Kenyan social media recently lit up with outrage after Betty Kyallo’s boyfriend, Charlie Jones, made remarks that many perceived as dismissive and condescending toward Mathare slums. His shock at the realities of one of Nairobi’s most well-known informal settlements reignited discussions about class privilege, ignorance and the disconnect between affluent Kenyans and the struggles of the urban poor.
“Mathare, I appreciate the favor, but I’m NEVER coming back,” said Charlie Jones in part as he also described the area as having an unbearable stench, noting, “even the air stinks.”
While some saw his reaction as proof of how out-of-touch certain elites are, others argued that it was a wake-up call- perhaps a sign that more people need to experience these realities firsthand. Enter the concept of ghetto tourism, a controversial yet potentially transformative approach to bridging these gaps.
Ghetto tourism, or slum tourism, involves visiting informal settlements to gain a deeper understanding of life in these marginalized areas. While critics argue that it can be exploitative, reducing poverty to a spectacle for privileged visitors, advocates believe it offers an opportunity to dismantle stereotypes and create meaningful social change. If done right, ghetto tourism could be a game-changer, not just for curious outsiders like Charlie Jones, but for the local communities themselves. Instead of shock and pity, such experiences could foster understanding, investment and empowerment for the people who actually live there.
The uproar over Charlie Jones’ reaction highlights a larger issue: many Kenyans, particularly those from middle and upper-class backgrounds, have never stepped foot in the country’s informal settlements. Mathare, Kibera and Mukuru are often spoken about in hushed tones, associated with crime, struggle and desperation. Yet, these neighborhoods are also hubs of resilience, creativity and innovation. From thriving small businesses to world-renowned artists, there’s a vibrant culture that mainstream narratives often ignore. If ghetto tourism were properly structured- ensuring that proceeds benefit local communities- it could shift perspectives and even drive much-needed development.
A successful model of ghetto tourism would prioritize ethical engagement. Instead of treating slum visits like exotic adventures or photo ops, structured experiences could be led by local guides who provide historical and cultural context- similar to what a handful of private organizers are already doing in Kibera. Visitors could support local businesses, engage in community projects or even collaborate on initiatives that offer long-term benefits. The outrage sparked by Charlie Jones’ comments could, in a way, serve as an unexpected catalyst for rethinking how Kenyan society engages with informal settlements beyond just charity or political campaign stops.
For Millennials and Gen Z Kenyans, many of whom are vocal about social justice issues, the challenge now is to move beyond online debates and explore real solutions. How can the privileged use their access and influence to uplift rather than alienate? How do we ensure that those living in these neighborhoods are active participants in the narrative rather than passive subjects of curiosity? Ghetto tourism, if done ethically, could be one way to break down these barriers and foster mutual understanding.
At its core, the Mathare controversy isn’t just about Charlie Jones’ shock, it’s about a much bigger issue of societal disconnect. If more people took the time to see, listen and learn from communities like Mathare, the conversation could shift from judgment and pity to partnership and progress. Perhaps it’s time to turn outrage into action, leveraging conversations like these to build a more inclusive, interconnected Kenya.
