Jian Ndung’u still recalls with a shudder he narrowly escaped death on August 21 last year.
It was 6 am. I was lying on the ground in Nairobi’s Zimmerman Estate, a few metres from the gate of a Presbyterian Church. I was surrounded by the mob that had beaten me nearly unconscious and put a tyre around my neck. In my subconscious state, I felt the warmth of petrol being poured over my body and heard a man ask for a matchbox,” he recalls.
But a voice spoke to him, telling him he would not die.
“The voice told me, ‘Do not fear, for I am with you. I will not let these people kill you. I have great plans for you and you will live to tell this story as a testimony to the greatness of your God,’” Ndung’u narrates, tears streaming down his cheeks at the memory.
He doubted the voice, considering that anytime now, a flaming matchstick would end his life.
“But when God is in control, never question his timing. I heard a woman warning the mob that if they killed me she would strip naked and anyone who dared look at her would be cursed,” he says.
The threat by the elderly woman, whom he has never seen again, saved him.
“The scene cleared. She raised me up by the hand and declared, ‘You shall live!’”
“Thank you, God. I will never doubt your power. You have power even over death. Thank you for giving me a chance to live,” he recalls praying silently.
The woman took him to Kenyatta National Hospital, where he was admitted and discharged a week later after he had recovered.
Ndung’u is convinced that no human power could have delivered him from the horrifying experience.
Born on August 21, 1992, Ndung’u had a difficult childhood.
“My parents were poor and we lived in a slum in Githurai 45. I was the second born and lost my dad when I was three months old. My mum, Mary Mumbi, became both mother and father to us, yet she was jobless,” he says.
To support Ndung’u and his older brother, she would wash clothes for people in the neighborhood.
“Washing clothes to raise Sh300 rent for our shack, feed, clothe and educate us was tough,” he recalls.
But Ms Mumbi was determined to ensure her sons got an education and approached school administrators in the area and offered to work for free, as long as they were allowed to attend classes.
WORTHLESS STRANGER
“That is the life my mum lived until I completed primary school. I scored 223 marks out of a possible 500 in the Kenya Certificate of Primary Education. I joined Form One in a local private secondary school, which wound up when I was in Form Three. That marked the end of my education,” he says.
To help his mum, who had become depressed and hypertensive, Ndung’u started hawking groundnuts in Githurai 44 and 45.
“Then, one night in April, 2015, my mum brought a man to our shack and told us he was our step-father. We had no say,” he recalls.
Unfortunately, the man became abusive and started beating her regularly.
“He was a terrible drunkard and added no value to our family. It was as if mum had brought Satan to live with us,” he laments.
To escape the misery at home, Ndung’u fled to the streets.
“I became a chokora (street boy) and started eating from dustbins and sleeping in ditches. It was better being on my own than seeing mum suffer at the hands of her new love,” he says, adding that street life gave him insight into human meanness.
“Many people in Nairobi know that street children eat from dustbins, so I don’t know why many of them put used diapers and sanitary pads together with the food they dump. It is from such a mix that I would choose what to eat. Thank God street children rarely get sick,” he says.
It was after going without any decent food for days that on the morning of August 21 — his 24th birthday — he was desperately looking for something to eat.
“I reached an area called Canopy and immediately thanked God because there was a crate of milk outside a closed kiosk. I approached it and took one packet. That is when all hell broke loose,” he says.
He later learnt that kiosk owners in the area had been losing their merchandise to thieves and had used the crate of milk as a bait to nab the culprits.
“That is how I walked straight into their trap and as soon as I took the packet of milk, a group of people who had been lying in wait came out and started beating me with crude weapons. My desperate pleas that I was willing to work to make up for the cost of the milk fell on deaf ears,” he says.
“After being discharged from hospital, I returned to my sleeping spot in a ditch. But I had no peace and felt this strong urge to cry. I cried from about 10 pm until midnight, after which I decided to commit suicide to escape my miserable life,” he recalls.
He had a biro he had picked up somewhere and in the dark searched for a piece of paper to write a suicide note.
SECOND CHANCE
“I thought about the best way to kill myself. I toyed with hanging myself, taking poison or climbing a nearby high-voltage electric transformer and getting electrocuted. But then I imagined myself dying, kicking and screaming…. I eventually I realised I did not have the courage to go through with such self-inflicted pain,” he says.
Besides, he heard a nagging voice in his head urging him to be strong.
“Tears started rolling down my cheeks, and the voice in my head was getting musical. I don’t know how to explain this, but I found myself writing down what the voice was telling me. At around 3am, I found myself singing aloud. The message was a song!” he says.
That is what turned out to be his debut song, ‘Murigiti’ (healer,) which encourages those who are suffering not to give up because God will deliver them soon. The voice also directed him to go to a church in Ngomongo.
“It was known as Theo-Phillus Church. I went there on a Friday and met a man and a woman. Before I could even tell them why I was there, they gave me food and water,” he recalls.
Later, he got to know the two as Bishop John Githiri and his wife, Rachel, the couple that ran the church.
“They asked me how they could help me and I responded by singing the song that had been playing in my head, which I had now crammed. They gave me fare home and asked me to return early on Sunday morning,” he says.
He showed up two days later as asked, in tattered clothes and feeling extremely hungry.
“I was given a chance to greet the congregation and sing my song. People started crying and by the time I finished singing, the whole congregations were on its feet and in tears…Many people walked up to me and gave me money,” he recalls, adding that he received Sh10,000 in total.
Besides, the church adopted him and the Githiris promised to help him make a fresh start.
“Rachel is the morning gospel programme presenter at Kameme FM and she gave my song airplay. The response was so good that I started getting invitations to Gikuyu radio stations and television studios for talk shows. Within a week, I was very popular and donations from audiences had turned my life around completely,” he offers.
The church also sponsored the production of his second album, which cost Sh50, 000.
“It is a year now since I reached my turning point, a year that has transformed my life as well as that of my mum and my brother. Today my mother can live in a decent house, eat three square meals a day and dress like a privileged mother…” he says excitedly.
Ndung’u is still overwhelmed by the transformation his life has undergone in such a short time.
“Today, many look up to me for inspiration. From my radio talk shows, I get invitations to speak to youth groups in churches and schools. Can you imagine me, a former street dweller who, not long ago, was eating from dustbins and sleeping in a ditch…a person who was almost killed for stealing a packet of milk, not because I was a thief, but because I was hungry,” he says, adding that the future looks bright.
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