Clementine Mwenesi 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!

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

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!

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

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!

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

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!

ANN WANGUI

I was born in Dandora in the city of Nairobi, on 22^nd  December 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.

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

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

"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