Educator survives scare in slums of Nairobi

By Lois Knapton

Director, Special Education

Derby Public Schools

Violated…violated…

Well, it finally happened. 

Let me preface it with I am unharmed and safe, in my temporary home in Africa.  

I have been in Nairobi for two months, and I venture out into the slums at least three times per week, we often need to wait on the side of the street to “jump” on a Matatu, to get to the next school.

 I am careful, always with one to three Kenyans, my hands are empty, my cell phone is hidden deep in my pocket, no purse, no handbag, we walk with a purpose, steadily, and quickly, watching all around us. But today was different.

            

           I and one other Kenyan staff slowly walked toward the main road to wait for our Matatu. It is a very busy place. Many people were roaming around, some waiting for the bus, some getting on or off, vendors selling their items, glue-sniffing people begging for food, homeless kids wandering around, and Matatus picking up and dropping people off, slowing down and speeding up. 

        I am used to many eyes watching me. 

        But today, I could see a young man eyeing me in a different way.  It seemed like he wanted to see what he could steal. I laid my arm over my pocket where my cell phone was tightly tucked away and crossed my hands in front of me. I turned away as he brushed past my shoulder. 

       The Kenyan staff was very keen on him to. We waited. Trying to stay calm and brave is a very difficult thing to do when you are raked with fear.
       So many things could happen out here. We had placed ourselves so only one side of me was open to the street. As I was convincing myself everything was OK, suddenly from behind my left shoulder, a right hand whipped in front of my face, grabbing the necklace I was wearing around my neck. 

      He yanked hard, the necklace broke free from my neck, and the two thugs calmly walked away, looking back over their shoulder as if to say, “Ha, we did it”… they were arrogant and defiant.

 I was stunned.  I just stood there, like a statue, watching them walk away, I wanted to run after them and start screaming, but I simply turned to look at everyone else who saw it, no one moved or spoke. The Kenyan staff with me was devastated.  She apologized and I said it was not her fault. We walked back and waited for our friend. They spoke in Kswahli.  They were very sorry it happened.

     Then, as if nothing had happened, we went right back the same spot, to get on a Matatu, to go to the staff training we had scheduled for the day.  As I rode that Matatu, my bravery suddenly turned to cowardess and I could feel the tears swelling up in my eyes. I felt so violated, my neck felt like it was scratched. I saw the whole thing happen again and again, they were so fast. So direct. So deliberate. Kenyans truly believe that all Americans have lots of money.  It could have been worse, they could have pushed me down, emptied my pockets, stole my shoes and anything else that is removable.  It was just a necklace, but that was not the point.

            Then my mind started racing, as tears slowly rolled down my cheeks
           What in the world am I doing here; living in a culture that struggles to survive on a daily basis, walking through areas where homeless children roam aimlessly for years, until they start sniffing glue to numb the pain, babies cry out for the mother they do not have, children play in the black sewer water that runs down the middle of the area, pregnant woman carry huge loads on their head or buckets of water, vendors sell food with flies buzzing around, people are starving, sick, begging, dying, daily. 

           And I think one lone soul can make a difference.

           At first thought, I said maybe I should give up and go home early.  Just get on an airplane and leave all this behind. I have done all I could do here.
          But then that small, quiet voice spoke to me, always so calm and convincing; you know what, I am making a difference, and I will persevere through this. 

In every success, there are stumbling blocks, and hurdles we must jump.  Nothing is ever easy, trials and tribulations are the joy of living, just think if everything was easy, no problems, no worries; life would be so boring. 

 But when I am in the middle of a life-lesson trial, it feels so difficult.  But in the end, I come out fighting, feeling strong and courageous again, ready to conquer the world and continue my mission.

Epilogue:  Two days later, the Executive Director called me down to the front office of the main building we work out of. He wanted to see me immediately. As I walked toward his office, my mind was racing; what had I done wrong, did I say something wrong in the teacher trainings, were they going to send me home, was I pushing too hard for a Resource Room? Why on earth would they want to speak to me? God only knew.

     I entered and sat down, while three people stared at me. I was so nervous. Then he pointed to his desk so I would look down, “Is that yours?”

 There was my necklace, the one that had been ripped off my neck two days ago, in the slums….I could not decipher my emotions…I was in awe. He asked me to look closely; he wanted to give me plenty of time, to see if it truly was my necklace.

 It was, and it was not broken. Then one of them made a phone call to let someone know it was my necklace and everyone rejoiced. The necklace had been sold and was retrieved. 

The details of the return will remain undisclosed, but I will tell you it is extremely rare for stolen items to be returned.  This truly was another miracle. 

Sunrise in Kenya

Editor's note: Knapton is on a three-month mission working with special needs students and their parents in Nairobi, Kenya. She is sharing her experiences here each week.