Last week a former resident of Emmanuel Center died. His nickname was Odijo, which means teacher. I realize I actually know very little about his life. I know he was originally from Western Kenya and had lived on the streets of Nairobi as a boy. He struggled, as street kids do, with addictions and violence. Around the age of 19 he came to Emmanuel Center were he lived and volunteered as a security guard. He was called Odijo because he was good at guiding the younger boys, and often taught them sports. He was in charge of Emmanuel Center’s make shift gym (made up of paint cans full of cement) and loved to work out. I remember discussing his dreams with him one day – he wanted to work in a gym. Together we drew up a budget of what it would cost to buy the equipment and I hoped we could find funding for it, and then could run it as an income generating project for Emmanuel Center – but nothing ever came of it.
Odijo struggled with alcoholism and sometimes he would lose control and we would have to send him away from Emmanuel Center. He would vanish for months at time and then turn up apologetic and sheepish. He was part of the Emmanuel Center family and so got a second, third and even forth chance. However, the last time I saw him in August Daniel was telling him to leave once again – the neighbors had accused him of stealing and he was obviously drunk.
Today Daniel told me that Odijo had been caught stealing by the police, who had shot and killed him. My sadness at this news has many levels: I’m morning for Odijo’s life which was hard from the beginning, had potential for love and kindness, but ended too soon; I’m furious that he died a violent death that goes against all notions of human rights, and I’m pained to think that we couldn’t help or protect him at Emmanuel Center.
Daniel says this tragedy demonstrates the importance of the work Emmanuel Center does. I guess so, but right now I’m raging against a system that breeds street kids, feeds them drugs and alcohol and then guns them down. I don’t want to read my human rights text book, or write my essay on conflict resolution in Africa – it all seems a little futile in the harsh light of the reality of life and death on Nairobi’s streets.
Those of us who knew Odijo need to remember him for the good gentle soul that he was. We need to remember him helping the younger boys do bench presses, and sitting under the tree by the gate to Emmanuel Center in the evening sun.
Odijo struggled with alcoholism and sometimes he would lose control and we would have to send him away from Emmanuel Center. He would vanish for months at time and then turn up apologetic and sheepish. He was part of the Emmanuel Center family and so got a second, third and even forth chance. However, the last time I saw him in August Daniel was telling him to leave once again – the neighbors had accused him of stealing and he was obviously drunk.
Today Daniel told me that Odijo had been caught stealing by the police, who had shot and killed him. My sadness at this news has many levels: I’m morning for Odijo’s life which was hard from the beginning, had potential for love and kindness, but ended too soon; I’m furious that he died a violent death that goes against all notions of human rights, and I’m pained to think that we couldn’t help or protect him at Emmanuel Center.
Daniel says this tragedy demonstrates the importance of the work Emmanuel Center does. I guess so, but right now I’m raging against a system that breeds street kids, feeds them drugs and alcohol and then guns them down. I don’t want to read my human rights text book, or write my essay on conflict resolution in Africa – it all seems a little futile in the harsh light of the reality of life and death on Nairobi’s streets.
Those of us who knew Odijo need to remember him for the good gentle soul that he was. We need to remember him helping the younger boys do bench presses, and sitting under the tree by the gate to Emmanuel Center in the evening sun.
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