Encounter with a street boy in Nairobi

We were sitting at the Kenyatta Avenue round about and wishing that we were instead sitting in the cool garden of the Norfolk Hotel, which had hosted such people as Teddy Roosevelt, Ernest Hemingway and of course Karen Blixen who gave us "Out of Africa. "

Just then a young boy came alongside my side of the care selling some peanuts, as is the habit of street children in Nairobi. Sharon and I looked at him and his pitiful state and dug out a few shillings to buy some nuts that we would never eat but simply give away to another street kid. Just then and there Sharon let out a loud shriek and I looked over as another young boy was literally tearing off a gold earring off of Sharon's right ear. I could see blood running down her neck. I instinctively bolted out of the car and ran after the young thief who was darting in between the stopped vehicles.

Thank God, I was in reasonable shape and soon caught up with the boy and grabbed him by the shirt. He looked at me with angry eyes and said, "Muzungu, let me go." I dragged him back to the car as quite a few of the people around me clapped and applauded my move. The problem of street-children in Nairobi was well known and their cons had affected many a person.

"Where are you taking me he screamed?" As the traffic slowly began to nudge forward, "to the Police Station was my reply." He began to cry and asked me to let him go.

Sharon was nursing her ear that had suffered quite a bit from the tearing away of the earring. She began to speak to the boy in Swahili telling him that she was sad as to what he done to her and whether he had any regrets. In the rearview mirror all I could see was a boy who had stopped crying and had this defiant, angry look on his face.

We turned back down Kenyatta Avenue to the Central Police Station. What amazed me thus far was that this boy had not try to bolt, had not tried to jump out of the vehicle but simply sat there in the backseat of the car.

I pulled into the red-clay parking lot of the station and Sharon and I proceeded to take the boy in. Inside the typical Kenyan Police Sergeant met us. The kind who was always ready to take some "Kido Kodogo," or in English "just a little something." In Kenya and most of Africa one can avoid most any problem or citation through the use of money as a bribe since the police receive hardly any salary from the government.

He took out a large book and asked as to what my problem was and I proceeded to tell my story. He asked the young boy to come closer and abruptly whacked him on the face several times until the boy tumbled over and went down.

No matter what the boy had done my heart went out to him. I intervened and during the next few minutes I found out the boy's name was Leaky and that he came from Kibera, one of the worst and largest slums in Nairobi.

As I watched the whole proceeding the thought of turning the other cheek, of not giving evil for evil came to me and I asked the policeman if we simply could let the boy go since he had endured enough punishment.

Oh, Mr. Blanc you do not understand our ways and how we deal with criminals like this boy here in Kenya. I chuckled and said to him, "that is exactly the reason I am asking because I have been here long enough and know your ways. What will it take to let the boy go?"

The Policeman looked long and heart and said "500 shillings will be just right." My thought was why pay 10 dollars for someone who I had just brought to this so called system of justice but then I felt an inner voice telling me to do just that. Sharon looked at me and there was that knowing look on her face as she went along with my move.

A few minutes later the three of us walked out into the Nairobi sunshine and I asked Leaky to come along with me. He willingly climbed to the car and I proceeded to take Sharon home, she did not ask me any questions and I did not volunteer any answers o r engage in conversation in general and off to our house we went just near Ngong road.

I dropped Sharon off and told her that I was going to spend some time with Leaky and take him to our children's home in Dagoretti, just outside of Nairobi. Leaky had remained silent the whole time, until I asked if he would like to sit up and front and he asked me "where are we going?'

I answered him Uhuru Park. A few minutes later we pulled into the largest park in Nairobi named Uhuru which means freedom in English something that was yet to be realized by the average Kenyan 30 years after gaining independence from the British colonial system.

Leaky and I got out we walked over to large shady tree near a statue of the founder of modern Kenya, Jomo Kenyatta. On the way over I bought some Samosas and Coke. I could see Leaky smiling and we sat down under the large Acacia tree and talked.

He looked at me and said, "what is the boy's name?" I looked at Leaky and quietly said that boy was me. He did not say much, he seemed to understand the story though our cultures were miles apart. He felt what I had felt; though maybe in a different way, most of all, Leaky felt what all of us want in life, "understood."

I asked him whether he would like to live in a place where he could learn, be, become, have food, a bed and other children like him and he simply nodded. For the next twenty minutes the car remained strangely quiet as we made our way to Dagoretti and the home which I ran and had started.

We were greeted by the Head Mistress of the School, Eunice, with her big Kikuyu smile as we pulled through the gate with the typical African greeting "you are most welcome." I took Leaky to the boy's dorm and found him a bed, a locker and took him to meet some the other children in the home who were out back playing soccer. Soon I saw Leaky join in and I walked back to my car for the journey back to Nairobi. The next day I flew off to Kigali, Rwanda.

Six months later I drove up to the school at Dagoretti and honked for someone to open the gate of the compound, I was surprised to be greeted by a smiling Leaky who gladly opened the gate and welcomed me with a big Swahili "Bariako," meaning how are you. I smiled back at him and said "mzuri" which means good.

I found out that Leaky had become one of the best students. That he had become a leader amongst the children and was a positive influence amongst the others. To say the least, I was pleasantly surprised.

As I walked across the courtyard a few hours later he approached me and asked me whether I would like to meet this family? I said I would love to do so. Off we went to the home of Leaky, Kibera slum.