Tuesday, December 4, 2012

He didn't deserve to die

Wow, this one's a hard one to write...last year I wrote several blogs about a street boy named Peter Lojore.  Here're a few of the posts about him:  PETER LOJORE and the final one here: NO REGRETS.  I had hoped to one day write another blog about Peter.  I just didn't think that it would be this blog...

The short version of the story is that last December I found Peter on the streets in Kitale.  He was very badly beaten up and almost dead.  I managed to get him to the hospital where he was treated.  After a few weeks of spending time with him, I put him into a home and thought that he would do well.  Unfortunately, he lasted only 3 days before running back to the streets.  He had a very bad leg injury that became infected.  With no treatment, I knew that it would get worse.

As I went home to the States last March I got more word about Peter.  He got to the point where he was unable to walk across the street on his own.  I worried about him a lot.  When I got back to Kenya this year I so badly wanted to find him.  Some of my other friends in town said that his cast was finally taken off but he was still not doing very well.

A few hours ago I found out that Peter died on the streets a few days ago.  I don't know the details yet, but am trying to find them out.  All I know is that he died where he slept on the streets.  Peter made his choice, I get that.  Really, I do.  He had an opportunity to get off the streets.  He had a bed, food, clothing, medicine - everything he needed was given to him.  Still, he chose to throw it away for the street life.  But still, he deserved so much more than this; to die in the streets like a dog.  I can't say that I'm surprised that he died.  But that doesn't take the hurt away.  I love that kid so much.  I had really hoped that he would come around and start making some better decisions.  I had hoped to get to see him again.

I wish that there was more I could have done; I hate it that there wasn't.  I see so may kids on the streets every time I'm in town.  I know that death is waiting for them too.  Either from fights with each other or police and security or from the glue.  Peter was in his mid-twenties; that's an old age for a street boy.  And it sucks.  He was meant for so much more.  The more I think about it the more I realize I how little I know of the street culture.  I made some good friends on the streets last year and I can't stand the thought of losing them like this too.