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When sewage floods your home, it floods your mind too In parts of Kenya's informal settlements, recurring floods that destroy homes are not solely caused by torrential rains or swollen rivers. Instead, they often stem from faulty drainage systems. Sean Christie explored how persistent exposure to sewage affects residents' mental health and why similar challenges persist in cities such as Cape Town and Beira. Francis Mukiri Muthoni, known locally as “Future,” serves as a vital link between the community and local authorities in Mukuru kwa Reuben, commonly referred to as Mukuru, located on Nairobi’s southern outskirts. He operates from the assistant chief’s office in the area’s upper section, dubbed the “highlands.” Despite Kenya’s 2013 devolution, which decentralized governance to 47 counties, informal settlements like Mukuru continue to fall under the jurisdiction of centrally appointed chiefs and assistants. These officials depend on figures like Muthoni to relay messages between the community and local leadership. Muthoni notes that recent improvements have occurred, albeit unevenly. During the COVID-19 lockdowns, efforts were made to pave certain streets, widen them, and install drainage channels. Some residences now feature built-in toilets linked to a simplified sewer system, consisting of flexible pipes designed to navigate the complex layout of Mukuru’s densely packed housing. However, as the journey descends toward the lower sections of the settlement, the situation deteriorates significantly. In these areas, particularly in villages like Mombasa, named for its low elevation, the overwhelming odor of sewage masks even the scent of cooking tilapia, known locally as ngege. Unpaved roads are littered with streams of human waste, and homes near the bottom of the slope are increasingly isolated by foul water, requiring temporary bridges constructed from stones and wooden pallets to access them. To understand the root of this issue, it is essential to consider the historical context of Mukuru kwa Reuben. The name “Mukuru” translates to “valley” and originates from the birthplace of the Agikuyu people, Mukurwe wa Nyagathanga, a glade of fig trees where the mythical patriarch Gikuyu is believed to have met his wife Mumbi. Once a settler’s property, the land became subdivided after the settler’s departure in the 1970s, accommodating migrants from rural areas and refugees escaping regional conflicts. By the early 2000s, the landscape had transformed dramatically. Zinc rooftops formed a checkerboard-like pattern across the upper slopes, while families began constructing homes on the swampy banks of the Ngong River. Initially, their primary concerns were mud and mosquitoes. However, as sediment from agricultural fields and construction sites upstream elevated the river level, heavy rainfall in the Ngong Hills led to frequent flooding. Muthoni recalls, “A lot of people have washed away over the years; I cannot count them.” His account underscores the long-term impact of environmental degradation and inadequate infrastructure on the community. In 2024, the Kenyan government took action against the rising number of drowning incidents during the rainy season. As a result, thousands of homes were demolished, and new infrastructure was introduced to mitigate the risk. This initiative reflects ongoing attempts to address the systemic issues plaguing informal settlements, though the challenges remain formidable.