In her own words…

My name is Priscillah Wairimu. I have decided to share my story with you because I think it is important those of you who read this to understand what it is like to live on the street here in Kenya. I am excited to be living with TJ and Lindsay because they have supported me for many years and I know God is using them here to do good things for the people in Kitale. When I go with them to visit the street kids here, I remember my experiences on the street in Nairobi and it makes me sad. I am so thankful to God that I have survived and that God has loved me so much to give me a chance to help other girls who are like I was many years ago. Many of these memories are still painful, but I am asking God to heal me of these things. I want to share my story with you so you can know the best way to help these children and people in the slums.  So, with God’s help, and Lindsay’s help writing, here is my story.

I am the eighth-born of nine children in my family. I am 24 years old. I am not sure my exact birthday because my mother did not know what exact day she gave birth to me. I grew up in Kibera slums in Nairobi, Kenya. My father used to work as an overnight guard at an Orthodox church and by day he drank alcohol and was always drunk. When he came home he would fight with my mother. My mom was always at home with us but struggled to care for us because she was always sick.

In Kibera, my home was about 10 feet by 8 feet big. The iron sheets that were used as a roof leaked when it rained so we would stuff plastic bags in the holes to keep it from dripping on us during the rainy season. We cooked over an open coal stove inside the house called a jiko. I remember being sick a lot with cough because of the cold and the ashes of the coal. All of us lived in there. My dad would cut paint cans in half, flatten them, and cover it with empty potato sacks and plastic bags for us to sleep on because he did not want us to sleep on the mud floor. We would change into rags to sleep in to try to keep our day clothes nicer. My mom’s bed was made of four plastic jerry cans, one for each corner and then we would lay a board on top of them and we would sleep on top of the board. Often times our beds were infested with bedbugs.

I started begging for food and money outside of my home when I was six years old.  My home was not a safe place for me to stay for many reasons.  Nobody was taking care of me and I was so hungry.  I started going from door to door in a wealthy neighborhood nearby.  When I was given food, I would save some and bring home to my family for them to eat.  I did this kind of begging for about 1 year.

I went to the streets of Nairobi begging for money and sniffing glue and using other drugs called bang (marijuana) and local alcohol when I was 7 years old.  I used glue and drugs because it helped me forget where I came from.  They also helped me forget about the conditions of the street.  When I would sleep on the street it was very cold.  The alcohol cost about 10 schillings and it helped me stay warm.  My parents never looked for me when I didn’t come at night.  The same is for today.  My parents do not know where I am and my mom has trouble remembering who I am when I visit her.

To get food, we would go and eat at hotels (restaurants) and we would dig in the garbage pits that were open behind the buildings and eat the leftovers that people would throw away.  Sometimes food we would collect would have phlegm and saliva on them so we would take the food and put in tins and boil it to try to clean it.

When I lived on the street, it gave me very low self esteem.  I lived a life where I didn’t care what would happen to me.  When I begged and dug in the rubbish, I felt like I belonged to the street.  When I would go back to my home in Kibera, I felt like there was no God who loved me.

There were big boys that lived on the street that would harass me and my friends.  There were also many men that would drive in their cars and look for street girls and they wanted to abuse us or ask us to hold their private parts and then would give us money.   I didn’t have a mother who could protect me and bring me up to show and teach me that these things were wrong.  Even in my heart I knew they were wrong.

There were the big boys on the street that would bully the younger kids on the street.  Some days I would receive much money and food.  God has protected me on the street because I never lacked.  At the end of the day, I would find a street kid who lacked for the day-who did not get anything to eat or money that day.  I would give half of the money or food I received that day to that kid.  The big boys left me alone because they knew me as a street girl that shared much with others.

Some nights I would sleep in booths in the market where they sell clothes.  We would move to different booths each night because there were men with canes that would come and beat us if they found us sleeping in those places.  One night I remember there was a big man who chased me through the streets all night because he wanted sex from me.  I was not able to sleep until the next night because I feared him so much.  To this day I have nightmares about trying to escape him.

At times, I would go back to my home in Kibera to check in.   My mom would not know who I was because of her illness.  She would easily get lost, even today she easily becomes lost.  Some of the money I would get from begging I would buy shoes for her and other things.  I love her very much.

 To feel that hungry you feel like you want to die.  I told God that He was not for real if He allowed me to go through such suffering.

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From Lindsay:

This is the first of many posts from Priscillah.  Her story is unique to her, but undoubtedly so common to hear in many others who live here.  I hope these posts from her encourge you where you are at in your faith and rejoice with us in her story containing so much hope and redemption.