For the Love of Mother (Part III)

Most sided with Mama Kwito and tore the couple to pieces, accusing mum of bewitching Kwitonda. I was taken aback. I knew Mama Kwito was deeply annoyed, but I wasn’t expecting her to post anything on social media. A former girlfriend of Kwitonda created a Facebook group dubbed “Kwito’s Girls to the Rescue”. Within days, the group’s membership attained hundreds of thousands of young women who spent most of their time pouring vitriol on my mother. Soon the tabloids joined in to our horror. Mum was a prominent figure in the business community and had been featured in a number of publications for overcoming great odds to succeed in business; and she was considered a role model to women in business. Her choice to marry a man who could have been her son shocked the conservative Kenyan society. She and Kwitonda chose to keep a low profile. They abstained from responding to any of the posts and refused several interview requests from the media.

One day as mum was shopping at Toy Market, she was attacked by a group of five women and was almost stripped naked. She was rescued by merchants who took her to hospital. She was put on bed rest for a threatened abortion. For me this was the last straw. For the first time in my life, I refused to pick up Mama Kwito’s calls and ignored her sms’. She claimed she had nothing to do with the attack and I believed her, but the aggression was one result of her post on Facebook. She had gotten the news from the media and, remorseful and apologetic, she frantically reached out to Kwitonda and me, but we ignored her. She even went to Kwitonda’s place but the guard who had strict instructions not to let her in turned her away.

Two months later, I got a call from Mama Kwito’s personal assistant. She was trying to reach her for an important document. “You are not aware? She’s been away for six weeks now. She’s taken a long leave,” she explained. Intrigued, I called Mama Kwito. She was happy that I had finally returned her numerous calls. She confirmed that she was undergoing anger management therapy. That afternoon I drove through the gates of Mama Mueni Anger and Stress Management Centre in Kitisuru, Nairobi. It was a luxurious place built on a three acre property. Mama Kwito gave me a long motherly hug. We sat at a terrace overlooking a beautiful, well-kept mature garden. The place was so serene and quiet it was difficult to believe that there was a busy road right behind the canopy of trees bordering the property.

The furious reaction of the netizens and the media to her post, and the realisation that her best friend was in danger as a result had led Mama Kwito to finally take action and deal with her problem.

“After 1994, I focused so much on the family I had lost and cast all my hopes on Kwitonda to revive it that I failed to acknowledge the new family I was given: yours,” she said softly, looking in a distance, then turning to face me after a short pause. “Mahirwe is a sister to me. She helped me bring up my son, she was with me through thick and thin and whenever I visit Rwanda, your grandparents welcome me as their daughter.”

I was amazed at how much Mama Kwito had changed within a span of a few weeks. There was an aura of calmness and serenity around her and I noticed for the first time a strand of white hair accentuated by her elegant hairdo.

“How is Mahirwe? And Kwitonda? ” she asked.

“They are doing well,” I said.

“You know, after what happened it dawned on me that my son’s happiness was more important than keeping my family tree alive. I know if he marries Mahirwe I will never have grandchildren; but I don’t care anymore. You can’t build a family on strife, anger and fight. I just hope that someday, they’ll forgive me,” she said as tears welled in her eyes again. Surprisingly she hadn’t gotten the news that mum was pregnant.

“Mama Kwito, would you be allowed to go out for at least a day?” I asked.

“Yes but I don’t want to. I still have two weeks to go and I would like to meet them at the completion of my therapy,” she said resolutely, as she used to whenever she wanted to tell me and Kwitonda that her decision was made.

“Well, they are getting married tomorrow. Surely you can’t miss the wedding? ” I revealed.

Our entry in the wedding hall caused a stir among the 20 or so close friends and relatives invited. I led Mama Kwito to a seat next to my grandparents and behind the place reserved for the bride and groom. I excused myself to join Kwitonda and mum in the room where the bridal party was preparing. Despite my assurances, they were concerned that Mama Kwito would spoil the wedding.

Shortly Kwitonda and I walked in the wedding hall and took our place at the altar. Kwitonda stole a glance at his mother. She smiled at him but he remained stone faced. Soon mum walked in on her brother’s arm. My uncle represented my grandfather and the family. True to her bold nature, mum had chosen a short ivory dress that emphasized her five-month pregnancy. A tiny ivory hat was holding her beautifully breaded hair, and her face wasn’t veiled. She was stunning. I observed Mama Kwito. Her jaw dropped and she instinctively grabbed grandmother’s hand. Her eyes wetted. She looked at me, smiled, let go of grandmother’s hand and quickly regained composure. I breathed a sigh of relief and focused on the ceremony as my uncle handed mum’s hand over to Kwitonda.

When the priest asked if anyone was opposed to the marriage, mum and Kwitonda bent their heads as if expecting a blow, then raised their eyes towards Mama Kwito. She was beaming. They finally relaxed and smiled back at her. The priest resumed the ceremony. Read Part I/Read Part II

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This short story was initially published in a slightly shorter version (3491 words) on Typotic. Here I’m giving it to you in it’s entirety (3997 words) in three instalments. This is the last one. 

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