My wakeup call crows at the crack of dawn and as I pry my eyes open and rise up off the hot dirt floor I know what’s in store for the hours ahead. I step outside, my belly grumbling but I know my next meal won’t come until the evening hours. I fight back the lump in my throat and shake the tears from my eyes.
I make bricks for a living. This is my every day. I am 6 years old. I am Amos Muno.
I barely remember the days with my mother and father, but I vividly remember the day of their funeral. I remember anger and fear swelling up inside of me. The one thing that was stable in my life…taken. They died in May and July of 2010 of AIDS. My brother, 16 years of age is my only family and we do our best to care for each other but the loneliness comes in the night with no one to kiss my forehead as I fall asleep.
I have heard of other children who get to attend school, but for me, this hut and my survival skills are all I have to keep me going. I feel that I have very little to smile about and often wish I didn’t have to set in front of a hot burning fire day after day, making brick after brick, but this is all I know. I have no childhood dreams because in my world, dreams don’t exist. My reality and my worth are here.
The one thing that does bring a smile to my face…prayer time on Sundays. I am always careful not to wear the one shirt I own during the week so that I have something nice to put on. It’s the one day of the week that I can close my eyes and imagine what a different life would be like. The one day of the week that I can close my eyes, breathe in the fresh air and know that when I open them I won’t hear that rooster reminding me of my purpose.
I make bricks for a living. This is my everyday. I am 6 years old. I am Amos Muno.
