Hope for former street children beyond city’s waste and misery

Street children at YWCA in Makadara, Nairobi. [Edward Kiplimo/Standard]

One can never tell Ken’s (not his real name) past as a street boy when he stands shoulder to shoulder with the rest of the school children at Morrison Primary School.

His creased light blue shirt is buttoned halfway and his green pair of shorts, which appears a little too tight, has its hem hanging. His hair has formed tiny tangles and knots, which sit beside each other on his head. His dry legs have white patches of dirt spread all the way up his knee, and on his foot black sandal.

Just a few years ago, Ken was among hundreds of other glue-sniffing street children in Nairobi’s garbage-laden alleys. But today, when he speaks about his journey from the streets to Makadara Rehabilitation Centre, his eyes light up with hope.

“I don’t like being at the centre. We are fed on the same meal every day of the week. Some teachers think we are pretending when we say we are sick and bedbugs give us no peace at night. But at least someone makes sure we are alive every day,” says Ken, after The Standard assures him that his identity will not be disclosed.

As he gets deeper into his life in the streets, his voice fades slowly, almost to a whisper. Though he left the streets three years ago, the memories are still fresh.

Painful memories

“Charity begins in the streets if you are homeless,” says Ken.

Ken had made a decision to leave the streets long before council askaris found him in April 2015. But like many of the street children, he had nowhere to go.

“My perception of life in the streets changed when I met Samuel, a 10-year-old from Kisii County. He had been in the streets for only two weeks when he approached me for food. We immediately connected and somehow, I just felt responsible for him,” he narrates.

Ken says in March 2015, his friend Samuel fell ill and he took him to Kenyatta National Hospital with the help of other street boys. Unfortunately, Samuel died on arrival.

“Death has never come so close to me. My father died when I was very young and my mother ran away from my hostile uncles. We left Samuel’s body at the hospital and went away, but the guilt that I might have failed in taking care of him haunts me to date,” he narrates.

“I was weak and helpless with no hope for a better life. So I lay on my corner at Muthurwa and waited for death to come. Nothing happened and I changed location to Aga Khan walk,” he says, tears rolling down his face.

Ken wanted to go to western Kenya, but the thought of living with relatives sent him back to the comfort of the glue. On this particular day, he got so high that he has no recollection how he got to the centre.

“That is how I found myself at the centre,” he says with a grin.

The 15-year-old says he could not express the joy he felt knowing he would be sleeping on a bed, covering himself with a blanket like a ‘normal person’. He had grown accustomed to cold nights on the pavements, with only carton boxes or manila sack for a blanket at night.

But the centre is not a palace.

“There is no luxury in those beds which are infested with bedbugs. Before we sleep, we light up papers and burn the edges on the metal bed to kill as many bedbugs as possible,” he says.

At the centre, a typical day starts at 6am for the 150 boys housed at the facility. Inside their dormitories are neat beds spread with blankets, with metal boxes and novels on top. Following a duty roaster, every boy takes to his role; some cooking, others cleaning the dormitories, hall and toilets.

Daily chores

“We cook for ourselves. The staff only come in to hand us items like sugar or salt. Breakfast is always porridge and githeri (mixture of maize and beans) for lunch and dinner. Occasionally, during weekends, we eat ugali and beans,” he says.

After the porridge, most of the boys leave for Morrison Primary School in Bahati.

“They perform very well in school and are always top of the class. In fact, they are very well behaved. The challenge, however, is that they are not well groomed. Most of them don’t have shoes,” says John Mwangi, the school’s head teacher.

Through the school feeding programme, all the students have lunch. The money given is not enough to buy firewood and pay the cooks who prepare the meal, forcing the school administration to charge parents for the extra cost.

“The county does not pay. The boys are very active, but the county does not pay the activity fees either. This greatly affects the school operations,” says Mr Mwangi.

This does not sound grave until the boys express how they are left behind when other children go for trips or games away from school.

“My friends in high school are most affected. They are in boarding schools and no one visits them. They do not engage in co-curricular activities and are left behind during major tournaments,” Ken says.

In the streets, the children vanish at the sight of county askari vehicles, but at the centre, they run towards it because, sometimes, it carries foodstuff taken from the hawkers during raids.

Water is a problem at the facility and the boys are forced to go look for the precious commodity in the neighbourhood. They use the water to clean and bathe.

Sickness is dreaded at the centre. The officials at the facility say it is difficult to tell who is faking to avoid chores and who actually is. The students, on the other hand, feel offended when the staff appear skeptical of their ill health.

Death at centre

James (not his real name) remembers how a fellow former street boy died at Bahati Center (which has since been merged with Makadara) after a short illness in 2016. The boy, only identified as Kilonzo, was taken to a sub-county clinic nearby but did not get better.

“I was suffering from the same disease and had to pleaded with the staff to take him to a better hospital since he was younger and seemed worse. The sickness would make you feel very hot at night and so on the fateful night, Kilonzo crawled on the floor to cool his body. In the morning, we found him dead, on the floor,” recounts James.

According to the teacher, most of the students wait until they report to school before they seek permission to go to hospital.

“If these children could be given more attention, they would be better. They come to school late and tell you it was their turn to cook. Sometimes they do not finish their assignments and tell you a church in the facility had a vigil service.

Church interrupts

The administrators agree that the church, which pays levies to the county, often interrupts their operations.

Rosemary Kibuthi, deputy chief children’s officer in the facility, says sometimes counselling sessions or preps coincide with the church service, negatively affecting the concentration of the children.

“It can be quite a headache shouting above the music from the church and during services,” says Kibuthi.