Six years ago, a time like now I was in tears, helpless and had hit rock bottom. I had a six-month-old son and had a caesarean section (CS) complications.
I was in the sitting room cuddling my son when my husband arrived with a lady- a very beautiful lady. I had nothing to worry about since we had been in good terms even though my sixth sense smelt a rat instantly.
They came in and before we could finish the normal greetings and introductions, I saw the watchman pulling in some suitcases.
My heart was pounding. The lady did not sit and she asked my husband, “What is this rag doing here?” I cleared my eyes to ensure it wasn’t a dream. She said that either I leave the house immediately or she will do so.
My husband told me to follow her instruction because he wasn’t in for any nagging. Those words cut deep inside me like a two-edged sword. I was still in pain from the CS wound, with no job and my son feeling unwell.
A new wife was home and I had to leave before both of them threw me out forcefully. I took a few dresses and an old lesso to carry my son to an unknown destination. I only had Ksh.200 at hand by then.
I went straight to Kibera slum, Nairobi, hoping that someone would give me accommodation for a night. Along with my son, we cried throughout the night. I wished for death to take us.
On arriving in Kibera, I talked to several women and one lady took me in. I thank my God for his mercy. I had shelter finally.
We agreed to be paying rent together; each of us contributing Kshs 450. I had to face the reality of life now. She offered us food and accommodation for the first one month. The Ksh 200 I had was my capital for banana selling business along Ngong road during peak hours.
I could make Kshs 150 each day with my son on my back. I forgot about the CS wound but sometimes it could bleed causing more pain. I prayed that God could heal me faster to hustle for my baby boy.
There was a guy, who bought my bananas every day. Even when he didn’t want them. He could call from afar ” mama leta zote” (“mom bring them all”).
One Friday he came, parked his car on the roadside and asked me why I was always sad. After I narrated my ordeal journey, he asked for my education level and offered me a job.
God had heard my humble plea. “unapozuru wengine usinipite baba” (as you visits others don’t forget father), that was my 11th hour. God is real. I now had a job paying me Kshs 35,000. I could pay fees for the kids of that lady who took me in. I got her a tea girl job in our office and life has been better. When our tribulations began my son only had two T-shirts but now he could change clothes.
My “banana guy” became my friend, then my best friend, and finally my confidant and the rest is history. As a sterile man, I accepted him and we agreed to bring up my son.
Now I have my own booming businesses, and the lady who took me in got a good job thanks to her noble heart.
One of my businesses is a medical clinic and can take up to 33 inpatients. One of the Thursdays, my ex-husband came to my medical clinic with his new “wife”. They had a daughter who was 3 years old. She was very sick. They didn’t know it was my hospital they came for medication.
They had to pay and after a week the bill had gone up to Kshs 44,000. They didn’t have the money. So I was consulted and requested to meet the parents of the girl. I will never forget the shock on those two faces when they saw it was me they had to plead with!
I have been crying and reflecting on what life has been to me. I don’t care about my former husband. I cleared their bill for the sake of the innocent girl. Wealth is nothing. A rich heart is everything.
When my son tells me “I love you” mama, I get the energy to live another day. My ex-husband will get his karma. I don’t wish them bad now like before, but as well don’t care about them.
The wound I got was too deep to go. The images of my naked dirty son in Kibera slum cannot go. Sometimes I go there to give those kids some food and clothing.
AfyaSmile Kenya obtained the story from Bi Mswafari – Citizen TV Facebook page and edited some parts for the general readership.