David Ruwa Official Blog

hurtful questions and most of all, insults...just about my body size and my chest make-up. People actually made fun of how I looked. I didn't know what being strong meant. I couldn't fight those who insulted and made fun of me so I just put it all in my mind and/or heart and suffered silently; careful not to damage my esteem. I didn't know, but that was my path of being strong.

adapting. My brother made a whole lot of what I was scared about not to happen. He watched out for me for every second he could. I cannot mention all the times he intervened in situations that I, in most of them, gotten myself into. He cared for me and for most of the days, I felt secure. In the few moments I was away from him, however, I had to adapt to some very

primary education. In other words, she would no longer be with my brother and I in the same school. I was not used to it. I was scared. I was scared that maybe things were going to become worse. Well, 2005 came in. I was now in class 4, and my brother in class 5. I can say that by then, I was a little bit used to few of my classmates. I was slowly

gets fresh, everyday of my life. However irritating it gets, I learnt to live with it. Class three was almost done and I despite being enrolled to be eating 'special diet', exemption from class and dormitory duties among other things that a 'sick person' could not do, instead of being happier and grateful, I was slowly becoming a sad soul. The end of the year only meant that my sister was going to finish her

No, you are sick.  Many, and probably, almost all fellow pupils as well as teachers, knew nothing with regards to what I was going through. It was during this first year in boarding school that I came to learn such a valuable lesson as; sometimes, a deed done out of pure good intentions may cause unintended harm. Fourteen years since that year and the constant reminder that I should eat more to grow big always

cold climate. Considering my age and the size of my body, I was branded "the last born of the school" - started by the director himself. This brand shaped the outlook of nearly the whole school towards me. With constant reminders and sentiments every time by the then headmaster, that I was sick, my stay in Tumaini was slowly turning hell, day by day. I basically couldn't do anything. For example: Can I play some football?

be in class eight, my brother in class four and myself in class three. I still have fond memories of how Mr. Samwel Sawa Maneno, the director of Kwale Tumaini Academy, welcomed us to the school. My first thought after seeing the underground water tanks was that they were swimming pools! Shock on me! Kwale was extremely cold. It may have been that my chest condition made me less comfortable with a combination of the

knew what boarding meant. At that point, I stopped crying even though I just felt the whole "boarding school" idea was not something to be happy about. My brother and I were to be taken to a boarding school in Kwale. However, after long pleas with my father to withdraw the idea, he said he couldn't, but rather, he would take our sister with us to the same school. Now in 2004, my sister would

So, fast forward, to 2004, a year that changed my life. A year, very significant in my entire life story. It all began in a night in December 2003, I was called out by my parent. My father said to me that next year, I would join class three at a boarding school. Immediately, I started crying and refusing the idea. My father asked why I was crying and continued to ask if I even

My discharge from the hospital came as a relief but a challenge i  disguise. Mainly, I was going back to ' everyone else ' who knew little or nothing about the condition I had. Leaving the hospital, coincided with the decision of being taken to boarding school. I was soon going to a new school, where I would have to live with some of the most curious peers ever. Well, let's face it; I was scared. I felt totally not ready.

Day by day, life moved on; tackling each day as it came. My discharge from the ward was slow-approaching. Finally here it was, my discharge-summary. I was now going back after several moments of being in the hospital. How was I supposed to adapt? At quite the young age, my hospitalization and all the surgeries had revealed the truth about my health condition. But had it done the same to anyone else? NO

a tray of pills and medicines as was necessary. Regulated play time, known routine for lunch, strictly regulated visiting hours and play time as well as known routine supper menus. Life was more of static than boring and the life-size pictures of cartoons drawn on the walls did more harm than good to me. Life was a dangling pendulum swinging from sad to happy; mostly, geared by my visitors of each and every day.

Home, as the saying goes, is where the heart is; 'sossbie' ward became my home for quite a time. I got attached to very many things. Every day I made an attempt to learn something new. This was probably because my life at the ward was characterized by routine. Two slices of bread, one boiled egg, a pinch of salt, tea and a little spread of margarine in the morning, preceded and/or followed by

My body on the other hand, was getting used to medicines of many kinds. It got to a point I even developed preferences to some medium of medicine administration over others. Another instance was the notable one that I could not feel any pain on my wrist during injection. This led to repeated injection on the same spot as the nurses were surprised. To date, I still have the scar -as clear as the memory.

I think it may have been worth it after all. It is in this phase that I learnt many new things. Apart from learning that people may totally change in times of hardships, I also learnt, during this same phase, my first 'sheng' (slang language mostly used in Nairobi area of Kenya) word. Life practically shaped me into appreciating what I had and being determined to attain what I needed. Clay being moulded by circumstances...

I learnt quite important life skills that shaped my personality to date. This was the among the first experiences that20 created David Ruwa. My personality has it's foundation from most of the daily experiences at the hospital. Basically, the interactions I had with my family and friends, shaped how I communicate to date. I would have said that I was probably too young to go through every day at the hospital, but on second thought...

I was hospitalized for quite a number of days. Since I was so young, I was admitted with my mother. My family came to visit. I stayed long enough to have made friends; around two or so. Long enough to have been bullied, technically, by another group of friends. And long enough to have those two friends of mine coming to my aid when I was bullied. I was so young but learnt so much.

My uncle got in the ambulance with me and the door was shut. I guess was the first time I was being driven in an ambulance - while conscious. I recall sirens from the ambulance and other motorists pulling out of the road so that the ambulance could speed. I felt a little bit, meh - special; and for a moment, my mind was free and positive. For that moment, I lost myself to my own dreams

I finally made it out of the intensive care unit. I recall the steep ramp where the ambulance was waiting for me. I was to be taken back to the hospital general ward for further hospitalization until the doctors were satisfied that I was fit for out. "Is there anything I can do to help?" I recall my uncle asking this as I watched helplessly from the bed as I was being transfered to ambulance.

I saw my mother approach, from afar. She wore a yellow coat. I felt a feeling of relieve. That I was no longer alone. When she reached my bed, she stood by my side. We did not talk. We just stared. At least that is what I recall. I wondered where the rest of my family was. I later came to know about the various restrictions that had been put at the time. Keep reading.

I recall blipping tones probably from the monitors besides the beds. I recall seeing a nurse in front of me as I tried lifting my head up. As though she was patiently waiting for that moment, she gestured me not to lift my head up. I recall she held a cup of cocoa drink with a drinking straw in it. She asked me to try and drink the cocoa drink. It was warm, but alas!

The surgeons then asked that as one goes to call my mother, another to put the mask on me. I agreed, not knowing the power of the anaesthesia. To date, I can only recall seeing the other surgeon coming back to the operating table...without my mother. And shut! I lost my self. I woke up in the Intensive Care Unit, abbreviated: I.C.U after the anesthesia slowly faded. I cannot recall everything; only few things.