Hamomi Volunteer Blogspot: 2012

Monday, September 24, 2012

Valerie Musimbi Atsiaya Autobiography

Welcome to the First Annual Hamomi Composition Competition! Our twelve 8th grade students, (and upcoming graduates), typed and submitted essays based on a simple, yet massive prompt: write your autobiography. They did a fantastic job. Read them to know and understand our students and their struggles a bit better.

You determine the winner of the Composition Competition too! Links for voting will be in the next newsletter, so be sure you're on our mailing list if you'd like to vote!

MUSIMBI VALERIE ATSIAYA

I’m 15 years old. My father died when I was only six years old. My mother, who was expecting was travelling to Nairobi to visit her husband (my dad), when she delivered me on the bus. Six months later, she was back at our rural home burying him. She did not understand why her life had decided to take her through such a bad twist. But she got over it and focused her life again on her own. She decided she needed a job, since she knew relatives and friends in Nairobi.

She travelled back to Nairobi as soon as I was old enough to stay with my grandparents. My sister was four years older than me. She started school when my mother left.

From the very start I was strong and fat. I was bigger than my age-mates. I wore boys’ clothes and preferred to play with boys. I felt that girls were boring and crying all the time. I even fought with boys. I remember when I was in class two, a boy lost his toy car and accused me of stealing it. He threatened to beat me up.

That was a mistake! At home time he approached me and beat me hard on my head with a big stick. I turned around and snatched the stick from his hand, and whacked his head his several times before he fell down and ran away home.

He was not seriously injured but to the shock of my grandparents. I was expelled for that. My grandparents found another school for me. News of my strengths spread everywhere and the pupils in my new school were afraid of me. They were afraid I would kill one of them. It was hard for me to make friends with girls again. However, boys love strong people and soon all my friends were boys.

I am not a cry baby. I am tough. Am still the biggest and fattest pupil in my school. Everyone wonders what I eat. I think it’s just the way God made me. It has advantages. I can play any boy’s game. I love soccer, my best game. By best friend in class is Moses because he can play soccer like a man. Ninety minute of soccer is not a joke and he scored! I play for the girls team soccer is fun.

I had been warned about fighting in school. But I’m a friendly girl. It’s not my habit to fight and so I promised not to fight. It was still hard for me to make friends with girls. They were too busy being jealous that I was free with boys and played with them all the time. Just then our deputy head teacher stopped to see what was going. That earned me another expulsion.

My mother came home from Nairobi for a visit and found me without a school. I was in class six. She was disappointed but she understood my explanation. My mother knows me very well. She knows I’m aggressive and would not fight unless to defend myself. My grandparents were reluctant to convince another school to admit me to a school in Nairobi. Although she could hardly afford. My sister had to continue in her school in a school living with my parents.

Mother’s friend said she could help us. She introduced us to Mr. Raphael and Mr. Musumba. That is how I found myself at Hamomi children centre. Here things were different. All the girls love soccer. Every one plays soccer and other games. Everyone shared the toys from the office. There are books, paints, balls and even food.

I even met Susie Marks. She doesn't talk too much. She talks about children's rights and so on. Girls in town play with everyone and they make friends unlike girls in the rural. I enjoyed the company of so many friends at Hamomi.

Thank you.

Silas Okuku Autobiography

SILAS OKUKU

My name is Silas Okuku. No doubt you have already read my sister’s autobiography [Metrine]. That is the reason why my story may bore you, therefore I will keep it short. When I was born my mother was a refugee running from the wrath of her husband. I was born at my grandmother’s home. There was no reason to celebrate. My mother, my sisters and I were in trouble. Even a poor father would have been better than no father. But my father was the problem my mother explained to every one. I didn’t know what was going on. I heard my father’s name mentioned several times but nothing positive. I wished I had a father but not the one I heard strange stories about. I decided, when I grew up I would protect my mother from any body.

My mother had three children to feed and she could not just sit at home with her parents. So she went to look for work. She found a job in Nairobi and sent money to my grandparents to feed us. We were 3 hungry children. One day my mother came home and took all of us with her to Nairobi in a big public service bus. I was very happy! It was a big change, from the rural life. Here we had enough to eat and my sister joined a small school near our house. I was still too young to start schooling. When mother went to work I was left with a neighbor. The neighbour washed me, fed me and put me to sleep. My sisters came back at 3:00 pm. They took of me until 6:00 pm when mother came back. All this was told by mother recently.

Everyone loved me. Our neighbour had only one kid, a girl, and wished she had boys. She liked caring for me. In Africa a person must have boys too and not just girls only. She showed me to her friends and said “look at Christine’s boy, she is very lucky". I was a quiet tiny child. My body was too small. I weighed less than children of my age. I was also quiet and did not cry unnecessarily. I was not a nuisance to anybody like many other toddlers. One day I was old enough to join school. I went with my sisters to school. School was alright. I liked to mess with books and paint. But my sisters had not many friends.

We moved from our friendly neighbour to another location and another school. Whenever I met new friends I shared toys with them. They also shared theirs with me. It was easy for me to play with new friends. Now I know small children make friends faster than adults. My friends came to our house to play with me. I also knew that I was sharper than all my friends. Though I was in a new school I was always on the top position. Till now I do beat my classmates in almost all the exams. I enjoy it. It’s the best part of my life. My sisters complained about the school to mother. Mother had no money.

One day in 2010 , while in a sad and depressed mood she complained loudly, I think everyone heard her. She came to our house and within ten minutes mother is quiet and confident again. The next day we did not go to school. We paid a visit to a school nearby. We met Mr. Raphael and Mr. Musumba. They talked to mother and found out everything about her and her children. Then to my surprise we were admitted in the school. It is called Hamomi. There we made many friends. Everyone is in fact a friend. The teachers here make me do more studies and promised that I will pass my final exams which are in November this year. Some American volunteers came to our school all the time. It is a good school. Next year January I will join secondary school but I will always come to Hamomi to say hello!

Thank you

Moses Ruzigi Autobiography

MOSES RUZIGI

I have a feeling that my life is too complicated to be written on a fullscap page. However I will try my best to express it. I was born on 9th September 1997. My birth complicated my mother’s life. I don’t think she even had the mood to celebrate. Her only relief was that she had safely delivered a healthy child. The child promised to be darker than anyone else in the family and in the neighbourhood. The child was strong and playful, she says. That was me. I like the idea, although years of lack reduced him to a quiet one.

My mother was a teenage mother. Her elder sister took charge of the infant for only nine months. The teenage mother had suddenly passed on. No introduction was done between son and dad. Nobody even now talks about him, not that it’s a big problem, they don’t like to mention his name. I didn’t have to tell this much but I thought you may be left with questions. So then my aunt became my mother. She took me to school when I was 6 years old. I learnt amongst smaller pupils who laughed at me all day because I was the eldest in our class. They called me “papa”. It drove me mad and made me avoid them. I kept to myself.

My first real trouble though came when my aunt’s husband did not want to feed an extra mouth. They quarreled about it and I had to go to my maternal grandmother. I went to class one there instead of two. By the end of the year, my grandfather agreed with my aunt that I should go back to her. The following January I was back to my old school, but sent back to class one again. I started wondering when I would ever join class two! If you had asked me which class I was in, I wouldn't have known which. One term was all I got in one school or a new one. In the end I had spent 3 years in class one.

When I was about 9 years old a miracle happened! I visited the city of Nairobi. I thought I was dreaming the entire time. I wished my dream would not end. I was new and naïve in the city of Nairobi. The tall buildings played tricks with my senses. I was afraid to cross a road. I was afraid to walk up on the tall buildings thinking that they would fall on me. I stayed in the city for about two weeks. I enjoyed myself very much. At some point my aunt whom I was visiting sent me to the kiosk but I couldn't find my way back. I spent hours looking for her house which was actually 100 meters from the kiosk. Someone was sent and he saw me loitering with a packet of milk and a loaf of bread. Breakfast had waited so long. I envied the urban children who had better clothes, toys, sweets etc. The food was better. Nobody in the rural area buys bread or meat unless on a special occasion. That’s why I was not happy when my tour ended.

Back upcountry I was received by another uncle of mine. That meant a new school! My head was full of memories of Nairobi. I tried to sleep at night but I couldn't. The tall buildings, beautiful cars, rich people, good smells……………………! Etc. But you do what you have to do. Time passed and the memories faded away. I found a new passion - soccer. I enjoyed playing soccer. My healthy body managed through thick and thin. The food is ugali, sukumawiki (kale), cabbage, avocado, mangoes, cassava, sweet potatoes. For two years this was my life at my uncles house.

One day my aunt came home with an unusual request. She wanted a young girl who had dropped out of school to go and baby sit her infant, as she was to go for part time job. My aunt did her best but their was no babysitter found. To my surprise she picked one! Me. Me back to Nairobi. I said “yes” before my uncle could refuse. Schools had closed. My idea was to spend the holiday in Nairobi, while my aunt searched for a babysitter and then come back to school.

Back to Nairobi! I just smiled. My aunt was kind to me.The food was good, nothing like dry sweet potatoes every day. The month seemed to fly! I wished no babysitter could be found. Schools opened before a babysitter was found, and I said silently "HURRAY”! For six months I did not go to school instead I did babysitting. My aunt part time job ended and she took over the care of the baby. However, she did not send me back home her husband took me to a small school with 100 pupils. The school had no good buildings but there were teachers and books. Mr. Musumba laughs loudly. Mr. Raphael agreed to admit me, although he said the school was already full. I saw several "mzungus” [white people] with gifts, books, pens, bags, toys. One mzungu actually gave me a pair of shoes. I love Susie Marks.

Thank you

Mildred Kagai Iboshe Autobiography

KAGAI MILDRED IBOSHE

I was born in 1998 on 7th of July. My mother was only eighteen years old and out of school. She was not married. My grandmother named me after her mother, Kagai. My full name became Mildred Kagai. My grandmother received me happily as a gift from God. My mother’s problem posed some problems. The question was, who then was my dad?

My mother had earlier informed her boyfriend of her predicament, when she got pregnant. As you can guess his response was denial and escape! She was getting him in a very big problem. His exit left mum in a fix. However, my grandmother went ahead and accepted me. After a few days, my hair was shaved according to our traditions. A new born member to our tribe, hair must be shaved off, soon after birth by a paternal grandmother.

I was my grandmother’s first grandchild and so she had to celebrate my birth, even if I didn’t have a father to talk of. My mother was disappointed by being left by her love. When she got over it she didn’t want anything to do with my father who was in his early twenties age. She didn't visit nor communicated with him or his parents. When his parents saw this, they started convincing her not to be angry but she very bitter. Nothing they could do to make her like them or their son again. They wanted her to get married to my father.

My grandmother tried to negotiate with them and with my mother but to no avail. She was asked to give out the child but she refused. When I was one year old she was able to leave me with my grandmother, to go and see her friends again. Her life had to go on. The way to go on was either to find a job or a good man, as she said. She tried to work for people in the village. She worked hard and tried to save some shillings. After a year or so of doing this, she met an old friend who had come from Kisumu city. Her friend took her to Kisumu to look for a job. She stayed with her friend for some time before getting a job. She later, got a job of selling sodas to shops and kiosks’ owners at wholesale price. This was a tough job at 20 years age.

I think it was while in Kisumu that she learnt a lot about life. She grew up as she told me she made many friends. I didn’t join school at the right age, because it was far away. My grandmother could not take me there, and come for me every day. That way it was too much work for her. The first time I joined school I was 7 years old and able to walk to school and back on my own. My mother visited us once a month. She seemed better and better every time she came. She bought for me books, pens, a bag and shoes. I was happy but I missed my parents. At first I thought my grandparents were my parents until my mother explained. Then I thought about my father. That was a forbidden topic.

My grandmother represented my parents in school meetings. My friends in school teased me and laughed at me because I did not have a father. The called me "mkosa baba” meaning fatherless. It hurt but eventually I got used to it. Actually I was not alone. I just don’t know why I had to be laughed at. There were orphans and children from broken homes.

One day, my mother left home for work in Kisumu only to disappear for a whole year. My grandmother asked several friends and was told she had suddenly left her job and followed a friend to Nairobi. We just waited for any news from her. Finally, she called my grandfather and said she would come to visit us. She said she was married. We all looked forward to seeing her. When she came, she looked happy and was well dressed. She took me to Nairobi and put me in a school. My step-dad was nice to me and did everything for me. Together they have got two daughters and a little boy. Twelve years, ten years, and two years respectively. Two years ago my mother decided to change my school to Hamomi children centre. My old school did not perform well.

Thank you.

Metrine Imelda Awino Autobiography

METRINE IMELDA AWINO

I am Metrine Imelda Awino. I was born in September 1997 to mum Christine and dad Denvas. I was born in Murumba Hospital in Busia District. Bumagunda village my birth. My birth wasn’t good to me and to my people at that time. I was not really welcomed. When a baby was born in any home in the village, the people would celebrate for the new angel who would continue the life of the community and be named after the ancestors, but mine was not like that you see. I was born at the wrong time. My father and mother were planning to break up and live separately. My father had not planned on how to care for my mother and the baby.

My father’s part-time work did not earn him much enough. He wasn’t able to find any other job. He became stressed and easily got irritated by anything my mother said or did. He even fell out of love with her. By the time my sister was two years old, my parents had given up hope of a marriage. They started quarrelling all the time. The baby got less and less to eat. They struggled through unplanned pregnancy (i.e mine). This was a double problem. My father needed a quick way out. That is why I say I was born at the wrong time. At the end of a marriage, my sister was three years old.

One evening a few days after my uncelebrated birth in an open arguement, my father decided he had enough. He unleashed his full anger and vented his frustration on my mother. When he was well through with her, she was well beaten and bruised all over, but she was still strong enough to pick up her children and crept away silently in the dark back to her mother. Her parents listened to her story and cared for her. When she was well, they asked her to go back to her husband. One month later, she went back to her home. My father said he was sorry about his mistake. He promised to change, but I was only one year old. When my mother got pregnant again, the news made my father to start drinking heavily. Local beer is cheap and he got drunk every day. The nights and quarrels started again and got worse and worse. This time mother did not wait for the beating. She was seven months pregnant when she ran away to her parents.

Her parents were shocked but welcomed their daughter back home. They could not send her back home. They cared for us and shared their food with us. There she delivered a boy called Silas. Later, mother talked to some friends and they promised to find her a job in Nairobi at a “mzungu” [white person] house as a cleaner. She was very happy. By then she had forgotten about my father although he had asked for forgiveness. My grandmother said my mother and my father could not become good friends again, therefore to leave him alone. My mother got in Nairobi hoping for a big change in her life. But alas! It was not time. Her friend had lied to her. There was no job. She actually wanted to hand her to her own brother as his wife. My mother was disappointed and ran away to another friend in Nairobi. Her friend was sorry about her problems and promised to help her for real. She gave her food as a househelp to take care of small children. She worked very hard, and her boss was very happy with her. Her life started to improve.

She helped my grandmother with money to care for us. She worked for six months then got her own room. She decided to bring her children to Nairobi with her, so that she could take them to school. There was a school near the room. She missed her children, she said. My mother liked the school and paid the school fees. When Silas was old enough he also joined the school. But we had to change school when mother changed her job to another place. We joined a new school. It was not as good as the old one and I was unhappy. The pupils were rude and the teachers were tough. They punished us for any small mistakes! We stayed there for two years only and mothers said we were moving again to another estate.

That meant another school. I hadn't made any friends like in the old school. I hoped to be happy in the new one. The new school was good. We learned there for two years. I made some friends and the teachers were better and kind. The problem is that the school did not have books and other learning materials. My mother could not afford a good school. A friend said he knew Hamomi. Mother brought us to Hamomi children centre. Mr. Musumba and Mr. Raphael listened to her story and admitted us at once. In Hamomi children centre teachers are friendly and kind. The teachers want the pupils to pass exams. They work very hard. Susie Marks speaks the same way of good performance. Also at Hamomi there are gifts from "wazungu” [white people]. There is food in the school. At Hamomi I became very happy and got good marks. I hope to finish this my final year and pass my exams. Secondary school is waiting!

Thank you.

Godfrey Gudah Autobiography

GODFREY GUDAH

I was born in Kibera, possibly the largest slum in the world. My elder brother was 2 years old. My father worked in the forest as a forest gardener. Time went by and we suddenly migrated to Kakamega county. There my brother and I went to a nursery school. Later when I was 3 years old I joined class one. My brother would come home with a lot of sugarcane stems. He would even get his bag and books in the sugarcane factories. Kakamega county is a sugar belt of Kenya.

My mother fried mandazi for sale and sold some soap, matches and other small items to our neighbours. One day she cooked mandazi and left us to sell. We sold a few and went to play. When she came she found that we were not there and the mandazi were missing. We had gone to play in the sugarcane plantation. She found us and called us from a distance. After reaching home she searched for a cane and we were beaten.

Another day we went to play on a tall building whose construction was not complete. We played hide and seek on the open second floor. We ran wildly, upstairs and downstairs without caring much. Suddenly I stumbled over a loose block and tumbled down from first floor to the ground. I lay down overwhelmed by shock and pain. My mother heard my cry and came running.

I ended up with my left arm in a plaster. I was fractured. It was a very painful experience. I had to carry my plaster to school, to church, except to play which was not allowed to do. But for how long? I wished to play with my brother and my friends again. The plaster was too heavy for me to run well. The doctor said I needed to stay with the plaster for around six weeks. One day my friends went swimming in a river that was 1 km away. I could not be left behind. My mother was not at home.

Actually, my brother ran and tried to run from me but I knew where they were going. I ran with my heavy plaster all the way to the river. I found them having a lot of fun in the dirty, muddy river. It was not a big river and it was shallow. The laughter of the boys could be heard from far. My heart started beating wildly with excitement. I wished I could join in the fun. They dipped, dived, floated and fought in the water.

Finally, I had had enough and I decided to hell with my plaster. I carried my left arm in the plaster up and jumped into the river with my full clothes! Of course I got wet but I loved it. It was good. My brother was shocked but he couldn’t stop playing to talk to me. My plaster absorbed muddy water! My father passed that way on his way home from work. You should have seen his face when he recognized the little boys in the water. When he came nearer, he almost fainted when he saw me. I thought that our punishment was going to be great. But it did not happen. My friends vanished in seconds before I knew it. My father took hold of me as I trembled and carried me on his shoulders. My mother opened her mouth to scream at me but my father’s smiling face stopped her. He had news. A friend had called him in Nairobi for a job.

The problem was my wet plaster. We went to the doctor and he removed it. After that we left for Nairobi. My arm healed well. I ended up in Hamomi as my father’s job turned out to be inadequate. He can’t pull his weight. I have got in to other practical jokes but that’s a story for another day.

Thank you.

Douglas Brian Anyoso Autobiography

ANYOSO BRIAN DOUGLAS

I was born in 1998 on 11th November at Siaya. When I was born my mother was very sick. A lot of money was required, for treatment. I was given the name Anyoso by my grandfather. It was after his brother who was called Anyoso died. The name Anyoso means night. When I was 5 years old I started school at Green view Academy. I was in baby class, I later joined pre-school. After one year I was interviewed and promoted to class one. One day, during August holiday, I was eight years old and in class three. I went to visit my grandfather.

I didn’t know what he was planning for me. After a few days of staying there he got me circumcised according to our custom and traditions. It was done in a funny way. My uncle lied to me, that we were going to the market for a show. When we got there he bought me a bottle of soda. Before I knew what was happening he took me to the health center and talked to a doctor quietly then they took me to a nice room and circumcised me.

The place smelt of disinfectant and medicines. I didn’t like it there and I was angry with my grandfather, for taking me to the doctor to be circumcised. I was about nine years old. Of course in my tribe people must be intiated through circumcision. I had learnt that from some of my friends, who were already done with it. It only took about 3 weeks to heal. My emotions changed to pride. I went to my friends and showed a new me. I went back to my father and told him about it. He didn’t got surprised although he was happy I had crossed that line. He added to my pride by giving me several presents.

A year later, my parents decided to start their own business in Busia town. We moved from Siaya to Busia where I joined a new school. I started playing soccer. I played very hard with a lot of commitments. One day while rushing for the ball I collided with a bigger boy. My left arm broke. I screamed in pain. The teacher called my father with his phone. He was shocked to find me in hospital and in pain. I missed school for about six months.

Later, my parents decided to close the business because they had no money. All the money was used to pay my hospital bill. This was the plan, mother and children had to go back to the rural home, and father was to go to Nairobi with his cousin, to look for a job. I was happy to meet my grandparents again. I remembered how they had organized for my circumcision some time ago. Grandfather was happy to see me grown in to a big boy. I helped him to take care of his cows. I even learnt how to milk a cow. I made sure that grandmothers’ eggs were safe.

I later joined school, with the help of grandfather. I was behind and could not do well. However, people understood my problem. My father was also concerned with my progress in school. He likes education himself. He wants me to be like him. Am now in Hamomi and working hard to pass my final exam.

Thank you

Daniel Wambua Autobiography

DANIEL WAMBUA

I was born in 1997 in Kibwezi, one of the biggest and oldest slums in Kenya. It is in the eastern part of Kenya. Both my mother and father were happy for birth of their 4th child, another boy. When I was one year old we vacated to Juakali in Eldoret. Life improved because my father got a job. I joined St. Mary’s school in Eldoret.

After a year my father got a quarter acre of land and built a small house. My mother got a job as a nurse. We thus managed to pay all our debts, and continue with the construction of the house.

After attending to St. Mary school for a year we were transferred to another school. Every day I could wake up to a cup of tea with a piece of ugali left over from a previous supper meal, and then go to school at 7:00 in the morning. God favoured us because my parents bought a television and a small power generator and a big tank which boosted our family business. My mother could take the T.V. set to school for pupils to watch and pay 5 shillings per pupil.

My mother started doing video shows in the neighbouring schools. Mostly the video shows were all about education on HIV/AIDS, technological development, health education, drugs etc. Every child in Eldoret town knew her and loved her. You see my mother was a trained nurse but like thousands of other nurses she was not employed by the government so the video shows were held in the afternoon.

Occasionally, an NGO asked my mother to spray insecticide, germicides, in the infested slums and ghettos in Eldoret. She received an allowance for this. On top of this we sold tap water. Later, dad who was a staunch Christian stopped working and started to preach the gospel. He started a registered fellowship.

All these activities kept our family afloat there was no talk of lack although we were not rich. I went on with school and got good grades. I dreamt of being a doctor when I saw my mother caring for sick people. Sometimes I went to hospital with her by this time I was 11 years old and in grade 4. My parents loved each other very much. I enjoyed the good environment they created for us children. I’m second last, my sister Virginia is last born, being 3 years behind me, that was on the year 2007 – during general elections.

I was not aware of all the political mayhem, being planned in Kenya. My parents seemed pre-occupied with a lot of possibilities of changes in Kenya. The election ended peacefully. But all of a sudden, the results were rejected by the broad opposition. Soon after a lot of bickering by leaders, protests and demonstrators were held in all districts. Ethnicity became an issue. You should know my parents are from different tribes. My mother is a Kalenjin and my father is a Kamba. Kalenjins are known for un-dying anger when provoked. War broke out and people started disappointed.

Neighbours vanished but we did not know where to go. We could not go to mum’s parents since father was not a Kalenjin. On other hand dad’s tribe was 900 km away. There were not transport as everything even telephones shut down.

Our good peaceful neighbourhood became a ghost town. We huddled together in our small house. From last born Virginia, me, Benjamin, Fame, and first born Faith. My mother had been busy contributing to the population of the world! At that time I couldn't love like now. We could die –be burnt in our house any time!. There were gun shots and screams at night. Flames on burning houses could be observed every night. Roads were blocked, shops closed, burnt, broken into, people killed.

My mother a brave woman approached the warriors outside at night and begged for our lives. She traded all our property for our escape. The warriors, strangers, escorted us through the night to a place. We had walked for 40 km on foot. Virginia, cried all the way. She was scared. Father kept reassuring us and praying all the time. I think it was his prayers that saved us. We ran in to our fellow displaced people in the morning. I was tired, hungry and cold.

Together in a big group of refugees(mostly old and children) left for Nakuru, almost 200 km away, through a hostile route again anytime could run in to fighters and kiss sweet life good bye. Am sure you don’t know the rest. We camped, cooked in the open until we covered 100 miles. My father left us and got a lift on a motor cycle to Nakuru. There we joined a church and made friends.

We later went to Nairobi. We used a lorry which transported all the refugees to Nairobi. In Nairobi another church took care of us, for three months. My family other refugees and my dad found us a place to live. He started praying and organising prayers with other ministers. He held crusades. All this time we were not attending school. One member of the fellowship who was a volunteer in a neighbouring school, brought my parents to the school , in December 2010. The school was Hamomi children centre. Benjamin, Virginia, and I joined the school in January 2011. I will sit for my final exams this year in November.

Thank you.

Clementine Mwenesi Autobiography

CLEMENTINE MWENESI

My name is Clementine Mwenesi. I was born on 10th October as the second born child. My elder sister was three years old. Ten years later my parents divorced and my mother went her way. By this time we were three children. My father became a single parent and tried to look after his children. We missed our mother and often visited her parents. I wished I could live with her at her parents. I wished I could live with her but I was not allowed. In our tribe, children belong to their father.

Sometimes I hid from school and ran all the way for 5 km, to visit my mother. Another day I pretended to go to school but diverted my way secretly, and went to my grandparents home where my mother lived. This made my father furious as he had to come after me. Finally, I got used to life without my mum. It took me one year and severe punishments of different types.

What really helped me to stop visiting my mother, however, was the fact that she went away to the city of Nairobi to look for a job. I couldn't visit her if she was not near.

I often cried because I missed my mother. Sometimes I refused to eat and refused to talk to anybody. My sadness affected my studies very much. People thought I was a stupid pupil because I was not the last born. My father became very firm with me and made me to understand that I had to go on. He was relieved that with my mother far away he took his mind off from her to concentrate on his children.

Eventually we were old enough to survive without our parents. We also could eat more. Three children and an adult is not so cheap. We needed clothes, food, school fees, books, pens etc. my dad had started life without worrying about such things. He explained his problem to his parents. They suggested to him to go and look for a job. They agreed to look after us if he could find a small job. My father was received and very happy. His cousin came home on leave and promised to help him get to Nairobi.

After father left for Nairobi life changed a lot. Grandmother could not care for us like our father did. We weren’t so clean and grandmother’s food was cooked traditionally. We had freedom to visit friends and go and watch soccer in the village. Father had been a problem to that. Our friends also spent time with us in our grandparents home. But without father and mother I become worse academically. Nobody seemed to care about my school. Both my grandparents were illiterate.

Father spent one year away before he came back. Suddenly, he said he got a job and a place to live. He was disappointed with my results. I was doing nothing good for myself in school. Discussions were held about me at length. Finally my father had to go back to work. He said he would find a solution to my problem. He promised to be back soon. Not much later my aunt came to visit my grandmother. She heard about my problems in school. She took me to Nairobi with her. She put me in a school near her place.

Early last year in January my father came to my aunt’s house and said that he had met some friends who could help him with his daughter i.e me. My aunt came with him to see Mr. Raphael and Mr. Musumba. They interviewed me for grade seven and said I was average and their teachers could help me. Am now in Hamomi. It’s a hard working school. I have many friends in the school. Everyone helps me to study. I met white people from America. They gave us many presents and promised to help us through secondary school if we pass our final exams. I’m determined to pass it this year. Thanks.

Charles Wabwire Autobiography

CHARLES WABWIRE

I was born in Busia county in the Western region of Kenya, on 23rd November 1994. I was given the name Alex Ongoma by my mother since my grandfather was called Ongoma.

When I was two and a half years old I attended Nasewa Sunday school church where I was baptized and my father changed my name to Charles Wabwire, himself being Timothy Wabwire. My parents parted ways. My mother left me under the care of my father.

When I was six years old I came to Nairobi with my brother for few days only. We later returned home. I was very happy to see my mother, but sad that it lasted for three days only. My father didn’t want me to live so far from him. He wanted me to stay with his wife.

One day I was not happy with my step-mother then I decided to run away from home, when she had gone to see business and left me at home. I did my cleaning then I ran away. Only that is the day I got freedom of movement. When my father came back home, they didn’t see me. They searched for all around the village, but they didn’t see me. They thought I had got lost. I was at my uncle’s home. I never worried because the problem which I had was not seeing my mother.

The villagers had told me that my real mother was far away in Nairobi. I came to realize that if it was my mother she would not have mistreated me, like my step mother did. I sneaked out through the back door and took the foot path in the village, I was going to my uncle’s home.

I ran and ran all the way to my uncle's home. 5 km is too long for a 7 year old boy, who is not well fed and who is tired. I don’t know how I did it but I arrived there. I was very tired and hungry. My uncle and aunt were very sorry for me. They gave me food and put me in a warm nice bed. I slept like a baby. In the morning when I woke up my uncle and his wife were taking their breakfast. They did not say anything but first gave me a cup of tea and mandazi. After that they took me outside and calmly asked me about my father and step-mother. I told them all my problems. I requested them to take me to my mother. My uncle said it was impossible, only my father could make the decision. However he promised to convince my father to at least allow me to visit my mother in Nairobi. That gave me some hope.

The next day my uncle returned home to my father and step-mother. I was full of apprehension that my father would beat life out of me but he didn't do anything. He did not agree to my uncle’s suggestion. So when my uncle left I started planning for the next escape. This time I didn't know where to go. I just left without knowing what I was doing. I ran and ran for a whole day and went far away from our home. I found an old abandoned house in a strange village where I slept. I had a lot of fear. I just waited for good Samaritan from where I did not know. At night I went to a deserted market and found some abandoned fruits in the garbage heap.

Sleep was difficult in the strange village. All kinds of animals and noise came out at night. There was pain from a wound in my right thigh. I licked my fingers as a way of cleaning the wound. I thought about my step-mother’s well fed children back home, in a warm bed. I must have fallen asleep a long time because I woke up in the morning and found the sun shining warmly.

Memories of my earlier short visit to Nairobi came flooding back to me. I remember how my mother had been happy to see me. I decided I was leaving for Nairobi at once. I had no bus fare. It was expensive to travel from Busia to Nairobi by bus. I decided to get in to a bus and see what would happen. When one bus came I got in and took a seat. I went for almost two hours before they asked me for fare. I didn't have any so I just started crying. The bus stopped with intentions to throw me out. All the passengers crowded around me. One woman recognized me and called me by my name. She was kind and paid my bus fare. I sat with her to Nairobi. When we got to Nairobi I was lost. I did not know where I would go to find my mother. She called all her friends to see me. One of them knew her house. She decided to take me to school at once.

After three or four years her job ended. She had to look for another job. At that I had dropped out of school. Then a friend told mother about Hamomi. And so now am at Hamomi. Father gave up hope of getting me back. When he heard I had accused his second wife for troubles.

My academic state was bad. I had started late at 8 years. The pupils at Hamomi were ahead of me. I worked hard and hard but it was hard to catch up. Now am in my final year and I hope to pass my exams. Next year I will join secondary school. That’s where my future career will be born.

Thank you.

Brian Misiko Autobiography

BRIAN MISIKO

My name is Brian Misiko Aling’aling’a. My parents names are Nixon Misiko and Agiripina Andeka. I was born on 19th June 1998 in Kakemega county in the western region of Kenya. When I was about seven months old my father brought his girlfriend home and said she would be his new wife. My mother was very angry and very sad.

She decided to go away, but after doing something terrible to punish my father. She waited when none was around and then put the house on fire. I’m lucky that she decided to keep the children safe. If her anger had driven her mad enough we may have seen the sun for the last time. From there I started living with my grandfather.

They fed me with cow milk until I weaned. At that time my grandmother was just suffering because of having to care for me. My mother was nowhere to be found. Even my father was just seeing me suffering but he couldn't help. My grandmother took care of me until I was one and half years. I started calling my grandmother my mother. My elder sister was also living with my grandmother.

When I joined school I still lived with my grandparents although my father and my step-mother were there. They had built a new house. School was boring to me and I did not like it. I didn’t understand what the teacher said. I was very lazy and refused to write. This drove the teacher mad. She beat me and forced me to write. I did not care about reading and writing. I disliked my friends because they listened and got it right. That left me alone in a big trouble. I thought my teacher hated me because she was not my mother. I wanted my mother because I felt she would be nicer to me. I wished I was big enough to knock the teacher down, whenever she beat me. I became more un co-operative and did not concentrate on what she was saying. That made me to be last in my class.

I had to repeat nursery school. My new teacher was surprised at my behavior. She went to ask my grandmother what was the matter with me. Grandmother explained that she needed my mother who was an outcast. It's a taboo to burn a house where I come from. Anyway my teacher became concerned with me. She started to treat me as my mother. I felt better. She gave sweets and presents and promised to reward me if I wrote anything at all. She made me to complete nursery school successfully. In primary school I was back to my old problem. Teachers in primary school are not baby sitters. I quickly hated them but learnt they would never use sweets and gifts but canes! I had to do my part this time whether I liked it or not.

When I was nine years old my mother remembered me. I had not forgotten my need for my mother. My aunt brought home to me a pack of presents from my mother. My heart beat very fast with excitement. There were some clothes and toys! I was very happy. I got my first pair of shoes. You should have seen me in my new shoes. I bounced up and down the village road to show to everyone. My friends envied me. Few children wear shoes in Kakamega. My father saw all this and felt something like he had failed. My sister ran to him to show him that she had new books and pens. He decided to go and look for job in Nairobi. After a year he came home.

A few years ago, I visited my father in Nairobi. I was still not doing well in school. He was trying to encourage me. He promised to live and study in Nairobi. I started working hard to please him. My results improved. This is my final year in primary. If I don’t pass my exam I will be forced to repeat it next year or drop out of school. I want to pass and go with my friends to secondary school. My father heard me explaining that so he brought me to Nairobi in December and started looking for someone to help me. That’s when he met Mr. Daniel of Hamomi Children’s Centre. My sister is now in form two in a secondary school. I met Susie Marks. She assured us not to worry, she was going to the U.S.A to help us. Thanks to Hamomi.

BRIAN.

P.S--- I still need to see my mum but right now I’m a big boy and I’m very busy.

Anne Wangui Autobiography

ANN WANGUI

I was born in Dandora in the city of Nairobi, on 22^ndDecember 1997. When I was born both my parents were working hard to make sure that any I got everything that every child could have. That day there was much celebration.

Several family and friends came with presents to welcome the baby angel. I was given a tiny bangle and a whistle was blown three times to show that a baby girl had been born. If I had been a boy it would be blown five times. That is a Kikuyu culture in Kenya. My family congratulated my mother for bringing the little angel. Everyone received my birth with pleasure.

I grew up like any other Kikuyu girl, closely watched by my parents. My father worked as a watch repairer. He repaired watches for people. He bought old and spoilt watches, and sold them to people. Later he learnt masonry. He started working on construction and buildings in Nairobi. My mother sold fruits and vegetables by the roadside. When she was away selling, I was left with my mother’s younger sister, my aunt who lived with us. That’s how my parents earned a living. Sometimes my father ran out of work. That’s when my mother’s fruits and vegetables took over the care of us all. When I was four years old I joined nursery school. My elder sister was then seven years and in class two. My aunty stopped taking care of me at that time. She left our house and got married.

After school at 2:00 pm I had to join my mother at her stall at the roadside. We sold her fruits until 8:00 at night. My sister came back from school at 5.00 pm. I made all sorts of friends at the roadside. I also learned how to cross the road and how to avoid vehicles. I even knew how to sell things by time. I was seven years old and in class two. Things became tough for my father and he sent us to his rural home (our home). My mother’s business was not enough anymore. There were many competitors and all kinds of kiosks there. Now it was time to experience life in Kiambu which is 40 km from Nairobi. Life in rural home was easier than in Nairobi.

The trouble was a complete change of culture from that of Nairobi. People were very careful to obey our Kikuyu culture, unlike in Nairobi where people do not care about traditions. Also I made a lot of friends who I didn’t like very much. All my class two age-mates had never gone to school. They did not know the alphabets and numbers. They were behind in everything. I had to teach them every day. I taught them new games, songs and manners. I was more civilized because of living in Nairobi. I became the princess in my small group of friends. “I was miss know it all”. I had had some silly toys which my friends in rural thought they were great. The kids had to beg one to play with. That was a great time of my life. I wish it was back. Those were the good old days. I didn’t have time to miss my life in Nairobi. It was not a big life but the people in rural made me feel big.

However, no dream lasts forever. Time passed and I found the family moving back upcountry. I was nine years, and even my clothes looked like those of poor rural children. Most of my rural age-mates had not caught up with my reading skills yet. On the other hand I was now behind compared to the kids in town.

Back in Nairobi, I was the poorest kid again. My clothes were finished up at upcountry. I started square one all over again. I had forgotten how to cross roads, avoid vehicles and sell. My mother quickly started her fruits and vegetables business. My father said he couldn’t travel from Nairobi frequently to visit us. That was the reason we were back to Nairobi. I was happy because I would have new friends, new school, new books, new everything.

Looking at me, my new friends did not like my rural looks, rural manners and rural ignorance, but I struggled to fit in their group. By class six I had caught up with my academics, and good manners. All I want now is to pass my final exams of class eight and qualify for secondary school. This is the year that will make a change in my life. Susie Marks, Mr. Raphael and Mr. Musumba will be happy if I pass highly.

Thank you.

Wednesday, August 1, 2012

Quick Introduction

Hello All!

I am the new intern for Hamomi! And when I say new, I mean brand new – just about two weeks running now. I am beyond excited to have joined the Hamomi team and community. A little bit about me:

I am originally from Ithaca, NY but have spent the last two and a half years at Northeastern University in Boston, MA. I’m double majoring in International Affairs and Human Services – hopefully with a minor in African Studies. I absolutely LOVE to travel and explore new places and cultures – my most recent adventure landed me in none other than the wonderful Kenya – oddly enough doing a research project unrelated to Hamomi.

So, how did a girl from Upstate New York going to school in Boston end up moving to Seattle to work for a school in Kenya? Northeastern has a program called Co-op that is sort of a 6-months-on, 6-months-off model. For 6 months students do internships related to their field of study, and spend the other half of the year taking classes. While visiting a friend in Seattle last December I was connected with the wonderful Susie Marks and a plan was divulged to potentially create my own Co-op position with Hamomi. Fast-forward six months….and here I am!

It has only been a few weeks, but I would argue that I have the best co-op anyone has ever had. The entire Hamomi team has been so welcoming and patient in helping me settle into things. I’m excited to see what I’ll be able to contribute to all of the different projects going on here, and get to know everyone a little bit better!

Best,

Anna

Tuesday, July 17, 2012

The Dangers of Crossing the Street

There are all kinds of horrific headlining causes of death in Kenya, but one of them, the 9th leading cause of death, isn't quite sexy enough to get the response it deserves. There will never be a 'Eureka!' moment in which the cure is discovered, there will never be an overnight solution to this problem and most upsetting: nobody, including myself, can do

much to protect themselves from it. The cause of death: road accidents.

In Kenya everybody is subject to all the disastrous outcomes pretty much no matter what. If you ever want to leave your house, cross the street, trust a bus driver to get you somewhere, even drive yourself somewhere, you are

putting your life at risk.

I became convinced recently that the road accident deaths are significantly higher than the amount reported by the Kenyan government when Sheila Atieno from Youths for Road Safety - Kenya showed me the official report released and the numbers seemed laughably small just

pulling from my own experiences.

It's easy to explain when many accidents go unreported, leaving the scene of the crime is nowhere near uncommon, police officers are easily bribed, and when people die later of complications, I can't imagine that is recorded very often.

The craziest thing to me is how well the 'cure' is understood. Fix the car-size potholes. Put in street lights. Create more lanes on the highways to make passing cars at 80 miles an hour around blind corners a thing of the past. Implement emissions testing so that the trucks/lorries people are forced to pass are not these dinosaurs creeping at 4 miles an hour while spewing exhaust.

Institute quotas for traffic cops, affordable traffic violation tickets for drivers and a navigable court system so that speeding isn't so accessible and bribing isn't so necessary for all parties. But this is not a 'Eureka!' cure. This is bottlenecks wrapped in lobbyists covered in committees all inside an oven of party politics. It would require so much good-will, cross-party handshaking, statistical reporting and follow-up

that when I envision how difficult it would be in America's cluster-Congress, I don't even know how to realistically imagine this campaign's success in Kenya.

That is not to say things aren't slowly getting better. They are. Better roads are a quick, tangible way to appease a constituency for a politician trying to get re-elected. So at least I can say that's happening...

All I keep coming back to is: if these things cured HIV/AIDS, you couldn't stop activist groups from implementing them. But for some reason road accidents aren't at the forefront of the development conversation. I could explore how or why, but the truth is, it's just not.

One organization who is taking on this topic. Youths for Road Safety - Kenya (YOURS-K). YOURS-K came down to Hamomi a couple weeks ago and put on an educational workshop for Hamomi's students - who are just as at risk as anybody else every time they walk to and from school. I couldn't be there, but all parties reported a great success. YOURS-K posted an album on their Facebook page which you can find here . These pictures are all ones I've pulled from that album.

Not only is the content of this workshop incredibly important, I was so impressed with what you can see in the pictures: they know how to talk about this to kids. Classroom portion, outdoor portion, activity portion, food. I'm sure the Hamomi students loved it, but beyond that I feel certain it will lead to at least one student taking smart, preventative measures against road hazards, and that makes me feel like Superwoman.

Thank you to YOURS-K. You can find out more about them here. Thanks to Keats Landis for connecting Hamomi and YOURS-K and getting me to take on this issue more proactively. You are an inspiration.

All my best,
Susie

Friday, June 8, 2012

"I want to bring every one of them home with me to show you all how much love they have to share."

With Hamomi volunteer Blake Simpson's permission, this post is pieces of his very moving updates. I am so glad he is sharing his experience so everybody can see it. Enjoy!

Week 1 - Click for Week 1 Video

Nairobi is a beautiful land filled with all types of cultures that arise from the 42 different tribes in Kenya. Bryn (another volunteer who coincidently attended WSU) and I spend a little over an hour every day walking to and from Hamomi through the slum Kawangware.

It’s an amazing trek that allows us to hone down our Swahili skills from all the street greetings.

The second day I began shadowing some of the core classes and exercising with the children, they love my jump roping and karate skills!

They are the most loving and kind children I have ever encountered in my life.

Opposite from my primary education experience, the kids are almost jumping out of their seats to answer questions, read problems, and tell us their stories.

I am already overwhelmed with a sense of love and compassion for these children, as they are very affectionate in their mannerisms.

My favorite are the preschooler and 1st years, they fall over in joy every time I show them a new trick or handshake.

I cannot wait to ingrain myself in the curriculum and really start making some steps toward a better education for the kids.

Week 2 - Click for Week 2 Video

All is well in Nairobi as I become more acclimated with the school's class schedule.

The two other volunteers I had mentioned (Nikki and Bryn) both teach classes (photography and computer sciences) that were added to the curriculum when they arrived in replacement of PE times.

Luckily, we are able to share times since 3-4 PE classes a day are very exhausting. This is because the kids don’t understand the names or even types of exercises I am referring to when I say things like “suicides up the hill”, so I’m getting the full workout in as well.

I don’t mind this though, as it’s not like I’m going to the gym in my off time, plus the kids love to observe and repeat. Since the classes are mixed sex, this creates a bit of a dilemma with the women and their skirts.

Although they are long skirts, exercising the abdominals and doing any type of leg lifts can become a serious task for obvious reasons.

When all else fails though, go back to the roots of PE and Africa: football (soccer)!

Nikki recently implemented a tutoring program for the 8th graders since they just took their practice exams and really need help to prepare for their final exam in November.

This final determines the children’s fate for secondary school; they must get a 250 or better to move on.

Although all of them with the exception of one got between a 320 and 260, there is still a lot more material to learn, especially with the English section.

Seeing as there are about twelve 8th graders, I have taken four of them under my wing to help. They love the assistance, and my point of view on answering their questions. I began with their English papers, which mostly contained errors of past/present tense and spelling.

I love these kids, James, Prudence, Sasha, Livingstone, Joy, Ejohn, Purity, and the list goes on. My face aches on the walk home from smiling all day, and I honestly don’t know how to explain it.

I want to bring every one of them home with me to show you all how much love they have to share. I am already finding ways to create a social business through not only Hamomi, but also my own clothing company that will bring me back here every year. The things I enjoy doing, I mean truly enjoy and think about every night are so simple, walking through the slums, teaching 8 year olds hand shakes, even mixing fresh fruits I buy on the way to school with the beans and rice they provide us.

I encourage every one of you to contemplate experiencing this; it will change your life forever. Please, do ask questions, give answers, debate and relate with my experience because it is inspiring.

A smile goes a long way here, much further than it does in America, and the best part is it’s free to give out and accept!

-Blake