All you can see are shacks and tin roofs. There are waves of them rolling over the hills in Kibera. The sight is claustrophobic. The smell is unnerving. And the trash is everywhere. Every step I took, I felt spoiled with my fancy camera hanging around my neck and the new sneakers I purposely bought to wear on this trip. I walked over trash, through muddy streams filled with things I didn’t want to know about, around dogs and chickens, all the while standing out like sore thumb as “kizungu” (swahili for “white girl”) was muttered when I walked by.
0 Confessions of an Unprepared Kizungu: Meeting Poverty in America and Africa