Packed clay underfoot, rocks creating raised obstacles, rivulets of runoff rainwater (or wastewater?) carving out crevasses in the pathway, patchwork corrugated tin and scrapwood homes packed tightly together and standing so low that I have to stoop my 5’2” frame to enter, the reek of the nearby dumpsite permeating the air. Korogocho Slum, Nairobi, Kenya.
This is a story about the slum. It is not a story of poverty. Not a story of loss or deprivation. Not a story to elicit crocodile-teared sympathy that results in manipulated responses.