Death in Life

I walked through blocks 1, 2, and 3 today in Basateen. It's an area on the south-eastern edge of the slum. People refer to it as Kismayo because of the fact that most residents are originally from that city in southern Somalia. It's next to the paved road, close to the dump, main well, and big primary school.

A coworker told me it's where the "real refugees" live. By that I think he meant the people who are suffering the most. I'm not sure if there's an accurate way to judge that but after a few hours walking around I could see what he meant.

At one point I felt overwhelmed by the filth and heat. The shacks seemed to close in on each other. My eyes stayed fixed on the ground as we walked through tight alleys. I tried to avoid the feces and burning garbage. I wondered how deep people have to reach to find the strength to bear that existance day after day.

We walked up to a school where we could hear kids reciting. As we approached the building to look inside, a small boy ran in front of us to look first. On the back of his shirt was written "Death in Life."

Just one of those things.


- Michael