Refugee Boy Trying to Make Ends Meet
The East African Standard (Nairobi)
May 6, 2005
Posted to the web May 5, 2005
Adow Jubat And Boniface Ongeri
Nairobi
In the border town, he is known as skoris - Somali for a child fending for himself.
He hawks neem sticks as toothbrushes. When he was born, Somalia was in turmoil. Twice, with his family, he has sought refuge in Mandera near Kenya's border with somalia.
Master Hussein Maalim Abdullai, 12, and Abikar Iftin, 13, during the interview. Pics by Boniface Ongare
Brought up by the gun, Hussein Maalim Abdullai, 12, does not wish to live by the gun.
"The gun is bad. If it were my wish I would opt for reconciliation because revenge has not helped to stop bloodshed. I have seen worse times, I can tell you it is not a good sight," he says.
Gunshots no longer send cold shivers down his spines.
Since the fall of former dictator Mohammed Siad Barre's government in 1991, the testing of a gun today, the tossing of hand grenades and the felling of bodies tomorrow are the hallmark of the war-ravaged country. The collapse of the government split the nationals along clan lines and militia control the territories thus created.
He learned that they opened fire when he was barely three years old and killed his father.
Inter-clan fighting over the control of the tiny town of Bula Hawa in Somalia led to the displacement of the sub clans of the larger M-han clan. This is the clan Hussein belongs to.
They fled to Bula Amin along the border and had barely settled before the gunmen routed them out.
With his father dead, Hussein would, eight years later take the responsibility of raising his family.
Today, with his meagre earnings from the sale of the toothbrushes, he feeds his mother, three sisters and a brother.
His younger sister fetches reeds with which their mother weaves mats, which are used to thatch Somali traditional houses.
Due to scarcity of the thatching material, it could take up to six months to make a complete set which is sold for Sh2,000 at most.
His day starts at 5.30am. He goes to the thickets to harvest fresh twigs.
He has to be at the Mandera bus stage by 6.30am to sell the sticks to passengers travelling to Nairobi via Wajir and Garissa.
He sells the sticks at Sh1 a stick.
To avoid returning home empty handed, he skips lunch or if he cannot brave the pangs of hunger, he gangs with fellow skoris to pull resources to buy a plate of rice and pasta.
On many occasions, the children hang around hotels and scramble for leftovers. But they cannot escape the wrath of hotel owners who view them as a nuisance to their customers.
When business is low during the day, he sleeps on the pavements or accompanies colleagues who criss-cross the town offering cheap domestic chores and shining shoes.
Some as young as five do odd jobs for a shilling. Their number has not been established but they will be seen loitering the town in groups of twos or fives. He says if given a chance to continue schooling he wont.
"My education was rudely interrupted when I was in Standard Two. Gunmen stormed my class and shot my teacher in the head. We screamed and ran away. We liked the teacher very much. He told us the pen was mightier than the bullet, but the bullet fell him. I wanted to become a teacher like him," he says.
His mother Indayar Mahat Sheikh says the community did everything to give their children education.
But frequent feuds exposed them to easy targets from marauding militia and momentarily kept them off.
Hussein regrets that the 14-year-old Somali war has wasted him and denied him many rights he sees Kenyan children enjoy. The most important of all is education, parental love and guidance.
Instead, it has been replaced with trauma, family disintegration and lawlessness upbringing.
The children are brought up knowing that one has to own a gun. Owning one is the rule.
His prayers are that the interim Somali government elected last October in Nairobi Kenya takes over and restore order.
The boy says he has been following the development of his country through the BBC Somali. I am a keen BBC listener, he says.
"I ask the leaders to stop the fighting and forget the past for the sake of us. Let them hear the voice of the children. Let them rekindle our hope. We are not hopeless.
We have not given up, I hope one day I will own some business and settle in a free country," he says trying to control tears.
"I am grateful to Kenyans for being tolerant with us. I have been moving around selling my sticks without interruption. I want to enjoy this peace in my country," he says as he walks away to look for a customer.
However, occasional incidents dampen his spirit. Officials purporting to be from the Mandera County Council harass them and demand Sh15 as cess. They are not issued with receipts.
As evening approaches, Hussein crosses the border to his country and the head of the family will trudge past gunmen armed to the teeth. He has to constantly look behind his back to ensure none is aiming the barrel of a gun in his direction.
He will pass by a row of butcheries and with Sh15 buy half a steak of goat meat.
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