Over the past two years of working in Kibera, Nairobi, I regularly encountered the numerous challenges facing residents within the “infamous slum”. The lack of proper sewage or regular garbage collection, the ever-present threat of crime, and the stops and starts of failed development projects that touch each of Kibera’s 13 villages remain constant factors in the daily lives of residents. Unfortunately, it is only these kinds of stories that make their way to the outside world – painting a picture of a hopeless condition that cannot remedied; and one that has not experienced any progress over the years towards a better quality of life for residents.
It is this unrelenting negative picture of Kibera that is being shown to the world that motivated our team at Kounkuey Design Initiative to produce a call to action that would show a different, emerging side of Kibera: the side that reveals the work that residents are doing to improve their own neighborhoods. The film below is the result of months of work and was selected as a winner of the Rockefeller Foundation Storytelling Challenge. It was a pleasure to write and produce this film with my team in Nairobi and with our colleagues at Lightbox Africa.
This film was shown to the Kibera community during a public viewing at Undugu fields on November 7th, 2015. The film was well received by residents and accompanied by a children’s dance competition and celebration. The event concluded with the final message of the film – to share stories of positive change in Kibera.
On November 20th, stories of positive change will be shared during Nairobi Design Week. To learn more about the work that the KDI team is doing with Kibera residents and for details on how to visit the Kibera during design week, you can visit Nairobi Design Week’s website here.
Having worked with numerous NGOs ranging from the smallest (of only one or two volunteers) to one of largest (with thousands of full time staff), I have grown to question the strategies with which development projects are initiated. Over time I grew frustrated that so much of the initiative rested with the donor or service provider – and communities dissolved into simple recipients.
At the small end, projects are often begin through international friendships. These are either through expats in the west seeking funding opportunities for their village back home, or someone in the tourism industry that befriends a traveler. These friendships spawn a non-profit that is often dedicated to a single community or project. While work gets done and progress is sometimes made, the individuals who initiate the project and those who fund it often do not have the expertise needed to make strategic decisions that foster further discussion, development and progress.
On the other end of the spectrum, the largest NGOs have only the best and informed goals in mind. With a well organized staff of individuals that have dedicated their lives to such work, these organizations have the resources and ability to target projects that contribute to larger macro-solutions. However, with massive budgets and constrained timelines, these expansive initiatives must often focus more on numbers of affected beneficiaries and dollars spent per month than on the diversity of challenges posed by each different community. This translates most simply to: get started, get building, get spending. As a result, the selection process of communities can be done while looking over a large map – hardly enough information to understand a community’s needs and capacity for development.
I reached a point last year where I was ready to quit working for these “others” whose strategies I did not agree with. I was ready to start something of my own: an organization that takes the time needed to do things right, allocates significant budgets (with flexible timelines) to important initiatives, and – most importantly – provides services and programs for which a community group would have to apply. Such an application process would force communities to self reflect, substantiate their needs, and propose self-authored solutions. I outlined many of these thoughts in an article published in 2010 on Engineering For Change titled “How to Write a Proposal For Work in Your Community”.
It was right at this time that I found myself in an interview with Kounkuey Design Initiative. KDI seemed to be developing a strategy that merged all of my proposed strategies and were working to perfect many of them. I signed on, and just this past week finalized my first call for project proposals throughout Kibera, the largest urban slum in East Africa.
This is how development projects should start.
The process begins with hundreds of posters distributed throughout the targeted area. These are at first concentrated around high profile (chief’s offices, district commissioner compounds) and high traffic areas (neighborhood entrances and markets). Posters are then placed around sites with development potential, and finally in quieter, residential zones. Care must be taken to publish the information in all languages (in this case English and Kiswahili), and to post the fliers in all neighborhoods. This ensures that all residents have equal opportunity to apply. The posters themselves (right) advertise information sessions that are held on different days in large public spaces. During these events, questions are answered and applications distributed.
The application itself seeks to reveal the potential of the proposed project as well as any flaws. It begins with basic questions about the Community Based Organization (CBO) such as “How many members do you have” or “Who controls the site referenced in your proposal”. These questions provide valuable information as to the capacity of the group and the feasibility of the project. The following questions ask the authoring group to reflect upon the organization’s history of community and NGO engagement. What lessons has the community group learned? (What has it not learned?) Finally, the group has to articulate its vision for the proposed project. With no restrictions as to what the project could be, the community is free to propose a sanitation facility, flood water control, an urban garden, an Internet cafe – anything. These questions and answers provide our team with the needed data and valuable perspective as we move into the selection process.
After the one month window for submissions has closed, our team reviews each submission independently (the last RFP solicited over 30 applications). This then graduates to community site visits, interviews, and meetings with area residents and chiefs. This interview and selection process can last anywhere from one to three months. It is only when site boundaries are confirmed, and the CBO, area residents and local leaders are all consulted, that an MOU is signed and design meetings begin.
This kind of competitive process is one of the best ways that and NGO can ensure that whatever project it begins is in line with community needs and desires; while also contributing to the larger macro goals of the NGO. It also ensures that if the project’s program evolves throughout the design process, solid leadership and management exist within the CBO to organize and refocus the strengths of the community. Moreover, such an application process moves a community group from beneficiaries to active participants in – and authors of – the entire initiative.
The deadline for this round of submissions is the 24th of February at 5pm. I’m looking forward to posting an update once the selection process is complete!
I am happy to report that one year later the Loita Learning Center in Kenya’s Maasai land is up and running with solar panels, a massive dish, and working internet! The project was organized by Under The Acacia and the administration of the Loita Hills Academy. A great summary of the project was recently posted on the Internet Society’s blog, written by UTA chief strategist, Dylan Mahalingham.
The beauty of the center was made possible by the people of Loita Hills.
For a complete summary of the design process, I send you to one of my earlier posts: 15,000 Bottle Caps For Africa.
This little building might not look like anything spectacular, but as I passed by it on my friend’s bike I quickly asked him to stop. The entire roof was made from what looked like antique circular shingles.
We walked up the path towards the woman in the front courtyard who smiled as she saw us approach. She lifted herself from washing clothes and we introduced ourselves. Her name was Amiya. When I started asking questions about the home, she revealed a sliver of history that told the story of this little building.
Amiya’s husband built the building sometime between 1972 and 1977. He was working as a laborer on a large construction crew that was repaving the highway between Nairobi and Mombasa. He would walk the 5 kilometers to the highway every morning to mix tar into the asphalt mixtures and to spread and compact the hot surface. At some point during his work, he struck a deal with his foreman to purchase all of the leftover tops of the tar canisters for two Kenyan cents each. Today this would be about 1/10 of a USA penny. He then carried 20 at a time back to his home over the course of two weeks.
The drum tops sit upon a wood superstructure and are fastened together with nails and bottle cap washers. Roofing systems at that time were still only made of dry grass, so this was a truly an innovation. The walls of the home, build from mud and wood posts, are in surprisingly good condition for being 35 years old – and probably constitute one of the oldest buildings in the region.
Amiya and her family live in Kenya roughly halfway between Kibwezi and Kithasyu.
As a development professional working in Sub Saharan Africa, I always adhere to the ultimate goals of my client: the community. As an architect, I try to bring new ideas and always push to raise the expectations of those I am working with, by working hand in hand with local artisans and community leaders.
The Maasai are among the most recognized of ethnic groups in East Africa due to their continued historic customs, unique social structure and beautiful aesthetic. Their territory spans between Kenya and Tanzania, alongside the Maasai Mara and Serengeti. As nomadic pastoralists, they exist within a patriarchal social system, share a religion unique to their tribe, and, contrary to many stereotypes, are very peaceful and hardworking. They are also often eager to explain the details of what makes their Maasai culture unique.
The integrity of their culture has not been sustained by accident, but rather by a deep-seated sense of identity and pride within the Maasai community. Since the early days of colonization, the Maasai have always kept western influences at arm’s length. This pride sparked action in 1975, when Maasai leadership banned western cultivation practices in order to preserve their way of life. While this ban was lifted in 1992, Maasai politicians still resist major development opportunities that would have brought roads and other infrastructure to the region. Such drastic self-imposed limitations may appear stubborn to those in the west, but this proud sense of identity has undoubtedly preserved the beauty of the Maasai environment and culture.
Even with steps taken toward preservation, for better and for worse, the lives of the Maasai are changing. The encroaching borders of game parks, the growing challenge of finding water, the emerging concern for maternal and community health, and concerns of the next generation’s future in this changing world have led many Maasai to put down roots. As a result, many emerging communities have begun to organize the development of schools and clinics. The remote community of Loita Hills is one such community.
Understanding the tribe’s customs and rich history, I realized that I was faced with an enormous challenge when I was offered the opportunity to create a library and internet learning center in Loita with Under The Acacia, an organization working on small scale development projects in Kenya. UTA had already been working with this community for three years and had established a primary school of three classrooms, a clinic, and had set up food and water program resulting in the creation of seven new jobs. The next step was to bring information – massive amounts of it – through thousands of books and a Wi-Fi internet connection.
In Loita, where education and western medicine are just beginning to take root, the idea of introducing something as foreign and as far reaching as the internet would be an enormous challenge. While the younger generation was entirely ready (proven by the fact that many had well over 1000 friends on Facebook through their mobile phones), I was concerned about the elders’ acceptance of such a project. A library is straightforward enough; the concept of the internet can be extremely difficult convey. Described as “a library in the sky”, the internet would allow the community not only to see out into this vast world, but it would also allow the rest of us into theirs. This was to be a massive step, one that would have to be taken carefully and with the entire community on board.
The question for me then became “How to create a building that that will not only provide space for these learning programs, but will also work within a process that involves the community in the design to ensure that it is accepted as a project unique to the Loita Hills Community?”
The answer lay within the culture itself.
It is the Maasai jewelry that stands out as the most iconic symbol of the tribe. Jewelry is worn at all times by both men and women, and in great quantity during special occasions. The jewelry can range from simple bracelets of solid color to elaborate headdresses of intricate patterns. The jewelry is quite complex, in that each piece, and therefore each designer, must follow a distinct set of rules. There are primary colors and secondary colors; and each color has a symbolic significance. Further, each region of Maasai land tends to favor a specific color. These regional differences lend to variations in design styles and preferred types of jewelry pieces.
I began to study this art form through various journals and textbooks, and even tried to design some of my own. Clearly though, as a white American man, I have no place assuming that I have the skills necessary to be a designer of Maasai jewelry. The only people qualified to design such a piece are those who have grown up in the craft: the Maasai women. Jewelry making has woven itself into the social structure of the women of Loita, who come together after the day’s work is done. The learning of the craft starts at a young age, and the best designers enjoy great recognition of their skills and beauty. Their art permeates everything Maasai. Here was an opportunity to bring the local women into the design process and literally make the learning center into piece of jewelry. Not only would this became the driving force behind the community’s involvement, but the building as a whole would stand as a monument to the beauty of Maasai art.
A challenge emerged: what could we use as our beads? I considered the possibility of small painted stones, but their inevitably inconsistent size could create a sloppy result. I referred back to my previous projects in other parts of Kenya, and remembered that bottle caps are used quite often as washers, wheels on toy cars, or as units on an abacus. Here was a consistent unit that had the unique shape that would stick into plaster and is available all throughout Kenya.
In initial sketches, I began to realize that if this was going to be a success, we would need thousands of caps. Living in New York City at the time, I began a campaign to collect used bottle caps. Over the course of five weeks, I got acquainted with servers at bars and restaurants within my neighborhood, taking home close to 2500 bottle caps per week. I knew I wouldn’t have enough. Some friends helped make a YouTube video that helped get the word out, and soon I was receiving boxes of bottle caps from people all around the USA. Thousands from California, New Hampshire and Georgia arrived in New York. In all we received caps from nine states. After five weeks, we had too many to count. Some strategic thinking brought us to FedEx, which upon hearing about our project, offered to send all of the caps to Kenya for free. These bottle caps eventually met up with growing collections in Kenya, bringing our collection to a total of over 70,000 bottle caps.
But how to incorporate this art form into the design of the building?
I began by studying the local architecture. In this nomadic society, architecture is largely limited to residential structures: manyattas, or bomas. Further, these structures are built to be easily dismantled for transport and/or to leave a minimal footprint. Only local materials are used, mainly tree trunks, branches, mud and cow dung. These materials are then assembled using a method similar to the wattle and daub method of spreading mud and dung over a woven framework of sticks. The typical plan also includes some unique features: tree trunk columns within to support the roof, a circular plan or rounded corners which provide structural rigidity, and entrances that turn in at 90 degrees to prevent cattle from entering the homestead. While many African tribes build huts of various styles, these characteristics are unique to the Maasai culture. In contrast, Under the Acacia’s architectural projects in Loita (3 classrooms, a clinic and 2 offices) were to be made with some of the best and strongest building materials available. The use of stone, continuous cement mortar, reinforced concrete elements, and the best roof panels available will ensure that these structures remain standing for years. The buildings are also accented with plaster finishes, pointing, and fresh paint. As much as these buildings are vibrant examples of craftsmanship and construction and are the pride of the community, they stand in stark contrast to the surrounding manyattas. Further, the stone block accounted for a large portion of their construction costs, as all materials had to be trucked into Loita from Narok, a two to four hour drive away.
This disconnect between the historic vernacular and the accepted “standard” modern building practices became the first conceptual challenge of the architectural project. After establishing the square footage requirements for a twelve-unit computer lab and a 4000-book library within the limitations of a $20,000 budget, I began to work towards a scheme that would combine and resolve these contrasting building systems. After various iterations, a plan emerged that would employ some of the characteristics of the typical manyatta plan as well as introduce a new system of construction that resembles the wattle and daub method while incorporating modern building materials. This method could then be blended with the standard confined masonry construction used in the existing
classrooms. I opted to build the main body of the structure with standard stone construction. This may seem odd, for the method was out of context, but this was the best possible approach for two reasons: (1) as a proven method in which I had experience, we would be able to guarantee successful completion of the project and better estimate the construction timeline; and (2) the masons would be working within a construction method they would be comfortable in for the majority of the project. Therefore the method of stone construction served to secure the spaces in strength and constructability.
As the plan developed, it became clear that the reading/meeting area created a structural challenge. At 24’x18’, it would be a large space, and require some special considerations to achieve the roof span. It became apparent that columns could be necessary, which could potentially fracture the space I had originally intended for gatherings. This challenge however, soon became another opportunity for further incorporating Maasai traditions and culture. Oleng’oti meetings among elders are held regularly, and always under the shade of a tree, to discuss local issues and marriages and to settle disputes. With some creative structure, we would be able to create a permanent meeting space that would reference the Oleng’oti tradition while providing needed structural support for the large roof span.
This reading and meeting space and stone structure was then complimented by a curved feature wall of wattle and daub construction to define the circulation corridor between the spaces. It was this curved wall that became the ideal palette to become a wall of Maasai jewelry.
At the beginning of the project, the women organized themselves to into groups to sort the bottle caps into colors and sizes and to prepare designs for the installation.
The election of three group leaders , Nalepo, Memotie, and Kerembe, by all the village women not only ensured that the three women’s enthusiasm would spread to everyone, but it also gave the design team structure and direction. Four weeks into the project, we had two designs for the wall. Chosen for the outside was a common pattern that used all of the colors of the Maasai palette, and incorporated white, the most popular color of Loita beadwork. The interior pattern emerged as an extremely traditional and unique geometric design that is found only in Loita. Once the designs were completed, I got to work estimating the quantities of colored caps that we would need (20,000 white, 8,000 red, etc.), and used this information to purchase proper quantities of paint. After one week of painting, we finally reached the convergence of the construction progress of the masons and the hard work of the women. For four days, a massive assembly line went into operation, with the masons plastering one section at a time, and the army of women following installing thousands of bottle caps, one at a time.
Throughout construction, the women (and many of the men) were amazed with what was happening. After five weeks of planning, designing and coordination, the Loita Learning Center had taken shape into something that no one had ever seen before, yet spoke a language that everyone understood.
Materials and local labor costs for this project came in at $20,000, or $18.00 per square foot. A relevant, yet challenging, cost comparison would be to a typical government-funded school construction project. When the Kenyan Ministry of Education commits to building a classroom, a grant of $7,000 is provided, which translates to about $12.00 per square foot. Thus, the Loita Learning Center project cost $6,500 more than a “standard” construction project in rural Kenya of the same size.
This project however, is far from standard.
It is always difficult to justify any increase in cost when working with donors and organizations that are faced with the challenge of raising money. A skeptic may challenge a project such as this one by asking “Why build that building for the cost of ‘x’, when you could build two lesser quality structures and reach twice as many people at the same cost?” This is a logical question – but the wrong one. If we as investors in Sub-Saharan Africa allow ourselves to lower our standards for what can (and needs) to be achieved – such expectations can very well seep into the communities themselves. Such a result would then undermine any and all efforts to initiate sustained growth. Allocating additional yet measured funds towards a higher quality of construction, towards a process that involves the community in construction and design, and towards an elegant finished product can have long lasting effects that can improve lives beyond any statistical measurement.
Since completion of the GreyStone Learning Center in November of 2011, the community has declared the reading area to be the new and official meeting space for matters of Oleng’oti, and the women of Loita can point to their creative expertise as the driving force behind the building’s unique design; a design which has begun to draw numerous elders from over the horizon. Once the internet and books arrive in Loita, news, information and learning software will become available, and word of something special in Loita will continue to spread.
As of January 2012, UTA’s partners are on the ground in Loita working to install solar panels, set up a Wi-Fi connection, and to ensure the internet café business model is off to a good start. The funds for this equipment is possible by a grant from The Internet Society. Adele’s Literacy Library is also in the process of resolving logistical issues in sending the thousands of books that will supply Loita’s new library. Completion is scheduled for the end of February, 2012.
Upon learning of the Liter of Light concept in July of 2011, I realized that this idea was so good that it could be applied well beyond the slum settings where it was introduced. The concept is simple: fill a 1 liter clear plastic bottle with water (and a small amount of ammonia to prevent bacteria build up), then place the up-right bottle into a hole in the roof – allowing light to diffract through the water. This not only prevents hot “sun spots” from occurring throughout the day, but it also distributes enough light to be compared to a 55 watt light bulb.
This simple method can be applied to larger buildings and is particularly useful for libraries and classrooms. In this project in Loita, Kenya, we installed a series of these “sky bulbs” throughout the building. Since completing the structure, the community has collected more plastic bottles for installation in other spaces of the learning center and in their neighboring classrooms.
In the previous post Building a Kitchen in Kenya: $0.00, I detailed the design and construction process of the project. I also mentioned that many of the masons were taking notes throughout construction, and have since built numerous iterations of the smaller stoves.
Some of the neighboring school administrators have since stopped by and expressed interest in building a version of the larger industrial-sized stove, though I had not left a set of drawings detailing the design. I have since sent this complete construction document to my friends in Usalama, which has allowed them to begin building large stoves in the surrounding communities. Any comments that you may have would be much appreciated.
I take pride in creating sets of drawings that present clear and logical directions with minimal need for language. This method of illustration has begun to find its way into other projects of mine that are heading into construction.