“Daddy, what’s the colour of our school gate?” Andrei asked unexpectedly, in the middle of a casual chitchat.
“The colour of your school gate is… mhh.” I hesitated because I was thinking of a few colours. But I was mostly wondering why he asked. Recently, he’s been complaining that I don’t take him to school. Last week, I had to convince him over the phone that I had gone to work, and that’s why I couldn’t be there to take him to school. He goes to school after 8am, you see the challenge with that.
“Inaanza na (It starts with) letter P…” he decided to give me a clue.
Thankfully, a friend offered me a job in industrial area. I was staying with friends and random people. At one point I stayed with some girls from Meru. I didn’t even know them but their compassion was familiar. I was moving on slowly; healing and starting to find myself.
Then I met another guy. I was 21, he was 2-3 years older than me, looked naïve like me, was patient with me and had a small nice place that he lived in. In my desperation, I found myself in the arms that showed me what looked like love. But I was also tired of being exiled by the Meru girls Continue reading My Father Through my Eyes – Chapter II→
One night during family devotion, after dad had taught us about Noah and the ark, I was asked to pray. I stumbled through the prayer, saying my own things. My older brother laughed. That’s the last time he ever laughed during devotion. The rod was not spared; the seriousness of God’s matters was communicated to him effectively.
I was born in Pumwani and raised in Nairobi to strict parents. My dad was extra stringent. He believed in the cane and there was no negotiation for misbehavior. We somehow knew we were loved but those words were never verbalized by dad. He would do things like remembering our birthdays which he does up to now. There are no more gifts like in childhood but he calls.
When you ask those born in the 80s what parenting means to them, it will include a whole lot of discipline and strict house rules. My experience wasn’t different. My mum was one strict lady although she has loosened up a bit over the years.
Listening to other stories, especially from military homes, I have come to understand that my discipline journey in the hands of my mother is nothing compared to what others have gone through. I am talking about being wound in a potato sack and beaten like a piñata. Some are hilarious, others left children with lifelong scars – physically and emotionally.
The maternity ward in any hospital is like an active war zone. Newborn babies with their cries are like bullets flying all over the place. Nurses are the rescue crew, doing their best to get those injured to safety. Doctors are the generals, giving instructions and strategies but not getting too involved, unless very necessary. Mothers, they are the bombs, going off involuntarily all over the ward with every response to a contraction.
So, I remember sometime in 2017 when a friend shared the birth story of her daughter on Facebook, and I found it very helpful. I remember thinking, wow this is so good. I wish more people shared their stories, because I learned a few things from those few posts. And she was also hilarious. Which made me and hubby have a good laugh. Yes, I made him read those posts so he could have an idea what labor and birth looked like. I remember vowing to also write about my own experience when my time came to also enlighten someone else.
So here goes my story…My pregnancy was a rather smooth one and am grateful to God for that especially being a first-time mum. On our last trimester, I made sure I read far and wide about labor, prayed, exercised, ate well as I geared myself for the time our son would make his grand entrance to this world. I remember going for my 38th week Continue reading Andrei’s birth story→
About a month before my son was born, my wife and I had gone to hospital for her routine antenatal clinic appointment. At some point, I went downstairs to grab something to bite. I was alone in the lift when it stopped on one of the floors. Then entered a nurse pushing a trolley. On it was a baby. I looked at the baby and then at the nurse and back at the baby.
“How many days?” I asked.
The nurse smiled and answered “Zero, this baby has just been delivered.”
My face lit; I was excited. I leaned to get a closer look at the sleeping beauty in my presence. With a tag on its hand, partly covered, it felt like the baby was just chilling, unassuming and unaware of the public debt it’s been sunken into already. The baby must have heard my thoughts, because Continue reading Memes, Labour Pains and a Helpless Father→
Very glad to have a new guest blogger in Vincent Matinde. In this article Vincent and his wife Ann tackle the subject of post wedding depression based on their personal experience. Enjoy and stay blessed.
Sometime ago, my wife got the opportunity to pursue further studies abroad.
Let me back track a bit. About a year ago, during a conversation with an older couple, I remember us talking about decisions and challenges that young couples face. Half way through that conversation, they proceeded to stress Continue reading Moments of decision in marriage→
Most married people will confess to this. Sometimes you look at your spouse and ask yourself (silently of course) ‘how did I get here? how did I end up with this man or woman?’ Sometimes my wife verbalises this jokingly and I am always swift to let her know that the joke is on her. She made the choice, she entered the box. Haha!! Continue reading Positioning young marriages for success→