, NAIROBI, Kenya, Aug 16 – They don’t have families and nobody thinks they know how a family should run.
They are considered as mere street urchins who roam in the cold and on dangerous streets day and night without parents, siblings or somebody to give them love and warmth of a family.
Most of them are victims of bitterness that comes with family breakups.
Along the Nairobi-Mombasa Highway at Emali Market, we met street children who warmed our hearts.
We couldn’t hide our guilt because many of us don’t notice their other side other than their unwelcome physical state.
But behind what we see are people full of humility, kindness, love and care that most of us don’t exhibit despite our comfort of having homes and families.
But the case of Judy Muendi whose hands and leg were chopped off by her husband and father of her three children last December exhibits the humility and love the impoverished street children we often disregard indeed have.
When we asked Muendi how she manages to go to work in her maimed state, she told us that she has good friends who help her and never ask for anything in return.
Such people must be very rich people and enjoy a first-class social standing, we thought.
It was humbling when a street boy, Ben Mwangi appeared and went right inside her grocery kiosk to pick her wheelchair and beckoned a friend to help him lift Muendi from a plastic chair to her wheelchair.
We held back our tears and wondered why other people behave like the Pharisees in the bible while poor people – street boys for that matter – selflessly help Muendi as if it is a duty or they would make anything out of it yet they never ask for recognition.
When we asked him to take us to where he stays, he took us to someone’s kiosk across the road.
It was as if he was ashamed of where he lived.
But after the owner of the kiosk smiled telling him to take us to his base he had no choice but to take us to the backyard of Emali market.
It was their base where together with other street boys they sniff glue, play, and sleep without knowing when a meal, a bath or anything good will ever cross their way.
With a small whitish bottle tightly clutched in his right hand, Mwangi kept on sniffing glue as he spoke to us together with his street friends.
By the time we ended our interview, he was intoxicated.