Inappropriate

Eldoret Showground is one of the largest IDP camps in Kenya. Approximately 12,600 IDPs (Internally Displaced Persons) have found temporary shelter here.

Showground, it sounds very inappropriate. But the name of the stadium was already well known, long before the terrain was turned into its current capacity. The show that nowadays is running continuously here represents the daily reality of (in this case) Kikuyu families who have fled their homes during the post-electoral violence. Now these families are housed in tiny tents, provided for by the numerous aid agencies that operate in this area.

Like a real show, the camp is tightly directed. Tent after tent is pitched orderly, row after row, field after field. In between the tents there is a space left of barely 20 centimetres; the rows are separated by a path that measures 1 metre at the most. The mud roads that lead through the camp are wide enough to accommodate the trucks and 4WD’s of the aid agencies.

The corner of each block of tents is marked by tents hosting the sanitary facilities, neatly separated in areas for gents and for ladies. At the end of the terrain big rectangular tents are pitched, serving as temporary schools. Almost all teachers are volunteers, often IDPs who hold a teaching degree. Meals are provided at regular hours.

The persistent story is that IDPs do not want to return to their origins, the places where they have been chased away from. Rumour has it that they feel staying in the camps is all quite convenient: no rent to be paid, while meals and schooling for their children are provided for.

Once faced in reality with the circumstances in the camp (a reality that is even more shocking than the images on television and in newspapers suggest), this is a view that is really hard to believe. Even for Kenyan standards, these people barely have a decent space to live in, lacking any form of privacy. The sight of the camp is gloomy, especially with the torrential rain of that moment. The terrain has turned into one big slough. On the clothes lines that are set up provisionally, the laundry is literally dripping from the never-ending rain. Where on earth does one find shelter in this place – and be satisfied with it at the same time?

And here I find myself, ploughing through the mud in the pouring rain, wearing my Madonna-dress and high heals. Even in that respect I am hardly prepared for the conditions of this camp. This visit came without prior notice, leaving me no time to change my official outfit. Quite inappropriate, yes... so who seems to be out of place here?