Kibera

Based on Wikipedia: Kibera

A City Within a City

Six kilometers from the gleaming towers of downtown Nairobi sits one of Africa's most extraordinary urban phenomena—a neighborhood where as many as a million people have built their lives in an area the Kenyan government doesn't officially acknowledge exists. Kibera, whose name derives from the Nubian word for "forest" or "jungle," is Africa's largest urban slum. But that single word—slum—fails to capture the complexity of a place with its own villages, radio station, newspaper, and century-long political history.

The numbers themselves are contested. When the Kenyan government conducted its 2009 census, officials counted just 170,000 residents. Previous estimates had claimed one or two million. A door-to-door survey by independent researchers suggested something in between—perhaps 235,000 to 270,000. The discrepancy reveals something important about Kibera: it exists in a kind of shadow, both visible and invisible, depending on who's looking and why.

Born of Empire

To understand Kibera, you must first understand the peculiar colonial logic that created Nairobi itself. The city was founded in 1899 as a railway headquarters—a temporary administrative outpost for the British empire. Colonial administrators never intended it to be a permanent home for Africans. They brought in workers from across the continent and from Asia under short-term contracts, as indentured labor, to build railways and fill lower-level government posts.

Between 1900 and 1940, the colonial government passed a series of laws designed to control the movement and residence of these workers. The 1922 Vagrancy Act, for instance, allowed authorities to arrest, evict, and expel Africans found outside designated areas. Nairobi was carved into zones: European residential holdings in the center, "native reserves" pushed to the edges. Permits were required to live in the city, and these permits segregated non-Europeans by ethnic group.

Kibera began as one such segregated settlement. In 1904, Nubian soldiers returning from service with the King's African Rifles—a regiment of the British colonial army—were allocated plots of land in the forested outskirts. The location was no coincidence: it sat on military exercise grounds, close to the regiment's headquarters along Ngong Road. The British allowed the settlement to grow informally, perhaps because the Nubians had no claim to land anywhere else.

Over time, other groups moved in, renting land from the Nubian landlords. As Nairobi's economy developed with increasing railway traffic, rural migrants flooded into the city seeking wages. Kibera grew.

The Problem That Wouldn't Go Away

By the late 1920s, colonial administrators were already debating what to do about Kibera. The settlement had grown within the zone reserved for European residential holdings—an embarrassing proximity. Proposals were made to demolish and relocate it entirely. The residents objected.

The Kenya Land Commission heard numerous cases referring to what officials called "the Kibera problem." A 1931 Colonial Report noted the segregated nature of housing throughout Kenya, describing good conditions for Europeans and widespread slum conditions for everyone else. But despite decades of hand-wringing, nothing changed.

Then Kenya became independent in 1963, and the new government faced a difficult inheritance. Certain forms of housing were made illegal, and this new ruling affected Kibera on the basis of land tenure—the legal right to occupy land. Overnight, the settlement became an "unauthorized" place. But people kept living there. By the early 1970s, landlords were renting to far more tenants than the law permitted. The tenants, desperately poor, couldn't afford legal housing elsewhere. Kibera's unauthorized rates were the only ones they could manage.

The Ethnic Chessboard

Kenya's ethnic politics have always shaped Kibera. By 1974, members of the Kikuyu tribe predominated, controlling administrative positions through political patronage. Then demographics shifted. Internal migration from western Kenya brought waves of Luo and Luhya peoples. By 1995, Kibera had become predominantly Luo, while nearby Mathare Valley became the Kikuyu stronghold.

This shift coincided with Kenya's return to multiparty politics. Raila Odinga, a Luo leader who served as Member of Parliament for Langata—the constituency containing much of Kibera—became known for his ability to mobilize massive demonstrations on short notice. His political base lived in Kibera's densely packed villages.

The ethnic tensions are not abstract. When President Mwai Kibaki was re-elected in 2007 amid accusations of electoral fraud, violence erupted across Kenya. Kibera, with its mix of ethnic groups packed into tight quarters, became one of the flashpoints. The tribalism that pervades Kenyan politics has led to numerous small ethnic conflicts throughout Kibera's century-long history.

Today, the neighborhood represents all major Kenyan ethnic backgrounds. A survey broke down the population roughly as follows: Luo at about 35 percent, Luhya at around 30 percent, Nubian at 10 percent, Kikuyu at 7 percent, and Kamba and Kisii making up smaller shares. Certain villages are dominated by particular groups, creating a patchwork of ethnic enclaves.

The Landscape of Poverty

What does daily life look like in Kibera? A 2009 survey by the French Institute for Research in Africa found that the average resident earns less than two US dollars per day—the international definition of extreme poverty. Unemployment is rampant. Twelve percent of the population lives with HIV.

Clean water is scarce. Two main pipes serve the entire settlement. The Nairobi Dam, an artificial lake that once supplied drinking water to the city, now sits polluted along Kibera's southern border. Most families lack access to basic services: electricity, running water, medical care. The government, which owns all the land Kibera sits on but refuses to officially acknowledge the settlement, provides no public schools, clinics, or lavatories.

The sanitation situation is particularly grim. Kibera is contaminated with human and animal feces due to an open sewage system. Residents resort to "flying toilets"—plastic bags used for defecation and then thrown as far as possible. The lack of sanitation, combined with poor nutrition, accounts for widespread illness. A local organization called the Umande Trust has begun building communal toilets that capture methane gas, turning human waste into cooking fuel for residents—an innovative solution born of desperate circumstances.

Cases of assault and rape are common. Building materials cannot be left unattended because they will be stolen. Owners of storm-damaged homes must camp atop the wreckage to protect their salvageable materials from thieves.

Built on Garbage

One of Kibera's most remarkable features is what lies beneath it. In many areas, the ground is literally composed of refuse and rubbish accumulated over decades. Dwellings are constructed atop this unstable foundation. When flooding hits—and it hits regularly—structures collapse. Well-built buildings are often damaged by the collapse of poorly built ones nearby.

The topography compounds these problems. Few houses have vehicle access. Many sit at the bottom of steep inclines, increasing flood risk. Any construction effort requires carrying all materials in by hand, making even minor improvements expensive and difficult.

Between 2006 and 2014, researchers measured a 77 percent rise in the number of buildings in parts of Kibera, with density increasing by 10 percent. Yet the organic structure—the pattern of building blocks and pathways—remained essentially unchanged. Growth happens not outward but upward and inward, filling every available space.

A Self-Organized World

Despite the hardships—or perhaps because of them—Kibera has developed its own institutions. Pamoja FM, a community radio station, advocates for slum upgrading throughout Nairobi. The Kibera Journal, published since 2006, trains young people in journalism while covering issues that affect residents. The Kibera Black Stars, a local football team, runs educational projects.

Schools have emerged organically. Some began as baby care centers and evolved over time. Most are classified as "informal" and operate without government regulation. A few government schools exist—Olympic Primary School is considered one of the leading public schools in the country—but most families cannot afford even basic school fees. The Tunapanda Institute offers free courses in technology, design, and business skills. The PCEA Emmanuel Technical Training Centre provides vocational training for self-employment.

The Uganda Railway Line passes directly through Kibera's center. Passengers aboard the train get a firsthand view of the slum, a jarring juxtaposition of movement and stasis. Kibera has its own railway station, though most residents rely on buses and matatus—the shared minivan taxis ubiquitous throughout East Africa—to reach the city center.

The Nubian Claim

Remember those Nubian soldiers who first settled Kibera in 1904? Their descendants haven't forgotten their history. The Nubian community maintains a Council of Elders who serve as Trustees of a land trust. This trust now claims all of Kibera—over 1,100 acres according to their accounting, though they acknowledge that state-sanctioned allotments have reduced their holdings to around 780 acres.

The government doesn't accept these claims. Its rehousing program envisions a land extent of around 300 acres for the claimed Nubian settlement—less than half what the community says it holds. Neither side has left room for negotiation.

The Promise of Transformation

On September 16, 2009, the Kenyan government launched an ambitious scheme to remake Kibera entirely. The plan called for clearing the slum over two to five years and rehousing all of Nairobi's slum residents within nine years. The project had backing from the United Nations and from Prime Minister Raila Odinga, who represented the area in Parliament. The projected cost: 1.2 billion dollars.

The new communities were designed to include schools, markets, playgrounds, and other facilities. The first batch of around 1,500 people left the slum that September morning, departing by truck from 6:30 AM local time. They were rehoused in 300 newly constructed apartments with monthly rent of around ten dollars.

Prime Minister Odinga was there personally, joined by the Housing Minister and his assistant, helping residents load their belongings onto trucks. Several dozen armed police officers stood by to oversee arrangements and deter any resistance.

But the process immediately ran into legal challenges. More than 80 people filed suit, and the Kenyan High Court ruled that the government could not begin demolition works until the cases were resolved. The transformation of Kibera—promised for so long by so many—remains incomplete.

The Most Studied Slum

Kibera occupies a unique position in global urban studies. It sits in the center of a modern African capital, visible to anyone passing through Nairobi. UN-HABITAT—the United Nations agency for human settlements—is headquartered nearby. Ban Ki-moon visited within a month of his selection as UN Secretary-General. Researchers, journalists, NGO workers, and documentary filmmakers have made Kibera one of the most scrutinized informal settlements on Earth.

This attention has produced both benefits and complications. The Map Kibera Project, launched in 2008, sent trained local residents door-to-door to survey physical and socio-demographic features. They developed their own methodology, gathering census data on over 15,000 people and mapping 5,000 structures, services, and infrastructure in the village of Kianda alone. Their findings dramatically revised earlier population estimates downward, suggesting that many previous figures had been little more than guesswork based on aerial photographs.

Meanwhile, NGOs like Maji na Ufanisi work alongside the government and UN-HABITAT on upgrading efforts. But every improvement project faces the same three obstacles: pervasive crime that makes leaving materials unattended impossible, unstable ground that causes structures to collapse, and cramped topography that prevents vehicle access.

What Kibera Reveals

Kibera is often described as a problem to be solved—a blight to be cleared, an embarrassment to be hidden from view. But it might be more accurate to see it as a symptom and a solution simultaneously. It is the physical manifestation of a century of failed urban planning, colonial segregation, and post-colonial neglect. It is also the ingenious response of hundreds of thousands of people who needed somewhere to live and built it themselves.

The residents of Kibera are not victims waiting for rescue. They are people who have created schools where none existed, built communal toilets that generate cooking fuel, established newspapers and radio stations, and organized their communities village by village. They have done this while earning less than two dollars a day, while lacking clean water and electricity, while navigating ethnic tensions and political manipulation.

Whether Kibera will eventually be transformed into the high-rise residential district that planners envision remains uncertain. What's certain is that whatever replaces it will need to account for the complex social fabric that has developed over a hundred years—the village identities, the ethnic communities, the informal institutions, the economic networks that let people survive on almost nothing.

Kibera began as a forest at the edge of a colonial railway town. It became a village for soldiers without a homeland. It grew into a city within a city, home to more people than many national capitals. It remains, above all, a testament to human adaptability—and to the consequences when cities fail to plan for everyone who needs to live in them.