ESSAY |  Millicent of Kibera

Same-letter names for siblings were trendy when and where I was born. As a result I was the youngest child of four M’s—Mitchel, Michelle, Michael, and, of course, Millicent. But my mother didn’t settle for the just the singular letter ‘M’.

Leave it to my crossword-loving mother to ensure each of her children’s names shared five exact letters—M, I, L, C, and E—a detail only the most obsessive observers catch (or those who shop the Penny Press Puzzle book section of Walgreens, like my mother does).

Mitchel, Michael and Michelle with their top-ranking baby names didn’t require much research or rumination.

But, I was her “blessing” child, the word blessing was her kind euphemism for my unexpected existence.

Caught by surprise, my mother was forced to scrounge for feminine names that would fit into her anagrammed master plan.

As the story goes, one night a moment of divine inspiration struck my mother. And, as with most divine revelations, it appeared mid-dream and mid-night.

She sat bolt upright and announced - with all the certainty of a prophet - “Her name will be Millicent!” to my still sleeping father.

She’s always had a flair for the dramatic.

It was one of the things my father loved most about her, at least most of the time.

So Millicent I became, never to meet another, until I arrived in Kenya.

For the first time I had the pleasure of meeting other Millicents. And, these were not what you’d expect. They weren’t of the tea-drinking, blue-haired octogenarian sort.

These were young and charming Kenyan Millicents.

At St. Lazarus School in Kibera, a settlement in the heart of Nairobi, Kenya, I met one of my favorites.

From a nearby hilltop, taking in the expansive view of Kibera, the iron-roofed homes of the settlement spread like a rusty patchwork quilt that stretches expansively outside the city of Nairobi.

Beneath this oxidized metal canopy, children navigate narrow, winding alleys of clay-packed paths to make their way to leanto classrooms enclosed by corrugated walls.

The metal walls allow for few windows.

There, inside the dark classroom of St. Lazarus, I met ten-year old Millicent who greeted me with a smile that illuminated the shadows.

Midday, the children, finally in sunlight, gathered around Millicent like moths to a flame.

A favorite activity of children in Kibera and throughout Kenya is the call and response of the schoolyard circle.

Children form a ring and call the others to take their turn to perform their improvised dance moves inside the gyrating circle.

When her name was called, with all the confidence in the world, Millicent jumped in the center of the rhythmic ring and showed off impressive moves.

“Ahh,” I thought, “that’s is why the kids flock to her.”

But then, her dancing slowed, her broad smile split and she released a voice that soared over rusty rooftops, beyond the corrosive canopy ceiling and away to the distant city streets of Nairobi.

She was magnetic with confidence, joy and strength of her presence.

“Oh, this is why the kids flock to her,” I corrected myself.

Inspired by this girl’s effervescence, I wanted to know more about our shared name.

And, I wanted to know, more curiously, why so many Millicents in this African nation?

Thus enters again the plot thread of Western domination, a thread woven through much of African troubles.

Colonized by the British in the 19th century, Kenya’s culture still holds remnants of imperial rule. Schools of Kibera are filled with children bearing British names such as Millicent, Beatrice, and Margaret.

A more lasting and devastating legacy is the very settlement of Kibera, which stands as a testament to some of the worst practices of British colonization.

In the early 1900s, Sudanese soldiers of Nubian descent were brought by the British to Kenya to reinforce British military forces. Eventually, the Sudanese men found themselves fighting for the Queen against the German offensive in The Great War. This use - or abuse - of Nubian soldiers lasted through WWII.

Finally, after the wars - stranded -the men were forced to make their homes in East Sub Saharan Africa.

The British ruling power of Kenya considered their former soldiers, a "denaturalized" tribe - the label conveniently preventing the Sudanese’ claim on any land in their newly forced home of Kenya.

An African continent and hemisphere away from Sudan, the disenfranchised men were given the forest around Nairobi to occupy and settle.

They named the land Kibra, Nubian for forest.

For years, these World War “warriors by proxy” were never legally recognized as landowners or citizens by the British rulers of Kenya, the government for which they fought.

As the century progressed, the forest of Kibra or Kibera grew from the original Nubian population of 3,000 to a present day estimation of over 1 million people. Soon nearby Kenyan citizens of Nairobi realized the unclaimed settlement land was cheaper than any other, and these Kenyans settled alongside the alienated people already sequestered to the forest of Kibera.

Over a century later, the forest has become a densely populated Central Park-sized plot of land packed with countless displaced people living in crimped metal walls of hastily improvised leantos.

It’s not that the Kiberans don’t want more stable homes of wood or brick.

It’s that these corrugated makeshift homes have one advantage: they can be hastily deconstructed.

With just a few minutes of a warning, Kiberan “homeowners” can disassemble the walls of their leantos and hide any evidence of habitation.

It’s an essential survival skill for living in Kibera.

Considered squatters by the government, Kiberans have no legal rights to their settlement shelters. With little warning and with little cause, their homes can be torn down by the Nairobi police.

With too little warning and no time to pack up, the Kiberans are forced to watch their only shelter deconstructed; the thin metal walls of their family home tucked under the arms of policemen and carried away.

Then, these homeowners must start all over, scouring the settlement for corrugated sheets, rope, and, hopefully, enough wood to support another shaky structure.

Their disenfranchisement extends to more than just their homes.

Few Kiberans qualify for critical government resources. Already living on the margins in most aspects of life, this access to support can be a matter of life and death for people desperate for sustenance, education and health care.

Lasting legacies of western colonization like the Kiberan settlement explain so many of the seemingly inexplicable conundrums of the African continent.

Though it’s easy to visit and overlook this historic cause and effect - you might have to dig to find these links to Western domination - but, with a little excavation, you’ll likely unearth colonial relics still corroding the lives of the Kenyan people.

Relics like the deprival of health care for the concentrated impoverished population of Kibera - this settlement is a study in almost every public health crisis.

Since an estimated 25% of the population is HIV positive with little access to care and prevention, orphans abound. Without parents, the children of the settlement are vulnerable for exploitation - and infection.

Abuse and human trafficking are common paths of HIV transmission in Kibera.

Despite these seemingly insurmountable obstacles, the hardworking and determined "citizens" of Kibera persevere, fighting for employment, medical services, and the hope of an escape out from under the claustrophobic metal quilt.

Under the canopy, like their parents, determined and impossibly joyful children walk to the schools provided by churches and other charitable organizations. These schools are funded entirely through donations.

The uniformed schoolchildren rarely miss school where they may eat their only meal of the day.

Their faithful attendance is about more than a lone peanut butter and jelly sandwich though, these students are eager and determined to learn.

Once the students are seated in their desks, a teacher calls a roll filled with names like “Oliver, William, Charles, Victoria, Elizabeth, Eleanor”.

Hearing their name called for attendance, the students proudly answer “present” to names passed down from the heroes and monarchs of British history.

Ten-year old Millicent answers “present” when she hears her queenly name. She too is named for royalty. I knew this much about our name.

During the era of the Crusades, a reputably benevolent - but fierce - queen ruled Jerusalem for her English kingdom. She was Queen Melisende.

While I knew this bit of historic trivia of Queen Melisende and Millicent, I’d yet to take time to research the name.

Until Millicent inspired me.

Millicent - An Olde English name is a combination of the elements ‘milde’ meaning gentle, and ‘ry’ meaning strength or might. Sometimes interpreted to mean brave hearted.

Absorbing the meaning of the name, thinking first how appropriate it was for the girls of Kibera, and then remembering the random inspiration of my mother who sat up in bed, and, apropos of nothing, announced a name far removed from our southern roots, I couldn’t help but wonder, was my mother’s dramatic proclamation actually ordained?

Was this name meant for me?

Was I meant to be here, at this time in Kibera?

For this to be my first time to meet Millicents and for the name to belong to these girls, this Millicent, I knew I was.

And I knew it was, the name was meant for her, for us, even, for me.

It felt like a christening.

This meaning, and this name, her name….our name, and this attachment I felt for the girl who so embodied brave heartedness felt fated.

Even and especially, our meeting felt…fabled.

The juxtaposition of this moment seemed like a divinely inspired fable.

When the profound moment and my thoughts passed, I was left humbled.

For my unexpected and beloved namesake, I had little to offer.

Soon I would be leaving her there in Kibera where she would face seemingly insurmountable odds and certain life-threatening situations.

Even for brave Millicent of Kibera, the odds seemed daunting.

I felt sick to leave her and the other children.

But, finally, it was time and I left them with little more than all my love.

And, though I wanted to take her with me, all I could take with me of her were my prayers: a prayer for her survival, then, having survived, a prayer for Millicent to thrive.

I prayed that she could live, would live. and then, I prayed that she would like her voice, soar.

Then having beaten the odds, that Millicent would write her own story, one that might take her outside of Kibera, and then perhaps wind her way back to help those left behind.

It seemed like something Millicent would do.

I knew enough of Millicent that, if just given the chance to survive, this would be her kind of story, a mythical journey worthy of a benevolent and fierce medieval queen’s name.

If just given the hope that comes from having the basic conditions to survive, this girl would take care of the rest.

She would thrive.

She would write that story, take that journey, and be her own hero, and a hero for others.

I knew she could.

I knew she would, because she was already a hero to me.

If Millicent can survive.

Essay Data:

Written by: Millicent Smith