John Kiriamiti - My Life with a Criminal: Millys Story

This book made available by the Internet Archive.

Chapter 1

Call me Milly, because he made you believe I liked the name. He never once told you that I had begged him hundreds of times not to make the name stick. I was born with a touch of Christianity and I didn't like shortcuts, especially when it came to names.

My mom called me Nyambiu when she bore me. The Catholic Father she took me to, soon after, called me Miriam, which was confirmed by a Bishop sometimes later; then the man I so loved nicknamed me Milly and refused to listen to my appeals against it. He made me feel like a criminal I guess he was a confirmed one himself, with more nicknames than he ever let you know. Yes, he was my man; a man whose love no woman could resist; a man you'd think you knew all about, while you actually knew nothing.

I didn't know my dad, until I was eleven, when my mom pointed out a man and said he was the one. She had to; I had become too alert to the number of men coming in and out of her room for her to ignore it much longer.

In the days when he was living with us, dad was a terrible drunkard. He only came home drunk to claim for food violently food he hadn't bought. He used to sleep out so often that it became difficult to know whether he had spent the night in a police cell, in a lodging with a hag or out in the cold in a drunken stupor.

Believe me, none of this ever bothered my dad, not even the fact that our door often remained unlocked throughout the night, so that he would have easy entry at whatever hour he came home.

When I was about five years old, my mother couldn't

tolerate my dad any longer. He had become a burden. She decided to call it quits with this 'symbol' of a husband and try life on her own. She took my younger sister, Cathleen Mumbi, and I to her sister's place in Eastleigh and left us there.

Life with my aunt, Damaris Nyakio, was lovely. She was married to a businessman uncle Wanjau who was very nice and polite. She treated us like her own children and since mom came to see us often, we really never missed her for the one year we stayed at Eastleigh.

In December 1958, mom came for us and took us to Bahati, where she had found a bedsitter, which we all shared. She also sent me to a school, just opposite our new home.

Now that she was single, mom paid the house rent all by herself. Even though when dad used to live with us he was supposed to meet the rent, we were often embarrassed when he refused to and the landlord would throw us out. We missed dad at times; my sister for one could not go for a week without mentioning him. But as the years went by we got used to being without him. It was good riddance, I guess.

He came back to visit us when I was in standard four. By then mom had started selling beer at our home, and I didn't blame her for we had to survive, somehow. Whenever dad was drunk he would wage war on other customers and almost chase them away. He would at times refuse to leave and spend the whole night on the sofa disturbing our peace. I hated him then. I hated married life and I have hated men in general, ever since.

Somehow he found out that he wasn't welcome in our home and gave up coming. One year later we got news

that he had married his neighbour's housemaid, who then left him after her second delivery.

Life in Bahati wasn't bad at all, especially for me, for I never once stayed idle. When I had finished helping my mom with the housework, I would go straight to the books. There was nothing I liked better than studying, and teaching my sister. I had no time at all to play with other children. When my sister was not around, I kept to myself. Although my mom never once took us to church, as she never went herself, I introduced myself to one just a few metres from our home and I never failed to attend. At times I think I was a born Christian. My life was honest; I loved my mom; I loved my dad, but hated his sinful life; I loved my neighbours and everything that God had granted me. I also loved the vicinity in which God had decided I would live and grow up, but I hated sinning, more than I hated sitting on a snake. I was glad that my mom realised what type of a daughter she had and helped me to remain clean.

I was growing up rapidly and by the time I had completed primary education, I was almost my moms size in height. Her beer-selling business was now big. At times, patrons would come in great numbers, until she would be forced to request some to take their beer outdoors. Some would get too drunk and almost mistake me for her, trying to make passes at me. Mom never minded being touched on the breasts, even by young men; but accidental touch like that on me would make me go for nights without sleep. I so loathed it with all my heart that the thought of such a thing happening to me would make me go crazy. Thank goodness my mom saw what was happening and did the most admirable thing. She rented another room next to her bar, for me and my sister, and one whom I no doubt

knew was on the way. I wasn't so naive as to fail to notice that my mom was pregnant.

I did the Kenya Preliminary Examination and passed well. That was given, anyway, I couldn't fail. Unfortunately I was called to Kenya High School, even though it wasn't amongst any of my choices. The problem was that my mother could not afford the school fees, which was very high. So, through the help of some of her patrons who knew more than one thing, I got a place in Ngara Girls' High School.

Once in the secondary school, my life became different. I now got up earlier than usual and prepared breakfast for the whole family. As my sister was also in school, I would see her off before I took a bus to town and then change to another one for Ngara. My mother, who had started other business in town, usually left before 6 a.m.

I became social and made friends with girls of my own age at school. Often we would go out for lunch together. At times some of my friends would be picked by boys to go for lunch and would request me to join them. Even though I didn't want a boyfriend of my own, I didn't mind being with them and, as long as they didn't misbehave, I enjoyed every moment when we went out together.

Everything was going on well at home. My mom's businesses were paying well and we could afford to meet our needs. Mom was living to keep us happy and well provided for. I for one got whatever I desired, because in me she saw a great future. By the time I was completing the second year in secondary school, the baby boy my mother had begot was big enough to be left behind while she went out. We decided to employ a maid and from then on my housework became lighter and I got more opportunities to study. The following year I enrolled at Bahati Social

Hall for typing classes in the evenings.

By now my friends in school had started wondering what I was made of. Although I continued going out with their so-called boyfriends, I never engaged myself with any and they too never saw any approaching me. Sometimes I even paid for the meals we took with their boys and this perplexed them. They decided to cross-examine me. One day I went out for lunch with my three best girlfriends. Wanja, who was our class prefect started it all: