Sauntering through the busy streets filled with beautiful pottery, fine leather, exquisite puppetry, and sparkling sarees, I came across a man sitting by the side of the road.
Noticing I was by myself and guessing I knew the local language – which I do – he stopped me and introduced himself as Raghu. Then he asked me: ‘Do they think we are in a zoo?’
My new friend was pointing to a tour group who were taking photos of his house, situated in the labyrinth of Mumbai’s Dharavi – one of the largest slums in the world.
He explained to me that he regularly saw hordes of tourists walking through the neighbourhood, so he wanted to know what they gained from waving cameras in his face, saying ‘namaste’, and smiling pitifully.
Then he said something I will never forget: ‘I would like to learn how rich people live, but we don’t get to go to their neighbourhoods, roam freely, and take photos of their mansions. How is this fair?’
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Even though I wasn’t on a slum tour myself, I had been on one in the past. So Raghu’s words were a much-needed reality check – it’s why I now firmly believe that dedicated slum tours do more harm than good.
The first time I went on one, I was in Johannesburg in 2018. I was there for a work conference and had a day to spare, which is when I decided to explore the city with the help of a guide.
After a morning swim in my lush hotel’s pool, I was greeted by a private guide from Soweto, which is a township in Johannesburg. He told me that we’d be uncovering every aspect of the city, including what he labelled as the ‘genuine places’ that were ‘beyond postcards’.
On the tour, we drove me through the vast acres of the town and all I could see were multihued houses.
One in particular appeared newly-built and behind it, there was a large group of people who were local residents of the slum gathered all looking at their phones.
Noticing my perplexed expression, my guide clarified that this was the only house in the entire area with free Wi-Fi and that’s why everyone was there. I thought back to all the times I’d complained incessantly about having unreliable internet on a holiday and immediately felt quite guilty.
On the rest of the tour, we saw the residences of Nelson Mandela and Archbishop Desmond Tutu, as well as skaters near the towering chimneys of the former power station in the area.
But throughout, I felt uncomfortable and I didn’t fully understand why at the time. There I was, sitting in an air-conditioned car driving past all the residents as they inquisitively looked at us tourists, possibly trying to decipher why we were there.
Back home in London, everything felt strange. I used to complain about the price of groceries or my bus turning up a few minutes late, but after Soweto, I now found myself holding back.
The next slum I visited was the one in Mumbai last year, but I made a conscious decision not to book a dedicated slum tour. Instead, I went by myself and justified it because I wanted to buy local products and give back to the community.
That’s when the incident with Raghu happened and it changed the way I thought about slum tours forever. Through him, I realised that this form of travelling is often just a constant, stark reminder to the residents of the slums of the inequality that they face.
So when I was in Rio de Janeiro for the annual Carnival this year, I decided not to visit any favelas (slums). Instead, I booked a cruise and witnessed an eye-opening interaction.
Our tour guide, Bruno – who was actually a resident from one of favelas – ended up warning our group to avoid booking tours there, deeming them as unsafe.
‘But we want to see the real Rio,’ one fellow passenger in my group protested. Bruno, visibly amused at this comment, responded, ‘Well, our beaches, rainforests, and Sugar Loaf Mountain are real too.’
At the end of the day, my apprehension doesn’t necessarily lie with the ethos of tourists visiting slums, but the manner in which they treat the residents on big, exploitative tours.
Of course, some can seem meaningful because you’re travelling with a local, supporting their businesses, discovering traditional practices, and having home-cooked meals with families. But you have to be really careful that it’s not negatively impacting the locals.
If you do choose to book a slum tour, ask the organisation that you are considering booking with as many questions as possible, like how you can trace that the money will go to its residents or how these tours directly benefit the communities.
If they can give you statistics, go even further and ask them if local residents are involved in the tour’s planning and operations.
The way I see it, you have to treat people with dignity. That means being respectful and not disrupting or gawking at people trying to get on with their lives.
Imagine people showing up in your neighbourhood every day, within close proximity of your house, treating you and your family like a tourist attraction or trying to be a saviour.
My trips to these three regions changed my perspective on, not just how I travel, but how I live.
Every time I think of complaining – even about something trivial like the weather in London – I stop, reflect, and think of all the people that go about their lives with what they have.
So please heed Raghu’s advice and think twice before booking a slum tour.
Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing jess.austin@metro.co.uk.
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