Plight of the Distraught Child (1)

It was a dusty Friday morning and my neighbor had asked that I accompany her to her grandson’s prayer day. He is in form 4 and the school had organized a prayer day and invited all the parents of the 34 students. Attending the prayer was a journey down memory lane when I stood among 200 candidates in a big hall and Reverend was invited to pray for us. On the contrary, the school we were attending was relatively new and was actually hosting the first batch of candidates.

Walking into the compound and one could see the students in the classroom while others were doing menial chores of the day. There was a student at a ‘reception desk’ ready to receive, register and usher us in. We walked past the reception and into the empty hall where neat plastic chairs had been arranged. A teacher was in sight to show us where the parents should sit, lest we mingled with the students. The seats were empty as we were the first to arrive, so we took the seats on the first row and chatted as we waited for the rest to arrive and for the event to start.

As if she had been cued, she started narrating the story of her other grandchild (Agnes*) who is also a candidate, but in class 8. Well, it first took me by surprise that as a granny she was raising close to six grandchildren in her home, despite the fact that her children (and their parents) were alive and well. Not well, but yes alive. Agnes was left (rather abandoned) at the age of 3 by her mom who was drinking too much and a dad who was either physically absent or emotionally detached. Looking at the desperate condition this innocent child was being subjected to, the granny couldn’t bear it. So she planned and took in Agnes, without the rigors of a plan on how to feed, clothe, shelter or educate her.

Without clothe changes, Agnes moved in with her granny and her life was to take a turn hitherto.

Raising Agnes amidst the other grandchildren that were seeking shelter at the granny took a toll on her. Through her networks she learnt that some children home was being set up in the outskirts of Nairobi, which she thought would lessen her burden of single handedly raising all the destitute children under her patronage. Without a second thought and in consideration of the recommendation that the new children’s home came with, Agnes got admitted among the pioneer group of the children’s center.

And so, for the next five years Agnes lived among other children who came to the centre as a place of refuge. She was admitted to a nearby school and life was good, rather bearable. Within these five years, granny would regularly visit to check on her progress and bring her goodies (mostly chapattis) from home. The re union was always tearful, for the granny, not for Agnes. With time, granny noticed that Agnes was changing, of course physically as she was growing tall but also emotionally. Initially, she thought Agnes was aloof because of teenage hood but with time, she queried anyone who cared to listen, at the children’s center. They all assured her that Agnes was ok and there was nothing to worry about her development.

She wasn’t satisfied. She went to Agnes’ school to check her performance and get the opinion of her teachers and head teacher. It was shocking revelation, too much to bear for a granny with little energy to fend the children at her house. The information was coming in bits… not a steady stream. Each teacher seemed to share the scanty information as if they were all under oath not to go past a certain mark. So one teacher said, ‘Agnes used to be active in class but not anymore.’ Another said, ‘She once came to me complaining of pains and without asking or thinking I sent her to get painkillers’. All this time, granny was taking a glance at Agnes as she tried to fit in all the puzzles in the jigsaw.

This information had gone up to the head teacher through the school reporting mechanisms and a recommendation was made that Agnes ‘sees’ the teacher in charge of guidance and counseling. At that point in the conversatin, the granny blasted ‘what have you all done to my grandchild?’ Her voice was eerie and called for the attention of the entire school. The head teacher felt embarrassed but could do little to contain the situation.

As if in a flush, Agnes rushed to class. Clutched her racksack and ran back to granny. With one whisper she said, ‘let’s leave this place, cucu.’ Those were the only words that Agnes had uttered in this visit. Granny looked at her in shock, as she had tried unsuccessfully to make her say something, anything but Agnes had been adamant. She looked at her again, and their eyes welled with tears as if there was more communication in what wasn’t being said. Agnes’ face looked forlorn and lost. She wasn’t the same excited girl who had joined the children centre and neighboring school five years earlier.

Her granny had lost faith, in the caretakers of her granddaughter both the children’s’ center and the school. She had no option but to take Agnes home amidst the incomplete narrative. She was pressed between a rock and a hard place. Her granddaughter wouldn’t un-mute the story of her withdrawal, neither would the teachers complete their bits of the jigsaw.

And so, on this day of prayer for the form 4 candidates we sat there musing at what may have happened to Agnes either at the center or the school. The prayers for the form 4 candidates started before the story could complete. We sat straight up and listened through the speeches made by the students, their teachers, parents, a local church representative, head teacher and finally the Director of the school.

They were all well scripted motivational talks directed at the candidates and of course congratulating the school for preparing its pioneer class of 2015. I couldn’t listen much, my mind remained frozen on the incomplete narrative of Agnes. To me, she adds on to the endless list of children in distraught. Children who have experienced trauma and their lives and prospects remain crippled. Their caretakers were either too busy minding their own affairs or they were too overwhelmed to mind their charges.

The effects can be seen in a girls who is in her teenage hood, who is extremely shy, stares blankly and is most times absent-minded. This is neither fiction nor another statistic…. it’s a story with a human face, with the lingering questions, ‘what can we do to avert such occurrences’ or ‘what can we do to revert such occurrences’

* Names have been changed to protect the real identities