The Marionette.

Maria brought the dried clothes to her small bedroom which always smelled damp due to lack of proper ventilation. She slowly started folding them as she thought of the news that she had just received.

“I am coming home,” her daughter Njeri had said.

As she sat there folding the clothes, she wondered what she would do.

“Mummy!” Jane, her youngest daughter, called, “Njeri has arrived.”

Maria slowly got up from her bed that seemed to sigh with relief and walked outside. There in the dark, stood her first-born daughter. This was her ‘irigithathi’, the child who regardless of the number of children you bear will always be very important. She was born first so that she could come before the rest and one day show her siblings where to go. However, today she was a completely different species. One who had thrown all caution and advice to the wind. She was a runway consort who was eloping from her husband leaving behind all she had built.

Njeri looked at her mother who was standing across from her. All she did was stare at her and make that familiar grimace she always made each time she was displeased. Her mother had not approved of her decision but what could she do, she was young but old at the same time. Young because she still had an entire life ahead of her and old because her soul was tired and worn out. The constant battery and insults had broken her soul and even though she stood in her mother’s house miles away from her husband’s house, she did not have enough willpower to keep fighting. She was like a fish out of water trying to find a footing.

“Welcome,” her mother blurted out.

“Njogu,” Maria called her husband who was half snoring and half awake. “What will we do?”

“About what?”

“Your daughter of course or should I say your mother?”

“What about my daughter or my mother as you now call her?”

“Do you think she is willing to leave her home once again?”

“I think she is just in the other bedroom. Why don’t you go and ask her and let me rest, woman?”

With that, Njogu went back to sleep snoring and Maria was left with more questions bubbling in her mind. When the in-laws showed up days later with a penitential Mbugua, Njeri’s husband, Maria was moved. The man had helplessly apologised, promising never to taint her daughter’s soft skin. Her daughter on the other hand had sobbed during the entire conversation either due to her pain or feeling sorry for her husband. In a matter of hours, Njeri was in his car heading home with her husband. This was no surprise to Maria who had witnessed this cycle. To her, this couple was like a cat and a mouse always running after one another. She bid them goodbye wishing them a good marriage and more healthy children.

As for me, I felt pity for Njeri who was once again heading in the lion’s den. Mbugua had once again vi

sited the witch doctor and had gotten the charm needed to confuse Njeri so that she could believe him. However, maybe the problem was the fact that Njeri was no longer there. What remained was a mere shell of her former self. Her thorny bed which she sadly had to lie on had sacked every ounce of life in her. Stripped her of all will and choice. She was only a marionette that could be manipulated anyhow for reasons that best fit her masters, Mbugua and sadly to say her parents.

#domesticviolence

#africanfemalestorytelling