STREET LIFE

Street life

Walking briskly towards the place I normally board a matatu (public transport means) to take me to school from Nairobi City, I felt a hand tag on my shoulder. In a split second as I turned to meet the owner of the hand, assuming it was a long lost friend or a stranger alerting me on something…I came face to face with a huge dirty hand holding human excrement!!!

Various times I had encountered people who had passed through such an ordeal. What happens is that the street urchin will ask for some money in which (s) he will smear you with the body waste if you do not heed to their demands. I froze. But only for a short while as my mind raced between asking for the spirit of Usain Bolt to come over me and make a dash from the scene, or turning violent and hitting the dude. In the end I faced him and asked why he needed the 20 shillings he was asking for.

Anyway, we reached a mutual agreement but I was not overly angry, albeit shaken. As I proceeded on, I had deep thoughts about people living on the street. A repeat of the same came flooding into my mind today as I saw some young children snuggling on cartons along a side walk as the cold July chill bit hard. These two children who looked barely in their early teens made me take a hard long look at the comforts we take for granted many a times. As I did so, three individuals I know surfaced in my thoughts.

Sam* used to be the most likable kid you’d ever come across as we were young growing up in Dandora. He never seemed to trouble anyone or have a problem with the rest of us. Only difference was that he was a street child. Later on did I learn that they used to be wealthy until his mum passed on and he refused to live with a step mother for reasons best known to him. When we were young, we’d play with him and he was generous in giving my childhood buddies ‘chombo’ (nice stuff that he would get at the dumping site in Dando). It was not until I enquired of his whereabouts that I was saddened to hear that he still loiters around yet he is a man now, a victim of circumstances.

Kevin* was huge. Even as a young lad, you’d see he had the build of a heavy weight. No one really knew where he’d come from, but most people were kind to him for he had no home. I remember vividly my mum giving him soap to shower and some food to eat. He was introverted but kind to strangers. I recall one day he came back badly wounded from a gang fight and the people around raised some cash for his treatment. It was then he confessed to having no family. He still is on the streets, probably he has no better choice.


Brian* was both cheeky and funny. He had this ‘Martin Lawrence’ look. I remember as kids, we’d just look at him and laugh as if being tickled. And he was full of zest and energy. His annoyance was he was very loud and seemed to care for none other but himself. Like Sam, he was said to come from a wealthy home. He simply loved the streets for the sheer pleasure of the madness associated with it. Sometimes, his relatives would get him but he was always back with more vigour. It was a vicious cycle really. I do not know his whereabouts; the street simply gave him an unbridled thrill.

Huyo jamaa sio mwizi

Next time my dear reader that you encounter an unpleasant interaction with especially street kids, take a moment to reflect on their human side and instead of cursing and sneering, it might just be more worthwhile to reflect that it could have been you. I remain Njabia the 3^rd, till next time, CIAO!

(* Not their real names)