“From diamonds nothing is born; from manure, flowers bloom.”

When I decided to leave for Nairobi, I imagined I would have an intense experience; but nothing could have prepared me for what I actually encountered in the field. Initially, I was driven by the desire to be useful and to better understand the huge social differences that separate my world from that of people living in extreme poverty. Once I arrived, I realized that this desire was just the initial spark: the journey gave me emotions, insights, and connections that went far beyond any expectation.

During my first day in Nairobi, my mind was flooded with curiosity: discovering the sisters’ compound where we were staying, distributing the supplies we’d brought from Italy, listening to the stories of those who have spent years working to improve the lives of women and children in difficulty. I immediately understood that every small object and gesture could become a precious tool to draw out a smile or spark a path toward change.

In the following days, I experienced moments that tested my deepest emotions. Visiting the open-air landfill in Dandora—the largest in sub-Saharan Africa—was like a slap in the face. The acrid smell, the endless stretch of garbage, the children searching for something valuable among the waste: everything spoke to me of a reality I never imagined could exist. And yet, in the midst of that hellish scene, there were people who welcomed us with a smile and the desire to share their story. The thought that someone would even pay to enter the dump, just to collect recyclable materials and earn a few shillings, made me feel powerless. But I also realized how important it was that I was there: not so much to solve poverty, but to bear witness, to share, and—at least in part—to lend support.

One of the most moving experiences was organizing games with children from the nearby slums. We divided them into teams and had them compete in brief running, jumping, and makeshift balancing challenges. I still remember the overwhelming energy with which those kids ran at full speed, determined to win, to laugh, to cheer each other on. For us, it might seem like just a simple morning of games; for them, it was a unique opportunity for lightheartedness and shared fun. Preparing lunch and seeing that not even one grain of rice remained on the plate made me truly appreciate what it means to value every little thing.

I was also fortunate enough to spend a day in a Maasai village, where “poverty” takes on a different face compared to the urban slums. There, among straw huts, scarce water, and a harsh environment, I perceived a profound sense of dignity and community. The women welcomed us with vibrant songs, showing us their jewelry and crafts, and I could feel their pride in an ancient culture that has maintained age-old traditions, remaining outside—both for better and for worse—of the unstoppable wave of globalization. Poverty, in that context, seemed to involve less waste, less plastic, less of a descent into dehumanization. Yet there was still a huge gap between their daily life and everything I, as a Westerner, take for granted.

What I carry with me most of all are the connections I formed: with those who dedicate themselves daily to education projects, with the sisters who rise at dawn to cook for hundreds of children, with the volunteers who have spent years working on women’s empowerment, with the schoolchildren who dream of becoming doctors, teachers, accountants, or artists, and with my fellow travelers who, after just 10 days, I can now call friends. In all of them, I saw the quiet strength of people who face great difficulties without losing hope.

Now that I’m back home, I often wonder how to keep this treasure trove of emotions and reflections alive. I’ve realized that the real challenge starts now: not to trivialize this experience, not to tuck it away as just a memory, but to let myself be transformed by what I lived. To feel the responsibility of being a witness and to convey, through my words and my daily actions, even a fragment of that human richness I encountered.

I believe that the deepest meaning of this journey lies in the commitment to carry forward—even if only as a “grain of sand”—the values of solidarity, respect, and sharing. Perhaps I won’t change the world with this single experience, but I know the world has already changed me. And for that, I will always be grateful.