I grew up in Mathare. The type of poverty we lived in wasn’t the kind you post about for pity likes. It was raw. Real. A kind that gnawed at your pride and turned every sunrise into another battle for survival. My siblings and I shared one meal a day, my shoes had more patches than sole, and school fees were a luxury we couldn’t afford.
I remember the day my mother cried because she couldn’t afford my KCSE registration fee. That broke me. I swore I would one day make it, but life, as usual, had other plans.After Form 4, nothing came easy. I hawked sweets in traffic, washed cars, and even tried mjengo. To read more,click here
