Community Outreach with REPACTED

Hello hello.

Yesterday I accompanied ten members of REPACTED on one of their community outreach programs to the Nakuru slum of Lumumba. We met at the theater at 10 oclock, and at 1030 we set off, walking down the slightly sloping hillside on which Nakuru is situated. As a general rule, the farther downhill you go, the lower the levels of development, health, and standard of living tend to be. In keeping with this, about 10 minutes into the trek we left the last paved road and began walking along a fairly well-graded dirt and gravel track.

I should mention that all of the roads downtown are paved and relatively free of potholes. As you move even just a few blocks out of the city center some of the roads turn into gravel or dirt. If you leave the city up into the surrounding hills, there is usually a few paved roads to follow. Moving downward, there is only one, and the roads radiating off of it are often of very poor quality. Even higher up towards the city there are a few roads that I would never attempt in a car that nevertheless receive a great deal of traffic. Also, the majority of people here travel around the city by walking. Pedestrians have what little "right of way" there is. Actually, that is kind of untrue, since anyone on a bicycle has the ability to severely injure a pedestrian in a collision, so they are usually afforded preference. I think the most accurate way of understanding the situation is to compare it to a game of rocks-paper-scissors: Car beats Bicycle, Bicycle beats Pedestrian, Pedestrian beats Car.

Anyway, as we moved along the street I made note of a rather unusual situation. Even though we were entering an area where thousands of people live in tight, unsanitary conditions without any significant employment or education prospects, there was a neat row of newly erected, futuristic street lights on the other side of the gravel lane. Dennis explained that they were a project of the municipal government that had been initiated only a few months ago. I interpreted this as a positive sign of development and growth. Other members of the group were more cynical. They reminded me that we are only a few months away from an election, and that this project was only very recently undertaken. This street is one of the most commonly traveled roads from the lower part of the city, making this project a highly visible sign of the benevolence of the local elected officials. Worse, Dennis observed that there are no signs of any electrical wires having been installed above or below ground. All agreed that this is a clear but unpublished message from the government: elect us again and we'll finish this project. Otherwise, no light. I was quiet for some time while I thought all of this over.

As we got closer to Lumumba, we turned onto a smaller dirt lane than the one we had been on before. The houses around us grew smaller and closer together, although the number of animals living between them somehow seemed to multiply. Goats and chickens repeatedly spilled out into the road before us, although cows were now missing from the picture. The houses in this area no longer had any form of wall or gate between properties, instead having barely enough room for strings of over-worn laundry to drape from one doorway to another. The structures themselves were also made of less impressive materials. Tree branches replaced ordinary lumber as the main construction material, and mud often served instead of mortar. However, there were a few stone buildings, and in general the place had a better feeling than Kibera or the slums I had seen in Morogoro outside of Dar Es Salaam. Even so, the deep stone gutters that run along all Kenyan roads (to prevent flooding in times of heavy rain) were caked with filth and garbage, and the water that ran in between had a disgusting green and milky quality. This was not a prosperous community.
A typical drainage channel in Lumumba.


As we walked along a great number of young children came out to admire the strange group of well-dressed youths walking with an mzungu (the not-really-derisive-but-not-always-entirely-comfortable word for a white person). The only English the kids learn in their very first year at school is how to greet the teacher every morning: "how are you." Thus, the only means they had of communicating with me (the assumption is universally made that an mzungu does not know Swahili) was the shouting of this phrase as loudly as possible. Therefore, we were met with a chorus of sloppily-pronounced "howayoooo!"s (Mixed with a good number of overeager "Mzungu!"s) as we finally arrived at the outreach location.

"Mzungu!"


At first I was surprised that the group was going to perform at such an inconspicuous site. They call their process "Magnet Theater" because the concept is that a loud and hysterical performance will draw a crow like a magnet, allowing for the important discussions and information sessions that follow. But I had no idea that they would really literally start from scratch, in an otherwise unimportant crossroads where only a few young people skinning potatoes for to be sold for chips (fries) could be considered potential audience members.

Unfazed, the group set off into the surrounding areas, drumming up a little attention with one-on-one interactions and jokes. 15 minutes later, there was a very small assemblage forming, and a few people were peeking out from buildings and down narrow lanes to see if there was indeed anything worth paying attention to. We gathered back into a group in the middle of the intersection, with the members speaking too rapidly in Swahili and other local languages for me to understand. Something important was going on, but not yet being completely fluent, I felt a little left out. One of them began to clap a pattern. Casually, as if it weren't at all important, others began to join in. Each clapped at his or her own rate, with it evolving into a rhythm slowly, over time. I joined in as things evolved, trying my best to appear equally casual, and most importantly, trying not to ruin anything that I did not understand. After some time, Rolland, a group member, began to shout sporadically. Others responded with similar cries of celebration or joy. A full out chant began, with occasional pre-rehearsed choruses and unification surrounded by sections of free-form improvisation. The beat intensified and dance began to play a part too. Members would pass into the circle for a short time and be featured, and then recede back into the crowd, much like at an American club. I had a few opportunities to feature some of my patented CTC-Dance Party moves. I also wondered what the hell I thought I was doing. But it was too late to back out now, as a crowd was forming. In fact, as an mzungu, I couldn't be entirely certain that I was not a significant part of the attraction (especially for the group of a dozen or so small children who had assembled just outside our circle immediately behind my back.) And the smiles and laughter of the REPACTED members assured me that I was not out of line.


Some of our audience members.
In fact, the group seemed to be having as much fun as the audience as the song took the form of an improvised call and answer session, in which the caller rotated around the circle and the lyrics continued to tease and poke fun at the various members of the group. (Mercifully, I was never called upon to improvise in Swahili, as that might have found a way to be even more of a disaster than the dancing.) A crowd was rapidly growing, and the "magnet" part of the theater was a success. But unfortunately, due to our late starting time (it was now 12, and these outreaches are usually begun at an earlier hour when those left home are not preparing food for the return of family members at work in the city), the crowd was still only around twenty or thirty. They decided not to do a full theatrical performance, and just use this moment to do "one on ones" in which members would chat casually with the locals about their health questions and concerns. An announcement to this effect was made by Mapet, one of the other senior members of the group, and our circle dissipated after a little more than twenty minutes of performance. Now came the test: to see if our magnet's attraction had been strong enough to interest people in what we had to say.

As you would expect, many people immediately returned to their homes. But several re-assembled around the young people peeling potatoes, and a few group members immediately went over to talk to them. After shaking many tiny little hands and allowing myself to be thoroughly inspected by children who had probably never seen a real live mzungu in person before, I went over to listen.

Many questions came up in the next half hour, from questions about water and sanitation to Tuberculosis and even just basic nutrition, and the group members handled them all ably and comfortably. They provided comprehensive, helpful answers in accessible Swahili, putting the questioners at ease. Some took a little prodding to get started, such as one man who wondered if drinking alcohol too often would make him unhealthy. As the group grew more comfortable, questions about HIV and requests for condoms (which were filled until our supply ran out) started to emerge. I was amazed at the ability of the REPACTED members to deal with each thing in turn without giving lectures or turning anyone off. In fact, they often preferred to allow other community members to provide information when possible, fueling the discussion only when needed. This is part of their organizational philosophy: allowing the communities themselves to address the problems instead of bringing answers from afar.

A Discussion group with two REPACTED members and a bunch of locals.

It was an incredible sight to behold, and as I walked away at the end of the session (once buffeted by tiny "howayooo"s), I was overwhelmed with my good fortune to have been placed here with this group.

All in all, a very good day.