Child raising a child: Esther with her baby girl, Paulette.
“My parents were staunch Christians and strict disciplinarians. They insisted on discipline but somehow, my sister and I chose our own paths. We lived in Londiani, Kipkelion, in Kericho. My parents worked as casual labourers in the local tea farms. While we were not financially well off, my parents worked hard to provide for us.
We attended school like other children, and occasionally had childhood goodies and simple birthday celebrations on our big days. My parents felt proud and nurtured great hopes toward my elder sister, Purity Wambui, and I as they watched us develop in response to their efforts.
Our lives, however took a nose dive when our father passed on in 1991. I was three at the time, my sister was four years my senior. None of us knew how to cope with our mother’s lengthy bouts of gloom and depression.
It was only a matter of time before her health began to depreciate. She could no longer work to support our household as efficiently as she had done before. And for the next few years, our family progress was suspended.
We found ourselves at the mercies of our relatives and close family friends but with time, they too could not handle our growing list of needs.
Some obviously felt that we were a bother while others secretly viewed us as lazy. Before long, we were unchained from their wagon.
Purity was well in her teens, and it was not strange to hear suggestions that my mother should marry her off or send her to work in the tea farms. After completing her primary school, she joined the local labourers at the tea farms.
Purity was 19 when she fell pregnant and plucking tea leaves was no longer an option. Her choice to work as a house help was mostly because she had become our breadwinner.
I desired a whole family; one complete unit that would extend a sense of belonging, assurance and parental security to me but the reality was contrary. I knew that I would have to join my sister in doing odd jobs right after sitting for my primary school education in 2003. And so, I would wash my neighbours’ clothes, clean their houses and cook, for little pay.
Each day, I knew that I had to wake up and face tough, adult responsibilities. They made me feel old and worn out. But the fact that I handled such responsibilities at a young age, secretly made me feel mature. I often felt free and capable of doing whatever I wanted. I knew that no one would have the time or energy to scold me if I engaged in a little mischief.
While carrying out my odd jobs, I made new friends. Most were fellow house helps. They always had a mischievous adventure up their sleeves. To be honest, sex was our pet subject. It dominated most of our pastime discussions.
Having been raised in a strict home, I always wondered how easily they brought up conversations of their sexual escapades. They often gave detailed accounts of their vast experiences. As I learned, most of them had already experimented with sex and would curiously question how I could still be a virgin.
They made me wonder if there was something amiss. From their stories, I imagined sexual relations as a tremendous experience, a fantasy that I was unduly denying myself. The more we discussed about sex, the more I felt odd. I wanted to tell my own stories, too. But I had none.
I desired to be loved. That’s what I had taken from the discussions- that sex is synonymous to love. That it would give me the assurance and security I craved for.
I jumped into the arms of the first man who came my way. At first, it seemed like harmless fun. I was thrilled to finally get a chance to tell my own stories. Since I did not fall pregnant ‘right away’, I began to think that I had all the answers. If I could have sex, then I was capable of doing anything.
We always talked about sex but never about the consequences. Little did I know that my story was about to change.
When I missed my periods in early 2006, I was alarmed. I told my friends about it, desperately wishing that everything was alright.
They reprimanded me. “You should have been more careful…you should have used contraception,” they said.
I became angry that it had happened to me, and felt guilty and ashamed to even live with it. I had ruined the little that I had left – my self esteem.
How would I tell my mother, my older sister? What would people say? Would I live a normal life?
I felt a sickening thud when my boyfriend denied responsibility and accused me of being ‘loose’. He suggested that I procure an abortion. I thought about it, but my sister talked me out of it. Mum found a way to accepted my situation.
When baby Paulette Nyambura arrived, I found myself with added responsibilities. Fending for my newborn was far more difficult than I had imagined.
When the post election violence erupted in 2007, we lost the little we had and were forced to evacuate to Ol Kalou, Nyandarua County. So there I was, a child raising a child, in an IDP camp.
Finding a job was a huge problem. And though there were a few people who helped us along the way, we could not rely on them. Deep down, I feared that I had started my daughter on a cycle similar to mine.
The hardships remained a constant reminder that I had to do something more constructive.
I began to think about going back to school, and wondered if I was too old, if I had seen too much world. It was no secret that socialising with fellow students would be a problem. By that time, I was clocking 20.
Which secondary school would take me in, after being on the sidelines for five years? I would feel some doubt creeping in.
But my new circle of friends in Ol Kalou, would constantly validate my resolution. They kept urging me on.
I talked it over with my sister. She would have to bear the burden of looking after my daughter. She agreed to support us.
With intervention from the local district commissioner, I enrolled in Form 1 at Kieni Secondary School in September 2009.
Expectedly, some people around me doubted my resolution to go back to school, but I had my eyes set on the prize.
My new classmates were shocked to see that I was older. I could see that they were wondering if I should have been at home, nursing. I wish I could open up to my classmates, give them a heads up on life but it is rather difficult.
Today, many still doubt that I can make it. But I have no option. I have to succeed. It is the only way I can truly secure my family’s future. I have less than two years to go. Besides, I cannot bear to disappoint my sister.
My daughter is now in pre-unit. If I could whisper into her ear and share my heart, I would tell her to take caution, to avoid making the same mistakes that I did.
Despite my misstep, I hope to one day settle in marriage, though relationships are not on my current list of priorities.
All in all, I believe that with God, I will succeed.”
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