Breaking Barriers

Today something happened that I thought would be worthwhile to share with you all. This may be a lengthy, and boring, post but I ask you to read the whole thing.

I have not written much, if at all, on this blog about people asking us (meaning AU students) for money. While I haven’t written about this on this platform it’s something I’ve thought an incredible amount about and have written quite a bit about in my journal. It’s not that it doesn’t happen – but I wanted to present these stories in a way that were able to break some typical beliefs that people seem to have about ‘Africa’.

For anyone who has ever travelled to any large city individuals asking you for money is nothing new. However, the environment in the developing world while slightly similar still holds its differences. First and foremost people are a lot more direct. They will approach you and either 1) ask for money right away or 2) begin telling you their story then eventually ask you for money. Both of these have happened, and both happen frequently. They happen when I’m walking to class in the morning, when I’m walking in the afternoon with my groceries, and even when I’m in a taxi. Usually if I’m in a group (and because of the gender breakdown the odds are I may be the only male) they will approach me. Undoubtedly the fact that I am white immediately makes me a target for these schemes. It is obvious to people we are not from here, and we are perceived as rich foreigners – even though most of us are “broke college students”.  What also stands out is the number of children asking for money or food. They have approached us and asked for money, pointed at our pockets, and then asked for food. While I frequently say I’m not the biggest fan of children, this tears me apart inside. But we have to stick to our instructions: do not give them money, and I don’t really carry food to offer them.

(Some of you may be asking why we are not allowed to give them money. There are many reasons, and each is incredibly complex but there are two main ones that we must be aware of. First, when we reach into our pocket to pull out money it reveals where we keep our money and very easily can reveal how much we are carrying. This makes us an obvious target for pickpockets. Secondly, it’s not uncommon for these children to be trafficked by an adult and forced to do this. By giving them money we are supporting child traffickers.)

During my time here in Nairobi we have already learned some survival Swahili, in addition to “sheng”, which is the slang. Our Swahili instructor taught us a phrase to use: sina chapaa leo. This means “I have no money today”, with chapaa being a sheng word for money. Our instructor told us that by using slang we are not only able to connect with the kids, but also to let them know that we’re not just tourists, we can speak Swahili, and we know what goes on. Our security coordinator Victor also recommended to me that we call the kid’s boss or chief, a sign of respect to these kids spending their days on the streets. Now this brings me to the story inspired me to write this post.

Today I went grocery shopping after class, and on our way back as I was walking with two of my female classmates we were approached by a young boy, in tattered clothes, who came up and asked me for money. He was probably around 10 or 11 years old. This was the first time I felt fully comfortable in my Swahili skills so I said “sina chapaa leo, boss” to which he pointed at my pocket and asked for money for food – in Swahili. I was able to pick up enough to get what he was saying, which made me more comfortable in talking with him. I responded “sina chapaa leo, boss. Pole”, this time adding in sorry. He asked a third time. By now the girls were ahead of me as I had slowed down to talk to the young man. I responded this time “pole boss, pole”. I was sorry. I wish I could help him. He just looked up at me. I knew it was time for me to get going and this interaction needed to wrap up.

I looked back at him and extended my arm for a fist pound.

He looked at my fist I had outstretched his way.

He smiled at me. Then, gave me a fist pound.

He smiled again and gave me a thumbs up, then skipped away.

For the few seconds following I could help but think I had made a connection with him. I not only had used my language skills to let him know I was not just a tourist, but also addressed him in a way that a friend would address him.

I can’t help but hope that he understood I wanted to help but just couldn’t. Forgive me if I am romanticizing, but it is connections like these that I cherish more than anything else. We come from two completely different environments, but in a split second we connected. Over a fist pound and a smile. I was able to break a barrier today. This is an interaction I will never forget.