Nairobi is a city of contrasts
A touching testimony from Sr. Marietha Joakim, Nairobi, Kenya
When I reflect on my experience of helping the poor, I do not begin with theories or Church documents. I begin with the streets of Nairobi, with the people I meet every day with faces that are easy to pass by, yet difficult to forget.
Nairobi is a city of contrasts.
Tall buildings, busy roads, and signs of development exist side by side with deep poverty. In recent times, the number of homeless people and beggars has visibly increased. At every traffic stop, outside supermarkets, along major roads, and near churches and mosques there are people asking for help. Some are elderly, some are children, many are young adults who should be in the prime of their strength but have nowhere to go.
So far, my personal experience of helping the poor has been very simple. I feed those I can when I have something personally or in collaboration with the community. Sometimes it is a meal, sometimes a small amount of money though I am aware it is discouraged.
Sometimes I offer only a few minutes of listening. I feel deep compassion, especially for women who sit by the roadside early in the morning, hoping someone will hire them for casual work. Each time I see them, I feel helpless, I know that by evening many of them will return home empty-handed.
There are moments when someone asks only for transport money, to go home, to look for work, or to attend to a family matter. Once in a while, I am able to help, and I see relief and gratitude. But very often, I walk away with a heavy heart, aware that what I offered was too small or that I could not offer anything at all.
The reality of Nairobi also makes helping the poor complicated, not everyone begging is genuinely in need. Some people take advantage of the situation; there are cases where physically challenged people are placed on the streets and used by others to collect money. At times, it becomes difficult to know who is telling the truth and who is not.
In a city like Nairobi, love does not mean being naïve or careless, but it does mean refusing to become indifferent. Even when I am unsure, I am invited to see the person first, not just the problem or the risk. The Church teaches us that there is an “inseparable bond between our faith and the poor” (Dilexi te, n° 36).
This bond is not easy; it places us in uncomfortable situations where there are no clear answers.
My feeling of helplessness is part of this bond, it reminds me that faith is not only about doing good deeds, but also about allowing myself to be disturbed by suffering. I am particularly moved by the idea that the Church should have “no enemies to fight but only men and women to love” (Dilexi te, no. 120).
In Nairobi, the poor are often treated as a nuisance, people to be chased away, ignored, or blamed. Yet, Christian love calls me to see them as persons with dignity, stories, and wounds, even when I cannot solve their situation.
This way of loving connects deeply with our Charism and with the spirit of Cardinal Lavigerie and Mother Marie-Salomé, who responded to suffering not from a distance, but through closeness. They believed in the dignity of every human person, especially those reduced to silence by poverty and exploitation.
Mother Marie-Salomé, in her quiet faithfulness, teaches me that love does not always act loudly or visibly. Often, it acts through presence, patience, and consistency in small things.
My experience with the poor in Nairobi teaches me humility, I am not the one who saves. I am a fellow human being trying to remain open-hearted in a complex reality. But I believe that even a “simple, heartfelt gesture of closeness and support” (Dilexi te, no. 121) allows the poor to hear, in some small way, the words of Jesus:
I have loved you.”
Living in Nairobi has shown me that loving the poor is neither simple nor clean. It is messy, uncertain, and often frustrating. Yet, it is precisely here that Christian love becomes real. Not in perfect solutions, but in refusing to turn away, not in having all the answers, but in allowing compassion to guide our choices.
The Church that the world needs today is one that dares to love without limits, even when love feels weak, incomplete, and fragile. This is the path I am learning to walk: with open eyes, a questioning heart, and small acts of faithfulness rooted in the daily reality of the city.
