Footprints of my heart

I was born into a story that began long before I ever took my first breath. My mother was born in 1979. She often told me that she was not aware of the environment into which she was born, because if anyone could choose where to be born, that place would have been the last option she would ever choose. By the time she was in her late teens, life had already hardened her. She once described waking up early after sleeping on an empty stomach—something she said made even sleep itself a struggle. She shared a bed with her five siblings. There was no mattress, only old clothes laid out to sleep on, and a single blanket they all shared to shield themselves from the cold nights.My mother was born in Africa, in Kenya, in a small village called Mukurweini. As the second-born child and a girl, she had to grow up quickly and take on responsibilities far beyond her age. My grandfather worked far away and only came home occasionally to check on the family. They lived in an old mud house that served as both the kitchen and the bedroom. My mother and her older brother attended a local school, walking barefoot and often going through the day without anything to eat for lunch. She endured these hardships quietly, coping as best as she could until she reached class eight. That was when she was forced to drop out of school so her younger siblings could continue their education. In those days, according to tradition, an African girl was expected to prepare for marriage, not education—schooling was seen as unnecessary for a girl child.Growing up, I listened to my mother tell her story again and again—a story of hardship, hope, and heartbreak. She told me how, having no other option, she began working alongside her own mother just to put food on the table for her younger siblings. She would finish all the household chores and then follow my grandmother to nearby neighborhoods, where they were given exhausting work for very little pay. Sometimes, my grandmother would send her to work alone and expect her to return home with money, no matter how young she was.My mother was a hard worker and did not mind that she was no longer in school. She went to church and prayed for a better life, believing that God could change her life around. It was during these casual jobs that she met my father, John—a young, tall, dark, and handsome man who noticed her. In her life, she had never been with any man; she was humble, obedient, and respectful.She told me how John realized she was very young, hardworking, and beautiful. He felt the urge to talk to her and ask why she was no longer in school. They became friends, and one thing led to another—they started dating. He took care of her and gave her money for her basic needs.All her life, no one had ever shown her such kindness. She had always known that money only came through hard work, and here was a man giving her money freely just so she could take care of herself. She imagined herself being saved from the poverty she was living in. Without realizing it, she fell into a trap, and before long, she became pregnant. She later told me that this was the biggest mistake she would have to learn from for the rest of her life.She was confused and scared. What would she tell her parents? What would her mother say? She had five siblings, and there was no room for another child in that homestead. Even getting two meals a day was a struggle, and she was only 18 years old. She found herself in a painful dilemma.She went back to John and told him about the pregnancy, and to 8her surprise, he accepted and agreed to marry her. Her heart was filled with joy. She believed this was the turning point of her life. She would be a wife and a mother; she would finally have someone to provide for her, and she would no longer have to work just to get a meal. She truly believed God had answered her prayers.She then broke the news to her mother. At first, my grandmother was reluctant, but when she realized my mother was pregnant, she gave her blessing. My mother packed her belongings and left with John to what would become her new home. It was an hours-long journey from her home to John's place. Upon arrival, she was warmly welcomed by his family. They were happy that John had finally brought a wife home, and everyone seemed happy.My mother had to start a new life, bearing in mind that she now had a husband to take care of. She cleaned for him and performed all her duties as a wife. The first month passed, and everything was good. She was happy that she finally had a home. As a hardworking woman, she ensured everything in the household was in order and even helped her mother-in-law with some chores.By the second month, things began to change. John started coming home very late at night, drunk, and insulting her in every way possible. He stopped providing for the household because he spent all his money on alcohol. He was drunk almost all the time. After an insulting night, he would wake up sober in the morning, say nothing to her, and leave—only to return late again at night.My mother was quiet and humble, with nowhere to run. She spoke to her mother-in-law about her husband's behavior. They were close, and my grandmother advised her to look for casual work in the neighborhood so she could feed herself, especially because of her pregnancy. She still hoped that John would change back into the man she once knew.Days turned into months, and everything grew worse. My mother 9became timid, stressed, and depressed. One evening, after returning from casual work exhausted, she cooked a meal, ate, and left some food for John. She placed it on the table and covered it. Those days, she barely slept because of the daily fights. She lay on the bed deep in thought. This was not the life she had imagined, but she was ready to fight for the love of her unborn child. She stayed to avoid the shame of returning to her mother's home pregnant and without a husband, knowing society would mock her.She loved John deeply and stayed, hoping that one day he would return to the man she met on that first day or that seeing his first child would awaken the love of becoming a father in him. Her thoughts were suddenly cut short by the sound of John's drunken shouting from afar. Panic filled her. The strong, confident woman she once was had disappeared; all that remained was a frightened and timid soul.John banged the door hard."Maaarryyy, oopeeen thiiis doooor! Thiiis iiis mmmyyy hooouuuse!" he shouted in his drunken voice.She rushed to open the door, only to find him lying on the doorstep. She tried to lift and drag him inside, though he was too heavy. She managed to put him on the sofa and went to warm his food."I brought your food. It's warm," she said softly.He did not respond. He just lay there. She sat across from him, watching, wondering if he would ever return to the man she once knew. Her pregnancy was now very visible. It was almost time for the baby, and she had not bought anything. She tried talking to John about it, but her words always fell on deaf ears.After about thirty minutes, John sat up and began eating."Go warm this food, you fool! How dare you give me cold food in my house!" he shouted.10She took the food back to the kitchen and warmed it, tears streaming down her face. She could not answer back; all she wanted was peace."It's warm now. Eat before it gets cold," she said quietly."How dare you command me in my own house? Who do you think you are, you slut? I don't want your food!"He grabbed the plate and threw it at her. As she bent down to pick it up, he struck her hard on the face. She staggered, unable to see clearly. John continued punching and slapping her, hurling insults as he beat her.She ran for her life, rushed outside, and locked the door from the outside. Her nose was bleeding heavily. Her mother-in-law, Jane, lived nearby and had heard the shouting."What's going on?" Jane asked in shock when she saw the blood on my mother's clothes.My mother could not speak. She was crying uncontrollably. Jane took her to her house and cleaned her up while John continued shouting inside.My mother later told me that she had never seen her own father raise a hand against her mother. She was in shock. Everything had happened so fast. She questioned herself—was she not a good wife? What had she done to deserve such pain? Why did John hate her so much?Jane gently cleaned her bruises and told her to sleep there for the night. She helped her to a spare bedroom and assured her that everything would be okay.That night, my mother lay awake, staring at the ceiling, deep in thought. She had lost so much weight and all the brightness in her face. Her days had become filled with tears.