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.
