Here we are again, narrating the brutal murder of two street kids. Last time we had debuted by using the same sentence: “here we are again?”
How long do we have to write this sentence for? When will “unknown people” or the enraged crowd stop murdering street kids?
Toma, 18 years old, killed in Dar es Salaam a month ago. Mwarabu, 17, killed in Dodoma on the 6th of December, whose body stayed for about two months in the mortuary of the governmental hospital, until some of his friends went to check if the body was there since they had lost his traces.
Last time we saw Mwarabu was last year, when we begged him to remain at KISEDET shelter, but his answer was: “I can’t stay here anymore, my life belongs to the streets now”. We said goodbye by telling him that he would have ended up like Jimmy and all the other boys killed in the street, but not even this dissuaded him and this is actually how it ended, sadly.
We had begged him to stay because he and Stanley had already been brutally beaten, and he, already covered in gasoline, could escape only because his torturers could not light the match in time.
It was a Sunday in April when we were told, and when we got there to see the two wounded guys, we remained shocked by the marks on their bodies and faces.
Such a savage act of violence for having stolen some old irons and the jack of a car. We decided to denounce the fact and go to the police station, a small one nearby the shelter, because going to the main one would make us lose time, and it is obvious that we cannot let these guys suffer, although they stole.
As we arrived we were “welcomed” by three policemen, one wearing an uniform and two undercover. While still standing up, we started explaining to them what had happened, but they did not seem benevolent as they immediately referred us to the main central police station. We tried to convince them to help us (in Tanzania in these cases if you go to the hospital without a report on behalf of the police, nothing will happen), but they did not seem willing to help. Hence, my partner and I started to talk to each other, and soon the agent let us in.
In the meantime, outside the ice was broken, and with the other policemen we started discussing on how is it possible that people keep killing who steals or even only who is accused of stealing, without even knowing if they committed a crime. Once obtained the police report, we brought the guys to a private hospital, where we have an agreement through sanitary insurance, and then to the shelter where they would remain until recovery.
We called the relatives of the two guys, but only Stanley’s mother showed up (Mwarabu’s family resides in Iringa), she had no more tears to cry, she told her son that these were her last tears, that she gave up and the next time she would be crying over his lifeless body. His mother’s reaction moved Stanley’s feelings, and he proved ready and available to go to a Sober house in Arusha. Unfortunately, it was not like this for Mwarabu, who left the shelter forever just the following day, to be seen for a last definite time in the mortuary of Dodoma hospital.
We are tired to cry our sons, we are fed up to feel so powerless in front of such free violence, we are more determined than ever to keep fighting for them, for the children of the street, until justice is done, until others will not be killed and until others leave the street life behind them, as it had already happened in numerous cases.
May your souls rest in peace: Mauridi, Daudi, Danieli, Chuga, Boazi, Gidion, Antony, Peter, Aloyce, Agostino, Frankie, Johny, Ima, Jimmy, Toma, Mwarabu, Igidi…