Poverty, they
say, is a mental state.
I cannot argue
with such wisdom. I only aspire to add a little light to that. In Jenta,
Poverty is seen, it has smell, and it can be felt. Every corner carries the
badge of poverty. From the numerous pit toilets, the countless rusted zincs,
the type of buildings, the kind of homes and the uniforms students from Jenta
wear to school.
Torn uniforms
are abnormal in a normal world, however, torn uniforms are the normal uniforms
of school children in Jenta. Any child having a perfect uniform is the abnormal
one. Apart from the school badge, there is another badge, “The Badge of
poverty”. Boys will wear shorts that are torn around the “backyard” zone, girls
uniform are usually carrying holes, whether this is all because they are
children or something else, I do not know and I cannot know now. No one can
explain these things to you, even if they do, you will not understand.
Our parents did
their best, by sewing these patches, every mother had a needle and thread. And
may God forgive those of us who had the talent of tearing everything. I
remember our mothers used “Razor” to identify any child who tears his clothes
often. A graphical presentation of a Jenta child picture will dumbfound you. I
am not surprised when I see pictures of children used by UNICEF and other
Children organization, for it is the very picture of a Jenta Child.
With these torn
uniforms, we either went to Kabong Primary School or St Louis. Those were our
Harvard and Cambridge, any child that became something had to go through this
school. With one book for all subjects, sack as bag and cataclysmic sandals we
wore our “Badges of poverty” to meet our half-baked teachers in classrooms
without seat. Sitting on the floor or by the window, we got the basics of arithmetic
and built friendships. Senior Prefects had the rare privilege of standing in
front.
It is with these
badges of Poverty that we formed our dreams. With such degraded state, we
dreamed of becoming doctors. We believed that we could reach the world. We
believed that we could compete with students from Hill Crest, and other high
paying schools. We knew inside of us that our story would be different. We
prayed about it. We talked about them in comic manners. We told each other that
one day we will buy Jos, that we would buy Hollywood, that we would marry
celebrities and that we would address millions of people.
Now we are
older, the same dreams are in our heads, just that this time in upgraded
version. Now we want to change the world. The world was silent about us, it
closed up our case and we don’t want to do the same. We are motivated by our
stories, it has become a springboard for us. We will not allow others to pass
through what we had gone through. It was not our fault that we passed through
that, but it will be our fault when our children pass through the same.
Our lives had
the badges of poverty, but we had the hearts of gold.
Badges of
poverty, hearts of gold.
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