Father of Three, Daddy of Two

I became a father,four days after I turned 25. I was both excited and worried. Excited because my daughter, Michelle, was the most beautiful new born baby I had ever set my eyes on. Worried because I was jobless and had no idea how I was going to raise my young family.

Labour of Love

Michelle had attempted to arrive two weeks earlier in what the doctors referred to as ‘False Labour’. It is an interesting concept in that it is exactly like normal labour but for one difference. There is no baby at the end.

Besides what I had seen in movies, I had never experienced such passionate screaming prior to that visit to Pumwani Maternity Hospital in the wee hours of the morning. As my brother and I waited on a bench in the gloomy corridor, we at first thought that it was some kind of crusade. Only later did we realise that it was women in labour. It was an unnerving experience that greatly raised my respect for mothers.

Hawking doughnuts with my wife when she was heavy with child had enabled us to pay the bill at Pumwani. It had also afforded us napkins (disposable diapers were out of the question), and a few other clothes and items for our new baby. We almost named our baby “Reform”, which was the nickname of the doughnuts we were selling at the time (owing to the calls for constitutional reforms then).

‘Cord Prolapse!’

“Cord prolapse! Cord prolapse!” Those are the words a nurse came out shouting when my wife went in to a small nursing home near the area we lived in then during the birth of our second born. We didn’t know what she was talking about but it sounded serious, especially judging by the worried look on her face. We later came to learn that it is a situation that arises during child birth when the umbilical cord attempts to come out before the baby.

It was a serious situation that called for an emergency caesarean section failure to which we could have lost the mother, the baby, or both. I don’t know what the moralists would say on this but at that time if I had had to make a choice; I would have opted to save the mother. Anyhow, that was not the worst of the problem. The nursing home did not have theatre facilities and so my wife had to be moved urgently to another hospital.

By that time I had secured a job as a taxi driver and my boss was gracious enough to allow me to use my cab to transfer my wife. I remember us arriving at the small but well equipped hospital and the surgeon coming out to examine my wife. He started to raise her skirt then he noticed me and asked me to excuse him. I left the room and it was ironical that I was willing to leave the room as another man looked under my wife’s skirt.

After four hours of anxious waiting, my wife and our new daughter, Hellen, were wheeled out of the operating theatre. They were both okay and my heart was filled with so much delight. My daughter was sleeping peacefully, oblivious of how closely she almost missed joining us. Looking at her then, I thought to myself, “She was worth every single drop of tears and sweat that she had induced in us”.

The One We Never Met

My wife and I had always planned to have two children from the time we married. However, we were not completely opposed to one more. She conceived and we were happy about it. This pregnancy however, was not going to be like the other two. From very early on, it was riddled with problems. A few weeks after its confirmation, my wife started to bleed and went to hospital. On examination, she was told she had lost the pregnancy. She was treated and cleaned out. We decided then that we were not going to have any more children. We would appreciate, love, and take care of the two we already had. We have not regretted that decision because I believe ours are the most wonderful girls in the whole wide world.

P.S. A miscarriage is something that parents never get over. There will always be questions of  how the baby would have turned out and those 'what ifs' require a lot of support especially for the mother, but also for the father.

Discovering the Link between Alaska and Lake Nakuru

One of the unique advantages I had as a cab driver was meeting diverse people from all corners of the globe. It was a forum which afforded me ‘one on one’ discussions with the most unbelievable characters. These ranged from international celebrities traveling incognito, to ordinary people with extra-ordinary stories. Like I have mentioned before, every morning was exciting because I couldn’t tell who I would be meeting.

One morning, I was dispatched by control to go and pick a client at a charitable organization known as Samaritan’s Purse. They used to have an office in the Kileleshwa estate. When I drove into the compound, I didn’t expect much to come out of this assignment because most jobs to the place involved taking someone on some short errands around town. I was however still happy because they had some kind and interesting people. The client that I picked up that morning was not even a staff member of the organization. She was a university student from Alaska on a learning tour. She was accompanied by a friend who was also a student from Uganda.

On that day, I drove the two girls around town in the usual style of the organization. They were however quite lively company and they asked a lot of questions about Kenya. I was pleased to share all I knew about our beautiful country. This also gave me the courage to ask about their respective countries. While the weather and landscape of Uganda does not vary much with Kenya, the culture and traditions do and I listened to the Ugandan with a lot of interest. The Alaskan was happy to learn so much about Africa that having been her first on the continent. The Ugandan and I also demanded that she tell us about Alaska and her descriptions made us realize how different the place was from anything we have ever known in Africa.

The girl’s father operated a transport business in Alaska. She explained to us that Alaska is one place where transport of the kind we are used to cannot be run quite so easily. This is because there is a poor road network. It is not that Alaska is a poor country (It is one of the states of America). It is because the vast majority of the land area is perpetually covered by ice – either above or below the ground. This ice is constantly cracking up and shifting and any road built upon it soon disintegrates. It is for this reason therefore that this girl’s dad operated a fleet of small commuter airplanes to help move Alaskans from one frozen town to another.

After the errands of the first day, the girls wanted to see something interesting outside Nairobi. They settled for Lake Nakuru National park, and they wanted me to take them – in Romeo One! I couldn’t believe what good luck my big mouth had got me. I was excited to be going out of town again but I wished it didn’t have to be in Romeo One. It was then that one of those fortunes (or misfortunes depending on whose point of view you are taking) happened. Someone was fired and I was in line for a promotion to become a class one driver. I was not due for it so soon but I had a good bargaining chip – I had just closed the Lake Nakuru trip deal and I needed a more presentable car.

The car in question was code-named Lima-Lima and it was a dream car for me under my circumstances then. It was a saloon this time and it was fully loaded. I couldn’t get enough of the electric windows, power steering, and air conditioning. I was as excited as a small boy getting his first toy car. I got the car on the day before we were due to depart for Nakuru and I couldn’t wait to show it off to my new clients.

On the appointed day, the car did not disappoint, and neither did the girls. We chatted the whole way and Nakuru appeared to be unbelievably close. We arrived at around 2 p.m. and checked into the Lake Nakuru Lodge. I had been concerned about what I would do about accommodation since this was a tourist class hotel and I knew couldn’t afford it with the small allowance I had been given. However, I needed not to have worried. There were rooms for drivers being offered for only three hundred shillings inclusive of meals served at the main dining room. I checked into my small room and I was quite happy that having been my first time ever to sleep in a hotel (and experience the comforts of an en-suite room, albeit a modest one!)

Late afternoon on the first day, we went for a game drive and it was remarkable to see such a large number of different animals crammed in a park the size of Lake Nakuru. We got to see rhinos, zebras, water bucks, buffaloes, Thompson’s gazelles, and of course, the famous flamingos and pelicans. We even saw lions – on a tree! The Alaskan pointed out that there is no single place in Alaska where you can find so many animals. The most common, she said, were reindeer (I had always thought that they were fairy tale creatures in Santa Claus stories). We had a really good time which culminated in a grand full course dinner (It was my first time to use fork and knife and I had to copy what I saw others doing) and by the time we were through, I was almost blacking out from sleep.

The following day we went for an early morning game drive. We then went back to the hotel, picked up our lunch packs, and headed back to Nairobi. It had been one of the best trips I had ever taken and one which involved many firsts for me. One similarity between Lake Nakuru and Alaska that I came to learn about was the fact that they both contain a lot of water. The main difference is that one has permanently frozen water with almost no life while the other has life giving water in liquid form. One is arctic while the other one is equatorial. One is owned by a rich country while the other belongs to a (slowly) developing country.

P.S. I am currently reading the book “Alaska” by James Michener and was surprised to learn that Alaska was initially controlled by Russia who sold it to America for 7.2 million dollars in 1865. I wonder if it was worth it!

A Mother’s Love

When I was small boy, I had a dream. It was not one of those grand dreams of becoming a doctor or amassing great wealth. It was to own a particular piece of clothing. We called it kamũbuto ga tũmĩkanda. Loosely translated, it meant a small trouser with straps. It was what today is referred to as dungaree and judging from how popular it is I would not be bragging if I say my superior fashion taste came before its time. Anyhow, I eventually got my dungaree (and I treasured it, although it was pink), thanks to the unrelenting efforts of my beloved mother.

Setting out the plates on the floor, she would serve all of us, each according to his or her size and respective appetite. My big brother and I of course, would ravenously eat half of everything. We never missed a meal in all our lives and when I look at my mother today, I am simply amazed at how she did it.

My mother never let us out of the house without shoes. This was at a time when other kids in our village only wore shoes on Christmas day. At a time when there were no mitumba (second hand clothes), she always ensured we were well dressed in brand new clothes. When mitumba came, we got camera (which is the term used for premium quality mitumba – selected from the bale first before the masses swoop in).

I don’t remember my mother caning me or any of my siblings as a form of discipline. The only thing I recall was a particular pinch which she would inflict on the part of the arm that usually sags in plus size women. The pinch was unique in that its pain would linger for long minutes after it had been delivered. The lack of spanking did not compromise our discipline judging from the impeccable manners inherent in my siblings and I (although in some instances, I turn out to be a black sheep).

One night when I was about ten, I woke up moaning in the middle of the night with a severe stomach ache. My mother rushed in and enquired what the matter was. She then went to the kitchen (which was outdoors in a separate structure) and came back with a piece of cloth soaked in water. She proceeded to dab my belly and within a few minutes, the pain was gone and I went back to slumber land with a smile on my face. I later often used my mother’s method of cooling a tummy ache for many years when I suffered severe acidity.

There was no hospital, dispensary, clinic, or any other form of health care facility in the village where we grew up. The only health centre available to us was in another town where we had to go by bus. It was known by the strange name of njini (I have no idea what it was derived from) but it was here that my mother faithfully took us every time we fell sick. I can remember her lovingly placing me on her lap as the nurse injected me with one of the killer needles of those days. They were so big you could clearly see the hole through which the medicine would flow into your blood stream. I guess they had to be because they were reusable and used to be boiled in water as a way of disinfecting them.

I think my mother did a decent job of bringing us up because we are now all stable with children of our own. She is now retired and has been in relatively good health until a few years ago when she was diagnosed with breast cancer.

Cancer is a really bad disease because even as you fight it, it fights back. She has been treated locally and also in India where she is currently on her third visit. Her doctors say that her chances of full recovery are good but as a family, we have run really low on the required finances.

It is therefore my humble appeal to all of you friends and well wishers to support us with whatever you are able to so that my mother can be treated and return back home to us. You can use the Mchanga platform below for any contribution. Thank you for your support.

 

 

 

 

My Better Half – A Tribute

All I have ever written in this blog is true and is based on actual events. I have put herein, recollections of my adventures and experiences. I have always tried to look at those events from my own perspective since I do not want to give other people’s stories without their consent. All my stories however, inevitably involve other people. In all the instances that I have had to talk about them, I have been anonymous and never mentioned their names. It is however possible for those who know them to deduce their identity. Any harm caused by this recognition is negligible but in cases where a negative effect was felt, I ask the concerned persons to forgive me.

Now that I have given a disclaimer, the person I want to dedicate this blog post to is one whose permission I do not need to seek. I will take it upon myself to disclose what she means to me. She has been in the back ground of all my stories and has often heard about them first hand as they were happening. She has been there as I grew up, learnt and gained experience in difference things. She has often believed in me when I found it hard to believe in myself. She has influenced every sector of my life – for the better.

I married at 24, at a time when I was not very sure of myself. I had nothing then; no job, no money, no experience, and no connections. We lived in a single room and used to cook on a kerosene stove. The only thing I had was a little knowledge in fixing things, and making cakes. I could also make doughnuts and that is what formed our first business. We would sleep at 11 p.m. after kneading the dough, and wake up at 4 a.m. to roll out and fry the doughnuts. By 8 a.m., my wife, then heavy with child, would be out and about with a bucket full of  doughnuts getting people to buy around the shopping centre in our village.

She was a keen student and within no time, she could make a better cake than me and sell more doughnuts too. She even got some doughnut customers at a construction site who would pay at month end. It was her prowess in business which made me realise that she should be in full time business instead of seeking employment. I also came to learn that she was extremely good with people and could make a friend in the unlikeliest of circumstances. I remember one time she was at a supermarket buying some items for baking. The cashier asked her if she was going to make a cake. She replied she was and went further to tell him that she actually did it as a business. They got to talking and by the time she had finished paying for her items, she had gotten an order for a cake – From the cashier!

It is not common to see women who are close with their mothers in law. My sweetheart on the other hand, is anything but common. She and my mum get along quite well. It was not easy for either of them at the beginning, but they both stuck it out until they overcame the usual negative energy that haunts many such relationships. It made me proud to see them go off to India together when my mum was receiving cancer treatment. They talk about their trip together like school girls – Completely at ease with each other.

I have come to realise that the best form of parenting is through example. I am therefore happy to note that my wife has been able to pass her best traits to our two daughters Michelle and Hellen. When I get home from work and the three of them compete to hug me, it makes my heart melt with joy and love for them. I find myself looking forward to those hugs all day. They somehow make all my efforts in life worthwhile.

I have achieved many goals. I have had many failures. I have been through tough times and also enjoyed good ones. Through it all, my wife has always been behind me – encouraging me, supporting me, dreaming with me, celebrating with me, and mourning with me. I am a man today because of her. I can be called a father because she agreed to be a mother. I am grateful to God for blessing me with such a wonderful wife. The space here is not enough to fully describe her but hey, a man can try! I could not have asked for a better wife than Rahab Wanjiru Githombothi. With her, I hope to soar even higher.

The CEO who wanted to be a Chauffeur

I worked for an international organization with a presence in over sixty countries. For ease of management by the international headquarters, the beneficiary countries (known as Program Countries) were grouped into four regions. These were Asia, South America, West Africa, and of course East and South Africa in which Kenya fell. Each country was in the charge of a country director who in turn reported to the respective regional director. The four regional directors reported to the chief executive officer. The donor countries did not fall into any of the regions. Instead, each was an autonomous unit referred to as a National organisation, and headed by its respective director. The National organizations were responsible for raising funds to assist the Program Countries, and the directors reported to the CEO.

Being one of the lead drivers at the Kenya Country Office, I was usually tasked with ferrying any of the directors and the CEO whenever they were in the country. The CEO was never alone. He would always have the Country Director, and often also be accompanied by the Regional Director. This, I think, was because that is what the pecking order was like (Each one had to protect their turf).

The three senior positions of CEO, Regional Director, and Country Director, were not permanent. They would be filled every four years for some, and six years for others (I guess this depended on how much one’s face was likable). Consequently, there were always new faces to these powerful positions and we had to re-acquaint ourselves every so often.

At one time, the big guys at Headquarters decided that the organization needed to reinvent itself in order to fit in better with the modern world. One way of doing this, they decided, would be to hire someone who was from outside NGO world to head the organization. This was in fact the first time the title CEO was used. The previous title used to be International Executive Director (IED in short).

The first CEO of our organization was American (and a personal friend of George W. Bush, no less!). He had been an ambassador in several countries before he joined us. He was a real technocrat with a character remarkably similar to that of Bush. The first thing he had to do was visit as many countries as possible in all the regions. It was during these visits that he would get to meet staff and community members. He of course would come to Kenya. Every new senior staff always visited Kenya, although I suspect our picturesque scenery and wildlife had more to do with it than our effective development programs.

So anyhow, the new CEO came to Kenya accompanied by the Regional Director, whom he had picked up from the regional office in South Africa. Our Country Director was the humble chaperone of this “High Power Delegation”. This is how I ended up having the CEO, Regional Director, and Country Director in my car at the same time.

We had a tight itinerary since we had only two days to visit as many communities as possible in the vast areas of Meru, Embu, and Ukambani. Owing to intense planning and careful execution, we were able to visit all the areas that had been selected. On the night we had to be out, we stayed at the serene Izaac Walton Inn in Embu. The CEO slept in the presidential suite while the rest of us ‘mortals’ had to ‘make do’ with the executive rooms.

I would not have known that our CEO was extremely bored by the visit had he not made it so obvious. He dozed off at every opportunity, including during the traditional jigs that the community members had prepared in his honour. It was worse during the drives in between, when our Country Director was trying to update him on the programs. At one time he answered her (yes it was a lady) with a snore. I really felt sorry for her especially considering how hard she was trying to be nice.

On our way back to Nairobi on the second day of the visit, there was no place good enough for the boss to eat. We therefore carried packed lunch from Izaak Walton. This comprised sandwiches, chicken, apples, and juice. We parked on the roadside against the backdrop of lovely hills in the area between Kithyoko and Matuu, and had our lunch, cocktail style (I did not allow eating in my car). The CEO was once more radiant, but this was because he had come up with an idea on how he could actually enjoy the trip. He wanted to drive!

I had never been in such a situation before, and neither had the Regional and Country directors. It was against organization policy for anyone other than a driver to drive the vehicles. I explained to him as gently as I could that I couldn't let him. Nobody could help me since this guy was the overall boss and they could be accused of insubordination. I however stood my ground. When the CEO finally relented and got into the passenger seat, I heard the Country Director sigh audibly with relief. She had apparently been holding it in. We drove off towards Nairobi but not before stopping the CEO at our Matuu office, ostensibly for him to download his email, but in reality it was to check his stocks at New York stock exchange. The man sulked the rest of the way, much like a little boy who had been denied a toy.

Wine is Alcohol

One of the skills I acquired upon joining a big organization was shopping. I became quite adept at knowing what to pick in the supermarket well within a given budget.  I developed good taste in selecting the best of those products for which I had no prior knowledge in my rural upbringing. Among these products of the affluent was wine.

Every end of year before we took the Christmas break, the company threw us a party. The main food which always included a barbecue of some kind was brought in by an external caterer. I was responsible for the rest of the accompaniments and drinks which I bought in the supermarket.  I would get the fruit juices, sodas, beer, and of course the wine. I always bought sweet wine in a five liter cask and put in the fridge to chill at least a day before the party. This was my forte and nobody had ever complained of my choice.

During one December however, I was rather tied up with work for several days before the party and was not available to buy the wine. One of my colleagues – Whose function was actually purchasing – was asked to buy the wine and the rest of the refreshments. He figured it was not a big deal. He reasoned that the best wine must also be the most expensive. That was the biggest mistake he ever made. Unfortunately for us, the mistake would be discovered when it was too late.

The day of the party arrived and we were all excited. There were many errands to run in the morning before the party kicked off in earnest at around 1 p.m. but I made sure all was done. We started with the barbeque which was interesting that year since it was Mongolian. It involved a lot of juggling chunks of flaming steaks on a large wok by a short whiskered chubby chef.  It was quite a feast and went down well with chapatti and lots of different salads.

For obvious reasons, nobody touched any alcohol before the speeches which thankfully came soon after the lunch. The speeches were usually nice since the setting was usually informal, but they never lacked the occasional boring member of senior management. Nevertheless, we got through the session with lots of genuine laughter and applause.

Speeches were followed by a short session of getting gifts. These were all the artifacts and other paraphernalia that the director and other senior staff had received from community members during their field visits. Other gifts had been brought in by staff or visitors coming in from visits abroad. This particular session was fun because it involved drawing out raffle numbers so as to discover what gift one had won.

The last thing before the alcohol was receiving the Christmas shopping vouchers. The usual joke that accompanied this was a request for all married men to ensure that the entire cache was duly delivered to the legal wife and none to the concubine. After this, the drinking could now start. It was at this stage that the senior most staff – and particularly expatriates – politely excused themselves.

I am a teetotaler owing to both principle and religion. However, I always allowed myself the indulgence of two glasses of wine taken over several hours. The reason I did this was because it was always extremely good wine taken into a full stomach. Beyond the slight tipsiness, I never got drunk in all those parties we had at the office – until the fateful year when I didn't get to buy the wine myself.

The group left at the table was smaller than usual that year since most of the staff had coincidentally left for personal commitments. This was fine by me because the most interesting guy was still around. We settled to our drinks and stories. Apart from me and one other colleague, everyone else was taking beer. The two of us had the wine all to ourselves. We needn’t have worried about running out of wine – the wine on the other hand, had plans of its own to run us out of our wits.

I realized that the wine was not all that good when it seemed to disagree with my stomach. Beyond the extreme tipsiness that I had never experienced before (I guess this is what is referred to as drunkenness), I was highly nauseated. At short intervals I had to excuse myself and rush to the washroom when throwing up felt inevitable. Frustratingly, nothing came up even as my visits to the toilet increased. Finally, I decided to wait for the throwing up – in the toilet. I locked myself in, closed the toilet bowl cover, and sat on it. I then leaned back on the cistern and relaxed.

In addition to tipsiness, someone had omitted to remind me that wine also causes extreme drowsiness. Consequently, in my new-found comfort, I drifted off to slumber land. It was very heavy sleep such that I couldn’t hear my colleagues when they came looking for me one and a half hours later. I could hear them calling but I thought it was all in my head. They called me on my cell phone but the ringtone I had then sounded like a song on the radio in my house. When they had almost given up, I woke up – sober, at least for the most part. We had to call it a day and go home. I was fortunate to have my very own “recovery room” in the toilet. My other “wine comrade in arms” was not so lucky. By the time I was discovered in the toilet, he was hopelessly drunk. It took the cab driver who took him home two hours to find his house, and another twenty minutes to drag him out of the car.

Before that day, wine had always seemed rather harmless to me. I had considered it to be more like fruit juice for grownups. On that day, I came to learn, the hard way, that wine is alcohol – and a very potent one at that!   

NGO – Getting All Tangled Up In the Acronyms

When I started working at the NGO, it was the first time I was exposed to an actual office environment. As a cab driver, the only paper work I had was a work sheet. This as the name implies, was a single sheet of paper on which we recorded all the jobs we undertook, the time it took, the kilometres covered, and how much was paid. At the end of the shift, all we had to do was hand in the work sheet, signed vouchers, and any cash collected during the shift.

The NGO on the other hand, had mountains of different documents. These myriad documents were handled by equally many and diverse staff. Whereas I had been used to a simple organizational structure at the taxi company, it took a while to even start understanding the NGO. There were so many people most of whom had rather complex titles. They were so complex that most had been reduced to acronyms for ease of memory and also pronunciation.

As I have mentioned before, I was driver cum janitor. Consequently, I had to clean all the offices. On some days, I would get a bit overwhelmed and thus be unable to clean some of the offices properly. There was a particular time when I didn't get to clean one of the offices and my supervisor was trying to point out which one it was. She blurted out,”You didn't clean the OSMs office!” I could not immediately tell which office she was talking about and so I asked her which one she meant. “The one next to the SGSMs office!” she answered. That really complicated matters for me and I ended up more confused than before.

 
I was to later learn that OSM stood for Operations Support Manager, while SGSM was short for Sponsorship and Grants Support Manager. I also came to know that my immediate supervisor’s acronym ESC stood for Executive Support Coordinator.  The country director was simply referred to as the CD and years later when I became freer with the director, I claimed the same acronym for myself. I used to tell people that our organization had only two CDs. These were the country director, and the country driver. Fortunately for me, our then director was not an insecure type and she took the joke lightly.

The complexity of names in that organization was not restricted to job titles. It also affected the names of documents and computer software. GL stood for General Ledger while PO was short for Program Outline.

Some common documents shared acronyms and one had to specify the particular one they meant. A particularly ambiguous abbreviation was PPM. It denoted regularly used documents in two different departments. PPM stood for Programs and Projects Modules in the program department. It also stood for Personnel Policy Manual in the Human Resource department. Fortunately for us however, the programs version of PPM was referred to as PPM Ndugu, probably in honour of the Tanzanian comrade who designed it. This greatly helped us in differentiating the two.

When I joined the organization, there was constant talk of a CSP that was about to expire. I didn't know what a CSP was and so I was rather apprehensive about its anticipated expiration. I had to find out what it was so as not to be caught off-guard. I was relieved to learn that CSP simply meant Country Strategic Plan, and it ran for five years before a new one was made. The anxiety created by that particular CSP stemmed from the fact that the regional office that was supposed to approve it had been constantly rejecting it while demanding that major changes be made to it. Eventually however – And relievingly so – we got our brand new CSP.