Nightmare on Dagoretti Street

The day started out rather bland to be honest. I had no idea how deeply disturbing my day was about to become. I had decided that today I would devote my time prepping the Creche (a small day care like setup for the orphaned or completely destitute children under the age of 3) for reopening. Nicole having left along with the ladies I had become the last whitey. It felt weird blending into a crowd in comparison to being the main attraction but also kind of nice. I stood silent watching the group of Kenyan mothers work tirelessly for their children. Once the creche reopened they would have a safe place to leave the children they either adopted from a dead friend/neighbor, or were left with after their husbands split. This would mean that they could find work and make money to create oppertunity and feed the futurless tots. I smiled at how they still managed to laugh and sing even in their completely depressing situation. The current activity was painting the walls with a safer, not lead-based paint. The turn out was great; 14 women (each with a child or two stapped to their back or running ramped) but only two paint brushes. 
"Is there a hardware shop close by?" I asked Mama Joy after observing the mulling around of those with no tool to paint. Now, my mistake was that the Keyan "close by" and the Canadian "close by" differ from about 10km. The creche is situated on the precipice of a valley over looking  beautiful farm land rich with banana and mango trees. Around the area are small shops selling goods and, what I was wishfully guessing, paint brushes. 5km South of the creche, however, in the bottom of the valley lays the scourge of the Earth; Dagoretti.
"Yes, yes! Irene and Mama Steven will take you," It took me about to seconds to realize that we weren't going to a quant little shop on top of the valley as we stepped onto the rocky, sloping trail into the bowels of imminent filth.
 20 minutes later the view of Dagoretti came into veiw and I found myself relaxing a little; big yellow umbrellas were set up and a hustling, bustling crowd clothed in white outfits gave off a friendly glow.
Huh, not at all as ominous as I had thought it would be. I had never actually ventured to the backside of Dagoretti as I had only had to encounter the front portion where the transportation dropped me. Perhaps, like most things in life, it appears rough on the outside but is a really friendly wonderful place on the inside! And here I will find a diamond in the rough of sorts! Optimism raced almost histarically through my mind. A useless poison. Stench assulted my nostrils as we marched closer and closer towards the streaming crowd dressed in cheerful white. And then my mind froze and my stomach lurched. I gulped back the urge to vomit. My reeling mind revolted the images my eyes absorbed. The stunning robes of white each wore bright crimson splashes of freshly shed blood. I opened and closed my eyes, tipped back my head and swallowed hard again.
"Ahh, market day." Said Mama Steven. I slowly came out of my shock. The slaughter house. I knew it was back here I just never thought how apparently here it was.
And then, in a daze, I followed my indifferent, calloused companions in the midst of the creatures covered in blood soaked garments carrying plastic grocery bags full of fresh, bloody meat. A man wearing a white, blood soaked hat and a torn bloody coat locked eyes on my white skin and smiled a toothless smile at me...
The rest of the story will be published in Steven King's newest book. Look for it in bookstores today.
An hour later I was back sitting amongst the adorable babies handing out mendazi to the kids and paint brushes to the mothers. I sighed and laughed at the experience to myself. It was good to see, however disturbing it was; the West hides this so extremely well. Meat is just tasty, nicely packaged morsles but the reality is, somewhere there's a factory full of blood drenched workers knee deep in what PETA calls murder haha Never have I been so stongly locked into a conviction as the one I had made not to eat meat. I dislike the idea but am, in a way perverted to that of my minds innate instinct, glad of the production. It is the employment source of many other wise jobless and starving Kenyans.