My heart is racing like Eliud Kipchoge on the last stretch of the INEOS challenge race. I can hardly see what is in front of me, leave alone what is behind me. Danger lurks in darkness; I hear my Mama’s voice ringing in my head; Never walk alone in the dark. The darkness in this alley surrounds me like a heavy blanket. The dilapidated houses stand back to back, as if telling any loner in this alley to carry their own cross. I step on a stone and a sharp pain goes up my ankle. Oh, not another sprain. How will I participate in netball at school if I keep hurting my leg? I do not pause to check the extent of the damage. I really need to reach home. I cling tightly to the polythene bag that I am carrying.
Inside are sukuma wiki, two tomatoes, an onion and a packet of unga. I dare not drop this precious polythene bag. If I do, my family will sleep hungry today, like they did yesterday.
What was that?! Did I hear some movement behind me? I am too terrified to look back, so I double my steps. Before long, I am jogging, forgetting about the pain in my ankle. The footsteps behind me also quicken. My heart is now pounding so loudly as if determined to form an orchestra with the footsteps behind me. I already know what is going on here. A young school girl walking alone at night is definitely a prey to the idle men of this place. Last week, my friend Anyango was raped at seven pm. She had been sent to the shop to buy a piece of soap only to fall prey to the men who lurk like ghosts in the night. With a lightning speed, they grabbed her, stuffed her mouth with rags and had their turns with her to their satisfaction. Those maniacs! We found Anyango half-dead and naked. Her clothes had been torn into little pieces. As I recall Anyango’s ordeal, I find myself sprinting. No way I am letting a man molest me. Most importantly, there’s no way I am letting my family sleep hungry again.
“Ah! There you are!” My Mama says, relief written all over her face. The relief turns into joy when she sees the polythene bag that I am clutching close to my chest. I am gasping for breath. I sit on a stool by the door and wait to catch my breath before I give Mama an explanation. She sees my condition and gets me a cup of water. Phew! The water is refreshing.
“Sorry Mama, Auntie Rose was not around when I arrived at her house. I had to wait for her to come back”, I offer an explanation.
Auntie Rose is Mama’s elder sister.
“She has sent me with this”.
I give Mama the polythene bag, proud of myself for having kept it safe. She takes a glance inside and heads straight to the kitchen. She hums a tune as she goes about her kitchen business.
Our kitchen is not a kitchen per se. In fact, there is no kitchen or living room or bedroom. All we have is one single room that is separated using a curtain to demarcate the sleeping area from the sitting area. A corner of the sleeping area serves as the kitchen area. This is where Mama, Baba and Omolo sleeps. Omolo is old enough to leave Mama’s bed, but there is no more space where the rest of us sleep. Aoko, Otieno and I share a small mat. It is made of reeds. Whenever we want to sleep, we move the furniture to one side, spread the mat on the floor and we are good to go. During the day, we take the mat outside. Mama cannot afford to buy us a bed. Even if she could, where would it be placed?
“Food is ready”, Mama announces with a big smile. The aroma wafts from the kitchen and tantalizes our nostrils. We know the drill. We all stand up and line up next to the kitchen. Mama puts a spoonful into each one’s plate and hands it to us, like a priest handing Holy Communion to congregants at Mass. No one speaks as we eat. When you’ve been hungry for more than a day, talking is not exactly what you want to do while eating. Before you know it, we are all done eating. Needless to say, the plates are empty. Omolo stirs from his sleep. Either the hunger or the smell of food has woken him up. Mama picks him up and feeds him.
“And you, when will you eat, Mama?” I inquire.
“Do not worry about me, Akinyi”, she replies. This woman is ever smiling. At least when Papa is not around.
“Now, hurry up and go to bed before the lamp goes out”. That is my queue to spread the mat so that we can start sleeping. Otieno sleeps at the far end because he urinates at night. Aoko sleeps next to me.
“Good night Mama”, I say.
“Good night, sleep well”, she replies.
I have a beautiful dream. I have been accepted by Mr. Kwach in the netball team. Since I am faster than the other girls, I play the center position. This means that I have the power to attack as well as defend. I can move anywhere in the netball pitch except the D. This is the goal ring, but we prefer to call it the D because that is the shape that we see when we look at the pitch. Most importantly, if I play netball and excel, the nearest secondary school can enroll me the following year even if my parents don’t raise the school fees. I can play netball for them as they waiver my school fees. Mr. Kwach blows the whistle and the game begins…
My dream is interrupted by a knock, no, it is a bang on the door. As I slowly wake up, I know without a doubt who is on the other side of the door. I also have an idea of what is about to ensue. My only regret is that I wasn’t given a chance to finish my dream.
“Min Akinyi, do you want me to knock all night or are you going to open this door?” Papa says in a drunken voice.
Mama climbs out of bed, lights the lamp once again and opens the door without a word. Papa stumbles in. His foul breath fills the whole house with a reeking smell. He is from Min Apiyo, the chang’aa vendor. Never mind that selling chang’aa is illegal in my country. Many women in this estate, in fact, many women in this country survive on the business. As long as they can line the pockets of the police officers, they are safe. Not to mention that most men around here depend on it. It doesn’t matter that this illicit brew has made many of them blind, and some have actually died.
Papa staggers towards a chair, misses it and sits on the floor. Mama brings the food. She sets it right there on the ground in front of a now singing Papa. His song is a mixture of reggae and blues and gospel all in one. The words are incoherent, but he doesn’t mind the tastelessness. Papa looks at the food in front of him.
“Min Akinyi, where is the meat?” Here we go, again.
“Wuon Akinyi, how do you expect me to afford some meat when I didn’t even have enough money to buy unga? The food you see in front of you was donated to us by my sister Rose”, Mama replies, as calm as ever
“What about the money I gave you this morning?”, Papa asks. This script looks familiar.
“That was last week, Wuon Akinyi. It’s been a week since the last time you gave me money”.
“Are you calling me a liar?”
That is my cue. I know I have to take care of my siblings. I quickly wake them up and hurdle them in one corner, waiting for it to pass. They don’t ask questions; they are old enough to understand. As for Omolo, he sleeps through it all. I don’t want to see what’s going on, so I close my eyes. But my mind is wide open. It is fully aware of what is going on. My young brain is busy recording the myriad insults being hurled at Mama. I can hear her silent cry. She dares not make a sound, for we will all join her and it will be one orchestra of a crying family. She has to be strong for us, even as she receives one blow after another. My mind can see her protecting her face with her hands. Better a broken rib than gorged out eye. After what seems to be forever, Papa is too tired to keep beating her. He sits down, eats everything on his plate and staggers to bed. Only then do we return to our mat to sleep, thankful that it is all over for today.
The dawn breaks beautifully, the yellow sun coming gloriously over the Nandi hills to tease our black skins. It is another beautiful day in Kisumu City. Standing gracefully on the shores of Lake Victoria, she beautifies the western region of Kenya, and is best known for availability of Nile perch and tilapia. The tall buildings seem to pierce the sky, dwarfing the shorter buildings around them.
It has different estates where one can live, depending on the depths of one’s pockets. The well-to-do occupy Milimani estate. This is where you will find the Wazungu, the Indians and the Africans who have made it in life. The gates are always closed, giving it a ghostly appearance. Then there is Tom Mboya estate, another cradle for the well-to-do. It is home to different NGOs as well as private hospitals, like the famous Doctor’s Plaza. This is where my aunt Rose lives. If your money cannot take you to either Milimani or Tom Mboya, then you can still land in Polyview estate, which borrows its name from the fact that it borders the Kisumu Polytechnic. History has it that it was once a graveyard. However, if you were to visit it currently, the beauty of the apartments will make you forget about ghosts that lurk in a graveyard. The lower middle class occupy Migosi, Kenya-Re, Car-wash and Lolwe estates. Then there is us, the majority. You will find us in the slums of Manyatta, Nyalenda, Nyawita, Bandani and Obunga.
The sun’s rays must be aware of these social classes because it hits the high end estates first, before coming to us, the people of Obunga. Obunga is the kind of estate where you would never want your child to grow up in, if you can help it. The dilapidated houses that we live in seem to bow down in shame. The iron roofs have all since rusted, most of them leaking. On rainy days, we put a bucket on those spots to catch the water. Where the nails have come off, a big stone is put on the roof to hold the iron sheet. A few have cemented walls, but majority are made of mud.
Walking in Obunga estate is a hop-step-jump affair. Open sewers separate the buildings. One has to be careful not to step on rotting cabbages or ugali or worse, feaces. The pit latrines we have are almost full, so the very young children are encouraged to do it in the open. Those who can afford closed shoes have the easiest of time while walking. Most of us wear slippers though, for you can get a pair for only sixty shillings.
I have witnessed many girls of my age getting pregnant during this period. An idle mind is always the devil’s workshop. The parents leave early to eke a living; the children remain at home unattended. As a result, young boys and girls roam about hoping to make a coin or two for themselves. That is when the girls fall prey to the boda-boda riders. They are enticed with two hundred shillings and a promise that when schools re-open, they will get a free ride to school. This is enough to convince them to give in to these treacherous adults. Every month I notice a girl of my age who is now pregnant, with no hope of ever returning to school. Worse, the man responsible for the pregnancy is nowhere to be seen.
Girls are not the only victims of the Corona virus situation. Boys have delved into odd jobs to make money. I hear my neighbor Ken saying that when schools re-open, he will not go back. Why would he bother studying while he can make three hundred shillings a day carrying bricks at a construction site? To him, life is good! Unfortunately, some boys have turned into crime, making a living as petty thieves here and there.
Papa is awake. He stumbles out like a reggae dancer getting on the dance floor. This means that he is still drunk. I know where he is going to. He is going back to Min Apiyo to ‘top up’ before he becomes completely sober. I can’t quite remember the last time I saw him completely sober. I watch him walk away, knowing very well that he will most likely come back at night. Whatever happens in this house between morning and night has not been his business for a while now.
But Papa was not always like this. No, I remember a time when my Papa was sober. He even used to go to church, and was the church warden. Papa used to be a fisherman in Lake Victoria. Every afternoon, you would find him in Dunga Beach mending his nets, as he awaits nightfall. In the evening, he would sail away on his boat, and come back the next morning with a lot of fish. Sometimes he caught Nile Perch. Sometimes it would be tilapia. Sometimes he would go for omena, those little delicacies that left you licking your fingers. We were happy during those days. We never lacked food. Mama would sell some of the fish in the market and use it to buy other household items. During those days, I would go to school smartly dressed. We used to live in Car-wash estate back then.
Things changed with the coming of the water hyacinth. The green monster crept slowly on the once beautiful blue lake, choking up any form of life in its wake. With time, boats could not venture into the lake, as the water hyacinth blocked the way. The fish receded deeper into the lake. Fishermen like Papa were rendered jobless, and our trouble as a family began…
My thoughts are interrupted by someone calling my name. I look up. It is Maureen, my friend. She is smiling from ear to ear.
“Hey, Akinyi, come over here”, she says jovially. She is carrying a piece of paper, no, it is a newspaper clipping. Curiously, I limp towards her. My ankle has swollen since yesterday.
“What is it my dear friend?” I inquire.
“All our troubles are over, Akinyi. We don’t have to struggle to be in Mr. Kwach’s netball team anymore!”
I am looking at her as confused as ever. Has she lost her mind? Playing netball is the only hope we have of joining a secondary school. Or has she gotten a ‘rich’ boyfriend like the other girls?
“Look here! The Standard has published a list of educational foundations that sponsor bright but needy students all through secondary school. All we need to do is work hard!”
I take the newspaper clipping from her excitedly and read. Sure enough, there are more than ten foundations offering full scholarship for bright but needy students. Equity Wings to Fly, The Palmhouse Foundation, The Jomo Kenyatta Foundation…they are all there! My heart beats excitedly inside my chest. Since last year, I have been scoring 300 marks and above, out of the possible 400. The smile broadens into a joyous laugh.
“You see? All we need is Corona Virus to be tamed, so that the schools can reopen. Then we can work hard to wards better grades”, she says.
“No Maureen, you are wrong”, I correct her, ignoring the questioning stare she is giving me. “We don’t need to wait for the pandemic to end. We have our books right here at home. We have daylight which we can use to study. Instead of hanging around like other girls do, let’s use our time for revision, and sure enough, we will be in a position to apply for a scholarship”. Before I know it, Maureen is hugging me tightly.
This is the light at the end of my dark tunnel. I will work hard and become a lawyer. I will not be swayed by men who want to give me cheap things in exchange for my body. I will prove that one can come from the slum to be a great person. I will pull my family out of this poverty. I will build my Mama a house. It will have three rooms so that there is some privacy. I can do this!
It is the end of the Math lesson. Mr. Kwach has just left the classroom, and given us an assignment on Algebra. This is the last assignment we are going to do before the national exams, Kenya Certificate of Primary Education (KCPE). My classroom is a bit different from how it used to be. We are now sitting one meter a part, and no one has a desk mate. Everyone is required to wear a mask at all times. Throughout the school compound, there are water points where we wash our hands. This is the only way in which we can beat Covid-19 disease. Our Cabinet Secretary for Health calls it the new normal.
These new conditions do not hinder my focus. Next week, the exams begin. I have a newspaper clipping in my desk to remind me of all the scholarship funds available should I pass my exams. No, it is a matter of when, not if. I have worked so hard to come this far. I have endured a lot to reach this far, and I am willing to go all the way. As I pick my books to start the long walk home, I am already building my Mama that beautiful house in my head. If tomorrow comes.
GLOSARY
Sukuma wiki- kales
Unga- flour
Ugali- maize meal
Sufuria- aluminium pot used for cooking
Min- mother of
Wuon- Father of
Wazungu- white people
Boda-boda- Motorbike
Omena- sardines
The Standard- A Kenyan national newspaper
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