'I wouldn't grasp anything': A teen mom's school struggle

Early 2017, Seulize Beya was impregnated by a boda boda (motorcycle taxi) rider.

At the time, she was 14 and in Class Eight at a primary school in the Tiwi area of Msambweni, Kwale County.

He wooed her and she accepted. Seulize says had it not been for the hardship at home, she would not have accepted him.

“Neither mom nor dad had a job. My dad occasionally found odd jobs. And since his income was irregular, when to have breakfast or supper depended on when he had money," says the second born of eight siblings.

“It's hard to get some sleep on an empty stomach. Now, imagine sitting in class listening to a teacher busy at work. I wouldn't grasp a thing. I'd be there looking at him, but in my mind I'm thinking 'I had no tea in the morning, lunchtime is drawing near, what am I going to eat?'"

Out of school

Seulize would be so faint with hunger that some days she skipped school. The hunger persisted until she decided to drop out of school.

As she moved around to scout for food, she met the rider. He expressed interest in her. She didn't think twice about it. She accepted him at the blink of an eye.

“He'd give me Sh200 every two days. I was over the moon," she recalls.

She thought to herself "I had found a man who met my needs, why should I go on with studies?”

With that, she erased the idea of returning to school from her head. For three months, she missed her periods. The fear of having fallen pregnant preyed on her. She froze at the imagination of that reality.

Her fears were later confirmed at a nearby health facility she had visited for a test. "I cried until I wouldn't cry anymore," she says.

“My parents were disappointed in me. They came to terms with my situation after days of scolding me.”

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What pushed her to the deep end of the sea was the reaction of the man who impregnated her. He distanced himself from the pregnancy, yet he was the first and the only boyfriend she had.

In the mix of emotional distress, a social worker from a local women’s rights organisation visited their home and encouraged her to return to school.

“I had given up with school. I didn't know I had an opportunity to resume learning at the same school. I was in a dark pit; I was confused and stressed. But she managed to pull me out of it through counselling. She opened my mind and eyes; I saw light."

She returned and remained in school until she delivered. She says fellow pupils would laugh at her, but she pulled through courtesy of her mother's consistent consolation. 

She scored 208 marks. Seulize says she was a high-scoring student who never registered below 270 marks but the stigma at school and shock of rejection by the sex offender affected her.

Under the Sexual Offences Act (2006), a child (one below 18) has no capability to consent to sex. She later joined a day secondary school near her home. Hanging on her sleeve were unforeseen challenges.

Students avoided interacting with her. “I was lonesome. They would tell me 'you're a mother, you're not like us. There is nothing you can share with us.’”

One of the female teachers noticed her isolation and asked her about it. She opened up to her and later the teacher summoned all her classmates. She informed them that Seulize was a complete human being who deserved to be treated with kindness, compassion and respect. That getting pregnant and delivering a child does not make a girl any less of a person, she says.

Baby's feeding challenges

From then on, the classmates were friendly. But there was another problem. While her mother was comfortable with looking after her grandson, she had no money to buy him baby formula.

“I'd be sitting in class, but my mind was at home. I'd be wondering: 'Is he okay? Is he hungry? Is he crying?’ All through, I just stared at the teacher. If you asked me what the teacher said, I wouldn't tell you."

She, however, had a chance to see the baby during break time when her mother brought him for breastfeeding. She'd breastfeed in class and some students would peek through the window, making her uncomfortable. 

“How I wish there was a room within the school where my child was taken care of. Where I'd pop in, see him and go back to class. I'd be at peace and concentrate in class," she says.

And when she returned home, she took over the responsibility of looking after her son. By the time he slept, she was too tired and flaked out on her books. In 2020, her mother started a fast-food business and when she finished Form Four in 2022, she opened a shop for her. She sells utensils and Muslim women’s wear.

She scored a D- but believes she would have had a better grade had she had the comfort of seeing her child every so often.

Her mother, Mwanapili Salim Sheba, says she takes pride in her daughter for persevering. “As her mother, the pain of seeing her cry cut through my heart. I had to encourage her to focus on her future and forget about anything else. I want the best for my daughter," she says.

Sensitisation

Abraham Nyamwawi, Msambweni sub-county education director, acknowledged that teenage mothers face stigma perpetrated by fellow learners and teachers. In his view, training institutions ought to start teaching learners how to handle teenage mothers and sensitise them to the same.

“We have beacon teachers in every school and their work is to promote inclusivity. They are the ones to intervene in case of stigma," he says.

He says that at the moment the return-to-school policy doesn't provide for childcare facilities in public schools. He, however, adds schools can still establish the facilities on their own initiative.

But putting the requirement in the policy would empower public schools to establish such facilities, he says.

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