One Boy Leads to Another

Bainito Omusebe

I was introduced to Bainito's situation by Gerald Bulinda, the headmaster of Butere Boys High School. He recounted the story of Bainito's struggle to get an education, and explained that his own staff had done everything they could to help Bainito. Could we help in any way? Our office staff members immediately offered cash to help Bainito go to school, and we Canadians followed their example.I was the lucky one who found herself accompanying Bainito on his school shopping excursion. I came away from the experience enriched.

One Boy's Struggle

Bainito's entire life has been a struggle. No one knows who fathered him or his brothers, not even his mother. She is mentally unsound, and has been most of her life. She is known throughout the district as an unbalanced woman given to wandering the roads, tearing off her clothing, and generally behaving in bizarre ways.

When Bainito and his brother were toddlers, neighbours would find them eating dirt and drinking from puddles. They would rescue the babies and take them into their own homes, only to have their kindness rewarded by abuse when the mother came back from one of her rambles and decided to reclaim the children.

Throughout primary school, Bainito worked for different people doing odd jobs in return for food, shelter and school fees. Despite the problems he faced continually, Bainito did not give up. He knew the importance of an education, and told me later that school was "a place where he'd always found solace and happiness ... where teachers and some pupils showed him friendliness and warm company". Mr. Bulinda shook his head and said to me, "I wonder how he managed to study. There was not even paraffin for the lamp. He would have struggled to read by the light of the wick alone."

Bainito did graduate from primary school at age sixteen. He attained 73% and stood first in his class. Butere Boys High School called him, gave him some bursary money, scrambled to get him a used uniform and some exercise books, and then called me.

At the ACCES office, Bainito wrote an autobiography in which he described his family situation as "unpalatable to imagine and talk about", but he showed considerable generosity of spirit as he explained that his mother was deserving of his sympathy because "her mental capability is poor" and she "is not able to comprehend anything". Bainito is, like many of the Kenyan young people I met, wise beyond his years.

Our Shopping Trip

We began with shoes, secondhand, spread out on tarpaulins. The third pair he tried fit and were packed into a bag. The next stop was the stationery store to buy dictionaries, textbooks and a Bible. I picked up the first Bible I saw, the cheapest, and asked if it would do. Bainito stroked the soft leather cover of a zippered Bible. It cost eighty cents more, and I said, "We'll take that one." The look on his face was one I'll not forget. The uniform shop was next. Here Bainito informed me that he needed only one pair of pants and one shirt; that he had the ex- student's uniform. Nor did he need athletic shorts, just the t-shirt. By now it was noon and I asked if he was hungry. He said nothing. I made some comment about boys always being hungry, and suggested we go to get a meal.

Across the road at the restaurant, known as a hotel in Kenya, Bainito had to be coaxed to order anything. "You decide," he said. When I pointed out that he knew the different menu items better than I did, and he should choose whatever he wanted, he said in a low voice, "A chapati." I asked if it came with anything. The waiter shook his head and I ordered stew for us. Bainito's eyes flickered around, looking for clues. Then he reached across the table to get the glass of the woman sitting opposite us. He was on his way to the water tap where people wash their hands, to fill it when the woman and I stopped him. "It's dirty," I began. "They will bring you water," the woman explained. Bainito hung his head and said softly, "I've never been to a hotel before."

When the food arrived, I asked how often they ate meat at school. "Only on Tuesdays," he said. "A good thing you came on Thursday to do your shopping," I quipped. "You get to have meat twice this week." He laughed and began to open up.

As we ate and afterwards as we finished the shopping, stopping to buy shoe polish, towels and bedding, I learned that he was a runner, already running at the national level; that the M.P. whose financial help the headmaster had hoped to enlist, was not proving very helpful; that a local businessman who had promised Bainito a trunk if he graduated, was now avoiding him. "Africans are not generous," he said.

I thought of all the Kenyans I knew who were helping family members, neighbours, and virtual strangers every day, and pointed out that the money we were spending on his school shopping had come from the meagre salaries of people in the ACCES and LIFA offices. I reminded him that his headmaster had contributed money and had also gone out of his way to find help for him; and that his teachers had been concerned and caring. He agreed, and amended his comment. "Some Kenyans are generous," he said with a smile.

Bainito had likely discovered early that Kenyans, like everyone else in the world, cannot be easily categorized, and he had probably, in his sixteen years, encountered more hardship than I had in my sixty-two years.

Bainito Today

I returned to Canada May 1, 2003. When I left, Bainito and several other children I had met, were safely ensconced at high school. At the end of April, Bainito had come to the office to show me his first term report and to give me a sack of fresh peanuts and eight eggs.

On May 6, he wrote me a letter thanking me for the spending money I had left for him, expressing concern for my health, which had not been good just before I left Kenya, and telling me how he was doing in athletics.

Two days ago, I received an e-mail from Everlyne, the ACCES office manager, telling me that Bainito was having trouble because of money. Had I received her e-mail? I hadn't so she sent it again. It consisted of a message from Bainito and a short note from Everlyne herself.

Bainito's Letter

Dear Madame,

It is another good time that I take to write to you this letter. I hope you are fine. Thank you very much for the 500/= ($10) you left for me at Kakamega office. It helped me acquire the basics. Second, I am writing this letter from Kakamega office. I have been sent away from school. I was given a bursary of 7230/= ($144.60). I have been chased away becasue of 12,770/= ($255.40). It is because of this I am writing to kindly request you for assistance. I pray God will help you to be able to find someone to help me. Yours faithfully, Bainito Omusebe Clifford

Everlyne's note was simply a reminder that she still had about $90 of my money.



Needless to say, I sent the necessary funds. Two hundred dollars is impossible for a Kenyan orphan to raise, but not for a Canadian.

Bainito will need some help with his third term fees and will need about $350 for each of the next three years if he is to complete high school. If he doesn't complete high school, his future is bleak. There are no relatives in Nairobi to help out; no one to give a primary school leaver a job. Of all the children I know, Bainito is the one who is most alone.

Update on Bainito

Bainito was taken on by CAAA ... the alumni asssociation of young people who had been helped by CHES or ACCES ... and he moved to Shikunga Secondary School where he completed high school. I saw him there with other students for whom I had found help when I was in Kenya in 2006. He was in his final year of high school. I will post a photo later.