The Women in My Life

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!