19/06/2026
When I was 14, my mother got a call from the school to pick me up because I was pregnant. I was there when the headmaster called her, and the only thing my mother said was okay. She didn't ask questions. She didn't shout.
My mother travelled overnight from Mombasa to Nakuru and was at our school by 730AM with a taxi ready to load my belongings. She was quiet the entire time. She didn't even plead the headmaster to allow me back to school after delivery. The walk to the taxi from the dorm was the most shameful walk I've done in my life because students were laughing at me while gossiping. My teachers were extremely disappointed because as much as I performed above average in all subjects apart from math, I was one of the most disciplined pupils.
We got to Nakuru town and my mother had already booked that night's Coast bus back to Mombasa. She bought me food but she was still not talking. I also didn't know what to say because I expected her to ask the questions, of which she ignored.
To break the silence, I decided to apologize.
"I'm quiet because I don't know who to blame and what to ask. You've been in a good school and the teachers have been teaching you about engaging in early s*x. I've talked to you a million times about the consequences of getting into relationships at your age. My friend who's a counselor has talked to you about this stage called adolescence but you've done the opposite of what we teach you. Who am I to blame?"
I was quiet as well. There's nothing I didn't know about adolescence but I still went ahead to get a boyfriend. Ibra was just 17 but we loved each other unconditionally.
"Who's the father of your baby? I hope it's not Ibra because I warned you severally to stay away from him?"
"It's him. He didn't force me. I did everything because we love each other. He promised never to leave me."
My mother went to her quiet state again. We travelled to Mombasa in silence and when we got there, we headed straight to Ibra's home to inform his parents that their grandchild was on the way. To our utter shock, they didn't argue. All they told mum was to take me back to school after delivery. Ibra and I were warned to cut short our relationship and focus on our studies, of which we agreed.
Ibra's parents paid for my clinics and delivery and supported the child. I went back to a different good school and continued with my studies.
What no one knew was that Ibra was still my secret love. On this, we were extra careful and would leave Bamburi to meet as far as Mama Ngina or Fort Jesus.
At 16, I got pregnant again for Ibra.
I broke the news to my mother via a letter. She read it and put it back on the table. She took her bible, Golden bells hymn book, her handbag, turned back to me in tears and said, "I'm going to church. I'm going to ask God what I did wrong to get a child who's so focused on embarrassing me and destroying her future. It is unclear to me why you are always doing the opposite of what we teach you. The whole world will judge me as a bad mother simply because I'm raising you alone. Let me go and get answers from God.
