Growing up in a slum

I wrote this about a year ago, it is a tale of sheer humble beginnings 

I grew up with my mother in a slum. Then, it was only my mother and I and we slept in a one roomed house that was divided into a sitting room and a bedroom by a curtain. That is the way everyone’s house in the neighbourhood was structured. We shared the latrines and bathrooms which sometimes would get so messed up and impossible to use. We used to have some kind of cleaning roster but some people would not clean when their turn came. On those days one couldn’t use either the bathroom or latrine.

The situation worsened when it rained as some people would enter with dirty shoes and not clean after themselves. Thankfully, our houses didn’t flood when it rained especially at night, like in other places. We liked playing in the rain even if the water was dirty and before you frown, it was actually fun. For us, fun was all that we cared about. the dirty bit was for the adults to worry about. I can’t even imagine where that water came from, but somehow we never fell sick.

I remember that the place used to be littered and there were filthy trenches next to our muzigo. We had a rubbish point that garbage collectors always forgot to clear and some neighbours refused to contribute money to pay the person who was supposed clean the trenches. Then, we had to wait till everyone gave the landlord their contribution.

There is no privacy is slums as just by observing, everyone knew what was going on in the neighbour’s house. You would know who spent the night at whose place, what food they eat since we cooked from outside the house and what time one got back home. Most of the children around the place used to wear dirty, torn or stained clothes. My mother bought me a couple of slippers which I only wore after bathing in the evening. It was okay to run around without slippers and no one ridiculed or bothered you about it. It was so much fun to run around the neighbourhood with other children as we chased after tyres or played hide and seek. We rolled in the grass and wailed in delight as we played with each other.

Being a child in the slum
My mother never had to buy me toys. Life in the slum was never dull, there were fun activities to do and that did not include watching television. My mother had a small black and white one but we only watched it at night when outdoor activities were not an option. But it is not because the people in our neighbourhood were criminals or dangerous like most people think of slums. They were average normal families who just couldn’t afford to live in a better place.

While there, most of us the children went to the same day school so parents took turns to take and pick us from school. Those times it felt like one big family. Most of the people were friendly and looked out for each other’s children. For example my friend’s mother wouldn’t see me cutting my slipper and pass by without scolding me.

Our house was next to a market that was so vibrant in the evening. For a treat, my mother would take me and buy all sorts of deep friend snacks and oh boy was it fun. I looked forward to those days. The market would be a little dusty because of a lot of movement and we would keep stopping so my mother would exchange pleasantries with people she knew.

It is only when we went to church and found children with better clothes and white shoes that I envied children who lived elsewhere. But that was momentarily. The slum was home and I loved it, I didn’t wish to be anywhere else.

Away from the slum

Later, this was taken away from me by a man that I later learnt is my father. My father’s home was enclosed in a gate. It was a lot bigger than my mother’s place with a living room, dining room, a telephone, big fridge and I had my own bedroom. There was a video player and DSTV so we were glued on the TV most of the time. It looked like it was from the movies. I found it so cool and exciting but after a few weeks I got bored and missed being under the sun and running about in the open. My father had two cars, one to take us around and another that he used. My half sisters and brothers had never used a taxi before so they did not know many places which I found so bizarre. I remember laughing at them and I bragged that I was "sharper" than them. 
I later got used to my new life and within no time I could fit in both worlds just fine. And since the posh places are, according to society better than slums, before long my mother was out of the slum and I spent more time at my father’s.

Unlike what a number of people think, I don’t believe that people in the slum have a lesser life compared to those who live elsewhere. They lead a normal life. Despite the neighbourhood and surrounding, the slum is home and it always feels good to be there though they wouldn’t mind having better.

Banura