Sometime last month, I had a very unique dream—the kind I would definitely look for an interpreter if I ever heard of one. I wanted to write about it, but I postponed and ended up almost being fully convinced that nobody cared about my dream (procrastination is a bitch, ladies and gents). Still, it was super vivid and scared me to bits, so I was still inclined towards sharing it. You know those beliefs when we were young that if you shared a dream with someone, it would not come true in real life? I can’t be the only one who grew up threatened but such superstitions. It went hand-in-hand with the one that suggested that if someone skipped over your legs, they had to skip back lest you gave birth to a rat 😱😱😂😂. Come on, I am sure many of you can relate. So, to prevent my dream from becoming true, I shared it with Leroy’s dad, although I am certain he wasn’t exactly paying attention.
Fast forward to three days ago and there I was walking back to my house in the evening. I looked up at the sky and you would never guess what I saw. Amazingly, the sky above matched the one from my dream. Naturally, I reached for my phone to take a picture, and it did not disappoint. It was perfect. I saw it as a way of the universe telling me to write about the story. Like, here you go, the perfect picture for the story; what is your excuse for not writing about your dream now? I had none – well apart from procrastination, the story would be done already – so here we are.
My dreams are always very confused about location, time, plot, and the people present, so buckle up. My dream happened in the evening. I would guess, around 5:27 p.m. because that was the exact time I took the picture that matched the sky from the dream. The clouds were grey and gloomy, but there was an opening that had this immense light. Suddenly, it started raining. But it was not your normal rain. This rain was only coming from the bright opening in the sky. The rain was accompanied by a bolt of huge lightning, which also came from the opening in the sky. Yet that was not the strangest thing about the rain. The rain together with the lightning were moving. As they moved along, the lightning viciously struck anyone who dared to step outside.
Now the location of the dream is more than twisted and hilarious. We were hiding inside what I am certain was my form four high school class. Now that is not hilarious on its own; it does when I tell you that the compound outside that class was from my primary school😂😂😂. The plot gets even more twisted because Leroy was also there, a few of my campus friends, and none of my high school or primary school classmates. Ooh, before I forget, here’s another gory detail – the lightning moving with the rain did not strike children, only adults. I remember Leroy and another baby, whose face I never saw, going outside to play and we were all panicking and shouting at them to run. And just when we thought the lightning caught up to them, it moved right past them. And that was it, I woke up, panicking as you can imagine.
The funny thing is when I woke up the following day, the events I just narrated were vividly fresh on my mind. It is weird because, on most occasions, I forget my dreams before morning. But, what is even more astonishing to me, is that I can still recall all these details almost a month later. But I guess I should be grateful because then, I got a story to share about one of my many award-winning dreams.
My mother has been admitted to Top Hill hospital in Eldoret since Thursday last week. I could have written that my mother and I have been admitted, but that would mean that I am also a patient. The truth is, I am just here with her, as her caretaker, or so the hospital calls it. This is my second “visit” to Eldoret town. Ever. The first time was in February this year when she was admitted to the same hospital for the first time. I know, it’s not the ideal way for me to visit the place. Honestly, it would have been better to visit for a different reason. But, from a different perspective, maybe it is the ideal way because this is where my mother got medical help. You know, God’s plan?
Anyway, the story of my mother is one I will address some other time when I am comfortable enough. Today, I am telling a different story. The story of another patient in that hospital. Back in February, we found this woman admitted near my mother’s ward cubicle. Back then, she was really sick and could barely talk. I did not even know what she was ailing from, and I did not have the courage to ask her caretaker. Somehow, I felt that I would be intruding. So I just minded my business, but it was nice to know that she was getting better since I started hearing her talk.
The thing about being in a hospital is that it is like you form a community in the wards. Everyone is genuinely worried about the other patient. As unfortunate as the terms leading to the formation of this unique community are, it is such a beautiful society. In fact, it is possibly the closest thing to a genuinely united society that I have ever experienced — a community where everyone celebrates the other person’s recovery, even cheers them on when they do not even know their name.
Now back to this lady. Unfortunately, when we went back to the hospital in September, she was still there. I was happy to see her talking and even walking to the bathroom, albeit with the support of a nurse. Her recovery seemed miraculous, considering the state I had left her in. However, as it turned out, she did not recover adequately to regain her original mental state. It was during this time that I learned that she had been involved in a road accident. Considering her old age and the impact of the accident, “Mami,” like all the nurses called her, and like she called everyone else, was slightly unstable mentally. It was also evident that she had emotional distress. Nevertheless, she was such a darling, and all the nurses loved her!
As I saw the nurses attend to her, I realized that she had no “caretaker.” She was all alone. The word was that her family had abandoned her. That was when I remembered that back in February, there was a girl around my age who stayed with her in the ward. While I may not know for certain why her family left, my best guess would be the medical bill. She had stayed in the hospital for several months, and considering the state she was in at the start, the bill might have ballooned to a large sum. But, is that how it should be? Should people just abandon their relatives who stay too long and accumulate hospital bills?
However, that is not the heart of this story. The heart of the story is about that woman, what she felt about her situation. Mami was in so much emotional distress. It was sad that she felt like she had done something wrong for her to be abandoned. She kept on repeating, “Mungu mmoja kuja, sio kupenda kwangu. Nisamehe kuja, sio kupenda kwangu.” At first, I would ask myself, what could it be that she had done to constantly ask God for forgiveness. Because believe me, she repeated that literally every second with a lot of recourse in her voice. This was before I learned that she had been abandoned, after which my entire perspective changed. She was actually asking God for forgiveness for being sick, for overstaying in the hospital. How sad can that get?
And it was not just God that she was asking for forgiveness, even her kids. One night, I heard her saying, “Mtoto wangu nikujie, sio kupenda kwangu Mungu mmoja, ni ya Mungu.” That’s when it dawned on me; she wanted God to forgive her for being sick because she thought and felt that that was why her children had left her. She was asking for her family’s forgiveness as well because she felt like maybe if they forgave her, they would come to get her. Honestly, the thought of that broke my heart. Other times she would say, “nitafanya nini niokoke nikue mtu mzuri, nikue chini ya Yesu. Mungu nisamehe kwa jina ya Yesu.” To me, her story was a rude awakening. I have always heard of stories of people who had been abandoned in the hospital, but to me they were just that — stories.
Now I got to see it and couldn’t help but wonder, how many women like her were out there in different hospitals? How many men and children? Despite Mami’s situation, she was lucky the nurses adored her and treated her right. But also, it was about who she was as a person. She was overly courteous and grateful to all the nurses. She did not forget a “Asante Mami,” when her bed was made, or after every trip they took her to the washroom. Even how she made the requests, “Mami naomba unipeleke uko,” while pointing to the washrooms. She even welcomed the nurses to her lunch, of course they did not eat with her, but the gesture is everything. She was such a darling, which is undoubtedly why all the nurses adored her.
Still her situation made me wonder, what of the case of a patient who is neglected in a hospital with unfriendly nurses? How miserable were their lives? Mami felt like a burden, she even prayed asking God to come take her, “Mungu kuja unichukue, sio kupenda kwangu.” I guess she felt that, if her children would not come take her, then maybe God should.
Sadly, most of the other patients who found her there simply assumed she was “mad.” but she certainly wasn’t. She might not be entirely stable psychologically, but she knew what she was saying. She was in severe emotional distress. She was suffering, yet sadly, no one could fully help her. She would only find peace if her son, “kijana yangu,” went to see her, or God took her. I know you are wondering what the lesson is here. I am also not sure what to take away from all this. It was just an empathetic story of woman who was suffering from the love of her of her children. So maybe the lesson is to love your family members enough to see them through their toughest situations. No matter how draining they might be, don’t allow them to beg and grieve for their love while still alive like “Mami” did.
Even though she was receiving good care from her caregivers, she was still suffering because she felt her kids did not love her and should not be. She was craving a type of love that only her children and family could give. So, wherever you are, make sure you take good care of your family. Show them love always, in good and in bad — (and this includes your dearest friends!)
“The world is full of nice people. If you can’t find one, be one.”
NISHAN pANWAR
This quote has been so overused that it sounds just like a mere cliche. However, this quote has more truth to it than anyone would ever imagine. Let me explain.
On 26th August 2019, I had an experience that made me realize just how accurate that quote is. It was like everything was unraveling in a meticulously arranged order and timing to prove that quote right. I even found myself questioning whether the whole thing is staged? Could everybody else see it as I did?
It was around 6:30 p.m when the incident happened. I boarded a Kenya Mpya Bus to Thika. In the same bus was a young pregnant woman accompanied by a man whom I assumed was the baby’s father. Unfortunately, the bus happened to be full, and we had to stand in the middle holding the rails until some passengers alighted and freed up seats. The pregnant lady and her man went to the back of the bus while I stood close to the door. As I stood there, the guy on the seat nearest to me looked at me and gave me his seat; he moved to sit with his friend on the metal bars near the driver. As I sat down, I turned around to see whether the pregnant lady at the back had gotten a seat. She had not; she was still standing. I felt even guilty to sit down, knowing how difficult it must be for her to stand. Since I did not know her name, I continued looking back until our eyes locked and then waved at her to come to take my seat. As she maneuvered her way through other passengers standing, she wore this beautiful smile, and you could feel her sigh of relief. Even before she sat down, I had already gotten two thank-yous from her, and it was worth it.
Lucky enough for me, the guy who sat next to her said, “Ilikua nishukie hapo mbele, but acha nishukie hapa.” So the bus stopped, and he alighted together with various other passengers. I now had a seat, right next to the lady. Again she said, “aki asante.” “It’s okay, hakuna shida,” I replied. Still, you could see the gratitude in her eyes. She could not understand why I gave her my seat. So I told her, “I have been in your shoes before; I know it’s hard.” She just smiled.
Later on, when the conductor came to ask for the fare, I held mine in my hands. The lady’s bus fare was to be paid by her man, so she looked back to him to make sure he had paid. I did not know what he told her, but she looked at me and said, “Usilipe fare, umelipiwa pia.” I was rather shocked. I did not give her a seat expecting anything in return. To me, it was the noble thing to do, but to her and the baby’s dad, it meant a lot. “Hangelipa, ningelipa tu,” I said. She replied,” hapana, it’s the least he could do, umenisaidia.” “Thank You,” I said. Soon enough, it was time for me to alight the bus. I alighted but still could not help but think about the whole experience.
As I walked home, I couldn’t help but smile. I realized that it is indeed the small things in life, the small gestures, that matter. That day, I had seen a chain of good people being nice to each other, unknowingly, with small gestures that meant a lot. And still, I remember that day, a census night. So yes, “The world is full of nice people. If you can’t find one, be one.”
PS: This is one of the very first experiences I ever documented and published for the world to see, (well, not really published per se. More like captioned my picture with the story on Facebook). I was so amazed by how the various incidents unfolded like they were perfectly synced together. Was it by fate, destiny, or God? I’ll leave that up to you. I just thought that it was only fair to publish it here not that I have a blog for that purpose.
On 8th December 2017, I graduated from Egerton University, Njoro, with a bachelor’s degree in Agribusiness Management. Honestly, it was one of the happiest days of my life. Even more interesting was that it was quite an eventful day, and not so much about the graduation, but other stuff.
The first thing that made the day very special to me was graduating yes. Graduating in Egerton is so tricky that students joke that, “Egerton ni kama Illuminati, ukiingia hakuna kutoka.” About a month to the graduation, I had learnt that I was not on the graduation list. The worst bit is that I had a missing mark for my field attachment, a unit that is covered during the third year; and, needless to say, a “giant” unit. I don’t understand how I ended up with a missing mark, but that almost made me miss the graduation. Lucky for me, I knew and was slightly acquainted to the lecturer who had done my assessment. So, it was easier to find him, and that is how I got my marks reinstated.
Back to the actual graduation day….
I had on my most expensive hairstyle, and I had bought a red pair of heels for the occasion. Of course, I also had a spare pair of red sandals. Also, remember I had two dresses, one that my mum had bought me, and one I that I gifted myself for my graduation-These were the dresses that kicked off my now thriving relationship with dresses. Also, my mother and I had rented a kindergarten graduation gown for my Leroy to wear so we would match, me in mine and him in a tiny one. As you can expect the gown was oversized for him, but still, it worked.
Before my parents arrived, I was introduced to my now mother-in-law. At that time, I was so nervous that I didn’t know what to do with my hands.
On the bright side, I was not the only one who was in an uncomfortable state. She was not only meeting me for the first time but also her 2-year old grandson, whom until that point she did not know existed. She was evidently sweating, but I cannot quite describe the emotions on her face; I think confusion and disbelief would do. As she held her grandson, my legs started to wobble, and I had to switch from my heels to flats. You can imagine how embarrassing that was. That encounter lasted for just a short time because she was leaving, but I felt like an hour passed.
After the mother-in-law incident, I went back to waiting for my family, who had not yet arrived. When they did arrive, the ceremony was already ended, and many people were leaving. This created a commotion since they were going against the traffic gradient. And that explains why it took us quite some time to meet. They got lost in the crowd, I got lost in the crowd looking for them, they got lost again in the crowd looking for me, and there we were stuck in that loop.
After almost two hours, we finally met at “keep left,” a famous stop in Egerton. My parents came, my brothers, as well as my cousin-sister and her daughter. I was very cheekily excited, mostly because of how confused they were as they jostled through the massive crowds of people leaving while they arrived. We took a few pictures, and just like that, it was time to leave. I did not find it important to take them to the graduation venue as the commotion was too much, and we would take hours to get there, let alone leave. Now isn’t that interesting? They came for my graduation but never made it to the graduation grounds.
I remember my brother wearing my graduation gown to take pictures; he did not take it off. As we were exiting the school to get my stuff and meet the others at the agreed point, a lady stopped us asking him for directions to some building in the school. Ironic right? 😂😂😂 Of course, it was I who gave her the directions, and we got going.
It took us all about an hour to reroute and meet in the car, and we started our journey back home. My mother, like the typical African mother, had cooked lunch and packed it for the journey. After leaving the school area with lots of commotion, we packed at the roadside and enjoyed our meal, and soon after we were on our way. I found it funny that my brothers had prepared a whole kilo of roasted peanuts as their snack for the journey. To them, the trip from Thika to Nakuru was too long, while to me, it was just a typical journey.
When we got home, I thought we would hold an occasion, either within the nuclear family or with my extended family – my mother had told me before she would buy me a cake – but my father had other plans, which were no plan at all. According to him, hosting a graduation party was a terrible upcoming culture he was not ready to endow. When people invited others for graduation parties, they expected donations, mainly in the form of money. So he asked, “why do you need people to come to give you money? You are not a charity case, and you have no school fees arrears. Then in a few years, people will start owning your success because they gave you money. If you want a party, get a job, then do it as a thanksgiving, expecting nothing in return. Or you could go back for your masters, then, I can hold the party for you.”
I must admit, I was bummed out, and I did not wholly agree with him. However, my mother told me I could take professional photos with my gown and frame it for memory, but I never did. So that was it; my graduation ended on that journey back home.
Four years later, I am glad it ended that way. I have never found a formal job as “the society” would have expected. Therefore, I know (from the experiences of some of the people we graduated together with) that if I had gone through with the party, I would be dealing with the societal pressure. People saying that even after making a fuss about my graduation I never got a job or looked for one. Also, I never have to feel like I owe anyone an explanation of what I do nor will I owe them my success. Who knew a party, or lack thereof, would free someone?
During my 24th year, I made the first female friend after finishing campus; I might even say, the first lady friend I drew out of “life”. By this I mean, all my other friends have been school-related; primary school, high school, and campus friends. But with her, it was different; she was a friend I made while doing life as an adult. Of course, this might explain why we have so many differences. But, luckily, it also explains why our friendship grew exponentially in such a short time. I liked – and still do – listening to her because she has a more extensive experience in life than I did since she had left school before me.
When we started getting close, I learned that my friend was having marital problems, so to speak. Sometimes, I would find her crying, and while she tried to hide it, I could tell she was dying inside. Then, there was this day she came to work with a swollen face and a torn lip. Just like it happens in the stories we read and the movies we watch, she lied to everyone that she fell in the bathroom while taking a shower to protect her husband. It’s not like she even had a choice; the man was hovering around to ensure she did not tell anyone of what happened. A churchman with the perfect image wouldn’t want his reputation tarnished now, would he?
It was quite a controversial position for me to be in. I did not understand why the man, who looked so innocent and loved his two beautiful daughters, would be such a monster when it came to his wife. Worse still, I never said anything; I just kept quiet. I could not rebuke the man for his actions because I was not even supposed to know what happened in their marriage. And if I stood up for my friend and said something, he would probably beat her more at night because she told me. He had actually done that once, beaten her for disclosing their issues to the church. According to him, she was out of control and destroying his reputation in the church. As time passed by and the incidents kept repeating themselves. I realized that, in reality, life was not black and white.
Why didn’t she leave you ask? She was waiting for the perfect time to go. She lives with her niece, who is in class 7, and she wanted her to finish class 8 first. She did not want to disrupt her education. Also, she tried to save as much money as possible to make it easier for her and her girls to start life. Yes, life is not black and white.
Of course, the perfect time never came, and it finally dawned on her that by staying, she was risking her life.
March 28th, 2021, a Saturday, marked the beginning of my friend’s life. She finally decided to leave, and for a whole week, she made a grandiose plot to do so. Frankly, I thought she was bluffing when she called me and told me she was leaving in three days’ time. By that time, her plan was already in motion. I just did not know it yet. She had packed a few utensils, enough for her to start life and just enough so that her husband would not notice anything was missing in the kitchen. The following morning at around 6 a.m., she brought them to my house for me to keep them.
At this point, despite my fear of getting involved, like the coward I am, I knew I had to help her. That was when she told me the plan. She was to leave on Saturday when her husband was in church. I did not know how she was to organize and meet her daughters yet. It was already on a Thursday, so she only had Friday to complete her plan. That day, she made a call to the man who supplied her with fruits for her grocery store and made an order. She made sure that her husband overheard the call. However, he did not know that she was ordering them for her friend, and it was all meant to make sure that he was not suspicious of anything.
That same Thursday, she moved the clothes had packed to a nearby shop for storage. She also made arrangements and paid for the house she was to move to, and by this time, everything was already going as planned. Then, on Friday, she told the husband that she would be going home to visit her sick mother on Sunday and asked for some money for shopping. Ironically, he supported the idea and even told her it would give her room to go and think of what she was telling people about their lives. Of course, that hurt her feelings, but she did not even react. She was tired of arguments, and she did not want anything to jeopardize her plan. At this point, she was so nervous and anxious that she could barely eat.
Finally, the night which according to her seemed too long ended. It was Saturday at last. She prepared her two daughters and niece to church with their father. He was used to her not joining them for church. He did not always go with the girls to church, but on that day, he asked her to prepare them so he would take them with him. He must have been suspicious of her, but he knew she would never leave without them. Therefore, taking them to church with him was what he felt he was smart enough to frustrate anything she had planned.
What he did not know was that she had already seen that coming. She planned with the niece, who is older, and made her carry a phone. It was to stay on vibration mode to call her when she was done packing everything in the car. Oh, I must have forgotten that part. She had rented a car for the “escape.” She was not to pick the call at all. When she called her and the phone vibrated, the girl, let’s call her Lindsey, informed her uncle that the youngest soiled her diaper and she forgot to carry one from home. At this point, the uncle would give them money to buy a new diaper. This would allow the three kids to leave the church without him being suspicious at all. I mean, if they did not return soon, he would only assume that they decided to go home and change the diaper there. I know, genius, right?
So everything went on as planned, and the girls left the church. When they got to the road, my friend and I were waiting in the car, and they quickly got in. There was a slight hiccup in the plan, though. My lady friend, whose name I’ve chosen not to mention on her request, had forgotten to carry her gas cylinder. Not to worry, her niece went and picked it really quick. Had us panicking for some minutes there. But God was on her side, and in no time, she was back, and we were on the road. I had never seen her so happy. She literally started singing. Despite her constant fear of the unknown, she was certain leaving was what she wanted. Fast-forward six months and here we are, we talked on the phone yesterday and she tells me the only thing she regrets is not leaving sooner. She is happy now, and we, the contemporary women, should be happy for her!
As you know, I have just resumed writing and posting content on my blog. I had not done any creative writing or written to express my thoughts for quite some time, and it feels so great to be back. The interesting thing is that now that I am back, my mind is always spiralling, always looking for another story. As odd as it may sound, there is beauty to that. The beauty being that now, with my ever-spiralling mind, I can see even the slightest of incidents and see an exciting story out of it. I don’t know how to describe this best, but I think it is the beauty and joy that comes with doing something you love.
In this case, I am going to write about my five-year-old son – Leroy. Just something I noticed a few days ago that I find interesting. Now that I think about it, the broader context of the story, leans towards my idea of courtesy as it has emerged through my short parenting journey.
I was brought up by parents who highly regarded courtesy and honesty. On most occasions, the crime was not making a certain mistake but lying about it. We were also taught always to say thank you, sorry, and please where necessary, as it was the courteous thing to do. As a parent, I try to instil the same courteous behavior in my son, Leroy. Although he is a little cheeky and has to some degree, learnt to lie to get out of trouble, I seem to have made some impact. Whenever I do something for him, especially when it involves food, he says thank you. However, I did not really bank on that so much to know I had taught him well because afterall, which kid doesn’t love food? I mean, the thank you is mostly from excitement.
So, the other day, Leroy caught me off-guard when he suddenly told me, “mom pole.” I was confused since I could not remember having a dispute with him. He had just arrived from school and was waiting for his snack. So, I asked, “Pole, why?” And he said, “pole juu nliangukia simu yako jana. Sikua nataka mom, ilikua accident, sitaangusha tena.” He was wearing this innocently remorseful face that you could tell he was sorry. I didn’t say,”Aaaaww,” out loud, but I guess I can say it now, aaaaawww.☺☺
That’s when I remembered our “little” encounter the previous day.
Leroy dropped my phone, and I got mad. He had made it a habit, or so I thought in between my fit of rage. He was not careful enough. I even had evidence to back up my conclusion. He always had his dad’s phone with him and he rarely mishandled it, let alone drop it. So, in my anger, I grabbed my phone and told him that I would never give it to him again. He did not say anything then, he just sat back wearing this frown, and I could not tell whether he was disappointed in himself or angry at me.
Now that he had apologized for the incident, at least I knew as much as I had reprimanded him, he acknowledged that he was at fault. I am not going to lie though, I was taken aback by the fact that he could recall the incident when I had completely forgotten about it. I guess these are the surprises, joys, and rewards of parenting. I’ve always had the at least I’m trying” mentality when it comes to parenting but hey, looks like we’re doing something!
Today, being a Sunday, I want to address a practice involving religion that I find to be incredibly archaic; and I believe the contemporary woman should not undergo.
Disclaimer: I know some people may not agree with me, but this space here allows me to speak my mind and call out some of the challenges that continue to affect modern women, that I believe are outdated and should be abolished.
The funny thing is, I had written a different article addressing the same topic but in a more raw and personal way, but I lost it. I have a hard copy of it, but I decided to juggle my mind and write afresh instead of retyping it. I have so much hatred and opposition against this issue that I could rewrite it in a thousand different ways😂 The hatred is so deep that I am literally talking to myself (like the crazy woman I am) as I write this.
Okay, enough with the yapping…Let’s get to the elephant in the room.
The issue I am talking about today, I don’t know whether it’s a tradition, an undefined societal norm, or where the hell the whole thing came from. Apparently, there is a notion that women have to change their church (denominations) and join their husbands’ church after marriage. I find this to be not only absurd but borderline insane. Before I give my reasons for being against this, let’s look at it religiously. First, despite being married, a woman should have a life where she can make her own decisions, one of the most important decisions being her faith. I mean, should she join the other church without believing? And if she does so, doesn’t that incriminate her faith and her relationship with God. Because after all is said and done, we will all be judged separately. Moreover, don’t we all worship the same God, just in different ways? So why force a woman to join your church when she worships the same God in hers?
Now on to my reasons…
First, women are allowed to be independent thinkers; just because you are married does not mean that she should live your life. I find it very condescending and controlling.
Also, it is safe to say that it is one of my worst traditions, so it just triggers my anger. The worst part, to me, is that it is sometimes the women who tell a young bride that she has to change to her husband’s faith now. “It is what our grandmothers did; it is what a good wife does.”
God bless their souls; our grandmothers had no opportunity to oppose or even call out some of these traditions. They did some of these things because they had no choice. We live in different times now, a new era. Women can make their own decisions and choose their religion and denominations.
The good news is that many literate, open-minded, and civilized men also consider it trash. I added open-minded and civilized because I have seen literate men and women who still have quite an archaic mindset.
I have seen men who supported their women in their different denominations while they stuck to theirs, and their families stood. But, I have also seen men who got so attracted to their wives religion, believed, and started attending their churches. So, it is also possible for women to eventually switch to their husbands’ churches; but by choice and faith.
I can imagine that some women and men who read this text will be surprised that the “tradition” remains. But if it affects even 1% of the contemporary woman, we have to discuss it. I also know that others will read it and consider me “lost” for opposing and criticizing the practice but you’ll have to give me good reasons why this practice is still necessary. We might not agree but I’ll hear your point of view. As the great French essayist, Joseph Joubert, once said, It is better to debate a question without settling it than to settle a question without debating it..
One of my greatest fears is becoming or being labelled a “housewife.” In this era, as women, we grew up being constantly reminded that there is more to life than marriage – one of the best lessons to the Contemporary Woman. In fact, we were told that when you have no source of income, your man might not respect for you enough.
That is not why I am afraid of being labelled a housewife. After graduating from campus in 2017, I was hopeful about getting a career related to my field of study. However, as 2018 unfolded, it slowly dawned on me that it was extremely difficult to secure a job. I studied Agribusiness Management (AGBM) in campus, a field of study which couldn’t be any further from my interests, passion, and sadly, who I am as a person. It’s actually a funny story how I ended up studying that course. While I was doing my KCSE, I was sick and unfortunately lost confidence in myself. I expected to fail, or let us say, score lower results than I could.
So, when we were told to apply for our campus courses, I put Agribusiness Management in Egerton, Main Campus, as the first choice because, to me, there was no way I could achieve the cluster points required for the course. I then went ahead to put my other desired courses in the second and third categories. I wanted to be a designer, so it was either Clothing, Textiles and Interior Design (CTID), or interior design on its own. I selected these two courses in different campuses, then put graphics design as the last pick since it required the least cluster points. My thoughts were, if I do not get the design I want, then I can do graphics design – it had design in it, so it was good enough for me. Anyway, jokes on me, I outdid myself in the exam and met the cluster points to do Agribusiness Management, and being my first choice and very different from the other choices, they must have assumed I loved it! Either way, I made peace with my fate and actually grew to love my course, although I believe it did not tap into my full potential.
Back to 2018, throughout the tarmacking and applying for jobs, it so happened that most of the available slots were marketing Agricultural products. Most employers employed AGBM graduates in the same field as Agronomy graduates because we had a better grasp on marketing, management, and leadership unlike Agronomy students who only majored in crops and pests diseases.
The only problem was that Agribusiness had just one unit on crops, soils, and pests and diseases🤧 This meant that you had to relearn the types of soils, fertilizers, crop pests and diseases, and other farm chemicals, all of which I found difficult to master. No, all which I extremely hated and could not get myself to learn. Therefore, I realized that finding a job did not involve me learning Agronomy was hard, so I started to focus on other works in the line of my passion for writing, which I have been doing remotely up to date majorly. The problem with academic and journal writing, which I mostly do, is that it could be seasonal, which explains my current situation.
I mostly work from home, so with no formal work, I feel like I am reduced to the woman who only does the dishes and cleans – the housewife I was avoiding to become. Of course, it does not help that I love staying indoors. As a woman who is used to being busy and attaining personal satisfaction from working, and especially writing, and of course, viewing images of interior and fashion designs online, you can imagine how demoralized I have become.
I am not saying that being a housewife is bad; I solemnly respect women who choose to be housewives. The problem is that for me, it is not a choice. And of course, there will be the people who will say, albeit with subtlety, that your education was not necessary since you are not employed, which makes it all the sadder and depressing. So yes, being a housewife could be a noble choice. It could be. But it’s not the choice for me. Unfortunately, my current job situation makes me feel like one. But hey, at least I can write about it and feel better about myself..🙂
You know what they say that when you get a wife, you get a good thing? Or that the best decision a man can make is to marry a good woman? Well, all these assertions are correct! However, I believe and have come to learn that the most accurate approach to marriage is that, whoever you choose as a life partner, make sure they are kind. You are probably wondering where I’m headed with this. Give me your ear, and I will explain.
In 2015, my maternal grandfather was diagnosed with an illness, which I cannot quite fathom, except its symptoms. He started suffering from dementia that has significantly progressed over the years. He began forgetting people and places to the point that he could barely talk. After multiple hospital visits in different hospitals and seeing various specialists, it was revealed that his condition was irreversible. The doctor who seemed to understand his condition best explained that there must have been a time when my grandfather could not breathe, and his brain did not receive oxygen for several minutes, which is what triggered the illness. This theory makes sense because when my grandfather was first taken to the hospital at the onset of the illness, he had just visited his older sister. During that visit, he is said to have slept in a room that had been locked out for a while.
Now, back to the main agenda of the story.
With all his children married off and leading their own lives, they can only visit him so much. As such, my grandmother is my grandfather’s (her husband’s) main caretaker. She is entirely devoted to taking care of him despite the struggle. At this point, my grandfather, with his condition, can only lie in bed. My grandmother feeds and takes care of him like he were a child. I visited him last month and what amazed me is that despite the work and the hurt she must be in seeing her husband in that state, she never complains. She is still hopeful and has faith that God is in control.
During our visit, my mother, her daughter, could see how disturbed I was, and she told me,
“I used to come here, and whenever I am about to leave, I always left feeling sick. Then your grandmother told me we have to accept things for how they are, and apart from supporting her emotionally and financially, there is only so much that we can do.”
Deep inside, I could not help but feel like I had failed my grandmother since I do not communicate with her as often as I probably should. My fear of the situation made me shy away, and I only ever asked my mom about her and how she was doing but rarely asked her directly. This, I swore to change.
The beauty of the whole situation is that my grandmother, despite everything, still remains hopeful, generous, and very selfless. Because of this, you just cannot help but feel like you do not deserve her. But you know what, God does protect His people because my grandfather has my grandmother to take care of him. And she has people who support and care for her, even though I feel that what we do is still not enough. But as she remains hopeful and strong, so do we.
So, you know how people call famous people their heroes; my grandmother is mine. Because she is quite literally the strongest woman I know.
Trying to establish a career as a blogger is more complicated than I ever imagined. I have always wished to engage my audience as authentically as possible so that many women find my content relatable. I understand not every woman will relate to every story I put out, but for each story, it is always my hope that many women relate. I have realized this means that I have to be always alert and keep literal tabs on the events going on in my life – my personal life and those of the women around me. It means that even the slightest of events, instances, stories, or circumstances I find myself in, or a woman I know finds themselves in, is news- because there is always another woman out there, in a similar or related situation.
Unfortunately, most of the time, the minor events pass me. Other times, I get stuck and wonder, does that even count? What if people find it boring? What if no one likes my content? What if no woman can relate? What if that is not what women want to know or hear? Then I end up not writing about it. Interestingly, I have avoided addressing some stories, then later on seen them in another blog post. Then I feel like if I write about it now, my audience will think I wrote about it because I saw it in another post and question my authenticity – you know, like those copycat blogs that never have content of their own.
Other times, I wonder, is the story too private, or can it/should it be shared? Like, as much as I want to share my life events with my audience so that they can relate, I cannot help but wonder, is that not giving up my privacy? But then there is also the dilemma of feeling like if I only share the happy events in my life and leave out the sad and/or messy ones because they are private, then again, I lose authenticity. We all have happy and sad moments in life, don’t we? That said, it would be wrong to create the illusion of a perfect (even worse, glamourous) life.
I will be feeding my audience with real stories, yes, but not all of them, leading to the illusion that my life is not flawed.
You see, there is a thin line between being authentic and having all your dirty laundry in public. All this requires extreme precision and knowing how to be honest and genuine while still retaining some privacy- this applies to both sad and happy events.
If you were to ask me, this is where most bloggers, influencers, and celebrities, in general, go wrong. They overpost their happy moments, making that side of their lives public, but leave out their lows. It explains why most of them are accused of leading fake lives on social media, even though it might not be entirely
accurate. The thing is, they do have happy and magical life events. That is real and not fake. However, when they never post any lows or issues in their relationships or lives, they give the impression that their lives never have difficulties, which is why they are said to lead fake lives.
I say, do not overshare, or better yet, try to be genuine – post both happy and sad life events while still leaving out what you deem private. That is what I plan to do. I will try to be authentic, to the best of my ability, and hopefully, my fellow contemporary women will relate. That is the only way, I believe, to make a meaningful impact on the contemporary woman.
You know that famous phrase that says, “ Women are their own worst enemies?” That has to be one of the most relatable phrases I have ever heard. As a woman, I am very ashamed to admit that indeed as women we are our enemies and as such, our greatest hindrance to attaining the full potential of women empowerment. You see, as women, we get jealous of our fellow women’s success. The worst part is that with women, we shame other women, and are even jealous of not just their career development, but also marriage, family, and physical appearance. Women are always against body shaming against women, yet as women, we are the worst body people to point fingers, gossip, and body shame our fellow women, even when are the ones who understand most, what they could be going through, and the stigma that comes with all the physical, health, fertility and other issues that come with being women.
As such, I have a list of certain questions- I will handle separately- which I believe that no woman should ask the other if we want to help create a safe space for my woman to thrive and be themselves. While these questions are many, this article will focus on the main question I believe no woman should ask the other, about fertility, and birth.
When are you getting pregnant?
Women believe that since your age mates have children, or since you recently got married, you should get pregnant, and fast. You will hear things like, “Give your mother-in-law a grandchild,” “If you do not give your husband a child soon, he will leave you.” It baffles me that women do not realise just how offensive these questions are, especially when they are twisted and asked in their mother tongue. Women just do not understand that, while some women choose to wait to have a child, others try to have a child, but to no avail. Wait, or maybe women do understand this, I know they do, these are common cases among us women, maybe they just choose ignorance, and to hurt other people’s feelings. So I always wonder, when people ask such questions, do they ever think, what if she were silently struggling with infertility, do you imagine the psychological turmoil these women go through when you keep reminding them of the battles they choose to fight behind closed doors?
As if this was not enough, there is also a group of other women who ask questions llike, “your baby is big enough, when are you giving him a sister or brother? Such questions bother me, like why do you feel you should ask that? Why should we all not just let different women make their personal decisions alone? Last month during my birthday, I posted a few pictures and I remember a lady replied to my status saying, “you have already slain enough, you should get a second-born now.” My God, the audacity. You know, I simply deleted the text and never replied, lest I give a rude response. It is just bad.
Pregnancy is a blessing, but pregnancy is not the same for everyone. To some women, the first pregnancy is so traumatising, they the thought of a second pregnancy triggers thus trauma and anxiety. Other women develop medical issues after the first pregnancy that hinder them from carrying another pregnancy at all, or result in a series of miscarriages with any subsequent pregnancies.
Now imagine constantly asking such a woman-who is already silently suffering, and maybe even depressed because they cannot bear a child again- “Why don’t you have a second born or third born yet?”
And you know, some women just want to be both psychologically and financially stable before getting a first baby, or another baby. And there is absolutely no timeline, people want different things, during different times, and it should be accepted.
The topic of pregnancy and childbirth is a very delicate and sensitive one that I believe we should not just ask others. Let them be the ones to initiate the conversation or ask for your opinion. Let us be gentle with each other, and promote women empowerment by giving women the freedom to make their personalised decisions without judgement.
You know that famous phrase that says, “ Women are their own worst enemies?” That has to be one of the most relatable phrases I have ever heard. As a woman I am very ashamed to admit that indeed as women we are our own enemies and as such, our greatest hindrance to attaining the full potential of women empowerment. You see, as women, we get jealous of our fellow women’s success. The worst part is that with women, we shame other women, and are even jealous of not just their career development, but also marriage, family, and physical appearance. Women are always against body shaming against women, yet as women, we are the worst body people to point fingers, gossip, and body shame our fellow women, even when are the ones who understand most, what they could be going through, and the stigma that comes with all the physical, health, fertility and other issues that come with being women.
As such, I have a list of certain questions- I will handle separately- which I believe that no woman should ask the other, if we really want to help create a safe space for every woman to thrive and be themselves. While these Questions are many, this article will focus on the main question I believe no woman should ask the other, in relation to fertility, and birth.
When are you getting pregnant?
Women believe that since your age mates have children, or since you recently got married, you should get pregnant, and fast. You will here things like, “Give your mother-in-law a grandchild,” “If you do not give your husband a child soon, he will leave you.” It baffles me that women do not realise just how offensive these questions are, especially when they are twisted and asked in mother tongue. Women just do not understand that, while some women choose to wait to have a child, others actually try to have a child, but to no avail. Wait, or maybe women do understand this, I know they do, these are common cases among us women, maybe they just choose ignorance, and to hurt other people’s feelings. So I always wonder, when people ask such questions, do they ever think, what if she were silently struggling with infertility, do you imagine the psychological turmoil these women go through when you keep reminding them of the battles they choose to fight behind closed doors?
If this is not enough, there is also a group of other women who ask questions like, “your baby is big enough, when are you giving him a sister or brother? Such questions really bother me, like why do you feel you should ask that? Why should we all not just let different women make their personal decisions alone. Last month during my birthday, I posted a few pictures and I remember a lady replied to my status saying , “you have already slayed enough, you should get a second born now.” My God, the audacity. You know, I simply deleted the text and never replied, lest I give a rude response. It is just bad.
Pregnancy is a blessing, but pregnancy is not the same for everyone. To some women, the first pregnancy is so traumatising, they the thought of a second pregnancy triggers thus trauma and anxiety. Other women develop medical issues after the first pregnancy that hinder them from carrying another pregnancy at all, or result in a series of miscarriages with any subsequent pregnancies.
Now imagine constantly asking such a woman-who is already silently suffering, and maybe even depressed because they cannot bear a child again- “Why don’t you have a second born or third born yet?”
And you know, some women just want to be both psychologically and financially stable before getting a first baby, or a another baby. And there is absolutely no timeline, people want different things, during different times, and it should be accepted.
The topic of pregnancy and child birth is a very delicate and sensitive one that I believe we should not just ask others. Let them be the ones to initiate the conversation or ask for your opinion. Let us be gentle with each other, and promote women empowerment by giving women the freedom to make their personalised decisions without judgement.
The Official Start of Adulthood…….Too late?? Recap on the transforming 24th Year.
On Saturday 8th May 2021 at 9. 00 P.M, I officially started my 25th year. I am so excited but honestly freaking out at the same time. Growing up, I started school when I was young. So among my classmates and friends, I was always the younger one, the baby. But during my 24th year, my life changed. Like a shy little daisy flower, I bloomed.
I significantly diversified my life this past year. I made friends from different ages and completely immersed myself in the world unlike my school years and my past years when I was always indoors and only knew my school friends, I realized that well, am not the youngest anymore. If anything, am a fully grown adult now and it is scary. I saw guys and girls celebrate their 19th 20th and 23rd birthdays and it clicked yes Nyambura, you have to be an adult now, you cannot continue hiding behind the “am still young, too young card.” You have to take full responsibility now, and I must say, Am looking foward to doing twenty fine!
