“Dry bones; hear the word of the Lord! This is what the sovereign Lord says to these bones: …. I will attach tendons to you and make flesh come upon you and cover you with skin: I will put breath in you, and you will come to life. Then you will know that I am the Lord.” Ezekiel 37:4-6

”There are three outcomes for a street boy: you die early from sickness and drugs; you become a hardened criminal and die early at the hand of police or a mob; or in rare cases like mine; you find a way to escape and live a normal life. Evangelist. Karanja

One of my earliest wishes as a small boy was to know my father. I learnt when I was about four years old that the man living with my mother was not my biological father. Indeed, none of my mother’s six children share a father with another one. When I asked one of my brothers of his whereabouts, I was told he had gone to Nairobi. I always wonder what course my life would have taken ad my father had acknowledged me and taken care of me. Many children do not realize how lucky they are to be in someone’s “budget” and for their every need to be taken care of, out of love. However everybody has challenges to overcome just as I have struggled to cope and rise above the circumstances of my birth and early life.

My mother, now long departed, used to brew and sell the local brew changa’a. When I was a small boy I used to help brew it. We would go early in the morning with my mother’s “husband” into the bushes where it was brewed. I sampled the chang’aa and acquired the taste at an early life. I liked the feeling it gave me. Even though my mother tried to restrain me from drinking, I always took it from the time I was about five years old. I did not understand why the grown ups took it yet they did not want me to. I would see people come to our home for a drink and would admire their jovial mood after taking a glass or two. This was the life I wanted for myself, but my mother forced me to go to school. She would discipline me when she caught me stealing the brew. I only attended one day of nursery school before deciding to run away. I could not stand the discipline

I ran away from home

Instead of going to school the next day, I ran away to Molo town. There I met three other small boys. We would share whatever food and alcohol we found and sleep outside on shop verandas. Life in the streets was difficult. However we felt free with nobody to discipline us. We survived by pick pocketing, stealing chicken and breaking into shops at night. We became quite notorious. On learning that the residents of Molo wanted to get rid of us, we boarded a train and hid under the seats to escape paying fare and migrated to Nakuru. Life there was more difficult for us because we became a part of a group of parking boys where the bigger ones controlled us, forcing us to steal expensive things like jewellery and hand them over to them. I must say it was a tough and unbearable experience in Nakuru town and after two long years, I decided to go back to Molo. However, before I could arrange to go, one of the boys told me that Nairobi was a much better and exciting place and I decided to go there.

Life in the Streets of Nairobi

I boarded a train to Nairobi using the same strategy used from Molo to Nakuru of hiding under the seats. The train arrived at the Nairobi Railway Station at 6.00 am. Everyone was supposed to show their ticket on alighting. However, I managed to get out unnoticed after pretending to be in a company of a lady commuter.

Later that day, I landed on the Nairobi streets and joined a gang of street boys who operated from Uhuru Park. We practiced all sorts of crimes. Here, I was also forced to take hard drugs for the first time We foraged into dustbins for food; pick -pocketed and snatched ladies’ hand bags and necklaces for the money. Sometimes we would even get money from good Samaritans. We used most of the money to buy more drugs such as Cocaine, Mandrax, and glue.

For the five years stay at Uhuru Park, an old abandoned City Council building became our shelter. We shared it with a big snake which did not scare us once we knew it was not poisonous. After a long stay at the park, I changed my base to City market where I engaged myself with all kinds of deeds to get money - even using human waste as a threat to extort money. Stealing golden jewellery was very lucrative and if caught I would swallow it. It was a pleasant change sometimes to be taken by police to their station. Here they would give me food, even chicken so that the jewellery would come out. However, I would swallow it again without them noticing and they would provide more food. Often, they failed to get it from me even with severe beatings.

While on the streets, many well meaning people including preachers would try to talk to us to leave street life. But we would not lend our ears to their words. For a while in 1991 there seemed to be a u-turn in my life when a Korean lady known as Miss Faith took me and six other parking boys and rented us a house in Banana. Though she had good plans for us to get saved and turn over a new leaf, we were not ready.

Rasta, my friend

During this time, we used to attend regular services at a church nearby.

One day, the preacher called one of my friends Ben whom we called “Rasta” and warned him. “If you don’t get saved, the devil is on your side and he will ruin you” said the preacher. He further urged him to shave the dreadlocks on his head.

Soon we were back in the streets. Rasta neither got saved nor cut off his hair. One night at around ten o’clock while walking with him along Kenyatta Avenue, we met a policeman and Rasta said. “That policeman is my enemy and has threatened to kill me.”

After the policeman saw us, he cocked his gun like he wanted to shoot him and Rasta ran off, crossing the road without looking. I watched horrified as he was knocked down by a speeding matatu. The police took him to Kenyatta National Hospital with me and other parking boys accompanying them in their van. My friend Ben succumbed to his injuries and died at around 4.00 a.m.

Since Ben came from near my home I went to inform the parents about his death and stayed home for the burial. His death really affected me but soon I was back in Nairobi to the life I was now accustomed to. However, there was no peace for me anymore on the streets. I kept hearing voices. Everywhere I went I kept on hearing, “If you don’t repent and get saved, you’ll die just like Ben!.”

I thought somebody was playing tricks on me. I moved to someplace near the O. T. C. bus stop but I would still hear the voices, even when I was alone.

My salvation

It dawned on me one day that it could be God’s voice calling me and after much reflection, I decided to go back to my hometown to get saved. I went all the way to Victory Celebration Centre in Molo. Somehow I did not consider going to the churches in Nairobi. But it did not take me long there before I left again for Nairobi, this time round as a born again Christian. However, I continued living in the streets even though this time I did not take drugs or steal.

Withdrawal symptoms

It is very difficult to stop taking drugs. I suffered greatly with withdrawal symptoms but with God’s help, I was determined to stop.

Very early one morning about two years later, a lady preacher knocked down one of the boys in my group. The other boys wanted to beat her up and damage her car but I restrained them. I convinced them it was not her fault. I helped the lady take the boy to hospital and she convinced me to start attending her church. I did this faithfully for a few months and she then also gave me a job as watchman.

A new life

Later the church sponsored me for a course in Tanzania. On coming back I became an evangelist and also a youth counsellor on drugs.

I later changed my church to PCEA which is near where I currently live with my wife and child.

Evangelist Ksranja’s wife, Susan

I have really seen the Glory of God because even though I only went up to nursery school, I can read and preach the Bible anywhere. I am also fluent in Kiswahili and English. My story proves that you can overcome your past. Your past does not have to determine your future.

Front cover of Evangelist Karanja’s book

For more on street children, read “Hurdles of Street children” in the “Kids” and “Parenting” sections.

This article first appeared in the November 2010- January 2011 issue of Woman of Faith magazine. Copyright Woman of Faith Magazine All rights reserved. For comments write to This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it