One Mother’s Stand – She Said No and Changed Everything
Many times, I just feel so privileged to be out here doing what I do. Last night was one of those rare occasions when I know without a shadow of a doubt that every action we start has a long-term consequence into all of our futures.
This morning, I woke up even before the birds. Peter, our night watchman, was still dozing in his chair outside my window. He was surprised awake when he heard my window open and I handed him a cup of tea and some bread. He wasn’t quite as surprised as my two youngest girls though as they traipsed (sleep walking) past my front door on their way to school. It’s 6h10 and the world is slowly coming round to welcome another day.
Peter is all wrapped up in a blanket, wearing a beanie hat. I can see him trying to blow rain water out of his torch. It was very wet last night. So much so that I had to move into another bedroom as the rain water was dripping through my ceiling making puddles on my mattress.
For the last two days, we’ve had Faith’s mum visiting us. I refer to Faith as our Massai girl as she comes from that region. Communication with her mum can sometimes be a bit tricky as she doesn’t (why would she??) speak any English. Even Faith confessed her Massai is getting ‘sloppy’ so now when we talk it’s usually with Faith and Sheila translating to me while talking to the mum, in Swahili, the common language most Kenyans speak regardless of where they were born.
The four of us sat outside just as dusk was gathering. ‘Tell me, Sheila, when the mosquitos are starting to bite!’ I said, gathering a kikoi around my bare arms just in case. I love nothing more than being able to sit outside at night in the cool before all the windows are closed and locked but it’s usually a risk I rarely take, particularly as only last week, a Facebook memory popped up of me in hospital in France (was it really 10 years ago?) recovering from Malaria.
The temperatures inside the house at night can be stifling and although I have a fan, it rarely works. Night inevitably brings the rain, rain brings the humidity, and then the electricity fails!
This is the third time I’ve met Faith’s mum. From what I know of her, she seems to be a very humble, deeply spiritual woman. Now, sitting with her, I am most aware of the quiet dignity she exudes and the sharp cheekbones no doubt inherited from the Massai clan. Overlooking the lake in the distance, she asks Sheila what that body of water is. Living where she does, (and now aged 47) she’s never seen a lake before. This is the kind of ‘small talk’ that regularly happens in Kenya!
I thank her for the gifts she brought, honey on the comb and fresh milk from her cow. I’m not sure how she carried all of these on the journey which would have taken her eight hours by bus but taken with my early morning tea, it’s the best I’ve tasted in a long time!
We started talking about life in her village since Faith joined us in 2018. Once again, she recalled the story of the Catholic Padre who was visiting her village and took an interest in Faith. ‘Make sure she scores at least 250 marks in her school exam,’ he’d advised. He even suggested that Faith drop back two school years to improve her chances.
That must have been a huge burden – two extra years of school fees., it’s always the women’s responsibility to pay if they want their children to be educated. Unless you have boys, the men don’t see the point of education. Women are meant to cook and bear children. Your husband’s wealth showcased by the number of children he has and his herd of cows.
Girls aren’t necessarily mistreated in the Massai but they are rarely seen to have any value, Most are circumcised and then married off at 13 or 14 to an aging grandfather of the tribe which is exactly the situation Faith found herself destined for.
As we sat on the terrace, our small talk had lapsed into silence. Always one to fill a gap, I asked, ‘How is your family?’ as Sheila translated.
Faith’s mum began telling the story of how it was weeks before she admitted to her husband that she’d given Faith away. Like in our culture, she said it’s sometimes easier to ask for forgiveness than ask for permission especially when the answer would have been a resounding no. She told us how Faith would cry every day once she’d finished primary school. How she begged and pleaded to be allowed to go to high school but without any money, it was impossible. Girls only go to school, she explained, if the wife can find the money and the only ‘commodity’ she had was the meagre amount leftover from selling her own cow’s milk or occasional honey from her bees. I immediately felt guilty that I’d withheld sending her transport money which actually didn’t deflect her from coming but probably took her weeks to save for.
While Faith was still at home, her mum prayed daily for a breakthrough. Two years later, the Catholic Padre returned. Faith became one of the ten girls he would put forward for sponsored places in high school. He then took these chosen few to Barbara, an Australian lady, who lives amongst the Massai and like us, also promotes the girl child.
Fortunately, we’d met Barbara a few years previously when visiting the area and loosely stayed in touch. That particular year, 2018, she’d overcommitted on the number of children she was taking in but Barbara remembered us, 8 hours distance away, gave us a call and asked if we’d have Faith!
Silence returned. In the dark, we were reunited by shared thoughts – of frustration and sacrifice. Faith’s mum told us that after her decision not to allow her daughter to be put forward for circumcision and marriage, she was completely ostracised by her husband’s family. Her husband’s mother even came to scold her for defying her role and going against her culture. Her neighbours avoided her and to this day, she remains an outcast for wanting a better future for her daughter.
The weight of her words brought in the silence again. Any mosquitos by this stage were forgotten. Faith has always known the sacrifices her mum has made for her but maybe not communicated it.
I began to reflect how small our lives in the west are. How protected we are. How we worry about things that are so insignificant. I lead a comfortable life. My children never went to bed hungry, dammit, they had a bed to sleep in rather than a piece of sacking on the floor. They had access to free education. And then I thought, I’m surrounded by you, wonderful people who read these newsletters and then put your hand in your pockets to help without even witnessing what I do! It’s little wonder that this woman named her daughter Faith because she had it, in spades!
As I looked at them, mother and daughter, wiping away tears, and thanking me, I had no words, I was beyond tears. I was angry. Angry for all the girls we will never reach. Needing to move, and so frustrated at all the little girls who we will never get to chance to help. Needing to move, I took my kikoi off my shoulders and passed it round to everyone so we could wipe eyes and blow noses. Where do we go from here, I thought, and then the strangest thing happened.
Have you ever had that feeling when you are with someone and you know you are all experiencing the same thought? That moment happened for us. I saw, in my mind, a path stretching far into the distance – starting narrow, then widening. I knew we all saw it too.
Two women from vastly different worlds, united by one shared destiny. We may not live to see the full impact of our choices but we know this is our path. And that knowledge is enough.
That night, in that quiet moment we knew, like the ripple effect on a pond, we’re unstoppable!
What a privilege it is to be here, among these incredible people and - through your efforts - to walk alongside them.
To learn more about our little team support Kenyan Kids, visit www.kenyankids.org or contact me jhelloncupples@gmail.com
Upcoming Fundraiser
Join us for a sponsored walk starting at Tourrettes sur Loup on 24th May. Funds raised will go towards helping other young girls in Mama Faith’s village. Would you like to donate, walk or join us for lunch? Contact Marjie at +33787525066.
