I need to vent. This article got my gall. As I read it I wondered, are there no standards of decency in journalism!
The headline caught my eye. The title suggested it was a story of hardship in Kenyan slums... There was a photograph of an African woman, head and shoulders. I presumed it was an account of her struggle against the odds. Nothing prepared me for the effrontery that followed.
It starts with a description of the woman's place of origin: Western Province. There follows a sensational portrayal of the Kawangware slums where the woman resides, juxtaposed with the plush neighboring Lavington suburb for effect.
I identified with the writer 's account of "hundreds of thousands of people who struggle to survive in the shantytowns speckled throughout the schizophrenic city that also boasts air-conditioned shopping malls where you can enjoy free wi-fi with your latte."
The situation of Kenya's urban poor is preoccupying; the failure of the authorities to address it is a constant source of criticism. During a recent visit to Nairobi, I head a slum-dweller as on the radio: are we really Kenyans?
But that is not the issue here.
I felt mild irritation as I read that "...the interview was difficult -- Veneranda speaks almost no English so every question had to be translated from Swahili." The woman was fluent in Luhya and Swahili! Getting past my irritation I read on... only to experience a surge of indignation.
I'll spare you the details... but be my guest: http://www.independent.ie/lifestyle/in-an-ironroofed-kenyan-shack-veneranda-mudi-talks-to-the-irish-independent-3080738.html
How dare a journalist show up at your house--I don't care if it's a mabati shack... How dare anyone harras you to establish the identity of the father of your child! The nerve! I feel incensed, violated on her behalf. All for a scoop? I could just throw up.
The headline caught my eye. The title suggested it was a story of hardship in Kenyan slums... There was a photograph of an African woman, head and shoulders. I presumed it was an account of her struggle against the odds. Nothing prepared me for the effrontery that followed.
In an iron-roofed Kenyan shack, Veneranda Mudi talks to the Irish Independent
It starts with a description of the woman's place of origin: Western Province. There follows a sensational portrayal of the Kawangware slums where the woman resides, juxtaposed with the plush neighboring Lavington suburb for effect.
I identified with the writer 's account of "hundreds of thousands of people who struggle to survive in the shantytowns speckled throughout the schizophrenic city that also boasts air-conditioned shopping malls where you can enjoy free wi-fi with your latte."
The situation of Kenya's urban poor is preoccupying; the failure of the authorities to address it is a constant source of criticism. During a recent visit to Nairobi, I head a slum-dweller as on the radio: are we really Kenyans?
But that is not the issue here.
I felt mild irritation as I read that "...the interview was difficult -- Veneranda speaks almost no English so every question had to be translated from Swahili." The woman was fluent in Luhya and Swahili! Getting past my irritation I read on... only to experience a surge of indignation.
I'll spare you the details... but be my guest: http://www.independent.ie/lifestyle/in-an-ironroofed-kenyan-shack-veneranda-mudi-talks-to-the-irish-independent-3080738.html
How dare a journalist show up at your house--I don't care if it's a mabati shack... How dare anyone harras you to establish the identity of the father of your child! The nerve! I feel incensed, violated on her behalf. All for a scoop? I could just throw up.
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