MY REAL LIFE (story was in Nation Neswpaper on 8/4/09

‘Abandoned by my dad twice!’


Justus Ngotho.
By MILLICENT MWOLOLOPosted Tuesday, April 7 2009 at 16:33
“The last childhood memory I have of my father was the evening he came home bearing a gift for me – a brand new Kaunda suit.
It was 1987 and I was in Standard One but I still remember my excitement because this was my very first suit. But shortly afterwards, Dad left our home in Kitulani village, Mwingi South, for Nairobi. At least, that’s what my mother told me whenever I asked.
He never came home to see us even once, but neighbours who visited Nairobi would tell me about having met him in the city. Others would describe how he ducked in the moving crowds of the city streets to avoid meeting them.
Sometimes he was spotted him at construction sites, which made sense because he was a mason. But what worried me most was that none of these people could say when, or if, he was coming home again. And none of them delivered any money or goodies from him. That is what pained me most.
With time, I pushed him out of my thoughts because of the pain in my heart. It was very difficult to watch my mother working like a donkey tilling other people’s farms to earn a pittance, yet there was a husband and father somewhere out there.
As the first child, it wasn’t long before I had to join Mum as a casual labourer on the farms. My two younger sisters would help with the household chores as they were too young to be involved in that kind of labour.
This meant I was often forced to stop going to school. In most cases, when I was not tilling, I would be fetching water for people or collecting firewood for sale.
When I got older, I started looking for sisal and helping my mother to make ropes and baskets for sale. In 1992, when I was 11, there was a terrible famine and I was forced to drop out of school to look for work that would put food on the table.
I got a job as a herder earning Sh250 per month(6 dollars) It was good money for me then and went a long way in helping my mother.
But this did not go down too well with the head teacher at Kitulani Primary School because I was considered one of the bright pupils. He kept urging me to go back to school and about a year later, I did, and sat for my Kenya Certificate of Primary Education (KCPE) exams in 1994. I scored 490 marks out of a possible 700.
It was a bitter-sweet experience for my mother – she was proud of my performance but it was clear she could not afford to send me to secondary school.
Construction and welding
So instead she sent me to Nairobi, in late 1995, to look for my father in the hope that he would either take me to school or enroll me in a construction and welding course. Word had reached us that he was living in Wanyee by this time. Luckily, one of our neighbours who lived in Wanyee had come to the village and so I travelled to the city with him.
It was very obvious that I was an unexpected visitor in my father’s one-roomed wooden house but I decided to swallow my bitterness to avoid clashing with him.
I spent that and the following nights on the floor as realisation dawned that things were not about to get any better for me. I went without food on most days as my father drank away all his earnings. He would disappear for days and then return drunk and empty-handed
I decided to fend for myself and on a good day, I would find work as a casual labourer on construction sites. I was barely 16 and this presented a challenge as most employers said I was under-age.
I yearned for the day I would turn 18 and own a national identity card. Still, with a daily pay of Sh50 I was able to buy food and even save a little money that I would then send to Mum through our neighbour.
When Dad could not stand my presence any longer, he got up and left without a word to me, just like the first time. At first I thought he was out on one of his drinking sprees but when he took longer than usual to return, I became suspicious. I had not managed to find work for days and the hunger was severe.
Then the landlord came told me to move out since my dad had left. I cried myself hoarse as I lay on my sack. It looked like the only option open to me now was a life on the streets.
Sent an angel
I am forever grateful that God did not abandon me. I believe He sent an angel in the form of Pastor Enos Oumo, who was making house calls at that time and found me in the little room. I told him my story and he invited me to go with him to the nearby Dagoretti Corner Rehabilitation Centre (DCRC), which he ran.
My first few days at the centre were simply wonderful. I ate well and was able to have a regular bath and change my clothes!
It was a totally different kind of life from what I was used to. I also got born-again and soon after started entertaining thoughts of forgiving my father, the man for whom I blamed all my problems. That was the beginning of a very long and painful journey for me, but the counseling I received at the centre helped greatly.
DCRC offered to educate me and I enrolled in Form One at the Kenyan College and Secondary School on Accra Road, Nairobi, in 1996. But the centre had no sponsor to pay my fees and I was often sent away from school.
In 1997, I got sponsorship and joined Ruthimitu High School in Form Two. Unfortunately, following a misunderstanding with the administration at DCRC, I left and moved in with one of the school workers until I finished Form Four.
I had made friends with a family whose daughter was a secretary at the school. The family accommodated me in 2000, when I got a job as a messenger with the then Lonrho Motors. They were good to me and treated me like a son.
In 2003, the company went under and I lost my job. I made money taking photographs with a camera I had bought when I had a job. I also helped businessmen with shops on Nairobi’s River Road to print T-shirts, caps and other materials.
In 2007, I saw a great opportunity to print campaign material for some politicians before the General Elections. This brought in good money and as I looked into investment opportunities, I felt a great calling to start a school for students whose parents could not afford secondary school education.
That is how Brooklynn High School in Gachui at Dagoretti market was born last year. I decided that students would pay Sh900 a month that would go towards running the school.
I have 48 students enrolled in Forms One and Two. One of my younger sisters is a Form One student at the school, but the other one dropped out early in life. The youngest is in Standard Six
My long-term plan is to have a school where bright needy students can learn for free. If I had had access to such an opportunity, I would not have had to endure all that pain.
Spotted in Ruai
Last year I managed to get hold of my father after hearing he had been spotted in Ruai. I made several trips before I finally caught up with him. At 54, he looked very old and exhausted with life.
He was very shocked to see me and wept for about five minutes as guilt engulfed him. I said I had forgiven him and suggested he should go back home. It was a very emotional reunion that re-ignited all the hurt that had lain buried in my heart since childhood.
I remembered how painful it was for me to hear other boys talking about their fathers as we played football in the village school all those years ago.
I recalled the years of struggle I experienced in 1992 to ensure the family survived the famine, and the bitterness I felt as a teenager watching my father drink while poverty and hunger consumed the family.
All these memories flashed through my mind and the pain was as raw as if everything had happened yesterday. I wept even more than he did and we agreed to meet at the bus station the following Saturday.
I called my mother and other relatives back at home and they all expressed eagerness to see our lost and found dad. That Saturday, we met as agreed and I sent him home with gifts of clothes, money and food for the family.
I try very hard not to blame my father, but I can’t help thinking that if his presence had been felt in the family, even if he was idle and penniless, it would have made a huge difference to his children.
I badly missed having a father figure and a role model to guide me through life. But although I have forgiven him, he is yet to make peace with my sisters.
I often dream about being the best dad on earth and can’t wait for that time to come. I intend to be there for my children always because I would never want them to relive my experiences.
I have also realised how much I hate alcohol, which I associate with sleeping hungry for days on end. My father has been away for 21 years and it has taken me 13 years to forgive him. No child on earth deserves such an experience.
Published on Daily Nation on 8th april 2009
www.nation.co.ke/justus

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