Peter Painter

Olyotya Friends!
(Hello how are you, Friends!)

This is the story I heard yesterday. His name is Peter Painter. He is an artist... hence the name, Peter Painter. He is shown above with one of his murals. I asked Peter how old he was, and he said that he would turn eighteen next month. "Wow," I said, "my mom's birthday is October 3rd, what day were you born on?" He answered, "I don't know." He went on to tell his story.

When he was born, his father left and married another woman. His mother and he eeked out an existence, but by the time Peter was six, his mother had contracted AIDS. He spoke of his memories, and being by his mom's side as she died. He told me how she spoke words of assurance and blessing to him.

After she passed, his father also died. He was a fatality of war. Then he was picked up by his aunt, his father's sister. She treated him poorly, as Peter says, "she abused me terribly, she beat me and several times left me outside the home as punishment." "So you had to sleep outside?" I asked. He said "yes she would throw out my few things, clothes and such, then lock the door. I had no where to go, so I would sleep next to the house. Then in the morning she would say, I was good for nothing, and could not be possibly related to her. She said she couldn't handle me anymore".

"So what happened," I asked. "She took me to my other aunt, my father's other sister," he said. "She was far worse, she was a drunkard. She beat me also. She died soon after. But I had a grandfather, my dad's father, but he was too old to care for me, so I was brought to a boarding school out in the bush. This was the most frightening time of my life. I remember it clearly. The village was more primitive then I'd ever known. The children had never seen shoes before... I took mine off. They worship idols and spirits in the village... they sacrifice children. I remember seeing all the children running deep into the bush because when certain men approached them in the street slowly, they were looking for a sacrifice. I remember hiding in the deep bush, trembling as the men approached. I remember praying to God for safety. I also remember once, I was laying down hiding right next to a snake, a deadly one, a cobra, and I wondered if I would live or die, but if I yelled out the men would find me, I could only pray."

"Peter" I asked, "how did you come to Hope Children's Home?" "My drunkard aunt passed away as well, and the aunt that couldn't handle me came again and took me to the home. Here is where it was safe. All of you people here, are now my family. These are those who love me and I love them."

Both Peter and I were in tears. I assured him that I loved him. I also told him that he was no longer a boy, but he is now a man. I don't know what the future holds for Peter as he will soon be 18 and I don't know how much longer he can live at the home.

Jerry