Shadows Unveiled

Exploring Spiritual Paths

As the children grew older and fitting in became an increasingly impossible feat, material possessions—such as the house, car, or lavish furnishings—lost their significance to me. Despite the pervasive discontent, there was an elusive call or presence that beckoned to me, leaving behind an indescribable emptiness. I dreamt of a different kind of life, yet I was uncertain of how to realize it or where to begin.

In my quest to introduce my children to religion, I chose to join the vibrant community of church ladies at Kayole Catholic Church. To my dismay, I encountered a group of housewives who subjected me to scrutiny and instead focused on my supposed husband, who seemed to fulfill their practical needs like a phantom. In a surprising turn of events, they proceeded to elect him as the group secretary.

Meanwhile, I, a certified administrative assistant, was left scratching my head in disbelief. Were they stifling laughter behind their hymnals, or was it a genuine admiration when they bestowed upon him the secretary crown? It was a mystery to me. Lance, played his role with flair, even bringing home tasks to tackle in the grand charade. It was almost comical, as he thrived in this tight-knit social circle where husbands were notably absent. 

It was at this moment that the cracks in the facade began to reveal themselves, and I started seeing through the illusions that had initially eluded me. The older generation and especially women clung stubbornly to tribal biases. Whoever said "if you can't beat them,  join them" was wrong. I must emphasize that my intention in entering this complicated relationship I called marriage was solely to achieve a goal. I aimed to challenge and overcome the old cultural norms, customary practices, and societal attitudes that hindered women's access to and control over property. Fortunately, I had succeeded in rendering those norms null and void when I purchased the house and car in my name, making his presence irrelevant.

Feeling like an outsider, I eventually declared my intention to leave the church and generously gave Lance the option to stay if he preferred. I wasn't ready to give up. I craved companionship, and bringing my children to the International Christian Centre on Mombasa Road turned into a revitalizing retreat where I could lose myself in song and fellowship, if nothing else. The atmosphere there was invigorating – the congregation felt more harmonious, and, to my surprise, I discovered a sense of belonging.

Every Sunday morning, my little Robin would implore her father to join us, but secretly, I hoped he would remain apart from this sanctuary I had found. Yet, whenever he decided to accompany us, that sense of newfound comfort I cherished would vanish, slipping away like sand through my fingers, and I would feel lost once again. Times had changed, and I no longer needed anyone to represent me or fill my shoes anywhere. As I stared at my reflection in the mirror, I confronted a transformed version of myself. It dawned on me that I didn't have to tolerate people who grated on my nerves. The inflated pride of those around me had become increasingly irksome. For the first time in my life, I had the power of choice. I recognized that my upbringing had steered me towards associating with people with whom I shared little in common, and I came to understand that it was okay to love those I chose and to trust in God's guidance.

Reflecting on my family's choices, I acknowledged that each of my siblings had chosen their life partners freely, defying societal expectations. In contrast, mine was an uncomfortable entanglement. I needed to extricate myself from this situation. Every morning, as I stood before the mirror, I confronted the visible scars that narrated stories of both physical and emotional conflicts. I held onto the hope that, over time, these marks would recede into the background of my life. However, using makeup to hide the scar on my forehead, which constantly reminded me of my past, was insufficient. It remained a daily confrontation with the haunting memory of Romeo.

Earlier, in preparation for maternity leave, I had successfully trained Beth, who turned out to be an outstanding intern. Continuing my mission of empowering young women, some were fortunate enough to secure positions in different departments, while others gained skills to embark on new journeys and start fresh chapters. The joy of imparting knowledge and introducing them to the fascinating world of aviation was truly fulfilling. It was through listening to their stories that I was able to put aside my own escapades, especially when I heard about the challenges some of them had faced and were still enduring.