Korogocho, Nairobi - Part Two

The Chief

When we arrived at Korogocho, we were led into a small room outside the office of the “chief” (she proudly handed out her card and it said, simply, “chief”) – the person who nominally “runs” the district. The chief is a garrulous solidly-built woman in her late forties named Rebecca Balongo, and our guide for the day, Clement Otembo, told us that “without her assistance, nothing can work.” It wasn’t particularly clear to me what she does exactly, but my guess is that she puts what government money there is to work in various ways, and applies rabbinical skills to settle disputes. In short, she is a one-woman city council.

We met the chief and she asked us to wait in the little room, and she disappeared into her office only to reappear a few minutes later in full uniform, complete with epaulets, tassels, and a military-style beret. Her short, straightened hair with brick red highlights added a little stylish je ne sais quoi. Oh, and she carried a gold-tipped stick. I noticed during my twenty four hours in Nairobi that traffic police all seem to carry a blunt object as well – some seem to favor thick bat-like jobs that look like they come out of a riot gear catalogue – others seem to go for speed and agility with long, thin metal numbers. In any case, authority appears to come accompanied by the capacity to bop you on the head and make it hurt.

As the chief welcomed us, head after head peeked into the room, just to get a glance at the weird interlopers – a group of about a dozen people, including seven or eight non-Africans.