A Turning Point?

In November 2018, I had just completed my high school exams. I was filled with excitement, yet a bit anxious about what the future held. I had big dreams, and my greatest fear was failing to achieve them. I wasn’t sure how I would start, but I knew my life was about to change. I didn’t know exactly how, but change was inevitable, and I had to embrace it.

During the December holidays, one of my stepsisters and I went to visit my father in Nakuru. It was an amazing experience, filled with swimming, exploring new places, and trying out new things. Although I hadn’t grown up in Nakuru, I had lived there for a time when I was younger. My parents moved frequently, which meant that my sister and I ended up living in many different places; Nakuru, Nairobi, Kisumu, our grandparents' home, the family home in the countryside, and even an orphanage after my mother’s passing.

After the holidays, when the new year of 2019 began, my stepsister, still in high school, returned to her studies. Everyone else went back to their routines; work, school, and many of my friends either traveled to other cities, joined universities, found jobs through connections, or visited relatives. I decided to call my aunt, my mother’s sister, and went to stay with her in Nairobi. At first, it was fun, but as the days passed and my friends got accepted into universities, I felt left behind. I couldn’t afford college due to a lack of school fees, which left me feeling devastated and hopeless.

I called my dad, and he promised to help me with school fees, but when I returned home, it became clear that his priorities lay elsewhere, as he had many responsibilities to manage. My father is polygamous, with older children and grandchildren, and my needs were not a top concern. I decided to take matters into my own hands and leave home to stay with a friend I had known since primary school. Since my father was strict, I lied to him, saying I had secured a job in Kisumu and needed to start on a Monday. This was late 2019, and he believed me.

I moved to my friend’s place, where I started job hunting. It wasn’t as easy as I had hoped. My friend was in college, and I began to feel the pressure of falling behind. After some time, I stopped looking for jobs physically and turned to online job searching. However, many of the jobs I was interested in required skills and qualifications that I didn’t have. One day, I saw an ad for a housekeeper (often referred to as a maid), and after some hesitation, I decided to apply. I had nothing to lose.

After a couple of days, I started receiving calls. One seemed suspicious, so I ignored it, but the second call seemed more promising.

“Hello, Pheny, I’ve received your application, and you said you were ready to work immediately. Can you come to Bamburi by Sunday?” a male voice inquired.

I was unsure where Bamburi was, but I was willing to give it a try. I replied, “Yes, I’m ready to start at any time.”

“Alright, how old are you and where are you located?” he asked.

“I’m 19 and currently in Kisumu,” I replied.

“Hmm, that’s quite far,” he responded. “Let me call you back.”

I was uncertain about what he meant by “far,” but I decided to look up Bamburi and realized it was in Mombasa, quite a distance away!

I took a break from job searching and went for a walk, leaving my phone behind. When I returned, I found several missed calls from a different number.

“See? Someone else has called!” I thought to myself, and I dialed the number. A woman’s voice answered.

“Hello, Pheny. My husband spoke to you earlier. I’ve sent your bus fare. Please book a ticket, so you can arrive by Sunday. I’d like to show you around and explain the work process. Since it’s Friday, you’ll need to leave tonight, as the bus journey takes two days.”

I was stunned. “Tonight? I haven’t even prepared, but I’ve wanted a job for so long. Of course, I’ll leave tonight,” I said, trying to sound confident.

I told my friend about the offer, but she was understandably concerned. Mombasa was far, and I barely knew anyone there, but I had already made up my mind. I went to the bus station, booked my ticket, and by 9 p.m. on that Friday in late February 2020, I was on my way to Mombasa, a place I had never been, far from home, but hopeful that life would be kind to me.

I arrived in Mombasa on Sunday afternoon. The city was beautiful, and although I was exhausted from the long journey, I was filled with excitement. My employers, a young couple, picked me up from the bus station. The husband appeared to be in his thirties, while the wife seemed to be in her late twenties. They were both cheerful, and after a meal at a large mall, we headed to their home. They lived in a lovely three-bedroom house in a well-kept estate. They had two children, a 14-year-old girl and a boy who was just over a year old. I was given my own room, and that night, I was instructed to rest.

Lying on that comfortable bed, I was overwhelmed with emotions. I was happy to be in a new place, yet sad and angry, missing my mother deeply. I couldn’t help but compare myself to this happy family, rich and content. I felt out of place but was grateful for the opportunity.

The work wasn’t difficult, and my employers were kind, but as the month came to a close, it became apparent that they were struggling to pay me. In the first month, I received only half of my agreed salary, and this continued into the second month. It dawned on me that they were taking advantage of my inexperience and youth. I felt mistreated and decided to leave.

I had grown closer to a high school friend, whom I’ll call Mert. He was supportive, and I confided in him about my struggles. I left my job and moved in with him. One thing led to another, and we fell in love. I found a job as a salesperson at a clothes shop in Kongowea Market. Although I was paid a modest wage, I was happy to earn something.

But our relationship began to show signs of toxicity. Mert was controlling, constantly calling and demanding to know where I was and what I was doing. We fought often, and I began to feel suffocated. Yet, I stayed because I didn’t want to be alone. I had never experienced much care or affection growing up, and whenever someone showed me kindness, I clung to it.

Despite the relationship becoming increasingly unhealthy, I stayed. Mert even pressured me to have a child, and I feared leaving him because he constantly threatened self-harm if I did.

In early 2022, I found out I was pregnant. I was terrified, unsure of how to handle the situation. I confided in Mert, but his reaction was neither joyful nor upset, just indifferent. As my pregnancy progressed, I experienced constant nausea and extreme fatigue. One day, I began bleeding heavily, and the pain became unbearable. I went to the doctor, and after an ultrasound, I was told I had an ectopic pregnancy. The news shattered me, and I was rushed to the hospital, where I lost a significant amount of blood.

Although I survived, Mert continued to pressure me for another baby shortly after. This was the final straw. Our relationship became worse, and I realized I had to leave. After a series of dramatic confrontations, I moved out with the help of my uncle.

Mert’s threats of self-harm continued, but I blocked him and began to rebuild my life. I found a new job as a housekeeper in one of the wealthiest neighborhoods. Though I wasn’t rich, I was content, and my life started to feel more stable.

With my uncle’s encouragement, I eventually left Mombasa for Nairobi, seeking a fresh start. Although life had been tumultuous, I knew I was stronger now and ready for whatever lay ahead. Life may be challenging, but every struggle I overcame brought me closer to the person I was meant to become.

I once read that happiness comes from solving life’s problems, and I’ve found that to be true.