back to town.  He also helped find food for people who had lost their recently harvested maize in the same fires that consumed their homes.  Even after much of the town was burnt down, the church remained a safe haven for the few people who hadn’t left for safer places.

Father Martin and Brother David could have easily closed their gates and stayed in their secure home to wait out the storm.  Instead, they embraced the hurting with open arms.

Kenya is on fire again.  I guess I thought we were past this. 

No, no tribal clashes or such violence, something different. 

In the past week almost 150 Kenyan have died in two separate fires.  One in Nairobi and the other near Molo.

In Nairobi, a popular supermarket in the heart of downtown caught on fire (for reasons yet unknown).  As afternoon shoppers fled the building, others were trapped inside possibly because some exit doors were locked to prevent looting (the truth behind this report had not been confirmed).  The fire presumably encountered gas cylinders and other flammable materials stored in the supermarket causing numerous explosions.  To make matters worse nearby fire hydrants were not functioning so fire fighters were forced to get water from over a mile away. 

That was on Wednesday. Thursday, Friday and Saturday, Kenyans woke up to horrific images in the daily newspapers as fresh details came out, including the death of 27 people and reports of 50 more missing.  Then Sunday morning we woke up to yet another horror story.

Saturday evening a tanker carrying gas over turned in a rural area.  Locals saw the opportunity to put a few extra shillings in their empty pockets and rushed to the scene to collect the leaking petrol.  Surrounded by hundreds of people, the tanker exploded.  Whether it was started by the engine or a carelessly flung cigarette or was intentional may never be known but over 100 people died and nearly 200 more are in various hospitals. 

Watching the news is like watching a horror movie.  Burning buildings, crowds of fleeing people, huge fire balls, people lying in hospital beds with burns from head to foot. 

Why? Bad government?  Poor infrastructure?  Neglect?  Carelessness?  A culture of theft?  Poverty?  Ignorance?  The factors are too many to pinpoint just one.

The government must take some blame.  The police should be equipped to deal with highway accidents and keep people away from danger.  The fire and rescue squads should be prepared and have the resources they need.  The state controlled water company should ensure the fire hydrant work. Politicians should stop eating the money meant to help their people. 

But the common citizen also has a responsibility.  We tend to blame the government for everything.  But the government is so tiny compared to the population of Kenya.  Surely we can do more than they do!  If there are 500 people in the government (President, Prime Minister, Vice President, Deputy Prime Ministers, Members of Parliament, Cabinet Ministers, Deputy Ministers etc…) compared to 35 million common citizens that means Kenyans are complaining that 0.0014% of the population is not doing something about Kenya’s problems.  Well, shouldn’t the 99.9986% do something too? 

Obama has taught the world, “Yes We Can.”  So I ask, “Why can’t we?”

In Nakuru, in the midst of the chaos and terror, in the midst of broken lives and broken hearts, in the midst of seemingly unbearable conditions, there is a group of young men who have taken a stand for peace.  Instead of picking up weapons like many of their peers, these young men are giving their all to bring healing to the people living in the Nakuru Showground IDP camp.

A few of the Kenya Scouts of Nakuru have been camping at the showground with the IDPs since the first day the camp opened.  Although they live in Nakuru and have homes and families, these 25 courageous young men have given up those lives to join with and help the IDPs. 

They live in their own tiny camp at the back of the main camp and from there they expend their energies helping wherever they can.  They pitched the tents at the grounds and helped get families settled when they first arrived in Nakuru.  They also play an important role in providing security at night.

One of them saw the plight of the children and stepped up to the challenge.  With the help of UNICEF, he organized a school just at the edge of the camp.  There the small children meet in four large white tents and learn.  The school, of which he is now the coordinator, provides order to their lives as they would otherwise be running freely through the camp putting themselves at great risk.  

Distinguished by their purple and white striped ties, the scouts can be spotted throughout the camp, helping people, playing with children and improving life within the camp. 

Just because you don’t have job, doesn’t mean that you have to sit around and watch TV all day long.   Antony “Moffat” Njau has learned this first hand.

For almost two months now, Moffat, a trained chef, has been caretaking a halfway home for internally displaced persons that was set up in the Karen area.  He is responsible for including, “cooking, coordinating everything in the kitchen, making sure everything is running smoothly, cleanliness, everything.”  While many other people come and help, Moffat is the common denominator.

This home and others act as temporary shelters for the newly homeless, giving them a place to stay while well-wishers help them look for new homes.  For some, donations help to pay their rent for a few months as they get back on their feet. 

Moffat, age 25, is learning many new things about life, things he would never have learned in college or university or maybe even at a job.  He has learned a lot about dealing with people.  Now, his opinion is that “even if I get a family of ten kids it’s not a big deal.”  From now on for him, “there isn’t any challenge too big.”

Most recently, the house was home to 36 women and children.  “There were children everywhere you turned,” Moffat says.   Coming from two areas which saw tremendous turmoil, Molo and Timboroa, most of them were highly traumatized.  Moffat says it was so challenging because, “When they came here, they looked so desperate, emotionally, physically.  They were in real need, and we tried to change their lives and cheer them up, make them good food so they would feel at home.”

Moffat didn’t let the challenge overwhelm him, but instead took the burdens as his own.  He led daily Bible studies to help them learn more about how God could help them during this troubling time.  He prepared food to nourish them physically.  He played with the young children, bringing genuine smiles to their faces.  By the time these mothers and their children moved on to permanent homes in safe areas near their relatives, they had been changed.  The love of God, shown to them by a young man willing to put his life on hold to help them, had made a difference. 

*Note: Moffat is now starting a catering business through his contacts at Nairobi Chapel.  Recently he catered for two, week-long camps as well as graduation parties and family parties.

Responding to the human instinct to fight or flee, Christopher Okaka Olwal, escaped clash rent Nakuru by unconventional means.  

Realizing that his life was endangered after a number of his friends had been killed, Okaka, a mason, tried everything to find means to travel to Kisumu.  He found that transport by bus was only available to women and children.  Instead of giving up and resigning himself to his fate, he courageously mounted his bicycle and set off for Kisumu.

Traveling throughout the night, the trip took him a day and a half.  Without a shilling in his pocket, he went without food until he reached Kericho.  There a generous man gave him fifty shillings to get some food to strengthen him for the journey. 

When he finally reached Kisumu, he found himself at the St. Stephen’s Cathedral IDP camp.  This camp provided for and assisted over 9000 IDPs in the past one and a half months.

The camp is set on the future site of a 3000 seat cathedral, still in the building process.  Set on land which was originally a prison, the compound was opened up for IDPs at the beginning of February.  In the unfinished future cathedral, tents were set up to provide the IDPs with food, medical supplies, counseling, and spiritual guidance.  There was even a station dealing with peace and reconciliation. 

When Okaka reached the camp he was welcomed and given much needed assistance.  The camp coordinator, J. A. Osewe, assisted helped relocate his wife and eight children from Nakuru to Kisumu.  The family now has moved on to their own place but the connection with the church has stayed strong.

Knowing that Okaka  needed work, when the church decided to build permanent toilets, they hired him.  His project is just beginning but already the quality of his work is obvious.  With dusty hands, he carefully places each brick in its place and once satisfied that it is in the correct place, he slaps mortar in place and carefully scraps it smooth with a trowel.  The serenity of his face shows how happy he is to be back at work again, providing for his family and doing something he enjoys.   

Recently, I found myself in the middle of Kenya’s election violence.  I wished I were back in the safety, comfort, and even cold of the North Country.  I watched houses burn in the distance just because the owner was from the wrong tribe.  I listened to hungry children crying as they fled their burning homes, clutching only the few small items they managed to snatch before leaving.  I felt their fear when I heard angry youths were thinking about burning the compound where I was staying. 

What a difference from the simple and sheltered life I knew as a child.  Growing up in Franklin country, I never dreamed that somewhere else there were children fleeing for their lives.  I grew up innocent, aware only of local happenings.  I remember unemployment concerns, especially as winter months approached.  I thought it was a big deal, especially when it affected my dad, a carpenter.  I remember when a large grocery store in Malone closed and people lost their jobs.  But I, like many others my age growing up in the North Country, was blissful sheltered from what was happening in the rest of the world. 

My parents laughed at me when I called The Gulf War, the “TV war”.  I knew people on TV were fighting, but I had no idea people were suffering.  My ideas of suffering were not getting the latest sneakers or riding in a rusty car.  I missed Kenya’s tribal strife in 1992, and was ignorant about Rwanda’s 1994 genocide.  The word apartheid didn’t enter my vocabulary until high school; even then, I had no idea such a thing existed in South Africa before 1994.  I was simply aware of the economy around me, think about the store, factory or farm that brought a few more jobs to the North Country.  I remember talk about not using Niagara Mohawk electricity and the spike in gas prices.  Children being killed in Africa never crossed my mind. 

As an adult, I understand better the struggles facing working classes families in the North Country.  As a survivor of an African tribal “war”, I appreciate better the chances afforded to hard-working adults in the North Country.  I’m grateful to know back “home”, I will never face prejudice because of the blood running through my veins.   I hope my future children can grow up sheltered and innocent, just like I did. 

Mr. Ngenga normally runs a thriving international and local tourism business.  His two large four-wheel drive 10 passenger vehicles are used to carry adventure travelers going to climb Mount Kenya or Mt. Kilimanjaro Tanzania or hike through Masai land and see Kenya’s beauty and way of life.  His large home, with six bedrooms, usually hosts his clients while they are in Nairobi before or after an adventure. 

However, this year business is slow – the tourism industry is suffering major setbacks due to the recent violence in Kenya.  Mzungus (Americans and Europeans) aren’t risking the danger just for a climb, hike or an amazing experience; instead, they are canceling their reservations, making new ones in Tanzania or waiting for a safer time to visit Kenya.  Ngenga’s rooms should be empty. 

But they are full.  Four women, all struggling to start life again, all wondering what the future holds have, with their children, found shelter at Ngenga’s house. 

These four women and eleven children are the current occupants of Ngenga’s bedrooms but they haven’t been the only ones.  Ngenga’s house has become a halfway house and welcomed a number of women and children since the start of the election violence a little over a month ago.  These women need a place to sort through the remains of their lives, a place to look to the future and try to piece their lives back together.  Most of the women and children who have passed through Ngenga’s house come from Kenya’s largest slum – Kibera. 

Kibera experienced riots, tribal clashes, looting, burning and chaos in the opening days of the violence and throughout the past month.  The violence pitted neighbor against neighbor, friend against friend and most importantly tribe against tribe.  The constituency of opposition leader, Raila Odinga, enraged by the claims of a “stolen election,” poured their anger on their neighbors believed to have supported Raila’s opponent, President Mwai Kibaki.  Kibera was no longer safe for women and children and especially not for women and children of the “enemy” – the Kikuyu.  In the words of a Kibera pastor, “Kibera is now more that ever divided into sections with clear tribal boundaries where if you are in the wrong area and you are all alone, you might lose your life.”

As women and children fled Kibera, they found safety at Jamhuri Park (Swahili for republic).  Jamhuri Park’s main function, under normal circumstances, is an annual Agricultural Show put on by the Agricultural Society of Kenya. It is by no means, a refugee camp, but that is what it quickly became in the early days of January.  The Red Cross, NGO’s, the UN and FBO’s (faith-based organizations) all came to help the internally displaced people.  They fed, clothed, housed and sanitized at least 1000 displaced people, and probably a few more living nearby who showed up for the free handouts. 

Then the camp was closed and three days notice was given for the “residents” to leave.  But many didn’t have any place to go.  They couldn’t go back to Kibera, it was too dangerous and their houses had either been reduced to ashes or “stolen.”  Many didn’t have money to travel to their relatives’ homes and others couldn’t go because the roads they needed to travel on were too dangerous.  Many of them needed a place like Ngenga’s halfway house to start their lived afresh.

Today, three Kikuyu women and one Luhya women share the living space at Ngenga’s.  They cook together, clean together and try to figure out their lives together.  Their children play together, listen to music together and wish they could go back to school.  Esther, who should be in 8^th grade and studying hard for the big end of year exams, remarked sadly, “I can’t think about school, because there is no money for school fees and I don’t know where we will end up.”  For now, she sits quietly by herself, watching the other children (mostly boys) talk and play. 

Collins, who should be in 5^th grade, is of mixed ethnicity.  His mother is Luhya and his father is Kikuyu.  Their home was taken away when they left Kibera.  Now all his mother wants is a small house somewhere safe and to “start a small business even if it is just selling vegetables.”  Collins, like Esther, is longing to go back to school. He also would like to play soccer with his friends from the halfway house, but they don’t have a ball, or a place to play.

Members of Ngenga’s church are working on finding the women housing and possibly jobs.  Two of the mothers hope to be able to move out in a few days.  Their rooms, however, won’t remain empty long, as other women and children seeking to get their feet under them will take their place. 

For the next few days I would like to look back to where Kenya was a year ago. The post-election violence was one month old.  Kenyans were anxiously waiting for a peace agreement between President Kibaki and now Prime Minister Odinga.  But the real stories were happening in homes, churches, and villages across the country as people sacrificed to help.  The following articles are a series of articles I wrote as assignments, for the Msafara: Wheels of Hope blog and unpublished articles written for other publications.