A strong stench of rotting waste lingers in the air above the vast Dandora dumpsite in Nairobi. A steady stream of worn-out trucks, overloaded with garbage, rumbles in and out, adding to the chaos of the scene.
Among the first to welcome newcomers is a flock of marabou storks, scavenging alongside human beings in a desperate struggle for survival.
We are here to meet Andrew—a young man who claims to have been born in the United States, a land known for its wealth and opportunities, yet now spends his days rummaging through heaps of waste at the dumpsite.
Dressed in a stained dust coat, Andrew wears a plastic helmet, seemingly meant to protect him from falling debris. However, the battered state of the helmet suggests it offers little protection.
“My name is Andrew, and I was born in the U.S., in the state of Minnesota,” he introduces himself, his words carrying a distinct Black American accent.
Andrew recalls arriving in Nairobi from America in 2019 when he was about 13 years old.
“I came with my father, my stepmother, and her other children,” he explains.
However, adjusting to his new family setup after his parents’ separation was difficult. The struggle to fit in pushed him to make a drastic decision—to carve his own path upon arriving in Nairobi.
“I ended up as a street child not long after coming to Kenya. I wandered the streets of Nairobi, trying to survive on my own,” he shares.
The experience, he says, was nothing short of brutal. One of his biggest challenges was the language barrier, as he couldn’t speak Swahili.
“I had no Kenyan phone number, no phone, and I didn’t know anyone here. The streets were rough and merciless. I was bullied a lot,” Andrew recalls.
“People must have found it strange that I spoke differently and didn’t understand even a single word of Kiswahili,” he adds.
After months of roaming the streets alone, Andrew, who has a deep passion for rap music, met John—a street-savvy young man known as ‘Jonte’ among his peers.
John took him under his wing, helping him navigate the harsh realities of life in the city.
“I met Andrew one weekend while he was wandering around, looking completely lost,” John remembers.
“What caught my attention was the way he rapped—like a real American rapper. I was impressed, so I suggested we go to a studio to record his music,” John recounts, recalling events from more than four years ago.
At first, John assumed Andrew had money, judging by the way he carried himself.
Over time, John, who has since adopted an American accent from spending time with Andrew, became his closest friend and guide. Their friendship eventually led them to Dandora dumpsite—John’s main source of livelihood.
When Andrew first arrived at the dumpsite, he was both shocked and terrified.
“The place was overwhelming. I fell sick almost every day, probably because of the filth and toxic environment, but I had no choice but to keep coming back,” he says.
Back then, life at the dumpsite was even more dangerous. Fights would break out over minor disagreements, sometimes ending in tragic deaths.
“I had to be extra careful just to stay alive,” Andrew recalls. However, he notes that things have improved over time.
“I no longer get sick from working here. I guess my body has adjusted,” he adds.
John believes that survival at the dumpsite depends on having the right people to guide you.
“There are good people here,” he says. “Once someone shows you the ropes, you start feeling like part of the community.”
Andrew has since picked up a few Kiswahili words and learned how to navigate the tough environment.
“This is my home now, and this is my life. But deep inside, I know I want something better. I dream of owning a music studio one day,” he says with quiet determination.
