When a woman becomes a mother

It all starts with an oblivious perception of what motherhood is. “I’m going to be a mother!” It’s pure thrill!…”just like her, or maybe I’ll be just like my mother. Perhaps better, I mean, my mom was a tough nut so I should be better, no?” You just found out you are pregnant and suddenly the world changed view. It looks funny, doesn’t smell any better and my, you suddenly notice the many children around you! “I will now cease from being just me” You fantasize and start picturing yourself as ‘Mama Nani’ and not just Alice anymore…and while to some it’s a terrifying reality, most women lovingly welcome their BFP (Big Fat Positive)

Fitting In


The oblivious journey begins from here with you, reading through baby blogs, week after week and rushing to the obstetrician each time you suspect something isn’t right. Baby movements begin with uncomfortable stitch-like pains between week 18 and 20 and you check into hospital again, scared sh*tless because tot may have accidentally moved into your rib cage and got trapped there.

Phew! You survive the first trimester and begin to enjoy the calm period. You go out with your girls hoping to still fit in, shop for baby stuff and trendy outfits for yourself. Damn! You make pregnancy look so good, all your friends now want to fit in with you! You are rocking it silly and out of nowhere, the pride of your looming status checks in…


I wonder though….


What do our mothers and moms to teens and grown up- children think of new and younger moms? Have you ever thought about it? When they see young moms in parenting blogs claiming to have hacked it in marriage and parenting yet they bag less than 10 years in it. Do they scoff at us? Or perhaps mock? Why wouldn’t these moms find some hobby and share their experiences too?


We really can’t help it, you know…


See, the moment you get pregnant, you suddenly feel as though you have experienced it all, and now know what it is like to carry a child…and by all means, you do…You feel so wise you would buy a crown and walk with a stick if you could. You get your first baby and it’s an occurrence to behold! You can’t wait to put it down in words! So you start a blog and plaster as many photos of your baby as it can hold. Ha! I know I did that! You get your second child and no one can tell you what it is like to be a mother to multiple children.


They are still very young, but it doesn’t matter. You are now a self-proclaimed expert on parenting…I know because I felt like I had made it to the sky, hugged the moon and waved at the sun. Now, what happens when a third child comes and your head won’t grow any bigger? You go quiet and watch first time moms follow your trend, right? Hmm.


I am a culprit!

I am not here to attack young parents, no. I am one myself and I have written all the crazy, embarrassing stuff on my babies too. I am simply trying to show you how crazy, yet sanely normal the changes are that happen to a woman when she becomes a mother.

She suddenly has to grow up, be more responsible and think of others before herself; she has to answer questions she would love to know answers to and has to work harder than she used to keep up with life demands. Funny, we do it all and with a big smile.


So, when a woman becomes a mother…

It’s simply because it’s a joy to be a mother; to have a child is to have someone who loves you with their existence and want to be just like you. You’re their all-time best friend and your presence itself takes away every discomfort they have.

A new mother’s life changes so much she feels as though she was not living before her baby was born. It’s as if her life was meaningless, without purpose and with nothing to look forward to. It’s a pure feeling and one only experience can teach and one no one can ever take away. Whether the baby is a new born, a toddler a pre-schooler or a teen…whether the child didn’t make it past a certain age and whether it is adopted or a surrogate child…motherhood is that feeling of responsibility to a child. The connection that draws you to put their lives ahead of yours. Its a beautiful feeling, whether cut short or lives on. Lets embrace it just as it is.

I am Tooth Fairy

Four and a half loose milky teeth ago, my now 5-year-old daughter had her first loose tooth. Losing teeth is one of those experiences parenthood doesn’t prepare you for. We assume we only need to contend with soiled diapers, fevers and the all too famous terrific two’s. Those million mommy blogs hardly talk about us having to pretend to be brave and cruelly pulling out teeth. I contemplated booking Pesh at the dentist’s but wondered how it would be spoken of. I, Mama Pesh- the Bold, took her daughter to a dentist to get a dangling, almost falling tooth to be pinched out.

Squints*  Not so impressive

If only her father was around. This would not be an issue to break my back over.

Proud of you lil one
Proud of you lil one

Then suddenly a brilliant idea came to mind. I could have someone do it at a cost and still not be seen near the dentist! I would not only have created temporary employment for someone, my dear Pesh wouldn’t have to watch her supposed pain reflect on my face! I felt so bright I could feel the burn!


I got it done very well and then, we had a new problem. We got the tooth out..so what do we do with it? Pesh held it tight in her hand so it wouldn’t fall and get lost. “Hun, have you ever heard of tooth fairies?” I asked suddenly excited with my continued brilliance. “Like Thumbelina?” her eyes opened wide with curiosity. “Yes,” I explained “but Thumbelina has brothers and sisters who you don’t see on TV but live around us” Thank God there is no commandment on lying because this would have jetted me straight to hell. Or maybe number 9 is? “When you are so brave like you are right now-, “ I continued wearing my sweetest smile. “They put your name down and come at night to hunt for your tooth.” She suddenly frowned and pulled her hand away hiding the tooth wrapped in her palm under her armpit. “Why?” she whimpered. “Well, so they can reward you!” I hoped she would brighten up…and she did. “If they find your tooth they pick it up and reward you with a coin to buy yourself a gift.” she was elated and brought the tooth back to light.toothfairy 1So together, that night, we hid the tooth under her pillow, said our prayers and my two daughters went to sleep. I sat and watched them both in admiration and remembered back in the day when our brevity during such events were rewarded with stalks of sugarcane we could hardly bite into. At times we were asked to hide the teeth under our pillows and when my parents couldn’t get a coin they would throw the tooth away while we slept and promise us that good luck would follow us. It never occurs to a child why good luck must follow people but hey, our parents had spoken!


I slipped a Kshs 20 coin under the pillow Pesh lay her head on and pulled out the tiny incisor we had placed therein. My husband and I promised to give our children the best childhood we could and this was going to be one of them. That morning Pesh woke up and immediately checked under her pillow. She was thrilled to see a shiny coin in place of her tooth. ‘Looks like you were very brave, the fairies got pleased with you!” I teased, “I never got any coins when I was young.”

“No? What did you find?” Pesh asked wearing pride and content. “Nothing” I replied, almost tasting blunt sugar cane juice in my mouth.

“ I was not as brave as you are,” I went on worried a little about Hell- Jet. “ I cried ever time. Even when I felt no pain. I hope you now I’m proud of you, sweetie,” and a hug sealed this fairy conversation.

Fairy motherThree more times Justin and I ensured we replaced the teeth with coins and had the same excited reaction in the morning. Innocently she knows the fairies are proud of her and she will do everything not to fail them. Now, I can only hope she wont hate it when she discovers there are no real fairies…that her tooth fairy is me and that we did it all  to give her an exciting childhood.

Appreciate your Mom everyday

Mothers around the world celebrated their day a few weeks back. Like Valentine’s Day many only wait for this day, on cue to appreciate their mothers. Someone openly posted on his timeline, “Motherhood is struggling to bring up an idiot who sees fire and wants to touch it, breaks glasses and wants to eat the resulting mess, pour milk then cry of hunger, you know the type who would wash a smart phone and mix sugar with flour? Yeah, those types. We all have been those idiots and our mums never gave up…they still never would give up. …” Eman, thanks for openly calling us all idiots… The messages are beautiful and endless;I joined the bandwagon and sent a few texts to my mother and my mom in-law. The former called later to complain that she never got as much as a text from me (Old age must be sited in her living room). Even so, I didn’t feel like I had done much in that text she never received. Being so far away from them, Mothers day was like a day that you would want to just pass: like Boxing Day, or mid- term. So, making my mothers feel special would involve a lot more than just a plain text message.

Vitenges and Sombrero

I would need to take her shopping (all women love shopping) get her a nice kitenge or Batik fabric, depending on what she styles in, show her the new buildings in town, hold her hand when crossing the road, buy her jewelry to match her latest fashion, like statement earrings for my mom in-law (something she could wear every day and anywhere) or a sombrero for my mom…she really enjoys big events of late. We’d chow popcorn as we walk into a park, enjoying the sight of Nairobi residents rush their lives away. We drop off small bits of corn along the grass, Hansel and Gretel style) and find us a city council bench and slump in it like we all did when we were in high school kicking off manners and letting our backs slouch. We would gossip a lot about the men in our lives, (and shoes) even though these men could be my father or…and her son. The convos would entail bits and pieces of these… ‘Men should learn to appreciate hardworking women.’ ‘Men Change…you can never pin a man down’ ‘Always have separate bank account, ‘Yes Ma’am’ I love any shoe with a red sole,’ ‘Marie Claire is good’ ‘they don’t have red soles’ ‘Almost all men in the 19th century have children out of wedlock’ ‘No, Mom. Not my dad…’

We would walk, bask, touch, laugh and cry. If the sun burns our foreheads too much, we would put elegance back on like huge coats, and pick up lady-like manners where we had dropped them. If it still soothes then we would gossip some more. We would pop into a classy restaurant for a meal. Order something we can’t whip up at home and remind each other how this world and the men in our lives expect so much from us…we would laugh so hard at life’s pleasantries, and wipe tears off at the sad memoirs. We would encourage each other to keep going and then hold hands some more. “You look just like I did when I was young,” Mom would say and I would respond to how I am not worried about how I will look in my sixties. “You are too beautiful, many will fail at guessing your age” I would respond. She would go again that its life’s tough situations that make her how she is, and that she accepts her age and her time. I would hold her hand and without a care in the world add that I want to be just like her, if tough situations made her the great person she is, that let them come. An assuring smile would seal that convo off. ………………Unfortunately all I could manage was a plain text message.

My House help’s dramatic escapedes

The day I had for so long been dreading finally came. I wasn’t prepared. No one really is and the most we can do is make do with the situation you find yourself. I left work at four as usual and almost literary ran home to my baby… and Pesh and her daddy. OK, who am I kidding? I only run home to baby Raine. The rest can always wait. I got home to find she had just fallen asleep and Vivianne was taking a bath. Instinctively, and without a break to rest I put on my apron and started cleaning the day’s dishes. I try hard to minimize the number of chores Vivianne forgoes during the day in an effort to keep her sanity and mine on a high. Soon, she was out of their room looking fab and fresh. I smiled and thought to myself that she most certainly had a date. She wore a dress I had gifted her just recently. This dress meant a lot to me: I bought it after my very first temporary job and wore it when I was crowned 1st runners up in a modeling contest back in college. It was one of those items I held on to until the beginning of this year when I made a resolution to move past my past attire-‘ristically’.

How it all started

She left claiming to want to fix her broken phone and I did not hesitate to say OK as I knew she had other plans besides that. Meanwhile I took advantage of the sleeping baby to clean some clothes and prepare dinner. Three hours later, at around 8pm, something made me want to check to see if Viviane’s belongings were home. Everything was intact especially her latest new clothes and her phone charger. It didn’t look like she was going away for even a day, but only a phone call would confirm that. I called three times before she finally picked the phone. Her voice was broken and she sounded like a man. “Hi mom,” She started, “Viv?” I probed. “No, my name is Collins and I would like to talk to you”, was the reply. Thoroughly infuriated, I told Collins that if I wanted to speak with him I would have dialed his number and immediately asked to speak with the owner of the phone. Vivianne came on the line sounding submissive like Collins was her colonizing husband. She claimed this man wanted to speak with me despite her frantic efforts to stop him.

boy girl
“He wants me to sleep over…and be his wife” Oh wait, I didn’t get that right. Was this boy asking me boldly to have sexual relations with my house help? Why not just have it and let us move on with life? I was exasperated. Vivianne had two things to do, sleep over his place and live there for ever or come back home immediately where I planned to send her back to her parents. I though Collins might as well make that trip to fetch his soon to be bride from the right people. My mind raced, thinking how disappointed I was that Vivianne could build such a great rapport over four years only to crash it down in just a few hours. I felt let down and knew it would take time to heal. She chose not to sleep home and I was left to organize the children with my husband. Would Justin let me go to work and stay home with both our children or would he be like most men and ask me to stay home?
Night stand of sleep-over?

The night was sombre sad and half empty. OK, make that a quarter empty, or even better yet, with just one empty slot. There is nothing like getting used to someone who doesn’t belong. The space Viv left felt large, ugly and empty. Like an open wound that was better off left open. We all hated it especially since she had left unexpectedly. Pesh was confused and kept asking where Vivianne was. She went to bed that night still doubting our elusive responses. It was on a Tuesday night; right in the middle of the week. What a day she picked to mess me up. I hang on to the last memory I had of her, leaving with a lame excuse to go repair her phone yet her made up face , hair and dressing perfectly placed her on the laps of a loved one… a male loved one. I shook my head hard to get rid of that last thought. It was enough that I had spoken to that scumbag. A good for nothing idiot that had no concern for the time of his actions; funny how a man can totally bamboozle a woman and yank her out of a great opportunity only to land squarely on poverty and the outcomes that come with it. I was not a happy woman.

The following day, I woke up to my husband’s assurance that all would be well. “On second thought, I could just report to work and come right back,” I offered and all he did was shake his head. “Just go. I will let you know if I don’t manage.” was his calm response. I left with my head looking behind my shoulder as if waiting for him to call me back. I thought he was joking, but I realized he wasn’t when I disappeared round one corner and the house was completely out of sight. I immediately pulled my phone out and stared at it, still in disbelief that he would let me go to work. He didn’t call, he sent a text message. ‘I am back in bed. Both girls asleep, breakfast ready in wait’ I smiled and settled in my heart. Something told me he would be just fine and I believed that ‘thing’.

That same thing made me want to call Viv just as I boarded a bus. It was as though she was chanting at her phone and casting a spell on it, hoping I call her. Since her phone was completely ruined, unless she borrowed a handset, all hope was lost. It rang. I had given in to the urge. “Did you sleep well?” I asked and she responded positively. I asked if she was hurt and she said no, then I turned cold. “Pesh’s daddy doesn’t want you home.” She went silent, making me check if the call had dropped. “’are you there?” I probed and she asked again what I had said about Pesh’s dad. That seemed to have touched some part of her. Hmm, she still has some respect. That’s impressive. I thought and went on to hand over the ultimatum. She had up until noon to tell me what she had decided to do with her life; come back or move in with her boyfriend. I hang up, squirmed in my seat to get my comfort spot and continued to read from the page I had left the previous evening.

Love your wife wholy; not only in need

To all chauvinists out there, and all those who are not sure if they are or not…this is to you. It’s very sad to meet a grown up man, surprisingly not yet extinct, who thinks so lowly of women. Or that fool who treats women like crap and goes on to shower their mothers and sisters with love. Honestly, how ignorant can one be? When women fight for equal rights, do not think we seek them because we have air between our ears. It’s because women feel the pressure bestowed on men, who they so dearly love. As a result they decide to leave their nests, hire someone to watch their babies so that they can go out to look for money to cushion their men from financial distress.

AS I write this, I wish to thank my husband for letting me go to work while he stayed home with both our daughters, on a day when our house girl was away, I especially commend him for the exceptional job he did with our three month old Raine. Justin, I am still speechless.

For those still wearing iron masks, remember that it was initially your sole duty to be a provider. If you still beat up your chest and claiming that your woman is just a woman and nothing more, then you are not deserving of a wife, or a female companion for that matter; not in the 21st century. This is unless you give her everything she can ever ask for and never getting tired of her asking them of you. Most men i know quickly get tired of this and can easily resolve to violence to ease their frustrations.

Bear a child.
For those men who do not know this, if you are inflicted by half the pain a woman goes through during labour and the delivery of your child, you will barely be alive. Now, this woman agrees to have your child, ( I believe it’s a choice we make to bear them right?) while you sit somewhere in a bar with friends being rewarded for enjoying the child- making time and hardly looking after your wife while she was expectant…oh wait! You probably were the one who frustrated her all the way to the delivery room! Insisting that she cooks without help from the house help( with valid reasons), letting her go for clinic check ups on her own, dismissing her cravings…oh sure, you know exactly what it is you do. After your child comes, not in a million years will you be caught, not even ‘kwa camera ya mbao’ changing the baby’s diapers or giving him a bath. You will sit at a corner and watch angrily as your young child takes over your territory. Later when your wife is exhausted and suffering a back pain for the work she did without your help, you go on and ask for service.

Working Mama
Those with working wives, you easily forget that your wife is equally tired ate the end of each day yet you expect her to be home by 5 and cook in time for your arrival. Some employers are fed up with you when you stop your wives from attending meetings outside office or from going on team-building activities. You are a pain in their butts. You doubt your wife’s ability to be her best at work and to make her remain just a woman; you make unrealistic demands and insult her intelligence. You forget this woman is your greatest defender; the only one person who will stick with your should you lose your job. You think you are doing your woman a favour when you propose to her? Think again. Once married, you are the ones who gain the prestigious vitambis while you insult her distorted body shape after baby number one. You are the one who will sit and read the morning dailies while she runs around like a headless chicken trying to make you and your babies comfortable. Just because you are the head of the house, it does not mean the necklace around your neck is not noticeable. Take good care of your wife, support her and help her with the babies and your house when she is overwhelmed. You will not only be rewarded by long life, you will also be a happy man, being rewarded constantly for having a heart big enough to share. To those women with great husbands, reward them with as much as you can, let them be a motivation to love them everyday, take care of their every need. Let us not take for granted what God put beside us, lest you are forced to learn the hard way that you only know the value of something once it’s gone. Like Jesus said, “Now go ye and do good” Happy Easter

End Year with a Bang!

Every birth is unique…every pregnancy different in its own way. Having Pesh was not easy…Hell! No normal delivery is ever any easy ‘cept for our lucky sisters who sneeze those babies out! Damn those lucky mamas. Sad to say, I am not one of them. I am specially designed to go on a painful bender of intense labour to last a minimum of eight hours. God must have captioned that with (no resting breaks for this one) somewhere. He probably wore that tihihi-smile when he did that too! I just don’t know why he won’t let me have it easy.
It was on the sunny afternoon of the 27th day of December 2013. It was quiet, and broke. The air stunk of hang-overs, morning beer-locks and lots of drowsiness. Following Christmas and Boxing Day, this was the laziest day of the season yet. I was awakened by the awareness that our baby may arrive soon. I quickly grabbed my now crampled, overused and worn out to-do-list and went through it for the umpteenth time. Everything seemed to be ready…well everything except for the author of that list!
I looked around the house and noticed a few flaws; the comforter in our bedroom was not condusive for a newborn, what with all the dust that collects: the seats in the living room had some threads hanging loose underneath them and the picture frames had some fine threads from the wet cleaning Vivianne had recently done. I grabbed the douvet leaving my husband more puzzled than annoyed; I cleaned it up, and then went on to stitch up the threads make the seats neat. I cleaned the frames once more and dusted the window sils. It was lunch time already and I had just one more thing to do. Buy milk in bulk.
I asked Vivianne to clean up the five litre bottle and get ready so I may show her where the milk vendor is stationed at. She did so while I finished my meal…and the first contraction, like a silly joke started. It was an annoying pain that lasted about fifteen seconds. Deep down, I knew that was it, but I had to be very sure before taking any steps. Justin woke up late with a nasty headache from all the partiying and late night football games. “Eat up well and quickly”, I advised. You may not have your next meal soon” The problem with my husband is he never takes anything lightly even when you wish he would if only to make things easier to bear with. He instead panicked and Mrs Mwambi ended up assuring him at the end of each contraction. After an hour of consistent contractions, we called my sister and her husband who accompanied us to the hospital. My parents were on their way back from holiday and I would have called my mommy to pray for me first. Doesn’t every child believe in her mommy’s prayers? Unfortunately, she, like my husband would have panicked too so I held on to this information till they got to Nairobi.
I was admitted and checked up. By that time, my contractions were getting unbearable to the point I could not sit and wait in line so I was on my knees even as the doctor asked me the usual questions. On My water was not broken so doc pricked it and let it run. It was not clear coloured. Baby had let out her first poop in the uterus. Doc checked out the heartbeat and said it was normal… that she was not tired yet. With my now very painful contractions, part of me wished for a c- section. Yes, even Jesus did ask God to take away the cup of pain at some point! I didn’t think I could take any more pain and I was already feeling tired. The doctor’s next decision left me feeling even more exhausted. “Your baby is active and pushing its way out well” he started. “Her heartbeat is normal and even though she pooped in the water, the active labour only means she has not swallowed this water so it will only be risky if we let you labour on slowly. We will progress you into the last stages of labour and have you deliver normal but hopefully in half the time!” this would have been great news, but only to everyone else. I read in between the lines. This meant more pain for me! I was put on a drip; that which they call the painful waters…and painful to hell and back it was. It was about 8pm and I had dilated at 4 cm only. I was meant to go another 4-5 hours. But that would have been too late for baby. In exactly two hours, with a lot of screams, wails, moans, curses and questions directed at God, Baby Raine finally made her way out; and she distorted my pelvic bone as she made her grand entrance into the world.
She was such a tiny little being weighing 2.9, about 200 grams less what Pesh weighed. She screamed and only settled when they placed her on my belly and I could not believe such a tiny person could make me scream our ancestors out of their resting place. Trully she had already marked her place in this world and I loved her to bits.
The one thing I still find peculiar is just why and how in the last two hours of my labour, Pesh was cranky, had a fever and seemed disillusioned…she would have been rushed to hospital by my parents since they found all our kids at their place, but the problem was that at the same time, my brother and mom had extremely weird stomach pains.At the hospital, my sister also had her fair share of stomach pains which we all assumed to be the sympathetic syndrome. At 10:15pm, right after I had gotten Raine, everyone was well again. No pain, no fevers! Now I need an explanation to that one!
So we are home now, enjoying Raine’s wee cries and Pesh’s over protective behaviour. It’s truly beautiful, and this is how I crossed my year into 2014. Pics coming soon! Happy New Year folks!

Lovey Dovey New Year!

It feels empty, this house. I can’t believe since I cleaned it last time, no one bothered to do it again. I am shocked; no one even paid it a visit! Is that how friends treat each other nowadays? Hmm…! How sad. I only have two messages on the telephone machine. One is from a cousin I never want to talk to since he told me my daughter has a big head. The other is the telephone service company asking me to update their services on my system; seriously?

Dust is everywhere. Spiders made my house theirs and its starting to look like the witch moved in too…yet it’s only been a month! Or has it?

Fine; I will cut it out, but next time I will not leave my doors open for you. I will not even let you…wait. Is that your picture? What’s with the dark make up and long locks? Why are you standing like a zombie? Ok this is not funny anymore. You must have visited. How else did this picture frame get here? You don’t look good. Clearly, you are sending me a message; and since you won’t even call me to tell me face to face I believe it’s only fair that I get the right to translate this message however I would like it.

This is how I choose to understand it. Without this blog, you are bored, clearly close to death…talk of the coldness in your looks. You want me to bring life to it, lest it gets buried in the stinking absence of life that I brought about 🙂 It feels nice to know just how much you care.

How have you all been? What are your plans for this year? I have like a million of them planned out myself…and you of course. I have not been away for nothing. I have witnessed a lot of things people do and say and trust me; far away as I was from  my laptop I was tempted to scream my lungs out on top of the highest building and just tell people to stop, stop, stop!

Like I always claim (yes I do) I am no relationship guru, but I do have eyes, small enough to see the diminutive things we constantly ignore. These small things are the same ones that ruin the big plans we have for our loved ones. Do you realise big fights start from small things like a fifty shilling note or a match box? Have you not read any news clippings of tell tales of murder that were sparked by such minute reasons; and you say human beings are crazy, or that the world is coming to an end…which it is anyway but if we can figure out a way to deal with small issues in a small way, we will end up with a small world with really big hearted and well, big headed people!

Now, I am compiling a list of topics to discuss this year.  It’s mostly relationships of course as I realise this is what many of us are battling; both men and women. Oh yes, men too complain about women if you have never heard. In fact, did you know women make men cheat, the very same way men make women cheat? It’s a cycle….a circle rather that we can break, repair and keep smooth running. Let’s get the year started. Talk to me; let me know what you think. And I will tell you what is in my heart. Not to worry, I will try and tell you to your face if you are being a scum*** and if you are being naïve and unrealistic, we’ll throw a few stones but we’ll try not to let them kill you. Lets rock it people. Lovey Dovey New Year! 🙂

The Post Dowry Payment Depression

The feeling of insecurity set in. Suddenly, I belonged. In my claustrophobic mind, I felt trapped! It somehow felt way better knowing I did everything by choice…but to have the nail hit the coffin, oh so many times just banged even the miniature sense of responsibility right into me!

It was the day of the dowry payment event. Justin and I woke up early and rushed to town. We had a few more errands to run before the rest could get the grogginess off their faces. At 10am, we were done and I was starving a little too much already. We rushed home. I wasn’t rushing to my house, though…It was to my mother’s place. I had organised for my house help and Pesh to leave early too. ‘Good bye, hun’ he couldn’t believe I was already leaving. ‘I hope your parents make it easy for me’, he prayed aloud. I smiled in return. ‘I placed your boxers, vest and socks at your usual place. It will all be ok. Don’t worry.’ I promised, uncertain of what the future held for us.

I watched him walk away with sadness in his eyes. It wasn’t such a big deal for me at the moment…until I got to mom’s place and found bees every everywhere…not literary. Everyone was busy tackling their tasks and no one looked up even when they spoke. A few raised their heads when I walked in, threw a smile my way and went back to cooking. I spotted a goat’s head lying next to a pot of boiling water.

If they walked in these bulls, I would not wait for them to notice me.

I left for the salon and walked back slowly knowing everyone had so much time to spare, having left everyone so busy. This was the first time in my life that mom let me off the kitchen hook, by the way. I wasn’t going to take it for granted! Clad in my tight black pencil jeans and a small size 10 top, I walked through the gates of my parent’s house. I wasn’t shocked by the sight before me. I was terrified!

Before me, seated in hired, plastic seats under the hoisted tent, were seventy one of my uncles. Ok, I kid. They were around ten, if not more and all were dressed in their best suits. They sat, most with arms crossed, waiting for the guests to arrive. From the way they all gazed at my tight jeans, it was clear, they were not impressed at all. I sprinted away and into the living room in the main house. It only got worse. There sat the better halves of my uncles, all clad and beautified in African Vitenges and the latest fashion. I did not wait for their judgement on my contrasting jeans, but rather rushed upstairs to my brother’s room. Now that I did not own a bedroom there anymore, I did everything in there, including showering, since the bathroom was down stairs!

My sister helped. She was rushing to do an exam and was kind enough to pass by before going to face the monsters. ‘Moraa dear, if you fail this one, I take full responsibility and cannot thank you enough!’ It then hit me, that it was such a big deal! Families from both sides were well represented and the event was beautiful.

My favourite part was when I was called to identify my guest, lest food was served to the wrong visitors. I was made to pick out my hubby and stand with him. The weight of everyone’s eyes, somehow made my knees weak…I thank the Lord for my long dress…those tight jeans would have made everyone jump into hiding!

So back home, I sat and stared straight at this man who just paid my dowry. I sort answers from his gaze, suspecting his every movement. Suddenly, I felt like he was officially mine, and I his. But it felt different. It felt as though we had been stuck on each other and the chase had been strangled. Will he get tired of making an impression on me? Will he start cheating, now that for me, its game over?

I watch him with a hawk’s eye waiting with baited breadth for him to give me a sign.

But he laughs in my face and begs me to stop being paranoid. He even went ahead to rush up for our officiating pastor to start giving us lessons and get rid of my post marriage depression…is there such a thing? So now he calls me every hour to remind me how much he loves me. He asks what is on my mind and I tell him the paranoia bug. It will go away of course, but in the meantime, ladies…I’m I the only one going though this? Please tell me I am normal, please! Hold on, hubby is calling again.

Focus on Princess Pesh

Princess Pesh is all grown up! Come 1st June, she will be exactly two and a half years old. She can pronounce a lot of words already; she even has several favourites. She stops me from calling her daddy, Baba Pesh. ‘No Mommy!’ she yells, ‘his name is Daddy!’

She fights a lot with her dad mainly for wanting to sit on the same spot or when he touches her for more than three seconds. They fight for his glass of water and for her candy. They even fight over me! ‘Mommy wangu…Mommy wangu…’ she goes whilst holding me tightly. She will then eye him to see what he would do about that fact. Whenever she gets sleepy, she calls out to me and points to my lap. ‘I want to sleep here’ and she pokes me. Many times you would catch me grasping for breadth over the words that come out of her mouth.

It’s hardly been a month since she moved into her own room, now she even brags about it. Yesterday I stopped her from biting the cat. She put the dirty, poor animal between her teeth and went down to bite it. I’d rather die than see the cat’s reaction to that! She begs for potty and dances crazily to stop her from peeing, she still runs away from her own poop and now she wants to flash the W/C each time it fills up.

Little girl still believes in the thief who comes in and hides in the dark waiting for her to behave badly. She believes the thief will steal away her ears, dolls and DVDs, she respects him even more than she respects mommy, if she respects mommy at all.

The other day, I held her sandal in my hand, threatening to give her a proper thrash if she wouldn’t swallow her food. Later, when I sat down to eat mine she came over, picked up her daddy’s 8 foot size shoe and shouted, ‘Meza haraka!’ at me. I thought I died. Ok. I think I die too many times out of shock; I may end up making this word lose its meaning. So I died…. 🙂

She still runs all over the house like a little mad girl. I once made a mistake and gave her a glass of coke. The next 10 minutes that followed found us moving our heads right to left, to right again, following a little girl who ran tirelessly across the room who screamed excitedly as she ran by.

Pesh will give you a phone call.

Oh yes she will. She easily unlocks my android which is fully touch screen, searches for contacts and calls the name that she feels looks pleasing to her eye. Most of the time, she calls her grandmother, who is always happy to hear her chirrup her greetings. She will hold a conversation safely through the greetings and hand it over to you to ask her whatever you’d like. I pray she never calls my boss or even worse, have his wife pick the phone up!

She can tell what belongs to whom and will sometimes embarrass us when we serve our guests with our personalised cups. Thankfully, she will not yank it out of their hands.

Little Pesh is a lover of hugs. She hugs me when I walk in everyday, hugs me when she meets me coming from the shop, she hugs everyone who recognises her and only needs a hug to comfort her. She is a lover of attention and luckily she always deserves it. Such an entertainer she is!

She loves babies, but sometimes she can get reaaaaaallllly pissed off. Those are the times when I’d rather not have a new born baby in my house. Little girl will turn into a crazy fireball and turn the house upside down. The only way I calm her down is by pulling her in a quick embrace and hold her there till she is done breaking down.

Pesh can pray.

One day, my mom came home to see our ‘wall unit’. I had it custom made and we saved a lot of money on it. While she wanted to buy a whole set for well over Kshs. 30,000, I asked her to come check mine out. She did and she loved it. Just before she left, she did her usual thing. ‘Let’s pray’ she began. Pesh didn’t wait. She picked the cue and led us to a night-time prayer. She blessed everyone in our court, Ussie, her kitten and her ‘Wawa’- grandma who lives in Taita.

The following Monday, mom called me and wrote Pesh’s prayer down on phone. Later, I overheard from reliable sources that her baby-class pupils recite Pesh’s prayer over and over each day for practice.

For her records, I wouldn’t mind keeping this for her to remember…

‘Dear God, Thank you for today. Forgive us our sins. As we sleep, be with us. Bless Daddy, Mommy, Jane, Ussie, Sam, auntie……..and all our friends. In Jesus name, we pray, Amen’

This song also made my week.

I’m bringing home my baby bumble bee, wont my mommy be so proud of me I’m bringing home my baby bumble bee, ouch! Pesh Mwambi! (Replace Pesh Mwambi with- It stung me!)

One thing I know that is not usual with this girl is her clear memory. She knows the way to her grandparent’s house, the way to the doctor she hates, the wrong way and the weird way. She thinks a lot before she agrees to do something.  My daddy loves her most because despite her mad love for cars, she refused to take a ride with them without her mommy. It only proved that she follows her instincts when she is not sure of something.

This little girl is growing fast, strong and very intelligent. Soon I hope to teach her to write so she can be one of my guest writers. Hopefully, she will entertain more than I do so we can both fight for the light spot. This little Princess, my precious little Pesh.

Married? You're in trouble!!

Call it what you want. For me, a marriage is a social union or legal agreement between two, not three, not four, people of the opposite sex. It’s an institution that binds two human beings for a very unique reason. A promise to be your soul mate’s best friend for ever. A promise to love, protect, respect and care for them. A promise to be responsible for their hearts. A heart entrusted to you in kindness and truth. This person expects that you will give their hearts top priority in your life. That no matter what happens you will never mull over breaking them. They trust that yoyu have their best interests at heart; that wherever you go, you are with them in spirit, praying that God keeps you both out of harm’s way, till you meet at the end of the day.

This post is inspired by those idiots who seek to ruin people’s marriages. I have met many who want a piece of a matrimonial cake. They want to be a side plate, so they don’t have to commit or go through the process of a real relationship. They want women that they cannot buy gifts for, or have them posses over them with myriad of phone calls asking where they are. Why? Because they have husbands and this ‘mpango wa kando’ is not for keeps.

They want men who will not ask them to clean their socks or wash undies. Others are just too lazy to search for partners and want to steal the married ones away from their spouses .Reason? That the person they are with is not good enough for them. I wish to remind all you out there that there is no perfect man or woman out there. We simply learn to live with each other and make our marriages work. It’s tough, and at times makes you want to tear your hair off, but there’s no short cut. You have to make it work and strive to learn. My husband and I learnt a few things and I’m kind. I’ll share them for free!

Rule number1;

In a real marriage there are no secrets. You don’t hide your payslip from your wife; neither do you steal money meant for ‘mbogas’ and ‘nyanyas’ to save in your secret chama. In a marriage, you don’t discuss family matters via facebook or tweet a complaint on ‘His placement of dirty socks and what to do’. You do not complain about her four months old weave and poor dressing to your friends at Kneecap’s pub. Instead, you advise her it’s about time she gets rid of it. Better yet, let her know what you like. She will make an effort, if only to impress you.

Whenever you have a fight, do not shout aloud for the world to hear. Half the world will laugh at you. A big chunk of the left over half will advise you, 80% of who will advise you to walk out. The rest help you spread the word, spiced with rumours and ‘what I thought I heard.’

Rule number 2;

A real marriage is donned with Communication. (This should have been at the top of the list) Lack of communication creates room for assumptions, anger, mistrust and curiosity. A real man (by this I mean a man who intends to make his marriage work) will tell his wife when he is not satisfied with his life. He will seek an opinion from her on matters important, irregardless of her insignificant thinking capacity (for those who marry blondes)Take the insignificant idea and treat it with care. She took her time to think it over! Don’t throw it in her face, reminding her how dumb she is, no offence. Ladies, we need to refrain from demoralising our men. Don’t call him names when he can’t find a job. Help him get one. Encourage him and resurface his drowned ego.  Don’t sulk when he fails to notice the missing cobwebs on the cornice, he is not Jesus, and he can’t read your mind!  Talk…I didn’t say shout.

Rule number 3;

Sex. (It gets juicy.) Men, We all know you want us to sleep with our make up on and our hair done. We can’t. Our African hair is prone to be entangled and the oils irritate our facial skins so we might end up striking you with horrific pimples come dawn. A real man will tell his wife she is beautiful. He needs to remind her constantly that she means the world to him. We love it and we’ll rock your world even more.  You love women in tight, short skirts? Don’t ogle. Dress your woman in it. She is yours to have. Explore her.  Ladies, please don’t lie when you don’t cum; tell him what to do to make it work for you. A real woman will teach her husband to know her completely; to know the full geography of her body and the chemistry of her nerves.  Teach him to explore your world like a lioness does her King. Praise his masculinity (even if he’s a tiny looking man). He is yours. You chose him. Make him the perfect man in your life.

Rule number 4;

In-laws. Unless you ask for opinions, let not your in-laws make decisions for you. Don’t let their judgement get a hold of you. They may not have your best interests at heart. In fact unless you you’re are being abused, and are in dire need of refuge, keep them at. They may turn you into marionettes. You could also be an in-law… to your brother’s wife or sister’s husband. Keep that nose out. Only help when they ask for you. A real man will protect his wife from his family especially when they do not get along. He will not protect his family from his wife, unless he married her for another reason. Even when she is wrong, he will still protect her and correct her in camera. Yes, don’t embarrass her in front everyone.  You will deprive her of her pride and most people will laugh at her. The wise will mock you for foolishly exposing her. You will look like you married a foolish wife to complement your foolishness. No pun intended.

Rule number 5

Fight. A real man never hits a woman…. Should I have started with this point?

A man is built to be strong, masculine and one cannot compare a man’s strength to a woman…err… unless she is Conjestina Achieng. Either way, a man is built to protect a woman. Yes, not to box her. A real man will fight with someone with similar strength. He will use his strength protect his family.

I have told all this not because I am turning into a sex aunty, but because it has been bugging me all week. After going through all this together, what makes you think I’ll just wake up one morning, meet you, a stranger, chat and walk out on my marriage?

2011….Sort of Good for me!

I am delighted to have a glimpse of yet another year.

2011 wasn’t so bad for me. I made resolutions and accomplished nearly half of them…C’mon I tried!

I managed to craft and maintain a blog. Believe me it’s tasking to be tied to publishing weekly especially with minimum or no supervision. I have grown immensely…not in the flesh, but as a writer.  I have met other bloggers who egg me on with their loyalty to readers and they too intrigue me in more ways than one. I’ve got readers who motivate me with their staunch readership and comments. I’ve got likes that I will never know who clicked and idle marketers who posted piles of awfully long jargon thingy’s that were pending for me to approve.

Back home….

Pesh finally believes nyonyo has run out of milk, and yes, she stopped being my hand bag. Ok she’s trying.  She is growing too fast and those baby trousers I folded and hid under a shawl now work as three quarter tights. She writes on every page in my work diary and can make out pictures in a book. She has learnt to clasp her hands together and pray after me and now, it just hit me that come January, I will be shopping for school stockings, plasticine and hopefully no metallic buckets or jembes.

Jane, my housie left for shags and everyone assured me that she would get a man, get married and be pregnant by New Year.  House helps are like fat people; apparently, they just don’t work out! So Pesh and her daddy had a Daddy and Pesh day, when I had to go to work for a day. They ate half the box of weetabix, and slept the afternoon away. He did a splendid job in the morning and proved a lot to me *smiles nostalgically* though at this rate I would have two fat kids in my house!

I attended several weddings while Pesh got a new dress worth Kshs. 7,000. I promise if it were up to me, I would never have spent a dime on it. I don’t own an outfit that costs more than Kshs. 3,000. This exterminator dress was imported for a posh wedding she graced as a flower girl. She looked glorious!

She enjoyed a sleep-over at grandma’s while we maximised our time alone in our suddenly echoing house.

We travelled to the hilly suburbs of Taita. Five days out of town. This was the longest road trip I had ever taken and unlike my niece Essie, who kept faltering aloud whether we were there yet, I kept wondering to myself how much further we had to go. I stepped on my invented brakes half the time while my heart got fed up with me making it skip with every passing of an overloaded, overtaking truck. We got home at sundown.

She called the Puppy, Pussycat

Yes, more than eight hours on the road and I couldn’t even see my dad-in law clearly as he ushered us in. It was close to 8pm. My butt hurt from all the sitting, and Pesh, sitting, sleeping, tossing and turning on me. My head felt like I had been knocked down by all the trucks I saw that day…even those that we saw lying on their sides like big baby dinosaurs who couldn’t get themselves up.

The first this thing that caught my attention was the smell of fresh green air and the swaying of trees that took away the smoke from kitchen chimneys. I felt like I had just walked into a herbal sauna. Mgambonyi, Taita is out of the ordinary. I never knew I could one day touch a cloud with my feet flat on the ground.  We were perched on top of a hill and on the first evening, I happened to watch with my mouth wide agape as rain came from the neighbouring hill to us! Literary!

We climbed hills on fours and crossed a river to go to the nearest shop. It takes about an hour to and fro so if the sugar is out and the tea is boiling, one had better have it that way lest you back from the shops at midday!

A sheep died when we got there.

It wasn’t an accident. It died for us; for us to get full on it.

We paid copious visits to relatives to say hello. Unlike here in the city, people in Taita value visits. In fact you look stuck-up if you do not greet everyone you meet. I more often than not had a hard time remembering to greet women who I hardly noticed were tilling the lands that were securely tucked down hill and sandwiched by forests. One very old lady, we went to see is a next door neighbour. I heard she has a Major in gossiping and nose poking. ‘I heard the car drive by and wondered who it was. I see it was you,’ she garbled her tongue between her almost toothless mouth. I’d just met a new auntie.

Then we met the old man. This man I have waited patiently to meet ever since I heard of him. He is 93 and still strong, with a mouthful of teeth and a good memory; Pesh’s great granddad.

Uncle Pesh, Pesh's cousins with their Great Grand dad.

We found him sitting on a log outside his house and as always waiting for God to take him to his wife. ‘You are lucky you found me here’, he began, ‘next time you may find me gone; gone to be with your grandmother.’ He has been saying this to all his visitors for the last five years or so I hear.  We kept him company as he chitchatted of his uneventful life and how people from the land of bananas…my land, chop off his trees and steal them away.

We made a few more rounds before finally retiring for the day.  Pesh stopped calling me mommy and like her cousins and other relatives, she resolved to refer to me as Mama Pesh or Auntie Fannie. I was distraught.

Dinner was ready to be served. End of day one.

White Walls

There is a jinxed spirit we shall be praying for today.*checks again for holy water*. This annoying spirit has been making unwelcome visits to my house and forcing its shameless charisma on my family, particularly my daughter. I have been watching, hawk-eyed at its appropriateness in picking on a few months to her birthday. Damn it.

Last year it planted microbes into something she ate. She was barely 9 and ½ months old and my little girl nearly did a night shift in hospital.

Tear drop.*pulls out creased handkerchief and blows nose*

This particular sunup she woke me up at 6am…let me rephrase; I was woken up by a splatter of puke. Baby was choking on it so I immediately sat her straight and she generously puked some more on her daddy, who was startled awake too. I thought she had eaten too much.

My phone rang.

It was mom, ‘Your father is really sick.’ She stuttered, ‘His nose-bleed won’t stop. He is too weak now. Please call you mom-law to drive us there! We need to take him to hospital now!’ I didn’t think twice, I left my baby with the house help and instructed her to let me know if she continued to puke. I then woke up my other mom and we left. My husband left for work as usual. I was then a stay at home mom.

Dad wouldn’t wait. It was too much already. So he took his car and left for a nearby medical centre. He drove with one hand while the other held mom’s shawl over his nose. He had been bleeding for three days and assumed it was minor. Mom was very helpful. She watched the road as he drove and compressed her urge to cry, all the way to the centre. That’s where we caught up with them.

It was high blood pressure. They said a vein was broken up his nose and to reduce the bleeding they shoved a cotton pad with some medication up his nose. Yikes *cringes*

Back home, my little girl was getting worse. She had added diarrhoea to her activity list and couldn’t keep anything down. I was devastated. I definitely had to take her to hospital. Just as I placed water to boil, mom called again.

‘Dad is worse, we need to go back to hospital’

‘No problem,’ I quipped, ‘I’ll just dress Baby Pesh very fast and we go’

‘Hun, we can’t wait. We need to go now’

Notice, mother didn’t know why I was tagging Pesh along. I left instructions once more and called my husband, then headed out, tagging mom-in law with me. This time we went to a bigger hospital. Jamaa Mission was closest.

There Dad was taken care of well. He collapsed when the Cotton pad that had been stuffed up his nose was removed and mom thought he died. She ran out screaming.

I followed her outside and tried to calm her down. She trembled like a little girl and I could see so much pain in every tear drop. ‘I think he is dead, hun, I saw him fall’ She said as fear engrossed her. Mom in law soon joined us and I left mom with her to see if he was truly dead. My knees felt numb with each step I made as I made my way back into the emergency room. There he was. He lay weakly on the bed, his eyes open and looking all confused.

‘Dad,’ I called as I sat next to him, ‘What happened?’ he didn’t see mom take off. ‘ she is outside.’

‘She was right here’ he explained, ‘Then I felt weak and my head was heavy. Then it went dark’ the doctor walked in.

‘Is he going to be alright?’ I was concerned. He smiled warmly and my heart eased, ‘Yes. He fell because he had less oxygen in his brain when we removed the cotton pad. See his pressure is normal now. He sweated it all out’

I touched Dad’s forehead with the back of my hand. He felt damp. ‘I’ll bring mom in now, ok?’ he nodded.

Outside I met Pesh’s Daddy. He had come over so we could take my little girl to hospital. He took mom to dad and said hi, then explained that we had to take Pesh for check up too. That was when it hit my mom that my girl was unwell- after she had calmed down.

We left my two moms with dad and left to pick Pesh. She was now dehydrated and couldn’t keep anything down, not even breast milk. We went to Mater hospital Buru buru.

It was noon and I had had nothing to eat.

At the hospital Pesh got tested for everything in the book and finally the test results came out. Bacterial infection.

‘I’m afraid we must admit her’ I was advised. ‘Why?’ I probed. ‘She vomits everything and is severely dehydrated. She won’t keep any medicine we give her down too.’  The doctor was a lady. An irritating beautiful lady who wore 6 inch heels and multi-coloured weave that hid one eye. She kept pushing the weave away as she snobbishly and unconvincingly explained why we had to do the night shift.

The conversation slowly turned into an argument when I declined admission and asked that they do everything they can. ‘If we can stop her vomiting then I believe I will do everything to get her to eat’ I argued. It then turned out that there was no medication for kids below 1 year of age which meant that she still would have to do the night shift. I was getting angry and my baby needed help. Our pockets were already inflated and the ‘F’ing doctor was getting on my nerves.

After several wails and failed attempts to get baby’s right vein, she was put on IUV as the doctor left me to decide on the admission of baby.

I stood my ground.

The IUV was finally over at 8pm.

My father had been discharged and was home already. Mom, mom in-law, my sister and sister in-law came over to the hospital.

I was still very hungry and I sipped some milk I had bought for my girl. She got better after the re-hydration and stopped puking. I told the snob doctor I would not leave my girl with her as her reasoning was not valid. Then I was made to sign a form that shamelessly stated that I rejected medication. I was not moved. Suddenly medication for one year olds reappeared miraculously.

To be continued………


She is the most beautiful woman in the world. She has a warm, calming smile and an energetic laugh. Like me she is conscious of what she wears and will always ask if she looks great. Not ok, but great. And she does indeed look great for a woman in her mid 40s. She has been through hell and back thanks to the unfavourable unkindness of a stranger named fate. Good thing it has made her the strongest woman I know; the greatest woman the world had been lucky to encounter; the woman I so proudly emulate. She is my mother.

She is slightly heavy with chubby cheeks and a long nose (exactly where mine came from). She loves to smile and talks a lot, unlike me. She has beautiful large eyes which dance when she lets out her contagious laugh. She is girlie and likes to fit in with her girls. She is impatient and tough when it comes to her work yet so gentle to the three year olds enrolled in her school. I once witnessed her hugging and kissing a dirty four-year old boy who found himself in her office while playing. She was excited calling him grandson while the boy blushed terribly and took off overwhelmed in the attention he gathered. I was in utter shock that made her laugh even more when I declared that I’d never kiss anyone with ripe mucus peeping from his nose and so much dust tainting his hair and face.

She is a hard worker. She managed to stabilize a school in four years when my father lost his job in 2007.She literary carried our family on her shoulders and proved to the world that it was not over for the Nyamwamu’s. She made us move into a new neighbourhood after we lost all our friends (both dad and us the kids) and managed to convince us that God wanted to show us who our true friends really were. We faithfully hang on to her every word of encouragement, especially when she convinced us that we’d be able to pay rent and our utilities with the then, days old school. She managed (she always gives credit to the man upstairs for the strength she has) but I give her credit for being the faithful, enthusiastic go-getter she is. She showed my chauvinistic father true love by teaching him to equally share ideas, money, and responsibilities with her-a woman.

She is now a director of Sibiah’s Star School, proudly named after her. She taught me administration and a little on teaching but most of all I have learnt patience and perseverance with a little strictness and perfectionism on management. She has grown rich (though she never admits it) and covers my father’s pride, respect and ego. No one really notices who foots the bill when they are together as she will hand over the cash and let him be the man. It fills her to see everyone happy and never takes credit even if it is rightly placed.This woman, my mother has become a real super woman and I always try to follow her steps. I still seek her advice and constantly want to know her next steps. She taught me to love and to be kind, though we fought a lot when I was younger (well I discovered we were so alike and tried to understand her).I lied, we both talk a lot! She taught me to cook and wash and bathe and she did the same with my other siblings, with special love for each one of us. This has now extended to her sons’ in-law. She still cares even as my sister and I are married off and always checks up on us. I respect this woman for being herself. She is atop her marriage, her school, her employees, her in-laws and her children’s in-laws. She lives the life I want to live and she wants her children to live it earlier than she did. She believes and so do I. she bears a huge burden with love in her heart and she never gives up. I want to be just like her. For me everyday is mother’s day and I call to tell her how much I love her. I remind her how great she is and make sure she feels appreciated.

My mother is the most beautiful woman in the world. She was my first contact into this world and she did a great job on me. I did have my fair share of spanks and thrashes but not once did they break me. I still fret at the thought of her painful pinches on the soft skin on my arms and thighs. She moulded me into what I have become and now smiles proudly to herself when she looks at me. “I see a lot of myself in you” she tells me, when we laugh away a shared joke. “I see my future in you” I always reply.

I am proud to be associated with her. She prayed to God for wisdom and I pray to God for her talent. My father loves her even more that despite his downfall she still tells him how he is the best man in her life. How without him, she would never be where she is. True she would never be here but to get here, she suffered. She almost lost her marriage and her son. She sacrificed her family for her in-laws and fought losing battles for them. She was hurt by the very man she trusted for security and love, and was humiliated. She wept buckets of tears for her children and her husband and spent several nights away from her matrimonial home, because of the war.

She cried to God for years to change her husband into a better man. Nineteen years passed and God turned the tables. Father ceased from being the breadwinner and looked upon mother for forgiveness. He braced himself for revenge for not being kind to her and fell sick with depression. He waited to die of humiliation and mockery, but that was not to be. God taught him that true love and respect only comes when you know where your strength comes from. He is a great man full of remorse and trying to make up. We love him for being our father, because our mother taught us so. Behind every man’s success is a woman. What then lies behind a woman’s success?