The Fire Beneath Our Feet

I was born and raised in Kibera, a place often reduced to headlines of poverty and despair. But those stories miss the heartbeat of my home. Here, among iron-sheet walls and muddy paths, I’ve witnessed girls and young women burn with resilience, brilliance, and unyielding drive. Our reality is woven with struggle, yes, but also with joy, sisterhood, and fire.

Being a girl in Kibera is like dancing on a tightrope. We study by flickering candlelight, lead in spaces that try to silence us, and some become mothers before they’ve fully become women. Yet we show up—in classrooms, community meetings, marketplaces, and boardrooms. Our hunger for success isn’t just ambition; it’s survival. It’s our legacy.

I’ve seen girls sell mandazi at dawn to buy schoolbooks. Young women lead cleanups, then care for siblings at dusk. Girls hide their periods because pads cost too much, yet walk into school with unshaken dignity. We hustle—not for applause, but to keep moving forward. We dream big, even when the world sees only our struggles.

Access to sexual and reproductive health information remains a distant dream. Without knowledge of our bodies or rights, we’re left vulnerable. Early pregnancies don’t stem from recklessness but from systems that fail to educate and protect us. Society writes off young mothers, but I’ve seen them carry babies on their backs while acing exams. That’s our spirit—unbreakable.

Menstrual hygiene is a luxury here. When families prioritize food over pads, girls miss school or hide their shame for something as natural as a period. We’re fighting back—distributing pads, sparking conversations in homes and classrooms—but it’s not enough. We need policies, funding, and voices that center girls’ needs.

Economic empowerment isn’t a buzzword; it’s survival. When women gain skills or income, they become leaders and changemakers. A small earning shifts how a woman speaks, dreams, and stands. We need more programs for girl-led businesses, skill-building, and resource access to fuel this transformation.

But don’t mistake our struggle for sorrow. Kibera pulses with joy. We dance at weddings, sing boldly during campaigns, and hold each other through pain. Our community, imperfect as it is, brims with heart. We walk together, share meals, and lift one another up. This sisterhood fuels our fight for change.

I write not from pity, but from pride. Kibera is my home, and this is the reality of its girls and young women. We aren’t waiting to be saved. We’re leading—through hardship, through love, and with fire beneath our feet. Together, we rise.

The Lived Realities of Girls and Young Women in Kibera

By Mugeni Baraza