WHAT WE DON'T SEE

ELIYA 

The apartments I live in are maintained by an old man who we refer to as 'Mzee' to mean 'elder'. No one knows his real name or where he comes from. What we do know is that Mzee comes very early in the morning to weed the compound, sweep the dried leaves and occasionally trim the grass.  Mzee has a young son of about five years named Elias but the locals around call him 'Eliya'. Eliya's mother is a mad woman named Rita who lives under the staircase and talks to herself all day. The gossips say Mzee bewitched her. This trio is no stranger to poverty and the harsh word economy that has no time to think about them.

During the few years I have lived here, I have grown fond of  Eliya. Eliya having been raised in a in very different family is by all means a different child. Eliya wears a tattered red t-shirt under his dirty orange jumper and a pair of greenish-brown shorts. Sometimes he has shoes on and other times he doesn't. Eliya plays with the stray kittens and talks to the stray dogs that linger around the apartment as they all wait anxiously for the left overs of all the residents that they can feast on together.

Every morning as I light the charcoal stove Eliya lingers around seemingly playing with random objects he can find until he has gathered enough confidence to ask what I will be cooking for lunch. By some planned coincidence Eliya is always knocking at the door with a metal tin in his hands and big grin on his face anxiously waiting for me to answer and share with him what I told him I would cook.

Eliya is a victim; a victim of circumstance. He was born into a world undesirable by many. He is looked down upon by fellow human beings and subjected to conditions no child should ever live to see. Eliya doesn't speak English. Eliya doesn't know what a classroom looks like. Eliya's only friends are the stray cats and dogs with whom he shares a home. He has been raised by the wild streets of Kampala and I'm anxious to see the young man they will groom him into, that is, if he makes it to puberty alive and sane.

Man is subject to the environment he lives in. I don't blame Eliya for his untamed disposition and loose tongue for I know that he has been raised by strays. Neither do I blame him for his bitter outburst because I can see how bitterly he is treated by the other residents of the apartments. He has been taught hatred at such a tender age so each time I serve him food in his tin, I wash it first just to sprinkle a little extra kindness and love in his life.

We are so quick to judge Eliya but there is a lot beneath the surface that we don't see.