I reached out to Nyokafi telling her she should tell her story. Since she does not have a blog she asked if she could write it here. I agreed. Here is her story.
My name is Nyokabi Wainaina and I am 23. I am a Social Media enthusiast who writes for fun. I like to share my life experiences in hopes of touching people’s lives.
I was born to a young couple Simon Wainaina and Jacinter Muthoni in 1992. My dad was a quarry worker and my mum was a housewife. They were the happiest couple, I’m told, though poor. Mr Wainaina did not live long enough to see me grow up as he passed on when I was 3 leaving mum widowed with one little girl and hopeless for a lady in her early 20s. She met this man, my stepdad, Mr Mwiberi. They were okay. She got a job as a casual worker at Sameer Africa and he was a businessman.
They had not taken enough time to get to know each other. She was looking for someone to support her both financially and emotionally. He was looking for someone to settle down with. Habits that she would have noticed with time were not real to her until she married him. He was a drunkard who would get violent under the influence.
One thing that I noticed even in my childhood is that he had no respect for me even as a little kid. He would hurl all sorts of insults at her in my presence. Most of the insults he called her I have never been able to say to anyone even in my worst state of mind. He would slap her for the littlest of things, like other men talking to her, getting home late, her dressing etc.
One fateful evening my mum was heavily pregnant. That night’s fight started from an argument about whether she was going to have a baby boy or girl and who she would name it after. I watched silently scared of what was coming, he threw a lantern at her which years later has left a scar on her forehead then proceeded to step on her baby bump. While all this happened I was helpless and just cried.
Isn’t love weird? The day after that, she woke up and ran to my grandfather’s place and later that night, her husband came back to get her. This was the case every time they fought. Everyone eventually got tired of interfering with their hood-loving. The villagers, chief and even the police station would never bother.
This went on for as long as I can remember. I would shed tears at the thought of my mother being home with him when we were in boarding school. I kept hearing his angry voice saying he would kill her. I prayed every night for God to take care of her. I started hating men. All of them, my uncles, cousins, classmates and all those male figures around me.
I despised him so much. I even wished death on him. But as I grew up, I realised that this was the man my mother loved and stopped getting myself involved. We had conversations with mum about her marriage.
“I know there’s not much you can value about marriage from my experience but there’s a lot to learn. Don’t despise men. Not all of them beat their wives or insult them however they want. Learn from my mistakes. Take time to understand the people you will date in future”
My relationship with this man is not the best to date but I respect him for bringing me up. The reason I shared this story is not to discourage anyone from looking forward to marriage. I want to get married in a few years and I am positive it won’t be this bad. I want you all to know domestic violence is real and you must never condone any form of it, it affects everyone around you. It can do further damage to your kids if you expose them to it, you can walk away and have a healthy relationship with your spouse in terms of co-parenting. It is really toxic and could lead you on a suicide mission.
My mother is now a happy single mother and I dare say her HBP and her ulcers are close to gone. At the end of it all, it dawns on you that your life matters. Learnt to love yourself. Learn from others’ experiences. I could go on and on about how many times she started over and then later got back together with him but please feel free to engage me on this over a cup of tea.