Hamomi Volunteer Blogspot

Friday, January 4, 2013

We Have Moved

Please visit our new blog site instead: http://hamomi.blogspot.com/

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.