It all began when I was eight years old and in class two, my mother fell sick and was admitted in the hospital for two months, I had to live with my aunt and uncle since there was no one else to take care of me. My mother’s health deteriorated and unfortunately she passed away.
My life changed drastically after the burial of my mother. I was overworked by my aunt and uncle so much that I could not concentrate on school work.
Things worsened when my uncle lost sh.50 in the house and claimed that I was the one who stole the money. I pleaded with him but to no avail and got a beating of two hours non-stop at the same time being questioned about the money I had no idea of its where about.
I could not bear the insults and beatings so I decided to run away for the first time and spent the night out in the cold.
The following morning, I went back to the house and changed into school uniform, took my bag then left for school on an empty stomach.
My uncle had reported the false incident to my school head teacher. I was beaten in school and I also got a new name, of a thief, I was bullied by my classmates and I could not take it anymore and I had no alternative but to drop out of school and run away from home and had to seek shelter and happiness on the streets.
The streets welcome me with open arms and lots of love and care from the street families and that is how I became one of them and got a new name, ‘street boy. ‘