Alot Happens in 9 Years

 

It's been almost nine years since I last posted here. A lot can happen in nine years, thankfully for me, I can say, we are still here. Older, wiser, bigger… perhaps more mature… I don’t know. What I do know is that I still wonder at the magic of being called mommy every day.

The boys no longer have tiny feet that go pitter patter all over the place. Theirs are those of young men. Still all over the place and now carrying more thud than pitter. My parenting stance is more reflective, more deliberate and more intentional.

A few years ago, I did a thing, it was a scary thing, knew the consequences could be disastrous and I did all I could to mitigate the chaos that I thought I foresaw. I blew the lid off the realities of careless parenting by speaking about the uncomfortable realities of my upbringing, something extremely countercultural. I was recognizing the effects of living in what I think, today, to have been a narcissistic-abusive power dynamic between my parents and the reality of bearing the scars of wars that I never should have been privy to as a child. You can listen to that podcast here.

Before getting in front of a mic as I did, we had had conversations with my mother about leveraging our own healing to create a platform where others can also start their healing journeys and that would also have been her entrance into a counselling psychology practice…. Or so I thought.

Little did I know that I was about to blow the lid off a long festering volcano that has completely shifted how I think about family and how I relate with my own and others. The storms and battles that came from that conversation led me to the realization that many among the generations of our parents are sorely devoid of filial love or connection. See how many today, are talking about their toxic parents. See today how many are finally going no contact with parents and siblings who cannot see how their own actions undermine the very notion of family.

In the aftermath of that podcast, I have seen with crystal clear clarity that I had never come out of the abusive system but rather had normalized things that one should never normalize from anybody no matter the relationship. I had normalized being dismissed, I had normalized having my words twisted to fit the agenda of the day, I had gotten used to being blamed for whatever needed blaming to carry the agenda of the day... wueh! so much! But I also got my power back. My power to stop and refuse to be a part of it. So, many years later and vindication looks like relatives coming to say that they also see it now and apologizing for their part to play in the chaos. Careless parenting is a thing, too many of us are products of careless parenting and barely know it and thus risk breaking our own children. Yes, alot has happened in 9 years.

Today I sit here, watching my young men grow and I know that I cannot be the one to clip their wings with careless words or selfish ambition. I watch them fumble and fall; and try to teach them the humble joy of picking oneself up and working to do better next time. I listen to the playground saga’s holding back my own biases and trying to use my words to gently move them towards value-based decision making.

I remember my first pregnancy and the tears with which I swore that the ones I carry would never cry the tears I have cried. As fate would have it, time and circumstance (that I attribute to God and how He moves), have seen to it that I see and understand the entirety of the roots of my tears, that I may burn them away and in those places plant new trees that are sturdy and strong enough to meet the sun with the courage and fortitude required to thrive.

I watched Nyandia Gachagos story on the engage platform and I knew the weight of her words and the weight of her presence on that stage, watch it here. I will close with her words.

I am the mother I am today, the woman I am today because of and in spite of my parents.

Photo by Carlos Quintero on Unsplash

The Joy of Out There

As a child, I never had company outside of my siblings, to play with. I would look at my cousins and wish we lived in an estate in the city where there are lots of other kids to play with. My sister and I even dreamt that when we grew up, we would live in an estate like South C or South B and our children would play play and never lack company.

Well we grew up. And adulthood made me appreciate the up bringing we had, with a lot of space for adventure and growth devoid of the citys’ problems like traffic, concrete heat, impossible dust and the pollution alongside garbage and all that.

We don’t live in the same place my sister and I, I have children she doesn’t. Our outlooks on life are as different and black is to white. But I do live in an estate, where my children now play with other children. Something that as a child I hungered so much for. Weird thing is when we moved into an estate, we were kept away from other kids. I fought really hard for any time I had to socialize outside of school. Even that little was well… awkward.

As a parent now I understand the fears my parents must have had. What kind of people will the children have to interact with, do they have the kind of values we want instilled in the children. As a parent I can control the home environment and anywhere I am at but out there… who knows what the children are exposed to? On the other hand, It is important to socialize and understand social plays and nuances from a young age.

I must admit, I do not get social nuances that easily, and I really do respect people who have the courage to point out to me where I missed out on something. That maybe partly from being heavily sheltered from the world as a kid and also possibly from my character. I am a dreamer, I see things as I want them to be rather that what they really are. Its my default setting. The wholes of trouble I am dealing with out of that are so epic that sometimes I consider hiding for the rest of my life to avoid them.

I don’t want my young men to grow up in a social bubble. I let them out to play with others. The Sudanese kids (surprisingly well-mannered and respectful children, nil for mum for being overly judgemental!!), the horribly mannered boys from up the corner (my gosh I pity their mother… I beat them into following my rules while in my compound, they don’t come often), the little arab kids who have the most thought provoking questions…. Name it, they come into my house for water or juice or whatever there is to fuel their play and I love it!

Of course when the parents hear I let the children out to play in the neighborhood responded with resigned anger (you can hear the unsaid words: gosh this girl just doesn’t do things the way they should be done properly). I have since been bombarded with horror stories of children being stolen or abused in the neighborhood. I do not refute that these things happen... hell, the young mums in my hood chatted about it and how to protect each other’s children… but we cannot lock up our children and expect them to grow into cultured social adults. It a calculated risk with as many stop gap measures as possible.

But the crux of this post? I just fill up with joy when I see my children out there playing and running around to their hearts content and yes I’m the kind of mum who considers a good day marked by how dirty the clothes are, how hungry the kids are and how many little feet pitter pattered themselves into a holy mess in the living room…. Yup, that’s a good day. (until I think of having to clean up!)

Little Rays of Sunshine on A Cloudy Day

I haven’t written here for a long while!! That is not for a lack of stories but rather a lack of time. But I do miss my ‘mamamagic’ space. Being a mummy is still a magical journey that I love to share.


Updates

Both little men are walking now! Or should I say running and talking. The stories in this house are now never ending. Mostly funny stories, sometimes stories that you wish you could erase and they came out in the wrong place. Like a few weeks ago one of our relatives was rushed to hospital, I think little man put 2 and 2 together and decided to fill in the rest of the story himself. Weeks later little man goes to his aunty like, ‘Aunteeeeeee, uncle is a bad boy! Uncle beat you and you stayed in hospital? Uncle is a very bad boy…’


Yes I think my bladder almost released at that point because where would a little guy just under years old get that? And express himself so clearly! On the other hand, my baby is so confident and well spoken! My heart swells with pride!


There are many similar stories, they are almost weekly now. Including taking the mouse from the cat and showing it off to all and sundry, gosh you should have seen how their nanny ran, I’ve never seen her move like that!


Jumper on the other hand. Well, he jumps, all day, every day. He eats and jumps and his stories tend to come in a staccato that matches his jumping, ‘Mummy. Daddy. Go. Work. Now. Daddy. Stuck. In. daafik.’it’s a noisy playful house and really, nothing fills me up with joy like working in my workspace while hearing these lively voices play and shout out their stories! Which we can now understand!



Validation

This post is really about validation and encouragement. Life’s been really hard lately and we haven’t been able to treat the boys the way we used to or even want to. So we’ve been cracking under the pressure to keep the family afloat. I’ve been out there hustling like crazy to get a few shillings to the table sometimes clients pay, most times after you’ve done something decent, they decide either that’s not what they wanted or that is not work worth paying for… aki this life… God is seeing you people! Then another time I had 200 shillings between me and poverty… cops took it and I looked that cop in the eye and told him, his greed has denied 2 children their breakfast. Which it had… but well, that’s whats up. Life eh? But I have a God and so far the kids have always had something to eat.


So when that’s the daily hum drum of life, sometimes I hate myself for not being a good enough mum because despite the cold weather I couldn’t afford to buy my little man a fleece jacket, or replace the broken heater, or make him nice treats for school because we can’t afford to fix the oven. The killer for me is that now I’m away so much hustling that on top of the nice things we can’t do for them, mummy isn’t around as often. So when you get home with such clouds over your head and the children rush out to hug you hello, lead you to a seat or the couch and offer to get you water (despite the fact that they are too small to handle the water jug without breaking it…) I feel lifted, motivated, encouraged that my babies aren’t looking at me badly.


But the one that has given me life for days is when their cousins asked them to stay over for 2 or 3 days and the boys, both of them said, no ‘I want to stay with my mummy..!’ That brought tears to my eyes. That despite all the hardness we are going through home is best for them, even when mummy only has 1 or 2 hours a day with them, even if mummy doesn’t make them yummy muffins and smoothies anymore, even if they only have a few broken toys… they still would rather be at home with mummy.


People ask me, what is it like being a mum? Well, I think this post puts it very clearly. There will always be someone who believes that you are the best despite the odds. There will always be someone who motivates you to be that much better simply by being sweet.





Meanwhile, if anyone is looking for a digital online marketer or online digital planner, or content person with a background in journalism and a pretty decent track record as an all-round communications person. Send me a buzz, jumper needs to go to school and right now I don’t even know if they will have milk next week!

Hold Up! What The Huh!?

Some months ago I started noticing some weird things among my age-mates. This may have been noticed by those older than us much earlier but I think my eyes opened fairly recently. The concept of value and responsibility seems to be a conversational concept, and idea or philosophy to be floated around in company just to show how ‘learned’ we are. Many of us however do not seem to actually understand the day to day applicable meaning of these words.

See, for a long time I did not believe in the hoola-baloo around weddings and much less the whole marriage thing. What used to happen is that we go for all these seemingly joyous meetings and ceremonies that lead to the big day then one month, 5 months, 10 months, 1 year, 3 years max there is silence ice and talk of moving on. I heard of a marriage that lasted less than a month in this here Kenya, Nairobi even. And we think it’s only Kim Kardashian and the like who pull such stunts.

We are 28, 29, 30 and I dare say 35 year olds running around town with childish ideas of what life is about. Ho now does a man with children by more than one women, one possibly being an ex-wife who couldn’t live with an overgrown child still find that a conversation with peers about how they romped around Eldoret over the weekend is the highlight of the week! And if you corner the guy and remind him of his paternal responsibility, he might just share his strategy to spend everything he can on himself so that those mean, nasty baby mamas do not see a cent from him. True story.

This is not a man bashing post. There are women, my riika if you may, who all they aim for is to be married upper middle class. First the wedding needs to be of the standard, and must impress all the girls. Then they must live in an apartment in Kilimani, Westy or if things are hard maybe south C. Once the ring is on it and the child has been produced, it’s a competition to see who can Instagram their baby the most in the cutest outfits at all the right places… until you get to the other side of the lens and hear  ‘aki huyu mtoto husumbuuua.’ As the child is put to a corner in the latest fashion stroller as the girls have their wine. This lady might hold down a good job and her money is hers. To spend on looking good and being seen at the ‘right’ places, doing the ‘right’ things.

So I take a step back and mourn for all the things these overgrown children are destroying, I mourn for the old tired and lonely people who just might discover in their 60’s or 70’s that time cannot undo itself. I mourn for a generation that will never know what they are missing out on until they can do nothing about it but get lost in their own sorrow alone.

Real wealth that carries is not in property and fat accounts but in people, the people around you and the relationships we nurture. Relationships are hard and not always about smiles and laughs, there are tears there are fights… but the end goal is worth it.

At the end of the day, parents will try, and they will tire and their time will pass, friends, should there be principled people in your circle, will try until your antics will be too embarrassing for them to associate with you and they will quietly and surely melt away (as you nurse your drink in Malindi begrudging the haters you thought were friends), you will have destroyed the relationships you tried to call family and then what. Like I told someone a few years ago, the cars and the big houses and rental property will not nurse you when you are ill, will not be your companions when age slows you down and will definitely not bury you. So, I’m I talking to you?

View From Up Here

So I'm just working near the window that overlooks the yard. Coz I like looking out at the kids

playing as I think. The boys play together and boys being boys, the play is usually rough and one or both always end up crying. Now baby baby is a one year old who thinks he’s bigger than his 3 year old brother. So he bullies little man with no apologies or pretenses. Now, My little man doesn’t like fights so he usually just pushes baby baby away. Sometimes the push is hard enough to make baby baby fall and then he cries. Now this is where things get interesting especially if baby baby lets out less than 3 wails. He gets up and charges at his brother! Who doesn’t get this whole fighting thing so he just stares at this little guy with an expression that says ‘what the heck is he trying?’ By now baby baby has picked up a toy, or a stick or even a stone, yes, I kid you not, a stone! And is now charging waving his weapon and smashing it into a shocked little man. At this point the dog is wise enough to step away and just watch. Now, Little man either hits back and goes tells on his brother to the help, leaving baby baby wailing like the world is crashing down on him for no good reason, or Little man himself starts bawling as he runs off to tell on his brother, who chases his big brother until my help shows up at the scene. Then baby baby drops the said weapon and quickly engages himself in something else for all I can tell trying to look like he knows nothing of what little man is talking about. This happens twice every hour. At first I used to be so worried at every fall, at every shove, at every wail… Now I’ve learned when to stay away and let nature take its course. Now I move only when I see a real possibility of blood or a huge swelling. I also try to remember how it was at home when we were young with the siblings. We eventually grew up, dents, bandages and all. Anyhoo, I do enjoy watching them play, it gives me insight into who they are when mum is not perceived to be around.

Today as I write this, Little man has learnt from his brother. He pushed baby baby down from where they both were and he quickly ran across the yard so that my help found him supposedly too busy and too far from the crying baby…

Ambition much?

Once upon a time, not very long ago, someone told me that his dream is to raise hackers so that by age x, they can navigate any web scenario. I heard him and chuckled, thinking that it might be ambitious, maybe because my own vision was raising children who can play their instruments into college scholarships, this someone with the hacker dreams gave me the eye. Trust me, his eye is THE eye, it can lear at you while striking fear into your bones. Just the eye. One eye. Jicho.

Anyhoo, these ambitious parents seem to have gotten children who are ready to give both ambitions a

run and a half. I’m excited to say my baby’s seem to be getting the point and the joy of making music! Little man recently discovered that he can use his keyboard to make sounds rather than just dancing to the programmed music (we dance alot in this home, all we need now are disco lights to complete the vibe). Baby baby also discovered that drumming is fun, he takes his drums and bang bangs away to his brothers violent chords. They are already getting the band swag! Joy!

Theeeeeen little man has not only figured out how to subscribe to his favorite you-tube channels(I only see notifications of what’s been done in my email), he can make skype calls all by himselof. And while he’s navigating the cursor across the screen, one finger is held up at mummy saying ‘one minute mummy, a finish… one minute,’ children learn from watching us and listening to us… what can I say? Meanwhile his baby brother is having fun on his daddy’s phone sliding the screen and tapping icons as he maps the effect. 

There’s a real possibility that these guys might fulfil both their parents dreams and exceed them. Watching these little people grow is really a joy that nothing else can compare to.

Have a lovely weekend fam.

Instinct: part 2

So my journey to getting little man back to himself continues. Oh the path the Lord has laid out for us! Part 1 is here by the way.

Now we were sent from casualty to a consultant surgeon. So this guy looks at little man and right there asks me the question I’ve been asking all doctors who have looked at little man and I tell him as much. He says something that fit into the puzzle so perfectly. Basically he was reluctant to do this surgery because another problem had not been addressed properly therefore even if he did the surgery the issue that brought us to his office would recur. I almost passed out in joy but I was having such horrid cramps I ran to the loo instead. This guy turned out to be a close relative to one of our close friends (Gosh this our God has a sense of humor in his purpose!) He suggested we go see another doctor about the unresolved issue then call him when that’s sorted. Gosh I respected and fell in love with this guy right there, He has me as a loyal client now. I think I have found a doc worth me and my children’s time and money.

Now we had to find a doctor I could trust with this issue which clearly the guys who did the first surgery either did not see or kept quiet about it on purpose. I’m inclined towards the latter because even hubby knows how I questioned that unusualness in little man. So another doc was necessary but who? How? And how would I know I could trust him?

After sitting down with little man’s grandparents and taking in their insight, we decided to finally call a certain doctor who got their deep respect in the late 80’s. We found him and guess what, he didn’t even get off his seat when he looked at little man (who had decided he is not getting off or letting go of the push car… so he was examined on the push car). He just said, ‘Oh I can see how swollen he is, how soon can you arrange for us to get those things out?’ That’s less than a minute into the consultation. He then says he can ask for an x-ray but that’s more for my benefit than his. Then he went on and explained why an X-ray or CT scan (which we had been sent for then no one accepted to do it because unknown to me then, A CT scan has 9 times more radiation than a chest X-ray, so can you begin to see why I don’t trust these guys in white coats?) was not necessary.

So when we start talking about the necessary action, within minutes he calls the first pediatric surgeon and everything is set. I later find out that these 2 have been walking together for a loooooong time. Note, the first pediatric surgeon did not lead us to the second, my parents did. So really humour and purpose, only one way can they go so well hand in hand. Right there I decided this is the team I am comfortable entrusting my little man to. Now to work the complex issue of insurance verses cash between now and the time little man gets his issues sorted one and for all we hope.

Instinct is a big deal, you don’t have to be a doctor or teacher or any professional to know something is not right with your child. If you are unsettled about it, don’t stop looking, harassing, asking… all that. Just don’t stop until your stomach feels settled about it.

If you haven't read part 1, read it here.