Switching Brothers

My step brothers visited us in town permanently a few days after I graduated from nursey school. I did not realize I was switching brothers. Mzee has separated with his first wife, a mother of six at the time. Her first and third borns were boys. They had come to live with us. And my two brothers were going to take their place in their vilage. It was a disguised plan but a great strategy to integrate us into Mzee's extended family.

The following year, they started a new school in the village. Mom accompanied them. After all, I gained other brothers in exchange. The younger one was my age mate though slightly older. He was going to join to Class 2 in the same school where I was about to join Class 1.

His elder brother had just dropped from school, in Class 3, and was scheduled to being a training course as a shoe care specialist. A friend of Mzee offered the training in exchange for the young man's commitment to his shoe business.

He was already working by the time the schools were openning in January. I’m not sure if he had achieved the working age. Nevertheless, it was necessary because learning had taken a toll on him at the time. Mzee had handed him to his friend, a shoe repair professional to mentor and train him to make, repair, and polish shoes.

He still does this job to date.

He has mastered the skills well - it's been over 30 years.

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Too Much Freedom for a Kid

When I tallk of having had freedom by circumstances, it's the kind you'd call too much a child. I had too much of it - it smeared trouble. When he met mom, she had to quit her job because love shifted her dreams or perharps her newfound love was her dream. I believe it was so. Even if he late husband's absense scared here and she wanted a trusted sholder to lean on, it understandable for any young single mother whose life has sudenly changed from that of a fulltime housewife to that of a young widow who now need to work for many hours to sp she can feed, dress, shelter, and educate her kids.

My elderst brother had paused schooling to take care of his younger siblings, my elder brother and I. Being the last born and barely starting to walk, he carried me everywhere he went. Even to the dumpsietes, he took us with him. We would scavenged everything that we could use as toys.

We never thought of any danger. The time is synonymous with the peak of the HIV/AIDs pandamic. When the fear of speading through used used surgical tools was spreading. For us, syringe and scalpel blades were part of our toys collection. Hopitals would dump waste regardless of the dangers at the time, perharps due to week environmental laws or their implimentation at the time.

We never got any harm, luckly. This only lasted a few months though.

When Mzee moved in with us, big bro got the chance to got back to school and our loitering stopped. I also had a chance to spend more time with mom.

Freedom by Circumstances

I started taking care of myself at a very young age!

It’s common knowledge that children can start learning self-care habits early, but in most families, these routines come under the watchful eye of loving parents or caregivers. That wasn’t exactly my story. Sure, I learned to brush my teeth, wash my hands, and do the basic things like any other kid. But the circumstances that shaped my early years were far from ordinary, and freedom came not by choice but by circumstances.

When my dad passed away, my world changed overnight. I was barely two years old, the youngest of three. My elder brothers were just old enough to realize that life was no longer the same, but I had no idea. Dad had left enough property behind to secure our future, but my mother, still reeling from the loss and with limited education, never fought for what was rightfully ours. I think she wanted her freedom more than anything else. She told me later that, for her, walking away from everything gave her peace.

So we left with nothing. No family business to lean on. No inheritance. Just the clothes on our backs and whatever strength my mom could muster as a single parent. She found work in a local restaurant, slaving away for hours to bring home whatever she could. Her shifts stretched from dawn until well after sunset, and while she was out trying to keep us afloat, we were left to our own devices.

My elder brother, barely old enough to be in school, was suddenly thrust into the role of caretaker. While most kids his age were focused on recess and playtime, he was responsible for keeping us alive, entertained, and out of trouble—though, in reality, the trouble was where we found our fun.

We lived near a large hospital, and one of our favorite pastimes was scavenging the nearby landfill for “treasures.” My brothers, with their insatiable curiosity, would lead the way, and I would follow closely behind, eager to see what they’d find. Our prize discoveries? Used syringes. Yes, the same ones you’d see in a doctor’s office, discarded and buried in the dirt. We’d use them as water guns, completely unaware of the danger they carried. In our young, unfiltered minds, they were just another part of the adventure.

The days blurred together in a whirlwind of risky explorations. There were no rules, no boundaries—just the thrill of being free to roam the world around us, even if that world was filled with hazards. My big brother was the mastermind, always pushing the limits. Each day was a new chance to dive headfirst into whatever caught our eye. We’d climb onto rooftops, dig through piles of debris, and fashion toys out of whatever we could get our hands on.

Mom would come home late, weary and worn, a bag of takeout in hand. She was too tired to ask how our day had been or if we were safe. For her, it was enough that we were still standing, still smiling. The next day, the cycle would begin again—more mischief, more freedom, more dangerous adventures with no one to stop us.