MADE OF BETTER

It is four minutes to three. A message on Skype pops up in the Skype group,  please hold on. Do not leave after three (sic). By now I am dead sure that something is up, something wrong.

Minutes couple up, then a fellow colleague is called into boardroom. Three minutes, five minutes, 10 minutes she comes out, her facial expression is not good, her contract has been terminated. I harden my spirit and wait for my turn, haiya, it's me next..

I make way to the boardroom. In front of me is Alex, our boss. He avoids close contact with my eyes because he is delivering some bad news to me, something he's been knowing but has never given an hint. So Alex wants to shake my hand as I sit down but is overtaken by events. Nancy, how are you? Of course the answer is I am fine, even if I have a thousand and one problems you ain't going to be of any help. As I sign the contract termination papers I am so worried, the question that lingered in my head all through is; What is my baby going to eat?

As I leave the boardroom, tears rolling down my cheeks, Mtoto wangu atakula nini phrase still on my mind, I sit on that desk, knowing that this is the last time ever I am sitting on this desk, it was the last time I was in possession of that office laptop. Maybe, it is the last time I am working under someone. As I quickly but carefully transfer my documents to my flash disk, I ponder on why of all the people, it is me that is being shown the door, I know I gave my best. I remembered what Alex had told me in the boardroom that led to my dismissal but I couldn't connect the dots. If it was translation, I know my kiswahili was good, colleagues can attest to that.

Fast forward, I switched off the laptop and headed to the kitchen just to return the glass of water. That afternoon I felt so dehydrated, more reason as to why I thought that day was not to end well. By this time I'd wanted to ring my friends and narrate the story to them but I was so teary. Every time someone told me; it's going to be OK, don't worry, God will see you through, tears filled my eyes each moment. More colleagues were called in, they came out with not so familiar faces.

I said good-bye to fellow workmates who I met along the way as I headed to the gate.

Of late, there has been new people being called for interview, yaani people conduct interviews to replace you when you have no idea. Haidhuru.

So me and other colleagues who ply the same route boarded the matatu. One offered to pay my bus fare. Kwani Nancy utanikumbuka na nini? She said. By this time my feelings were so hurt, you just lose a job that way, I asked God a lot of questions. Mola mbona iwe Mimi? Kwa nini Mola iwe hivi? After trying to ask for my leave days twice and I was denied, now they've dismissed me for good, not even a three months notice!!!

That night friends checked in on WhatsApp, Facebook and other social media platforms to give a sister an encouragement that all is not over, they didn't cut my legs nor my arms, at least I can always find another job, but the timespan until I get that maiden job is worrying.

So I search the internet on a daily basis to check if my qualifications meet any advertised post. Sadly on a bad day I do not find any. But hey, just the other day, I went to a certain company, an insurance company, for a sales representative job, the interview went on well and happily I was overqualified. So today I was to report for training, I reported there at 8:25, I always arrive earlier to familiarize myself with the surrounding. So since 8:30 I waited for the unit manager, the lady who was supposed to show me things around but she didn't come. Come on, I do not have a whole day to wait for someone, hata kama I am so in need, plus ni kuuza insurance on commission, meaning there are bad days when I will tarmac and even miss lunch, hii jua nayo inichome. It's never that serious.


As I sat on that chair waiting for the lady, I realized that I am not that desperate for a job. My state of lacking a job can be turned into something better, something better than walking up and down selling life insurance, knocking door to door, convincing people with a fake smile, oh no! I am made of better, better than being employed. And being paid a shameless 20K.

I realized how rich I am, God has bestowed me a fleet of abilities, I can write well, I can create stories, write poems, write mashairi, short plays, compose songs, but I can't sing, how about turning this into something that can earn me income.


I refuse to be a plagiarist. Something I was compelled to do in the past one year and a couple of months for that company. I am not bitter because I lost a job, I am bitter that all this time I have been sitting on gold. If I had put my abilities into practice, si aki ningekuwa far sana by now!!! I am not going to wait for tomorrow, kama si sasa ni sasa hivi.

THE BASH

First birthdays ought to be memorable. I decided to give her a treat, a treat that she will remember when she grows up and the rest of her life. I love her, my daughter.

The Cake

It was a white forest from Valentine Cake House. It was so sweet.

The White-Forest Cake -Yummy

Shuneta's friends staring at the cake

Me helping Shuneta cut the cake

The Tutu Skirt

This was my first DIY Tutu Skirt, it kinda fitted her too well. She was happy in it and was moving around so quickly, I wouldn't get a really perfect shot but these ones carried the day.

In attendance, was her aunt, and cousins

Shuneta sharing a portion of a cake with her dad

My Darling Daughter giving me a taste of her birthday cake

My cousin has to taste this cake, come on Moraa

My cousin Brayo, must taste this

I love you auntie

MERCI BEAUCOUP

In a  society of ‘nipe nikupe’ and everything ends there, rarely do we find an opportunity to come back and say, thank you, by the way I found that product useful. Or maybe you should adjust the pointer of that product because it is not 100% effective. So today being my daughter’s birthday, I drafted this note, rather thank you piece to thank all these wonderful people.

Early days

Today marks the day my darling daughter was born, 02/02/15. I would like to thank the staff of Metropolitan Hospital, Buruburu, Eastland’s finest hospital, you did a great job, she is now a year, pass my regards to Dr. Mbaluka, he is a good gynaecologist. To my Insurance Agency, Resolution Insurance, for footing my bill, a whopping 0.075 million for my delivery, more reason for my readers to insure their health, thank you. The three days I spent there were awesome. I ate good food, the nurses were warm, the caterers and above all the services were satisfactory.

Baba Shun. This guy has been with me through thick and thin. My oh my! One day I will write a long post about him.

Mama mbogas. These women/men who sell us groceries were also key in our growth. Waking up in the morning and bringing vegetables from the market thus reducing the distance I would travel on my own is such thumbs up. Continue doing your thing.

The journey has not been easy but with these partners every milestone; every step on my baby’s growth is/was well sorted. Pampers gave my daughter a good sleep time. Then came Huggies, Huggies hugged her during those cold nights. Bouncy boosted her bum, Snuggles shone Shun during the sunny days, yet again when my pocket became so deep, I used the low-budget diapers such as Phoenix, Bebe-Dou and Softcare.

Momeasy products, such as bottles, feeders, breast pumps also boosted me. The pump was so useful when I left my maternity leave came to an end. It helped me pump and store milk appropriately.

When she clocked six months, I knocked at Kirinyaga Flour Mills door. Who doesn’t know this place when it comes to milling the finest flour, name it, uji flour, ugali flour, cereals, sugarcane juice, the list is endless. Rice porridge is sweet, I prepared her and she grew chubby. Thank you. Until now, I am a proud, faithful KFM customer.

Biashara Street has always been my favourite spot whenever I am in town, more specifically Roopam Shop. The shop has all baby items that you can ever think of, from baby walkers, hair bands, diapers, shoes, socks, basins, clothes, and wet wipes, basically everything. It has been my partner all along.

Open air-markets. When things were too tough, I resolved to buy some items from the market, particularly Gikomba. Babies outgrow clothes too fast. You cannot imagine buying a romper at Sh1200 whereas you can buy a whole bale of rompers at that price, not being mean but thinking like a tight-budget person.

There is this hospital in Kawangware, Nyina wa Mumbi Hospital, where I check in on my monthly routine visits. It gives me joy that when I place my munchkin on the weighing scale, she has always added something, like 0.2 grams, or better a kilogram.


All PSVs from day 1, Umoinner, 103, Kinoo route, the list is endless. Uber taxi...

All the advice I got on google, mama, grandma, from friends, family friends, sisters-in-law, father-in-law went a long way. Thank you.


Will expound on the list, am a little bit excited, wouldn't type a lot. It's her birthday.

SURVIVING THE LOSS OF A NEW-BORN

As you rant about your inability to sleep because your baby is stubborn, someone somewhere is having bigger problems than sleep, just take a minute and think about a mother somewhere, whose nursing a loss of a child, her breasts bursting with milk, sore nipples, an open cesarean wound that is yet to recover, or still on sitz baths, she is asking God a lot of questions, Why me? God did you have to take even my rainbow baby? You gave me, why did you take him so fast? Why was my joy short-lived? For how long? How am I going to cope with this? When will I get pregnant again? Isn’t this tab too bitter to swallow?

Photo Courtesy

It is all joy when one receives a new-born, in those warm blankets, warm mitten, and new is written all over the face. Maybe it is a girl, everything is all pink, maybe a boy, and all is shouting blue. Little is known about a mother who had a still birth, a mother that saw her kid alive then after thirty minutes or so, sad news, it is dead. Or worse, a mother exited the hospital joyfully, giving thanks to the hospital staff for making it a success that the birthing process turned out well. On reaching home, six days later, the baby dies, God why? It was her rainbow baby (a baby after a miscarriage). 

Mid last year, 2015, I met a friend, Jessica*. By then, she was expecting and her bump was really big. It was her last trimester. Climbing up and downstairs was proving a monumental task attributing to her curvy physique. We even made fun of her often about the bump and guessed the baby will be a boy. And true to the guess, it came out a boy.

So, the big day came and she went to the hospital as soon as the contractions beckoned. She was later admitted and two days later, I received the good news that she had given birth to a baby boy. Immediately, I knew my daughter soon could find a cheerful and playful playmate in him. She came home and after settling visitors came to see her and bring goodies to the new-born. It was all joy as we took turns to see the baby and joke on how his nose resembled his father’s, how his hands and feet were like mother’s and so on. 


One morning, I receive a call from a neighbour, her tone is sad, her voice shaky, I thought she was informing me that my house-help had done something wrong to my baby or something related to that. I was wrong, she said ‘imagine mtoto wa Jessica* ametuacha,’ (sic). My body became cold, it was only last evening that I went to check on them for the first time, I left there very late, only to hear the following day that the poor boy had gotten his wings to fly. He even did not have a chance to wear a vest that I had bought him. It was really sad, he lived only six days of his life, he was six days old.

The couple had less to say on the cause of the baby’s death. Upon arrival at the hospital, the doctor examined the corpse and said the possible reason for the death could be Sudden Infant Death Syndrome (SIDS). The boy was born healthy and never showed any sign of illness. Friends and family made contributions and the baby was laid to rest, a week later.

Since then, it has not been rosy for Jessica. But I must say she is one strong woman. Although sometimes, when boredom engulfs her and she has no book around her to read, she says that she wishes if her baby could be alive, she would be changing diapers and doing laundry. 

Death or any loss of a loved one is painful, it defies the natural order of life. It is worth noting that at all times avoid using your own experience as a way of connecting with a bereaved couple. Just listen instead, even if you find the urge of sharing your bereavement story.

Here is a list of what you should never tell a grieving parent;

I know how you feel

You really do not know how s/he feels. This phrase betrays a lack of understanding of what the bereaved is going through.

Time heals all wounds
No matter the amount of time one is given, you will never be the same again when one of your children is dead. This is a wound that will be open for a lifetime.

Move on
This already adds salt to the existing wound.Instead of telling a grieving parent to move on and let go the memories, assure them that you will be with them in every walk of their life.

Everything happens for a reason
Sometimes things just don’t happen for a reason. People who get affected by bad things are the most loving people, people who won’t hurt even a fly.
Instead of telling a grieving parent that everything happens for a reason, try to console them by giving them encouraging words such as; You don’t deserve this pain.  I wish I could take it away from you. It breaks my heart to see you suffering.


It is not okay for you to be so curious by asking what happened before the death of the baby. It’s just not ethical. It is like opening fresh wounds.