Drugs, Sex and God...

His name is Paul. He is 18 years old; a fairly good-looking young boy. He has a beautiful smile; in fact, he’s always smiling. He sees me walking down the road, “Mary! Mary! Una enda wapi?” (Where are you going?”)

I tell him that I’m going to Khetia’s, our large supermarket, to meet Anne, our social worker. Today is food delivery day for one of our projects. Paul continues to walk with me, engaging in conversation…my not-so-good Swahili and his not-so-good English but thankfully, we manage to keep the talks going and fully understand what the other is saying.

I ask Paul if he has any glue on him; he looks at me in hurt and shock, “Ah no, Mary, hakuna gum.” (No glue – gum is glue in Kenya. If you want to refer to chewing gum, you have to say bubble gum). I tell him he’s cheating me but he insists that he doesn’t have any glue. And for the most part I believe him; he doesn’t have that glazed over look like the other kids do. He is fully aware of his surroundings and his speech is impeccable. Then he says in Swahili that he doesn’t like gum. He says, “Mungu ni moja, hapana gum.” which is “God is the one, not gum.”

Paul began to tell me that gum ruins the mind; it makes you crazy like some of the other boys we both know on the streets. He said that he doesn’t want to go crazy; he wants to love God, get a job or maybe school.

I softened a bit toward him; impressed with his words, feeling compassion for him. As we arrived to Khetia’s, I saw Anne waiting for me. When Paul noticed that I was with a Kenyan, he got a bit shy. I told him it was okay and then he just started blabbing in fast Swahili to Anne. I couldn’t make out all that he was saying. I saw shock, then sadness on Anne’s face, then her shaking her head.

I asked her what Paul had said. Paul told Anne that he had sex with some of the “ghetto” girls, aka street girls, and now he wasn’t feeling well. He said that there was something wrong with him. He didn’t feel right. He wanted to go to the hospital to be checked out.

At that moment, Anne got a phone call, so she stepped aside and in my broken Swahili, I tried to communicate with him. I wanted to be bold with him.

I asked him, “You don’t like gum because it ruins your mind, right? It makes you crazy right?” He said, “Yes, it makes you go crazy. I don’t like gum.”

I asked, “Do you know of AIDs?” He said, “Yes, I know AIDs. It’s very bad.”

I asked, “Do you like AIDs?” He looked at me like I was the crazy one. “Ah no, Mary, I don’t like AIDs. It kills you.”

I looked at him, put my hand on his arm, “Then why Paul, why are you having sex with street girls. With girls you know are sleeping with many other men? You having sex with girls that probably have AIDs, is just as bad as you taking gum. It makes you crazy; it kills you.”

He hung his head down. “Pole Mary. Pole sana.” (I’m sorry, Mary. I’ve very sorry.).

I asked if a condom was used; he said that he didn’t have money for a condom and they didn’t have any condoms at that time.

He asked if I would forgive him; I told him that I already have. But that it wasn’t my forgiveness he needed, he needed to go to God for forgiveness. He asked me if God was mad at him; I said that I think God was sad but that God was waiting for Paul to talk to Him, to say he was sorry to God.

I told him that he needed to talk to God and then he needed to go to the hospital or the VCT and get checked out. I told him that he needed to stop having sex with those girls, any girls.

At that point, Anne was ready to go in to the store so I told him I had to go and we’d talk later. When Anne and I finished shopping, Paul was still there, waiting. So he carried our bags to our next destination. I gave him some little money and told him to save it or take it to the VCT to get checked.

He looked at me somewhat hurt and angry, “Help me, Mary!” And then he stormed off.

I’ve thought about him all day today.

What do I do? What can I do?