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The struggle with many a rigid Logooli cultural practices

  The Logooli community is one of the deeply cultured societies – with near everything supposed to have been done as per custom – to allow another custom to follow. One example is that for a mature man (with a child or more) to be buried, there must be a house structure at home. Another is that a boy must be circumcised and nursed in father land. If maternal family decides to, the boy will have a hard time reconnecting with father people - a dent on his masculinity. There were two children who got burnt to death in a house in Nairobi. The single mother had left for night work. Elders were told that one of the children was Logooli. The other, the woman had sired with someone else. The Logooli family wanted to burry their little one and long discussed the do’s and don’ts. Of a man who died childless and the grave was placed as if he had died as a man with children. It should have been dug on the sides, the grave. A real thorn should have been thrust in his buttocks, his name go...
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A street boy from my village? Oh gods!

Kill me Quick, a high school intrinsic read written by Meja Mwangi visualized boys who in their search for a life travelled to the capital and found it tough. They engaged in crime, lived on streets, were hardly loved and each rising day their lives risked fate- death. Such is the case of Robinson, a village boy who decided to leave for the city.

When gods fail, don't we cast them away and create new ones?


Robinson, a grade 7 leaver, lacked family and educational support when his mother died and father left the city due to illness. A conflict between his father and uncles poroused the family knit. At school, disappointments from fellow learners and teachers couldn’t be explained by any dear person. He made up his mind to kiss education bye.

Lack of means to afford food and clothing was a challenge. He recalls having difficulty to find a shaving coin. Teachers disliked long hair. At a young age, he had engaged in theft activities. He had a conviction to change by running away.

He says that it all quickly happened when he came across Ksh 300 on the road. Kangemi, Nairobi was his destination. When he asked Eldoret Bus operators to assist him, five years ago, they agreed on condition that he does not sit. He recalls standing and squatting for the 8 hour journey. It is possible for the traffic men are known to be corrupt.

It would be his first day in the streets as he dint know the door to any friend or relative. Relieved that the rural misdoings and memories were far away, he cared little of where to live and what to eat. He pointed to the first boy he met then and his ‘brother’ now. They have quarreled and fought with time but similar needs keep them together. At the end of the day, from plastic and scrape metal collection, they gather in accessible church compounds to sleep on verandas hoping the police or neighbourhood won’t ambush them.

Lures of stealing have been with him. He speaks fearing that the act is death risking for people easily stone suspected harmful urchins. He recounts that the money gained has been used to buy glue and Miraa among other addictives. His company exposed him to clever ways of operating on the roads and paths. He however resents the life.

Homesick he is that he prefers to go back and tell his father that he is a carpenter. He hopes his father and grandmother are alive as he is. His father was a carpenter. He however has no any carpentry skills but at 19, he thinks that it isn’t yet late to gain skills for life. It will help him be clean and have a hope for the freedom he ran to isn’t yet what he was after.

After the talk, he walked southwards to his belonging-anywhere. I went northwards, somewhere, worried. Helpless.


Pic Source; wehaitians.com

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