In Summary
- At 29, Linda Kajuju is a Class Three pupil. Find out why she does not think that she is wasting time in school
When
we meet Linda Kajuju, the first thing that strikes us is her bubbly
nature and how at ease she seems in the sea of eight-year-old pupils.
Linda
is an active pupil who needs no prompting to participate in class.
Several times, she raises her hand and tries to catch the teacher’s eye,
whispering almost childishly, “Teacher, Teacher, Teacher!” She does
this without fear or embarrassment, oblivious to the camera.
At
break time, the Standard Three pupil walks to the playground and
enthusiastically engages in a game called katii with other girls. It is
an interesting scene to watch, interesting because Linda stands out like
a sore thumb among the group of girls shrieking with excitement. You
see, Linda is 29 years old, 20-or-so years older than her playmates.
What, then, is she doing in Class Three? You are probably wondering.
Her
story begins several years ago in the harsh backstreets of Nairobi, the
only home she knew until a good Samaritan rescued her and gave her a
decent home.
“I’m not sure who my parents are or
whether I have siblings,” she says, explaining that in the streets,
various adults played the role of mother and father in her life until
she was old enough to fend for herself.
Linda says that
she often dreamed about a life away from the streets, which she found
difficult and miserable. But she knew that unless a miracle happened,
the cold, filthy, wet alleys would be her home for the rest of her life.
She
says that she cannot count the number of times she went to sleep hungry
or the number of times she got beaten up by police, City Council
askaris, and the public, who considered street people a nuisance.
The
hunger and the beatings, she says, she could stomach to some point. It
is the discrimination, perception, and demeaning attitude that decent
people directed at her and others like her that were too much to bear.
“I
hated being referred to as chokora. Nobody cared to know my name, I was
a nobody to them just because I wasn’t as clean as they were.”
Being
referred to as chokora or street person, she says, became a constant
reminder of who she was and who she would remain for the rest of her
life.
“I often felt that I was condemned to live like that and that I would never become a better girl. It broke my heart.”
While
in the streets, Linda struck up a friendship with a woman called Joyce
who had a small shop near where she and her friends often hang around
and scavenged for food.
“Joyce would sometimes buy me lunch and in return, I would help her to empty charcoal bags or sweep her kiosk.”
In
2001, Joyce introduced her to a friend, Purity Kinyua, who needed a
house help and convinced her that Linda was hardworking and trustworthy.
“She
told her that I was a good and obedient girl even though I had lived in
the streets all my life and though Purity was hesitant at first, she
agreed to hire me,” Linda says.
Miracle
Unknown
to her, this would turn out to be the miracle she had for years hoped
for. With no real family or siblings to say farewell to, Linda bid her
friends goodbye and left with her soon-to-be employer for Meru.
“On the way, she explained that she had two daughters, Daisy and
Makena, and needed someone to help around the house. Both girls were in
school. One was in Class Eight, the other in Form Two.”
Life
in a proper home, she says, was initially overwhelming, and it took her
some time to get used to simple comforts such as a bed and chair. She
says that her employer treated her well and that she got along well with
her two daughters.
However, she would feel her heart
skip a beat with longing whenever she watched Purity’s daughters study
or read out aloud in English, a language she could barely understand.
“I
wished that I could do the same, but I dared not share my longing with
anyone — I was lucky enough to get out of the streets in the first
place. I had to be content with the lucky break I had been given,” says
Linda.
In church, she would carry a Bible and a hymn
book and pretend to read or sing whenever the pastor asked the
congregation to open their bibles or hymn books.
In
early 2005, Purity, a high school teacher, was transferred to Thika.
When Linda learnt that Thika was a “big town”, she declined to move with
the family, fearing that going to a town similar to Nairobi would
expose her to street life again. Instead, she continued to live with
Purity’s extended family as a house help.
After a few
months, someone she knew convinced her to leave, telling her that could
get her better employment. Linda agreed and travelled, ironically, to
Thika, the same town she had feared moving to.
This decision turned out to be almost tragic.
“My
new employer constantly accused me of stealing from her and often
commented that I was just a street girl who had taken a bath. This
remark hurt me a lot but since I felt I had nowhere else to go, I
stayed.”
At one point, her employer beat her
unconscious after she accidentally dropped a tea flask while washing the
utensils. When she came to, she was locked up in a room for three days.
She later learnt that during that time, her employer lied to neighbours
that she had gone to a relative’s funeral upcountry.
When
she finally let her out, Linda reported the matter to the police. Her
employer was summoned for questioning but according to her, no action
was taken. “I had no place to go and was, therefore, forced to return to
my employer’s home — I wasn’t surprised when she beat me up for daring
to report her.”
It is at this point that she realised
that someday, her employer would gravely injure or even kill her. She,
therefore, decided to take her chances and run away.
“I
went to live with a friend in Section 9, a nearby estate. With this
friend’s help, I began to make chapatis for sale and wash clothes around
the neighbourhood for a fee,” she recounts.
One day
she bumped into Daisy, Purity’s oldest daughter. They had not seen each
other for about seven years, but both girls remembered each other. When
Daisy returned home, she told her mother that she had met Linda and that
she no longer worked as a house help.
Assuming that
Linda was doing well, Purity did not follow up. What she did not know,
however, was that while she was away, Daisy would often invite Linda to
their home. Linda says that when she was reunited with Daisy, she
realised that this was the family she had always hoped to have. She
wanted to go back to work for Purity, but was not sure whether she would
want her back. Therefore, she decided to be content with the next best
thing — her secret friendship with Daisy.
Reaching for my dream
In 2011, Linda contracted malaria, an experience that would force her to dare make her dream a reality.
“I
went to hospital and got some drugs. The doctor indicated that I take
two tablets in each of the three containers three times a day.”
Embarrassed to say that she could not read, she walked out with
the medicine. When she got home, she took five tablets from each
container, an overdose that almost killed her.
“I was hospitalised for two weeks,” she says.
It is after this frightening incident that she decided to do what she had feared doing for so long; she decided to go to school.
“Had I known how to read, I wouldn’t have endangered my life that way,” she says.
Heart
pounding, she approached the headteacher at the nearby Muslim Primary
School, who advised her to join the adult classes. Unfortunately, in the
one month she was there, she made no progress and decided to drop out.
“The teachers assumed that I had some basic education and I was too afraid to say that I knew nothing,” she says.
In July last year, Purity, who had learnt from her daughter about Linda’s hospitalisation, visited her.
“Putting my fear aside, I asked Purity whether I could move in with her and she agreed,” Linda says.
“I am now studying at Mugumo–ini Primary School, which is closer to my new home,” Linda says.
The school agreed to waive her fees, therefore she learns for free.
Last
term, Linda was position three in a class of 46, with 476 marks out of
500. She smilingly shows off her exercise books. “I can read the
alphabetical chart and speak a bit of English now.”
Her guardian, Purity, who is present during the interview, tells us that Linda is now catching up with the childhood she missed.
“Last term, she came home and asked me what I’d buy her for performing well,” says Purity, who considers Linda her a daughter.
Purity
gives her upkeep money every month, which Linda supplements with what
she makes from the chapatis and other food that she makes over the
weekend.
Her typical day is almost like that of every
other pupil. She attends school from 7am to 5pm, and since her case is
special, goes for evening tuition from 6pm to 7pm.
Decent life
She
says that she would wish to go on with school as far as she can and get
a decent job or learn skills that can enable her to get children out of
the streets and help them earn a decent living.
“My
dream may seem unrealistic to many; in fact, there are people who have
discouraged me from going to school, saying that at my age, it’s a waste
of time. But I will not quit. I am confident that I am doing the right
thing,” she says in Kiswahili.
She also dreams of getting a family of her own, “just like Purity”, her surrogate mother.
“I’m also learning to read and write so that I can help my children with their homework.”
With such a determined mother, her children will be lucky indeed.
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