by Janet Wagner

ow’s this for a summer holiday: six weeks in East Africa’s largest slum, living amid open sewage, abject poverty, and frequent riots; contracting a mild case of malaria; and often feeling imperiled. That’s just what Rye Barcott, who graduates from Carolina this May, endured last summer while conducting field research on youth culture and ethnic conflict in Kibera, outside Nairobi, Kenya.

You might think that Barcott would never want to clap eyes on Kibera again, but he plans to return for three months this summer. It’s not that he’s inured to the hardships and dangers of Kibera—it’s that Barcott has resolved to help Kibera’s young people pull themselves into a better life.

How does a guy from Rhode Island develop a passion to aid people half a world away? The impetus was 1994 TV reports of genocide in Rwanda; the perpetrators were largely young males between 15 and 25 years old, and Barcott couldn’t fathom how people his age could engage in something so horrific. "I remember being glued to the TV and wondering how it could happen," Barcott explains.

At Carolina, he seized all opportunities to satisfy his curiosity about conflict, conflict resolution, and Africa. He pursued bachelor’s degrees in international studies and peace, war, and defense, and studied Swahili. He was involved with the Triangle Institute for Security Services, editing a manuscript, "Conflict in Africa," with Carolyn Pumphrey, the institute’s program coordinator. With Jim Peacock, professor of anthropology, and graduate student Carrie Miller, he authored the American Anthropological Association’s statement on ethnic cleansing.

In 1999, he was selected as one of five Burch Fellows and decided to use the fellowship to conduct field research in Rwanda. "I wanted to understand the cause of ethnic conflict," Barcott says, "and for that I’d need to study youth culture." Shifts in Rwandan politics forced him to change his plans. "Since I speak Swahili, I wanted to make sure that I was somewhere in East Africa," Barcott explains. He settled on Kibera—a 620-acre conglomeration of huts that 1.3 million people call home.

hen he arrived in May 2000, Kenya was emerging from its worst drought in recorded history. "It was total chaos—much worse than I’d expected," Barcott says. "Most Kibera residents thought I was crazy to have left prosperous America for Kibera and wondered what they could get from me."

A Good Samaritan deed made life a bit safer. "During my first week there," Barcott recalls, "I was in Nairobi and spotted a mob surrounding a man and accusing him of theft." He managed to escort the man to safety. As luck would have it, the man’s brother is the leader of one of Kibera’s strongest gangs. An ensuing acquaintance with the grateful gang leader gave Barcott a bit of protection. Even so, life was never a lark.

"I was mugged twice," Barcott says, "and there were a lot of confrontations because I was the lone white person, and people were suspicious of my motives." He gained a modicum of security because his ability to speak both Swahili and Shen’g made him an enigma to the slum dwellers. (Shen’g is slang devised by young slum residents that’s part Swahili, part mother tongues, and part American rap lyrics.) For an extra measure of safety, he moved between four friends’ homes, never staying more than a few consecutive nights in one place.

Next: "children play beside open sewage and garbage"

© 2001 Endeavors, The University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. All rights reserved.