WASHINGTON DC

Saturday mornings were always about finding ways to make money. Washington, a brother to my childhood friend Yusuf, was always leading the charge. Washington liked to be called “Washington DC,” and he was a friendly guy who was well-known among the kids from Ngomongo and nearby streets like Korokocho, Baba Dogo, Kasabun, and Lucky Summer. The Nairobi River separated Ngomongo from Dandora, and for a long time, the only way across was a shaky bridge. When that became too risky, we’d slide across a thick green water pipe that stretched over the river.

I used to join Washington DC and the other boys as we made our way to the Dandora dump. This was the biggest open-air dump in Africa, and it was packed with all kinds of waste. It was here that people came to find food and other items. Hotels like the Norfolk and Hilton dumped their leftovers here, and this dump essentially fed many families.

Washington DC was also friends with kids from Dandora, and he always seemed to have inside information about the best spots in the dump. He knew where to find scrap metal, steel, aluminum, copper, plastics, and even old shoe soles. He never shared all his secrets, though. While he’d lead us to spots with aluminum, he’d be quietly collecting more valuable copper for himself.

Washington DC was also familiar with the local orphanages in Dandora that offered free lunches to street kids. Whenever we showed up at these places, he’d greet the security guards like old friends. He clearly had been there before and knew his way around.

At the end of the weekend, we’d take what we’d collected to a dealer in Korokocho. Even though everyone seemed to have more weight than Washington DC, he always ended up making the most money. He knew that aluminum paid more than steel, and he made sure to collect the materials that gave him the best returns.

Unlike the rest of us, Washington DC didn’t spend his money on snacks like deep-fried chicken heads and feet sold along the street. Rumor had it that he gave most of his money to his mom to help with the household expenses. His dad had been diagnosed with diabetes, and after his legs were amputated, he was confined to a wheelchair. His mom had to take over as the primary caregiver, and her smile was replaced by a constant frown. She had become heavily dependent on Washington’s contributions.

One day, things didn’t go as planned. We went to the dump as usual, but local gangs were having a shootout. This wasn’t new to us—we were used to the sound of gunshots and knew how to duck and cover. The gangs had divided the dump among themselves, and on this day, one gang had crossed into another’s territory, sparking the violence.

Because of the shootout, none of us made much money that day. In fact, we made so little that, combined, we could only afford one bag of breadcrumbs. When we got back home, Washington’s mom was waiting for him, unaware of what had happened. She must have heard the gunshots, but it didn’t seem to concern her. She was only interested in whether Washington had brought any money home.

Washington DC tried to hide the bag of breadcrumbs under his sweater and under his armpit, hoping his mom wouldn’t notice. But when he told her he didn’t have any money, she became angry. She started scuffling with him, pushing and pulling while we stood there, not knowing what to do. The scuffle continued until the bag of breadcrumbs broke, and the crumbs spilled all over the ground. Despite the tension, we all burst out laughing, including Washington’s mom. It was funny to think about how long he had kept the bag hidden under his armpit.