I suckled for only 3 months. TMI. I know. After those three
months, my mother endured a ride that probably took 12 hours to Kamato Village
in Lambwe Valley. Chances are you have no idea where that is. But that is where
my grandmother raised me for those first few years. I later joined my bro in
Nairobi-about 3 years later.
Mathe would endure the 15 km walk from the main road to get
to my Dani’s place. She would carry my bro and I would walk. I was the elder
one. Plus you did not argue, or attempt to, with my mum. You did not nudge at
her dress for sweets or toys. If she wants to, if she can, she will buy it. If
she doesn’t then there is a good reason for that.
If you made a mistake it was the slippers. That blue Bata
slipper was more painful if it was already worn out with the lose straps hanging. Kinda like a whip with many strips.
I lived with my aunt in Bungoma between class 3 and 6. To me
it still feels like a lifetime. She was mistreated at work because she was from
another tribe-not one of them and a woman at that. She therefore saw men get
promoted and get pay rises. She had her own Chill (who was special) and Austin
was on the other way.
She was unmarried.
Yet she struggled to keep it all together. I never saw her
cry. I’ve never seen her cry. I’ve never seen my mother, or even my grandmother
cry.
So my aunt raised her sister’s kids and her own.
We later moved to Nairobi and stayed with a couple of
relatives. Being a single mum who has been sacked from a government hospital
because you are a foreigner has its downside.
Mathe hustled for jobs(locums). A jobless doctor. Yap. She spent
time walking through ministry doors and private hospital corridors trying to
get there. But she couldn’t answer the one question. Why were you fired? Ok,
she could but you know how jittery employers are.
She turned to prayer. My mother prayed. This is the only
time my mother cries. She would visit us at my aunt’s and takes us for prayer
walks. We, I would treasure these moments. They were random. Sometimes after
every 3 months, sometimes after 8.
Am I whining about my life? No. I was a playful kid. I would
be at the football field in Nzoia Sugar Primary School till my body couldn’t
take it any more. I would ‘steal’ a cane or two from the many plantations.
Back to her. So, as she hustled we lived. I only heard her
mention yesterday that she used to walk from Bukembe to Nandolia-then to
Upperstaff when she visited.
She feared we would ask questions. I did ask once when I was
in class 2. I felt the pain and even more the confusion in her voice and
decided to spare her the agony. Maybe later on.
At Mama Alus’s place my cousins were the ones who defined my
life. To me the place was far-flung. Ruiru. Enehu, their own internal workings
formed me. Betty, Val took care of the house and the rest played. Even Dorcas
and Florence.
Mathe finally got into M.P Shah and the family reunited. The
story after that is for another day.
I can’t end without mentioning Pet, my deaf aunt who I loved
and still do so much. She cooked omena daily for us during the 1996/7 famine
that ravaged the country. My aunt was admitted at the time. Pet was in high
school.
Val has been like a younger sister that I consider my
agemate sometimes. She matured fast. I guess it’s a first born thing.
Barbra could/can sing. She opened me up to a different world
musically by being herself. Musically expressive.
Jackie. Well, about Jackie I will mention if/when she says
yes to my proposal.
There are more. To all of them, Happy International Women’s
Day!
