You come from so far, from Huruma, that when you look back from you have been it seems like your are experiencing vertigo. You started in 2010 a steward, washing dishes because your mother always said that it matters little where you start, what matters is where you are headed.
Being a steward is back breaking, almost dispiriting. It’s about resilience, about beating monotony. You keep your head up so as not to lose sight of where you are going. You want better so you become a barista and then assistant head barista, the horizon is suddenly opening up, your confidence boosted, it all seems possible. It can be done, it can be done, you tell yourself daily.
Things get better, you fall in love and you get married then you get a baby. When your mother prays she thanks God profusely, for shining on you and her grandchild, she thanks your sunrise. But then it rains; your husband dies and you are shattered. Suddenly it feels like you are starting at the very beginning. You look at your son and you cry, not for yourself but for him because now he has to grow up without a father. And it breaks your heart. You are suddenly buried so deep in sadness you don’t believe you will ever see light.
Your mom never stops praying. You walk in this shadow of grief until finally you realize that there must be worse things on earth, so you slowly start picking the pieces. You look back at the things that have worked for you; your health, your mother, your son who fills your cup of love, your job and a position that you wouldn’t have imagined having. You look at all these and it seems like a miracle.
And to imagine it started with doing dishes…