Abdalla: Hello, welcome to my garage. How are you today?

Customer: I’m fine thank you, I’ve just had a few problem with my bicycle. Do you think you could service it for me please?

Abdalla: Yes, of course,you are at the right place, I could certainly fix that for you. Now take a seat while I double check it for you.

Customer: Makanic, how much is the cost?

Abdalla: Not as much as you think… I’m the only one here who will give better service to all for less.

In that simple garage, I worked my arse to a flat bone. I had done enough to get me through in life; I realized if you’ve got nothing, there is nothing to lose, and I learned it the hard way. The only way you can win your way out is by facing the obstacles that stand before you, and for me that was in that garbage garage.

In 2000, I moved to Kenya, to a refugee camp trying to find a better life and education. But when I got there things didn’t work out quite how they were planned.

In Kakuma, I was living with my Uncle David, who is now living in Brisbane, Australia. Things were really harsh for our family. He was the only person working, while his wife looked after their four children at home. I was there with no money to support myself as a grown young man. That was when I decided to do anything to earn money.

It started as a joke. Every school holiday and on weekends, I went out to the centre where there were a few shops. The shops were too old and it looked like the buildings would collapse.

I set up my tool box in front of them and mended people’s bicycle punctures. In reality, my garage has nothing in common with a real garage, I only call it a garage because I don’t have any other name for it. It was a dirty job, but in terms of money that job earned me a good living.

I felt I had worth and I became an expert in my little garage, and raised my pocket money to a certain level. By the end of every month, I was almost earning as much as my Uncle who worked full time with the UNHCR.

That job considerably lifted my head. In a few months, with the money I managed to save, I bought a bicycle, which cost two thousand five hundred shilling. Many families in that camp could not dream of such an incredible amount.

With me being a bicycle repairer I carefully designed my ride well, and used it as a taxi, to carry people from town into the camp and likewise to take refugees who wanted to go shopping or people who are traveling to Nairobi, or those who are leaving the the country for other personal reasons.

Kakuma is a busy camp, people are always moving in and out. And that gave me a chance to make money out of them by taking them around. I was honest and reliable in my job, taking only the amount which is required of me and reasonable.

That was until I met some new friends who had been in the camp a long time doing that kind of work, with more experience than others have known. They taught me and gave me tips on how it was done, and told me frankly, ”Abdalla, if you want to earn more, you don’t have to be fair to your customers”.

At first I didn’t like the sound of their advice, but I wanted to earn more money. I thought long about it, and gave my approval and joined them as team. And by having a strong team behind me, I began ripping off my customers, by doubling my price on every ride. It did work for a while, but later on, most of the time, it would end in argument, because my price was much higher than the exact required amount.

The moment I joined that team, I asked for more problems my way. There were many other groups that were never on good terms with our team. When buses and taxis brought customers, the first group to get there would be the one who would get everything first. So the other groups would be very angry if they didn’t get anything. Sometimes they could caused trouble by starting a fight or they could flatten all the tyres of the teams with customers and snatch them off.

That was when I noticed the benefit of being individual rider. The only good thing about being in a team though, was that every day we collected a large sum of money. On a good, busy day, I might grab a total of one grand or even more which is something I never got when I used to ride without a team.

I did the job for quite awhile, and in terms of money, it helped me undoubtedly. It meant I didn’t have to beg from people. Instead some working family like my Uncle always asked me for loan which he hardly paid back.

That job has two side effects. It is good for money, but in the other hand, it is life threatening. Most of the time, I found myself being the centre of target in many looking eyes.

One night I was stopped on the road by three angry young men. One of them held my bicycle, and another one hold me, while their third buddy search my pocket like he’s looking for a hidden gold in gold mines. He took all my money for that day, in a forceful way, and left me behind with two clean smacks in the face. From that night, I learned a lesson - that doing my job could cost me my life.

I became more careful, avoiding the night run. But I still did the day shift, until the day my bicycle got stolen and I didn’t bother to buy me another one because of the risks involved in the job.

I decided to go back to my job of mending punctures, even when the money was low, I was safer. And the money I got from it was enough to support me in all areas. I could buy my school stationery, and clothes for myself and yet had plenty in my pocket to keep me moving as a young man who done everything he could for survival.

I did it all myself, until the day I got lucky and had an exit from that camp into a new life, in a new home.