Third World: As seen on television

This morning I left with Stellah on a journey to her family home in Kaguku. Stellah is the 19 year old house girl (maid) to Wambui’s family and has been very kind to me ever since I arrived. We catch the matatu to Thika where we meet her mother, Agnes, and little brother of four years, Eric. After a quick shop in one of the supermarkets we head to the matatu stage for the next leg of the journey. Squashed into the bench seat of the front, our bags, Stellah, Eric and I, it quickly becomes evident this trip is going to be cramped in the usual matatu style. Made worse by the lack of operateable windows, I’m already feeling stuffy and hot. The constant interruption of hawkers tapping on my window as we sit waiting to leave isn’t helping. Finally we depart and within 10 minutes leave the bitumen never to find it again until we are to return two days later. The road the entire way is either dirt, sand or just plain rock that rattles the vehicle to a point it becomes deafening. We pass on either side 1000′s of acres of pineapple plantations and at regular intervals groups of kids carrying bundles of fire wood or large containers of water, both suspended on their backs with rope around their foreheads. Another matatu has stopped up ahead to reattach its sliding door after it had succumb to the road surface and dropped off it runners. Around an hour and a half later we arrive in a town called, according to the post office, Ithanga. It consists of a couple of densely packed blocks and not much else with most of the community living on the mountain sides that surround us.

The main street of Ithanga. The vans in the front are matatu's.

I stand around for some time meeting the occasional stare from the locals to whom a white man is a rare sight. Stellah, her mother and various other characters discuss, as far as I can make out, the cost of transport to their home. We will go by motorcycle which here they call Boda Boda and once the discussion is over a bike pulls up begins strapping some of our luggage to the back. The rider then sits Eric on the gas tank in front, Stellah climbs on behind and I squeeze in between her and the luggage. Stellah’s mum will follow behind with the rest of the gear. The ride is along sandy dirt tracks, some with large ruts and potholes, that wind up into the mountains. I’d be impressive with the rider’s ability to navigate these roads alone let alone with three passengers and cargo. 20 minutes later we stop at the beginning of a goat track that heads down into a valley for the further 10 minute walk to the family home.

The track to Stellah's home (the roof of which you can see on the other side of the valley).

The house is set just up out of the dry creek bed we cross to reach it. It’s largish for the area set on a tiered 1/4 acre block cut into the slope and surrounded by chain link fence. The house is brick with a sitting room and three bedrooms accessed through a single door.

The kitchen. Pretty much a fire place in the corner of a room with a dirt floor. The chickens that were roaming around sleep in here at night.

The kitchen is attached to the side with another room attached to that. Only the sitting room has a floor of concrete with the rest providing bare earth. A radio is tune loudly to a local station thanks to the small solar panel on roof. Here I meet Stellah’s other brother of around 15, William, and another boy of maybe 17 or 18 who helps at the house, Paul. Stellah, the oldest of four lost the eldest of her brothers to illness in December last year.

Left is William, then Eric - Stellah's brothers. Paul is on the right.

We have a lunch of cabbage and rice and then I go for a short walk around to explore the area. In the evening, after dinner by the light of a single paraffin lamp, we go down into the creek bed to fetch water. There is a puddle in a low point between some rocks that forms as the ground water slowly seeps. We carry three drums down to the creek to fill.

Collecting water at night.

It’s around 10:30pm and I’m told if we don’t get the water now by 4am it will be gone as others come in the early morning for their own supplies. This water, filled with leaves and debris is used for washing clothes, utensils and ourselves, for drinking there is a dwindling supply of rain water stored at the house. With only enough to fill two of the containers we return and retire to sleep. The next day after breakfast (3 slices of bread and some tea) we head to Stellah’s grandmothers house, a 30 minute walk down off the mountain into the valley below.

Stellah's Grandmothers house. Some of Stellah's Aunts and Uncles live here as well.

It’s Sunday, the day of rest, and there are many men sitting around drinking moratina (sp?) to “pass the time while we are idle”. Moratina is a self brewed type of beer with the recipe changes from region to region. Here it was made from sugar cane, honey and the flesh of a large seed pod off a local tree. It was slightly sour but not unpleasant to drink. I spent time talking to the men as lunch of ugali, cabbage and the chicken caught and killed in front of me a few minutes earlier was being prepared.

Drinking with the men to pass time while idle. The one in the blue pants is Stellah's uncle.

We eat and after taking some photos, of which I promised to send copies, we leave to start the walk back home. Stellah and another girl who accompanies us are carrying maize given by her grandmother in a basket wrapped in a large scarf and tied over their shoulders. As we are climbing up the hill we pass a girl who has a large drum of water suspender over her back via a rope around her forehead. She is also carrying two smaller containers of water in her hands and is struggling up the hill. I feel guilty about not carrying anything, at Stellah’s insistence, so I take the two from her hands and continue the climb.

In the late afternoon William and I go out to retrieve the goats and cows he had led to feed that morning. The four cows are tied up on an open piece of land boarded by two deep gullies that meet up a little further on. It’s a good 20 meter drop to the bottom and I stare in amazement as girls climb up and down the other side carrying the now familiar drums to fetch water from the bottom. We release the cattle and walk them to a river bed to drink from the dirty puddles that remain passing many others doing the same. The cattle know the way home and at their own pace make their way only to stop every so often to sneak a bite from the maize fields that dot out path. A swift accurate rock throw from William quickly moves them on. After retrieving the goats in much the same fashion we eat dinner and I’m asleep before they leave to fetch the water. The next morning Paul takes me for a hike to the top of the ridge on whose side I have spent the last days. It’s a climb of a constant steep grade on sandy rocky tracks. We pass a few home scatted about and as we reach the top the view is amazing as I look back over the wide valley these people call home. On the other side of the ridge is another wide valley with two large ridges jutting in forming a gateway to the larges dams that can be seen in the distance. There is a smaller dam closer by with people working the maize fields planted there. We can’t stay long as we’re due back for a quick lunch before we depart once more.

The view from the top of the ridge.

The journey home is relatively pain free with the matatu provide working windows this time.

Rolling in a matatu. Laws were past to limit the number of passengers and improve the quality of the vehicals. Police checks on the roads are constat but a little something slipped out the window by the driver ensure no trouble.

I thank Stellah for inviting me along to see her home. To be made welcome by her family and community was truly an honor.

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