I Write For Them.

I write for them. You know them, you’ve even met them. I don’t want to contradict with your meaning or what comes to your mind when one talks of them.

Am talking of single mothers. Mothers who mostly through unfortunate and regretful circumstances, they find them themselves single in the world of parenthood. They endure a lot in raising their children.

Think of one young, uneducated, unskilled mother of one, who at one point had thought she had met Dr. Love, the one. By then, everything seemed okay. Full of anxiety, she gave out her life to Dr. Love, without even doubt or having second thoughts.
Its called a one-night stand, unluckily, this one goes unprotected, as I said, she has nothing to be scared.

Our naive lady gets pregnant and that’s the last time she’ll ever enjoy the warmth of her soon to be husband. Remember the promises Dr. Love had been lamenting all over, future real estate businesses in Kite (Kitengela-Kenya). The memories are still fresh in the mind.

Heartbroken, she decides to take up the responsibility of the pregnancy, giving birth to a cute baby boy, coming along with unpaid hospital bills and no one to help nurse the newborn.
She has no option but to take the child to her parents or even her elder sister and soon disappears to town.

A town where capitalism is more than religion. Everybody for themselves. Any job that comes up is okay, its all for money, right? Bar tending, strippers, name them, any would do for now. She must send money home to raise her kid, doesn’t she? Her motivation is to provide the best for her son, hoping they don’t live to suffer and endure such situations like her mother. She faces life without fear, always prepared for anything that comes at her way, should she care? Not at all, she has no such option.

Trouble doesn’t end there.
(Years later)

Our now grown lady and mum receives calls from her sons university administration. Apparently, her son has been drinking, clubbing all sorts of irresponsible behavior. The son has missed almost all classes, and only appears for exams, occasionally. Disciplinary actions of course, and expulsion, for now, is not avoidable. Mum composes herself, not showing despair. She at one point thinks the son inherited the character from his dad, but she dismisses the thought. The son is somehow remorseful after causing such a stare.

“My dear son, do not cry for someone got you. I will give you all my love for you are what I have. I will give you all I can, to make you grow and life a better life than mine”. Does the son understand this? I highly doubt.

She doesn’t know when her son is going to secure a permanent job and finally settle. For now, she holds on strong, running her normal errands in Muthurwa-Nairobi. Being roughed up by county-askaris is no worry for now. It happens, a lot.

She cannot give up waking very early for Gikomba market and close her business late when her colleagues have already left, fearing for robbery, kidnapping, rape or roughed up by the street boys.
By 2.00 am she makes her calculations for the day.
The profit, she sends to her son via M-pesa to ‘fill his gas cylinder when she is renting a mud-walled house in Kibera.
As she lays down to sleep, all she asks God is to answer her prayers through her son.