Krokoyili : A Slum Community With A Cocktail Of Issues

a group of kayayei resting

They were having a conversation while taking a rest behind Games Palace, on the Accra High Street. It was incredibly sunny, and a bunch of kayayei were seated at this basement trying to put themselves together.

Poor me! I could not understand a word. Can you blame me? I do not speak Dagbani.

It was the first time I had been curious to have a hint of what the convo was about. I had always seen scores of these kayayei at bus terminals and market centers, be it rainy or sunny, unperturbed by the sometimes harsh weather conditions, carting heavy loads on their heads from one place to another.

I approach the girls and after a battle with the twi language on their part, I gather that they live around Agbogbloshie. My curiosity pushed me to attempt finding out exactly which part of the market they lived, and then my journey began.

About a hundred meters away from arguably the most popular foodstuff hub in Accra, opens up a channel leading to the suburban slum.

Agbogbloshie itself has over the years been noted as a destination for dumping electronic waste and other forms of waste materials. That was evident as thick dark fumes clustered in the atmosphere, and made vision somewhat difficult, no wonder it was ranked the world’s most toxic and largest electronic waste dump .

entrance into Krokoyili

an e-waste scrap dealer at agbogbloshie

Few meters on, I get to Krokoyili, a slum here in the city capital. The name according to Adamah, a slum dweller I meet means ‘a chief’s area, palace or residence’. The population of this irregularly arranged settlement numbers over a thousand individuals, largely consisting of migrants from the three northern regions and some other rural areas who have come to seek pastures green in the capital.

ACTIVITIES
Despite glaring lack of some basic amenities and the insanitary conditions here, as well as the health risk from the fumes emanating from burning electronic waste, inhabitants are full of life and are seen going about their economic activities.

Wooden structures, barely secure are the homes of these slum dwellers. A better place to lay their heads after each hectic day, unlike their less fortunate colleagues who have to put up under bridges, at lorry parks and market places at night. A look at the plight of female porters (kayayei) .

unfortunate kayayei sleeping on the street

Again it is open secret that slums in the city serve a lot of the time as haven for robbers, prostitutes, drug peddlers, among others. But, Krokoyili may well not be a slum, high in criminal activities.

The youth are seen carrying out various activities. Some weaving cane baskets, others operating a television center where they take 1.50p from customers to watch a football match, the ladies are seen preparing food for sale later in the evening, those who have motor bikes I am told are off to the Agbogbloshie market for business, many of whom I saw on my way to the community.

While a number of the girls operated a table-top saloon, others did petty sewing for other inhabitants at a fee.

a slum dweller weaving cane baskets

Many kayayei live here, and rightly so, all of them are not home. They are busy in the markets carting people’s loads from the markets to their destinations.

busy day for krokoyili slum dwellers

I enter a compound where Adamah lives with many other kayayei. She tells me she did not go to work because of ill-health. All her friends were out in the market. I find out from her whether she has seen a doctor, and it appeared as though I had offended the gods.

She looks at me and shakes her head. Going to hospital is more of a luxury here than a necessity. Even if there were a health center here, Adamah tells me she would not attend.

Mobile drug vendors are those that serve their health needs, besides all she needs are a few tablets of analgesics to relieve her pain, which Iddrisu carries around for sale.

children of kayayei in an unkempt 'room'

Then, I wondered how many more people here were being ‘killed’ by these medicine sellers who do not have any medical locus whatsoever to dispense drugs.

Adamah's slum home

As the conversation wore on, I spotted many children in an enclosure, some eating, some sleeping, others playing. Ndaa, a sixty year-old nanny is responsible for keeping watch over these children.

During the day, she uses her room as a ‘children’s home’ where she keeps children whose kayayei mothers are gone for work. This is how she makes a living in the slum. She charges one cedi per child, 1.50p for two and two cedis for three. During the day, she keeps watch over these kids, and feeds them before their mothers return to pick them up after work.

Those that are slightly older, she teaches them Arabic songs and local Arabic poems. This is the slum version of a ‘pre-school’ run in the urban cities. Access to free compulsory basic education as enshrined in the constitution of the country seems unheard of here, leaving me to question the provision which makes basic education a right, and not a privilege in these parts of the country.

The conditions under which these children are kept is worrying. The room itself appears unkempt, while some children had peed and ‘pooed’ on themselves, others had their noses running.

Once the many kayayei living in this slum took the decision to migrate down south, inadvertently, they made the decision to become teenage mothers.

According to a 2010 survey of kayayei conducted by the GHAFUP (Ghana Federation of the Urban Poor) ,an affiliate of Slum Dwellers International, and Peoples Dialogue on Human Settlements, the majority (58%) of 15,000 respondents were engaged in some farming prior to their migration.

Out of this number, only (11%) had attended some basic school, while 13% had been idle. The low attendance is inconsistent with the spirit and intent of the Ghanaian constitution, especially when youths in the northern regions are supposed to have access to free education even at the Senior High level.

While those that fall victim to rapists and unscrupulous characters get pregnant, other get deceived by men, who promise them a better life, sleep with them and abscond.

Adiza and Majia are both seventeen year olds who have a daughter each. They tell me their husbands are in Tamale, leaving the burden of upbringing on the tiny shoulders of these girls alone in the city. Asked whether their husbands send them monies to assist cater for their children, the response as expected was a big NO!

There are however a few of these girls here whose boyfriends and husbands live with them.

City family structure here is distorted, as on a daily basis, everyone wakes up and goes to work. There is hardly a time when mother, father and children can share the moments together.

To get a bucket of water here to bath costs 40 pesewas, to use the public bath house here costs a further twenty pesewas just as it costs to use the loo.

In all, before inhabitants set out for the day’s activities they well have to spend 80 pesewas to have access to basic amenities. You can imagine what would become of those who cannot genuinely afford this on a consistent basis.

An average dweller spends about eight cedis everyday on amenities and food here.

Despite all these inconsistencies, inhabitants find time to strengthen neighborhood ties. They gather around a television to watch the now popular television series, La Gata, at least to entertain themselves and laugh off their stress. Occasionally.they travel to their home villages and families especially during festivities.

During these times, such as Christmas ,Easter, and the Muslim Feasts, those who do not travel, organize themselves and go for trips to some recreational facilities to chill.

With time, some of them get employed as trading assistants, watchmen, house-helps, chop bar attendants and the like. Some after gathering an appreciable amount travel back to their home villages, others also learn a trade or two; hairdressing, sewing, bead-making etc.

It is not all doom and gloom.
For some, this slum would be their dwelling until such a time when city authorities would ask them to vacate the place, a situation they dread.

The people are cool, friendly and welcoming. My visit demystified a lot of things that hitherto I thought were features in all slums. In every community, though, there is bound to be a bad nut, and definitely this slum is no different. But looking at the bigger picture, the prospects of some of these individual slum dwellers look bright. Their ambitions - genuine.

Leaving the community however left many questions lingering on my mind.

Do these inhabitants have any hope for a better tomorrow?

Where would help come from?
How would they get social amenities like water, health care facility, and toilets without having to pay on a daily basis for these?

When will be doomsday for them, when city authorities come by to demolish their places of abode?

Where would they turn to?
For how long would the kayayei living here continue the kaya business at the expense of their young children?

As for education, it is least the residents here are concerned about, but what will become of these children, our future leaders?

Notwithstanding all the challenges confronting dwellers of this slum, they see some light at the end of the tunnel, however dim it may be.

Kingsley Komla Adom
The writer is a Journalist
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