Page 8 of A Beginner's Guide to Forever
Soon, graffiti and litter in the streets signal that we’re getting closer.
“Places like this shouldn’t exist, but once I knew that they did, I found it impossible to look the other way.”
As the car rolls to a stop, the landscape shifts dramatically.
There’s a sprawling maze of rusted tin roofs that stretches as far as the eye can see. Narrow alleyways, crowds of people, secondhand clothes hanging from lines, and a chicken who trots along unbothered by the children chasing after him with a stick.
It’s dirty and crowded, and for so many people—it’shome. I’ve learned a lot working here. There’s a strong sense of community, and the people are some of the friendliest I’ve met in the world. Their ability to stay positive and resilient when their lives are filled with insurmountable challenges can really make your own troubles seem trivial in comparison.
“We’re here,” Edmund says from the front seat.
There’s a quiet stillness about him when I look over at Hart. An understanding that I didn’t expect.
Chapter Three
To Find Yourself, You Must First Serve Others
We’re here.
Hart’s eyes swing from mine to the passenger-side window, where he gazes out at the foreign world we’ve entered into. He takes it all in, quiet, observant.
Kibera is like nothing else. There are endless piles of trash and garbage strewn all over the place. There’s a main road running through the center of the village, and on each side of it, thousands of shacks have been built with scraps of corrugated metal, pieces of wood, cardboard and even mud. There’s no apparent order to it. It’s chaotic, sensory overload.
My parents didn’t try to shield me from the problems of the world, not even the big messy ones. Poverty. Epidemics. Suffering. I was well versed in it all by the time I reached thirteen. Maybe that’s why I feel comfortable gallivanting all over Africa and traveling alone for long stretches of the year. It’s all I’ve ever known. But I highly doubt Hart has ever set foot in a place like this one.
Edmund parks the car, and we step out to explore. The smell is awful. Human waste. Animal feces. Rotting garbage. Dirty water.
“Is it safe?” he asks, noticing Edmund, who is not just my driver but also my bodyguard, trailing a short distance behind us.
“There are rumors of past violent crimes and kidnappings, but it is actually quite safe. The most you have to worry about is someone snatching your phone or wallet.”
Feet from us, a goat eats a piece of a brown paper bag. Hart watches it curiously, smiling and shaking his head. I have long since grown accustomed to walking the streets of Kibera, but seeing it through his eyes is illuminating.
It’s a truly humbling place filled with extreme poverty and struggles that most Americans could never begin to understand. The crease in his forehead as he surveys our surroundings tells me that he’s processing all this in an instant.
“How did it get this way?” he asks.
It’s a complicated question with an even more complicated answer.
“Officially, Kenya doesn’t even acknowledge this area exists. There’s no city-provided services. No sewer system, no garbage service. And there’s a million people packed into just a few square miles.”
As we walk, I tell him more. He’s a very captive audience.
“The unemployment rate is around eighty percent, and there’s no electricity, so they burn coal for power. There are drug problems, lack of health care creates many issues, and HIV affects almost twenty percent of the population.”
“That’s tragic.”
I peer over at him, surprised by the emotion in his voice. It really is. “But every child speaks perfect English, and they value education above everything else. The people here believe that there are two things essential for having a better life—God and education.”
He nods. “I imagine when you don’t know where your next meal is coming from, you’d have to put your faith and trust in something greater than yourself.”
“The church services here are incredibly moving. Their worship songs are especially beautiful.”
I show him the area where I plan to build the school—right here on the edge of the slum. I want to make the school as accessible as possible, and if the girls have to travel far distances, many of them would not make the journey.
“We can’t start delivering or staging building supplies for the school—they would be immediately stolen. It’s a logistics nightmare, honestly. We have to bring in what we can use one day at a time.”
His eyes widen in acknowledgment.
